Donald’s lies extend at least to 1973 when the Justice Department sued him for violating the Fair Housing Act for declining to rent to African Americans.
More recently, he lied about the crowd size at his inauguration and falsely claimed that Obama had his “wires-tapped in Trump Tower.” White House spokeswoman, Sarah Sanders, walked back Donald’s wiretapping declaration. FBI Director, James Comey, is asking the Department of Justice to reject Donald’s wiretapping assertion.
Wikipedia lists the following characteristics of a pathological liar:
- The stories told are usually dazzling or fantastical, but never breach the limits of plausibility, which is key to the pathological liar’s tactic.
- The fabricative tendency is chronic. There is some element of dyscontrol present.
- The stories told tend toward presenting the liar favorably. The liar “decorates their own person” by telling stories that present them as the hero or the victim.
- The lies are commonly transparent and often seem rather pointless.
“Due to lack of trust, most pathological liars’ relationships and friendships fail. If the disease continues to progress, lying could become so severe as to cause legal problems, including, but not limited to, fraud.” (Wikipedia)
“Psychotherapy appears to be one of the only methods to treat a person suffering from pathological lying.” (Wikipedia)
I know how to help Donald. I have a friend, Xi Wang Mu (Grandmother of the West). 135,000 years ago, she lived in a cave near jade pond at the foot of Mt. Kunlun. I would often visit and bring her steamed buns. She possesses our world’s only jade purity fan. With a single sweep of motion the fan can place people, immortals, and monsters alike into deep slumber.
With Donald asleep, I will enter his dreams as a Miss Teen USA contestant. When he enters our changing room, sees us in varying changes of undress, and hungrily stares, I will walk up to him and slap his face hard.
If this shaming alone does not cure or get him to a psychotherapy session, I will order my golden haired undying lion to burn his magnificent display of hair with crimson fire.
If this, too, does not work, I will have him shackled in the courtyard of the heavenly mother’s taoist temple for 12,000 years. There he can hear the prehistoric bronze meditation bell ringing hourly, reminding him to come back to the present moment. And to his own, long lost goodness.