I didn't intend to be a prophet in my
recent post about Hillary Clinton. Yet, I accidently was. After doubting that Republicans could find any candidate as sordid, corrupt, and unfit for public trust as America's former first lady and permanent first hag, I added a comment that we still don't know what lies under Donald Trump's frightening hair. Now we do. Two months ago, Trump was a real ass but not a real presidential candidate. Now he's both.
In order to appreciate the Antichrist-like miracle of Donald's ascendancy in the polls, we should take a moment to remember the lice-ridden manger into which this savior was born and the supernatural power he used to multiply 5 loaves and 2 fish that he inherited into five loaves and 2 fish and multiple bankruptcies and a bunch of debt and an enormous ego. (Paris Hilton has done a much better job monetizing the family assets [her ass and a nice set], but Barron Hilton is reportedly not amused, since he's apparently the last person in America who possesses a rare antique known as shame.)
Donald Trump's grandpa came from a country that also produced a populist politician with oddly-combed hair promising workers fearful of an insecure future a final solution for their Mexican ... er ... Jewish problem. (Hillary Clinton likewise invoked images of señor Adolf with her recent remark that Trump wants to ship Mexicans off in boxcars.) Grampa Trump made his fortune in the American Wild West. He supplied whisky in a dirty glass and hoochie with a dirty dame for gold miners who found temporary respite in his saloons. Dirty money from dirty deeds and desperate folks.
Donald Trump's father manipulated government construction subsidies to build cramped slums that he rented to equally desperate people. Residents found easy temporary respite in his housing, until collectors showed up to explain "the art of the deal." Rumor has it daddy Trump had a presidential demeanor (da meaner da better) in that he spoke softly but carried a big stick. Donald Trump's cocky vision of negotiations with the Chinese no doubt resembles Al Capone's dinner chat featuring a baseball bat. Still, his big stick may not function too well in more sensitive negotiations, as his string of virtually-mail-order ex-wives can attest.
Nevertheless, Americans have a soft spot (in their hearts and heads) for bank robbers with balls like John Dillinger or Donald Trump. Many Americans are now attracted to this brash dictator with no real ideological creed but himself, in the hope that he can make America great again as Mussolini once made the trains run on time. Plus, he gives the pompous and disingenuous media a long-deserved public ass-whooping. Still, if you think The Don believes his own words, watch him tell an Alabama crowd that he's having the exact same arena experience as Billy Graham. Yep, Donny and Billy are identical twins. Casinos and strip joints and reality TV and Billy Graham: that's what little Don is made of - and bullshit!
Nevertheless, even I prefer to watch the alpha-male set of balls on Julius "Caesar's Palace" Trump, rather than the alpha-shrill set on Hillary "Loser's Palace" Clinton. Either emperor will probably mark the end of the republic and electing either dictator will confirm the circus motto: there's a sucker born every minute, but a President Donald Trump will remind future generations that America (while it lasted) was the greatest show on earth. Roman emperors gave the masses bread and circuses. Donald will promise both but is damn well sure to deliver on the latter. God help America!
It still astounds me that this insufferable egomaniacal son of a bitch has lasted this long.
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