Donald, Leave Comedy to the Professionals

Donald’s disastrous attempt at comedy should never be allowed again.

Comedy is a delicate business and should be left to the trained professionals. So the next time Donald Trump announces his intention to be purposefully amusing in a public setting, we need to respond properly, and that proper response is: “God. No. Please. In the name of all that is holy, stop. Don’t do it. Think of the children.”

The day after the final presidential debate, at the Al Smith Dinner at the Waldorf-Astoria, the two major party candidates were invited to tell some jokes, and to say the results were underwhelming is like inferring that gravel dusted with uranium flakes makes a non-nutritious breakfast cereal even swimming in milk.

Bill Clinton and Barack Obama were good at this sort of thing. It’s called a comedy “routine” for a reason. And when George W Bush and Mitt Romney are held up as comedic geniuses, you know something has gone horribly awry.

Hillary Clinton couldn’t tell a joke if the life of a small Haitian child depended on it, but gamely persevered and got off a couple of decent zingers, a few at her own expense. But once again, Trump seemed intent on disrupting another grand old tradition: the one that involves attaching punch lines to the end of jokes.

You’d think a clown would have better timing — and make-up. Especially Mr. Hometown Boy, whose big claim is being able to read a room. This campaign apparently has blinded him so badly he needs Lasik surgery.

Also, he failed to demonstrate the faintest notion of how to deal with a heckler. So, perhaps a few classic lines can be offered up should the occasion arise again. Which could possibly happen in another four years:

Oh yeah, well if you’re so smart, how come I’m President?

I’m sorry sir, are you a Democrat? I’ll talk slower.

Nice shirt. Somewhere in Yonkers, there’s a Pinto without seat covers.

Is that your face or are you celebrating Halloween early?

Further proof why kids shouldn’t play football without helmets.

Don’t mess with me, I got a microphone, I’ll just make up stuff you said.

Easy to see why he’s excited. His colonoscopy report came back. Good news: they found his head.

Do I come to your work and knock the broom out of your hand?

Save your breath. You’ll need it to blow up your date.

The 70s called. They want their hair back.

I’d love to have a battle of wits, but my daddy taught me never to fight an unarmed man.

Definitive proof that Darwin was wrong.

Oh, yeah, you and what focus group?

Please sir, put down the gun.

That’s all right. I remember my first glass of cheap champagne too.

Oh, I’m sorry sir, are you a Republican? I’ll talk slower.

Usually when people donate their brain to science, they wait till they’re dead.

Excuse me sir, your village called, they want their idiot back.

Anybody here speak Quaalude?

Another example of why political consultants eat their young.

I’m sorry but the moron convention met yesterday. In France.

Isn’t it a shame when Hillary supporters marry?

Do you talk to your third wife with that mouth?

I understand a bus for your hometown is leaving soon. Why don’t you and Elizabeth Warren get under it?

Will Durst
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