Yeah, I hear what you’re saying. “For all you political comics, Donald Trump must be a dream come true. Manna from heaven. Slam-dunking from a step-ladder. Swimming in a sea of beer.”
Oh sure, there are jokes.
1. Trump’s presidential campaign is like a baboon’s butt. The higher he climbs, the harder it is to look.
2. Not saying his message is confusing, but doubt he could convince a majority of the voices in his head to vote for him.
3. Trump doesn’t respect gay marriage because of tradition. And the fact that he’s been married three times just makes him ... extra traditional.
4. Wants to run the country like a business. Which is worrisome. Because he seems exactly the kind of guy who would burn it down for the insurance.
Don’t forget the aerodynamic coif. But getting an actual handle on the Big El Nino is as difficult as Klingon calculus. How do you parody a parody? Most candidates cling to talking points the way deep sea divers do air hoses, but to a real estate developer, points apparently are to be avoided at all costs.
He’s all over the place: an anachronistic hybrid, tweeting from the Old West. No notes. No Tele-Prompter. No handlers. The focus of a feather. Shooting straight from the hip and the lip. “Mexicans are rapists.” “John McCain is a poseur.” “Megyn Kelly got hormonal.”
Donald Trump vs. Megyn Kelly: now there’s a sequel worthy of Buckley vs. Vidal. Do you get the feeling America doesn’t care who wins this skirmish as long as one of them loses. Hey, just doing good journalism.
Despite more slip-ups than 3rd graders playing Bombardment in stocking feet on a freshly polished gym floor, the New York developer’s approval rating continues to rise like a pastry factory with a leaky yeast valve. If Reagan were Teflon, the Donald is some sort of space age polymer.
But to say that not all is happy-rama in the GOP theme park is similar to intimating that salted caramel cream puffs make inadequate shock absorbers. The exploits of Walker, Cruz, Rubio and Bush are a PBS after-thought to the daily TMZ shenanigans of Mr. Celebrity Apprentice Presidente.
A finite amount of light is available in a primary campaign, and the brighter it shines on a single spoiled trust fund baby, the less luminosity available for the incredible array of governors and former governors running nearby. With the odd senator thrown in. “Odd” being the operative word.
Then consider that each of the semi-normal politicians is being bankrolled by a totally different collection of billionaires and you can see the problem. The obscenely affluent don’t encourage their kind to run for president. Tends to eliminate the middle-men. The rich prefer their office holders beholden. Puppets with strings are easier to control. As the Donald says, “the system’s broken,” and the people agree.
So here’s a tip for all you professional scoffers sneering at Trump’s chances of winning the nomination, and should he pull that off, disparage as laughable the thought of a victory in the general. Just remember ... they said the same thing about Ronald Reagan. And we all know how that turned out. Wonder if another Bush could be talked into the VP slot. There’s synchronicity for you.
Will Durst is a political satirist and author of The All American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing and an e-book on the 2012 campaign: Elect to Laugh! published by Hyperink. See willdurst.com or willandwillie.com for the latest podcast. Email durst@caglecartoons.com.
From The Progressive Populist, September 15, 2015
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