That describes what I feel when I read things like this, from Mark Steyn’s column about how the Obama administration handled, and then spun, the attack in Benghazi that left 4 Americans dead (what Obama would later call “bumps in the road”):
in those first moments of the attack, a request for military back-up was made by U.S. staff on the ground but was denied by Washington. It had planes and Special Forces less than 500 miles away in southern Italy – or about the same distance as Washington to Boston. They could have been there in less than two hours. Yet the commander-in-chief declined to give the order. So Glen Doherty and Tyrone Woods fought all night against overwhelming odds, and died on a rooftop in a benighted jihadist hell hole while Obama retired early to rest up before his big Vegas campaign stop.
What can you say? Nothing, really. Nothing about that enormity. All you can do is shake your head, sympathize with the relatives of the four dead Americans, and resolve to do whatever you can yo be sure that this incompetent narcissist is made to leave the White House just as soon as possible.