Donald Trump: the gift of loud that keeps on blaring
For all those bemoaning the lack of noise in the Republican presidential sweepstakes, it’s time to get down on our knees and give thanks to Donald Trump, because whatever that man touches turns to loud. He’s the gift that keeps on blaring. Has all the delicate innuendo of concrete curtain rods. Not just a loose cannon, more like a loose aircraft carrier.
To say the campaign of the self-appointed captain of the S.S. Birther got off to a rocky start is like intimating that transatlantic telecommunications cables make substandard dental floss. Critics derided the guy who tried to trademark the phrase “you’re fired!” for hiring extras to pretend to be supporters at his announcement, but another way of looking at it is he’s already creating jobs.
At the beginning of his diatribe where the word “I,” or “I’ve” or “I’m” was used 244 times (that doesn’t even include “me,” or “we” or “us”) the billionaire real estate developer trotted out some bizarre illegal immigrant harangue, accusing the Mexican government of sending drug-crazed rapists across the border. It’s the reason veteran politicians often employ scriptwriters and utilize teleprompters: so they don’t stick their foot so deep into their mouths they can tickle their spleen with their shoelaces.
And the price The Donald paid for his bout of verbal incontinence was shooting straight to the top of Republican polls. Sure, he and some of his brands were dropped by a couple of lily-livered corporations like Univision, Farouk Systems, NASCAR, Serta, the PGA, Televisa, NBC Universal & Macy’s. But not all is lost; rumors abound that both Animal Planet and SyFy are interested in producing a mini-series about his hair.
Conservative conspiracy theorists accuse Trump of being a Democratic mole whose subversive goal is to make them look like intolerant cretins. But seeing how they’re the ones who spent the last 45 years crocheting the ass hat, they can’t be surprised when some idiot picks it off the shelf and waltzes around in it.
Trump not only refused to apologize, he doubled down and stands behind his bigoted assault. “People stop me on the street and tell me I’m right.” Donny. Baby. You live in New York City. People there say crazy stuff all the time. “My clothes hamper has wings and is made out of aluminum.” “Alex Rodriguez is acting like a real human.”
Trump is to presidential politics what hot dog eating is to the Olympics. He makes Sarah Palin look like a sober distinguished parliamentarian. And what if he does win the nomination? Who could he possibly pick as vice president to make him look presidential? Dick Cheney? Joe Biden? Urkel was a fictional character. Mr. Bean was born on foreign soil. Adam Sandler is dead. Well, his career is, anyway.
You almost get the feeling that Trump isn’t as excited about becoming Commander-in-Chief as he is with forcing a black family with two young daughters out of their Washington D.C. home.
But love him or hate him, you got to admit, it’s pretty exciting to finally be able to answer that plaintive query: “How long before America proves itself a world class power by fielding a presidential candidate with a cologne named after him?”
That time, my friends, at last has come.
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