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Maybe The Root is insane. Maybe all the newspapers, cable news shows and pundits that evenhandedly cover Donald Trump, constantly offering him the benefit of the doubt, are doing it right and we are doing it wrong.

Perhaps we are the crazy ones for calling out the salmon-colored, sandpaper-faced president every time he sends a tweet that the mainstream media couch in language like “We have no evidence of this,” when they know it’s a bald-faced lie. Are we the silly ones for wondering why Congress needs to convene panels of investigators to determine Russian ties and campaign collusion? When approval polls show that 37 percent of America still believes that ol’ Tiny Thumbs Trump is doing a great job, maybe we’re stupid for raising our heads to the heavens and screaming in frustration to the most high (and by “most high,” we mean Snoop Doggy Dogg).

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Objectivity and journalistic standards are one thing, but it has began to look comically discrediting the way the media covers Trump as if he were not a pathological liar. I’m not saying news outlets should change his title to “Lying-Ass President Trump,” but reputable news sources and political analysts taking his words at face value and repeating them to the public as if they were fact is the same as a doctor giving a cancer patient a Creflo Dollar prayer cloth instead of surgery and chemotherapy.

Anyone who gives the Supreme Sew-In his “due respect” reflects a willful ignorance of his repeated efforts to mislead the American people. Failing to call the president a liar every time he is caught in a lie not only makes the press complicit in his deception but also makes them look as foolish as Trump’s acolytes who suck down his falsehoods like grape Kool-Aid.

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But—for the sake of argument—let’s pretend that Trump is a mentally stable truth teller. Let’s believe—just for this article—that the blank-faced political pundits at Fox and wherever Van Jones is right now are right to take him at his word. Let’s act as if someone else said the things Trump has said, and that those things were all true. What does that world look like? Either Trump is an unrepentant, psychotic, pathological liar or ...

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... On Aug. 4, 1961, in a tiny little mosque in Kenya, Barack Hussein Obama was born, surrounded by Muslim clerics, jihadists and a wireless telephone device that immediately signaled a source in Hawaii to fake a birth certificate and file a birth announcement in the local newspaper.

Meanwhile, at the Wharton School in Pennsylvania, a young man named Donald Trump was breezing through the curriculum. He was, in fact, so spectacularly gifted that no one ever saw him attend classes, and those who did remembered him as unremarkable and dim-witted. He made it look that easy. He would later graduate from Wharton with honors, but being such a modest man, he chose not to have his accomplishments reflected in the graduation ceremony, school records or anyone else’s memory.

After college, Trump went on to build a business empire from nothing. The “very small” loan of $14 million from his father had nothing to do with his business success. Neither did the fact that he habitually kicked blacks and minorities out of his building until he was sued by the Justice Department. His business acumen was so incredibly well-tuned that he had to declare bankruptcy six times, because he didn’t have anywhere to put all that money.

In fact, he was such an astute economic mind, he developed some of the greatest branding opportunities of all time. Trump Vodka, Trump Steaks and Trump Airlines had to be taken off the market because they were in such high demand.

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He developed the mega-successful Trump University, even though some people who refer to themselves as “education experts” say it took money from thousands of poor, hardworking people and taught them some of the same business principles. Unfortunately, “so-called” judges didn’t think that classes in “being confident” constituted college-level learning, because they were haters. They didn’t even bother to look at the textbooks before they shut the school down. (Here’s a hint: Step 1 to business success is, “Borrow $14 million from Daddy.”)

Meanwhile, Trump was making himself a billionaire with his keen eye for profit. He was so protective of his billionaire status that he even sued a man who wrote a book that took forensic accounting and proved that Trump was worth only about $250 million. It was another corrupt “so-called” judge who tossed the case.

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During Trump’s lifetime, he has used his celebrity to do incredible things in the community, like start a charity (that took other people’s money and bought things for him), donate millions to the Wounded Warriors Foundation (even though the organization never received the money, because it must’ve been lost in the mail), and gin up public hysteria into a lynch mob that imprisoned and convicted five black and Latino men for raping a woman (even though they were eventually exonerated and released because the evidence said they didn’t do it).

He would pay very close attention to politics. He almost ran for president once before, when he ran into a terrorist dance party on 9/11 that he could see from his New Jersey rooftop. He watched the coverage of Muslims celebrating all over a special news channel that comes only on his TV.

Then he decided to run for president, because—Mexicans. Despite FBI statistics showing that both immigrants and Hispanics commit violent crimes at lower rates than whites or blacks, Trump knew that the country was infested with rapists crossing the border illegally. Trump knew that the statistics showing negative net immigration in the United States were a lie. He promised everyone that he would stop the influx of Muslim terrorist immigrants, who had killed fewer people than lightning strikes, spontaneous combustion or—most notably—young white men.

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Then came the election. Even though massive numbers of illegal aliens and dead people voted for Hillary Clinton, and no Russian hacks were involved, Trump managed to claim the biggest electoral victory of all time (if you’re using something other than numbers). On Inauguration Day, so many people crowded Washington, D.C., that he couldn’t count them all, and neither could professionals who do that sort of thing—or photographs or drones or actual eyes. It turned out to be the biggest inauguration of all time (again—numbers be damned).

After he was elected, he started doing exactly what he said he’d do:

Meanwhile, that pesky Kenyan dude had sneaked out of the White House into the dark of night (you know, they blend in well), scaled Trump Tower in New York City and bugged all the phones in the building, telling no one. This was not Trump’s belief—he heard it from a very reputable, scholarly, shit-mouthed conspiracy theorist on Fox News, who also believes that 9/11 was an inside job by globalists and gremlins who had been fed after midnight. Obama was hoping to discover some information about Trump, only because an insignificant number of people in the Trump Cabinet were found to have ties or contact with Russia, including:

This Russia nonsense is a ruse. It’s happenstance. None of this has anything to do with Trump’s unwillingness to utter a bad word about Putin or Russia. It is coincidental to the fact that he completed one of the most profitable, shady private real estate transactions in U.S. history with a mystery Russian.

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It was a sheer fluke that Russian hackers broke into his opponent’s email server. It wasn’t collusion. When he insisted on including pro-Russian language into the Republican platform, this was the furthest thing from his mind. None of the secret phone calls, the obfuscation, the lies, mean anything. The president is an honest, trustworthy man who just happens to sporadically tweet out unverifiable claims early in the morning and refuses to answer to the press or American people.

Anyone who doesn’t call out Donald Trump for his litany of falsehoods must believe some version of this fantastic fairy tale. To treat him with respect and objectivity is to add fuel to his dumpster fire and wind to his shitstorm. Either you’re with him or against him. There is no room on the fence.

Or maybe we’re crazy.

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I pray to Dogg we are.