It's clear what is happening here. Trump's relentless, overwhelming drive in life was never to become President. It was never even simply to become ubiquitous.

He is the ultimate fame monster, a rabid consumer of public regard, attention and adulation. No drug is more powerful for him than exposure. He is a man who lives by the philosophy of ratings uber alles.

He didn't get in the race to Make America Great Again. His dream wasn't to wisely yield the awesome power of the highest office in the land. It wasn't to lead our nation in good times and bad.

His dream was always to be the most famous person in America, and beyond. By winning the Presidency he became the most famous person in the world, the center of every debate and discussion. Ask the British about the strains on the Special Relationship after Trump decided to beef with Prime Minister Theresa May on Twitter over phony "Muslim" videos, combining his special brand of bigotry, his love of fake news when it fits his narrative, and an itchy Twitter finger.

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The visuals of Trump — the enormous, jiggling bolus of wattle-fat beneath his chin, his squinting visage, the pursed, prissy mouth, the wispy construct of his Manhattan mullet, the knee-length ties, the weirdly crypto-Papal gestures — make him creepily iconic. The constant outrages, the hair-trigger fury, the famously short temper all make him the biggest driver of news and entertainment coverage in history.

Every morning, I wake up and wonder two things. First, has he started a nuclear war? Then, when I thank God we're not living in a post-apocalyptic radioactive hellscape yet — with the emphasis on "yet" — the next thing I wonder is, "What fresh hell will his tweets bring us today?" Because Trump is unconstrained in almost every meaningful way, and because the White House enablers surrounding him can't take his phone away, there's no escape.

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If it weren't so obviously random, shambolic, and self-referential, Trump's culture takeover would strike some very dark historic chords. Fascists and authoritarians of every variety have desired a political homogenization through control of culture. Benito Mussolini was omnipresent in Italy's fascist period, and we're fortunate that Trump doesn't have an actual political agenda.

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The arc of cultural phenomena is short and bends towards obscurity. Every show runs its course. Even the wackiest and most colorful entertainers move from transgressive to amusing to tiresome to embarrassing to reruns on late-night basic cable. Everything on television eventually jumps the shark, and the number of diehard fans dwindles.

Someday, and someday not that far away, I know we'll look back at that time that Trump ate America culture. We'll wonder how we let one man define and devour our national attention like the worst reality show host in history. Well lament that we let it happen. For the sake of the future of the country, I hope we resolve to change the channel.