Dr. Google says that yes, you can get a venous ulcer on the hand, although typically they occur in the legs. But they do occur in the hands in cases of “severe venous hypertension.” And what is that, class? Severe venous hypertension is a serious condition marked by dangerously high blood pressure in the leg veins, leading to symptoms like significant swelling, pain, skin discoloration, and the formation of hard-to-heal venous ulcers. It is often caused by damaged or ineffective venous valves, which normally prevent blood from flowing backward. Left untreated, the condition can progress, causing widespread damage to leg tissues and a severe impact on quality of life.
God knows that Donald Trump is the venous insufficiency of our body politic, having a severe impact on the quality of our collective life as a nation. That is an understatement. So now let’s get down to close examination of what is actually on Trump’s right hand. And again I will stipulate, as always, we do not do conspiracy theory here. And I’m not a medical doctor. But taking what is known and speculating, the ideas about to be shared are not outlandish in the slightest. This is all entirely plausible.
Take a look in the upper right hand portion of Trump’s hand. You see the dark spot, right? Now take a look at a venous ulcer on a leg.
That is what I believe that Trump has on his hand and is trying to cover up. I also believe that Trump has these on his legs, because that is typically where they occur — but in rare cases, at least according to Dr. Google, a venous ulcer can occur on the hand, in cases of severe venous hypertension, as stated.
Or, maybe Donald has leprosy?
Leprosy like the patient below? pic.twitter.com/WQ73Ab75KL
— Richard Signorelli 🌱🇺🇦 🌊 🇺🇸 🇨🇦 (@richsignorelli) August 23, 2025
Can chronic venous insufficiency be reversed? No. All that can happen is minimizing the effects by lifestyle changes like exercise and a healthy diet. And do you see this fat slob suddenly hauling ass around the golf course on his feet or suddenly eating fruits, vegetables, fish (and we’re not talking McDonald’s fish filet and fries, we’re talking the real thing)? No way in hell. If Trump had the capacity for self discipline and moderation, he would have exhibited those qualities decades ago.
Which leads us to speculate, how much time does Donald have? Put on your thinking caps now, because we’re going to do a deep dive here on What’s Likely To Happen Next:
- Donald will find the swimming pool from Cocoon?
- Donald will be visited by the Ghost Of Xmas Past this December and change his ways?
- Melania will show Donald his portrait in the attic of Mar-a-Lago and he’ll drop dead at the sight?
- Donald is too stupid to adapt, like the dinosaur, and will suffer the same fate?
I would love to know his blood pressure with the extra 80 pounds or so of weight he’s got on him, forcing his *heart* to work all that much harder. That would be some primo information to have. I would bet that 160 over 90 is probably an average for him and that’s near stroke/heart attack level for the rest of us. And may I gently remind you of Trump’s midnight ride to Walter Reed during his first term, where it was speculated that he had either a mini stroke or a full blown stroke. How many strokes can he have? Princess Margaret had three, before a fourth stroke claimed her life. How many can Trump have?
Trump can’t bargain with Mother Nature. None of us can. All any of us can do is proactively do things that are right and give up whatever the excesses are, junk food, liquor, sugar, you name it and put proper substances into the body. And exercise, even though it’s painful.
Trump never learned to cope with adversity as a young man. Roy Cohn told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn’t get a grip on himself that “he would never be anything more than a cheap hustler with a Daddy’s Money bank account.” So far that wisecrack has become prophecy.
Trump isn’t going to change at age 79. That’s not to say that people can’t change at that age. People can change at any age. To live and breathe is to be capable of change by definition. But to change one must be willing to go outside one’s comfort zone and have discipline and stamina. Trump has neither. He’s been a coddled wimp living a consequence-free life since the day he was born.
But the consequences of his own actions will catch up to him because Mother Nature doesn’t take bribes. She deals in the coin of physical reality. If he wants to burn off the fat and do a 180 degree spin healthwise, he might make it until the end of his term. I don’t think he has it in him.
So what we have now is a red-faced, panting, bloated shell of a *man* who wears a catheter under his girdle, has swollen ankles and God alone knows how many venous sores, and whose *exercise* is getting out of the golf cart to swing at a ball.
The government is being run by Russel Vought and Stephen Miller, with some occasional sane input, from what I can gather, from General Dan Caine and a few other people with some actual expertise.
We have no president, as that term is commonly understand. We have an old fool who is propped up vastly more than Joe Biden ever even dreamt of being, but because it’s Trump, it’s okay. His excesses and downside are always normalized if not out and out minimized or ignored altogether.
Get ready. It’s late 2025. Let’s see how Donald is doing by the New Year. And rest assured of one thing: as much as you and I want to see Trump croak, Melania’s desire to see it happen eclipses all. She’s put up with his bullshit for thirty years and pay day is right around the corner — unless he screws her like he screws everybody and that is a speculation for a different day. What if Wifey gets nothing and Ivanka gets the Trump fortune?
Your “… If Trump had the capacity for self discipline …” the horse bolted on this very thing, the moment he was conceived. It’s quite possible that he suspects his ‘use by date’ is just around the corner, and like any person with the personality traits like he has, he’s in abject denial because he’s always been able to fashion a reality to suit his orbit, to the detriment of everything and everyone he has hooked his grubby ‘everything he touches dies’ claws into. That bit where he vocalised his desire to essentially ‘get into heaven’ is an admission, of some sorts, that he knows his ‘use by date’ is turning into one miserable reality that’s not a key to the pearly gates but concrete cancer rotting his Tower of Babel – well, his distorted gold lined version of it. He’s beginning to get mortally trumped, and he’s shitting himself in the process.