What’s with Lindsey Graham’s inappropriate fixation on Trump’s amorous ballroom?

After Saturday’s traumatic event at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner at the Washington Hilton, Senator Lindsey Graham was quick with a balm and a solution.

Many attendees are no doubt enduring a harsh case of PTSD. Mentalist Oz Pearlman, who was on the dais with the Trumps, said it was “likely the scariest moment of my life.”

So what does lascivious Lindsey do? He doesn’t respond with the requisite thoughts and prayers, though one shudders to imagine being on the receiving end of Lindsey’s. Nor does he call for stronger gun laws or mental health policies.

No, the gratuitous Graham immediately shrieked for building Trump’s swanky ballroom as the answer, and, if that weren’t inappropriate enough, he wants you and me, the American taxpayer, to fund something that might be used, on average, roughly 14 days a year.

Does it ever end with Lindsey’s lustful attempts to lick the derriere of Donald Trump? He’s got to hold some kind of Guinness record for the world’s brownest nose. With this ballroom toadying, Graham may have reached the pinnacle. What’s left, something from a scene in White Lotus?

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There is something undeniably tragic about watching a man lose himself in the shadow of another, especially one so universally despised. But in the case of Graham and Trump, “tragic” has long since been replaced with “pathetic.”

We’ve moved past Graham’s thirst for relevance and into a feverish, all-consuming devotion, an unusual love language too X-rated for Fox News or NewsNation.

Nowhere is this clearer than in his latest obsession: a $400 million “hardened” White House ballroom.

For years, we’ve watched Lindsey trail Donald around the links like a loyal caddy scooping up his balls. As an aside, does anyone else spot the symmetry between golf balls and ballroom?

While Trump’s numbers tank, Lindsey is still puckering up for his most exhausting whims. He has spent years massaging the ego of a man he once called a “kook,” swallowing what remained of his dignity and washing it down with Diet Coke at Mar-a-Lago.

But the ballroom? Even for Lindsey, that’s a climax.

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The snake-like senator from South Carolina is now demanding that taxpayers foot the bill for a 90,000-square-foot monument to Trumpian grandeur. This, despite earlier promises that it would be privately funded. But those funders seem to have gone silent?

Could it be that all the billionaire jerks in Trump’s circle realize his poll numbers are going limp from a metaphorical and incurable case of ED (End of Donald)? Everyone except Lindsey, of course, who is dying to be the last white privileged man in the room with Trump.

But Graham’s call for taxpayers to fund it is his way to say, “Oh my dear leader Donald, those private donations should be deposited in your bank account. Let the American taxpayer pay for the cake they can’t eat in the ballroom!”

Graham insists this is about national security, a bunker beneath the dance floor, a “hardened” facility. I’ll leave it to your imagination why Lindsey is pining for a windowless room beneath a disco where “Y.M.C.A.” plays on a loop.

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His justification hinges on the shooting outside the Correspondents’ Dinner. But that event isn’t a presidential function; it’s hosted by a private press association. The same is true of the Alfalfa Club Dinner, the Gridiron Club Dinner, the National Prayer Breakfast, annual events presidents attend, not control.

All worthy occasions, to be sure, but hardly the crisis-level demand that requires public money. But maybe Lindsey has an ulterior motive? Could it be candlelight dinners, with carafes of Diet Coke, alone with you know who in the splendid confines of the ballroom? And then retiring to the bunker for a nightcap?

So what would this gold-leafed palace actually be used for? A handful of state dinners, the occasional reception. Hardly a crisis demanding hundreds of millions in public funds. For most of the year, this monument to one man’s ego would sit empty, its shadow looming over the rest of the diminutive White House.

Graham’s fixation on Trump seems to know no limits. While he fusses over drapes, he goes on television urging South Carolina families to send their children to fight in the Iran war. It’s a telling juxtaposition - Americans are asked to pay in treasure and blood so Lindsey Graham can play Trump’s paramour.

He asks a great deal, with the ease of someone who never bears the cost. He’ll ask you to fund a ballroom that serves no real purpose. Then he’ll ask you to die for a war of choice filled with epic strategic blunders.

And all the while, he’ll keep bowing, grinning, flattering, obeying, supplicating because the joke isn’t just that Lindsey Graham looks ridiculous in his insufferable devotion.

It’s that beneath his unquenchable lust is something far darker, a man so eager to please that he would sell his soul to the devil, and abandon the Constitution for a mere wink from a corrupt king.

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