Any resemblance to a real presidential candidate in the material below is strictly coincidental, and not the intent of the author or the masters of the domain.
A Star Is Born
As the campaign goes into the final stretch, many of my thoughtful fellow Republicans are more and more puzzled by our candidate of choice. At the risk of hearing cries of “lock him up” from my progressive readers who are all Trumped-out, I am pausing in updating my “Journal of the Plague Year” to share a private word with my Republican mates.
In the immortal words of Joan Rivers, can we talk?
First of all, there are only two real candidates in this election. Vladimir Putin and Hillary Clinton.
Trump is not even a real Republican, whatever he told the 11 million idiots who voted for him in the primaries and bought his snake oil that he could make America great again.
He is a transgender Republican today. Extreme vetting would find that he previously was AC/DC. A former solid Democrat (2003-9), he would be a member of the Socialist Workers Party if it was good for his purse. A man of no fixed principles, moral or immoral. Believe me, as he would say. So important. So sad.
We have no idea, for example, where Mister Republican stands on his signature issue, immigration. Every time he opens his mouth, it seems, there is a new policy.
Especially confusing to economy-minded Republicans like myself is who’s going to pay for that big beautiful very thick— believe me— with surveillance below and above ground wall! In that wacky dangerous visit last week to Mexico –we’re lucky the criminal and rapist drug cartels didn’t seize him and hold him for ransom, which he would pay 20% down and stiff them for the rest, the same terms given those who will build the wall for him— our candidate demonstrated his presidential stature by utilizing his greatest oratorical gift, lying.
El Presidente would have been justified in interrupting the press conference after Trump said “finances were not discussed: “Well, you have cojones, you lying gringo. You know damn well Mexico is not paying for your cotton-pickin’ wall.”
Not since Jerry Ford, in the 1976 debates said the Soviet Union did not control Poland has there been a candidate whose grasp of foreign affairs is so alarming. I would say His Hairiness sounds like a fourth grader, but I would be demeaning fourth graders.
What he seems to know about foreign policy, a major part of being president, he may have learned from “The Miss Universe Contest,” which he owns. The bold initiatives he has proposed— like abandoning NATO and turning our back on the rest of the free world make no sense, other than sounding like Russia’s foreign policy. A Putin love fest! Trust me. So important. So sad.
His economic policies, as enunciated in Detroit, had as much meaning as the Cantos Ezra Pound was grinding out in his last days at St. Elizabeths. Total gibberish. So sad.
He seems to be making it all up as he goes along. If God forbid, he wins in November, he could turn out to be a socialistic Communist, the worse kind. Does he believe in dialectical materialism? Ask him.
And furthermore, he’s not a serious candidate. What everybody seems to forget his whole campaign is research for still another autobiography. Dick Cavett tells me it will be titled “My Kampf.”
The game plan is to use the experience of running for president of the most powerful nation in the world and turning it into not a reality TV series, as has been suggested, but a movie, a horror movie.
The last 15 months has all been a form of political conceptual art.
The premise of the original stunt was to test the bedrock American concept that anybody can grow up to be president. And he is anybody.
It’s the old riches to riches saga of a man who was born on third base and believed he hit a triple, a man with absolutely no experience in government, a man who is trying to see how many bankruptcies and how many failed business with his name attached he could amass and could be considered an entrepreneurial genius —and still be elected president.
It’s the amazing incredible story of the man who managed to convince the party of Lincoln that he could represent the party of Lincoln, the car, and the tunnel. The scenario is packed with exciting scenes, like a man with a finger poised on the red panic button, and saying, “World War III or not! I’ll teach him not to insult my Mother!”
The joke is that the public would believe his slogan Making America Great again.
By that, he meant fulfilling his ambition to become president so he can invite his best bud Putin to spend a night in the Lincoln bedroom.
Believe me. It’s going to be a great movie. Big box office numbers all over it. Really big. Trump might even play himself, although he might not be believable in the role.
The plot twists are still to come.
NEXT: “MR. TRUMP GOES TO WASHINGTON.”
Sept. 6, 2016