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Pop culture obsessives writing for the pop culture obsessed.

Amber Ruffin finds soulful inspiration in Trump's latest soulless coup attempt

Illustration for article titled Amber Ruffin finds soulful inspiration in Trumps latest soulless coup attempt
Screenshot: Late Night With Seth Meyers

Amber Ruffin’s been pulling double-duty in her role as host of Peacock’s The Amber Ruffin Show while remaining both on staff and regularly on camera on Late Night With Seth Meyers. And with her own show not coming back until this Friday, the breakout human highlight reel busted out another of her signature musical numbers on Tuesday’s Late Night. Or did she?

That impossibly dapper, mustachioed, velvet-voiced 50s-style R&B singer standing at the keyboard and interrupting Meyers’ jokes about the most(?) recent treasonous, dictatorial bullshit from whiny man -baby Donald Trump looked a little bit like Amber, granted. And, sparking up to decidedly not actually play the electric piano once inspiration struck concerning a Trump-themed soul classic about a sad and pathetic man who can’t get over the election that got away certainly had that irrepressible Amber Ruffin energy. But, Meyers, providing snatches of information about the unnamed loser in question (who spent an entire hour on Saturday afternoon unsuccessfully pleading for another chance with the secretary of a state he lost) didn’t seem to recognize the sonorous gent in question.

Since the singer was from the 1950s and all, he had no concept of our enlightened 21st century ways, where a failed reality show host and buffoonishly racist fake university scammer could become president. But he still managed to piece together a snappy little potential chart-topper from Meyers hints about a pitiful little fella who lied, cheated, and even tried to steal a country’s love, only to be resoundingly shown the door. “Sounds like a real desperate guy,” the singer intoned thoughtfully, before launching into a catchy piano stomp in the person of the “low-down dirty dog” willing to debase himself and the nation he supposedly represents for just one more chance, baby. The impressed Meyers offered up some more details (dumb, dishonest, ill-fitting clothes, generally an all-around bad person), which the baritone songsmith gleefully transformed into an infectiously toe-tapping swing in the voice of the most soullessly sweaty, understandably and decisively trash-canned loser who just won’t stop pestering the electorate with pitiful phone calls. (And tweets, although naturally the mysterious singer would have no idea what those were.)

Contributor, The A.V. Club. Danny Peary's Cult Movies books are mostly to blame.

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