The Hitman Cometh
Chris Christie’s endorsement of Donald Trump last week was HUUUUUGE, as they say.
It was a smart move by the Boss, the presumptive President-elect in his own mind, to get His Rotundity, as we call him in New Jersey, on board.
At the debate a few nights earlier, Trump had been schlonged by Kid Rubio, the lighter-than-air space cadet running for the highest office in the land.
Like a punch-drunk prelim fighter, looking at the ref to end the round, Boss Trump was taking a left and a right from the boy senator from Florida, and his accomplice, Ted the Cruzifier from Texas. Jutting out his glass jaw, as he is wont to do whenever he is questioned or not speaking, the Invincible One was being interrupted as he has been interrupting others. Making his faces was not stopping the onslaught by the 105-pound weakling, throwing sand in the Boss’ face as in the old Charles Atlas comic book ads.
From the locker room, the battered boss put in the call to his old friend from across the river. Who better to even the score against the sweating upstart and the only Canadian-American to contest the Boss’ invincibility?
The Jersey brawler, the man who had put the kibosh on Rubio in the last debate before New Hampshire, the only man who could have stopped Trump Himself if he hadn’t thrown in the towel for himself after the first round!
Chris the Enforcer, the man whose political style was influenced by the boxing savvy of Two Ton Tony Galento of the Oranges, remembered as saying before his fight with Joe Louis he “coulda moida da bum.”
One Ton Christie was answering the call to pull the Donald’s cojones out of the fire. Killer Christie, a washed up presidential candidate was now being anointed as a game-changer by coming out of his tent, where he had been sulking since his defeat, to endorse the Boss. Why, the pundits were asking on Sunday morning intellectual ghetto talk shows?
Now I realize it was a tough decision for our governor to make. He was under a lot of mental anguish, suffering post-partum depression after an aborted presidential campaign, two or six years in the making. There were no ticker tape (or toilet paper) parades for the returning veteran of the political wars down the main streets of Camden or Newark, both of which he had proclaimed as “laboratories for conservative reforms.”
Simply returning to his daytime job as part-time governor in Trenton, he faced insurmountable problems restructuring the state’s troubled pension systems, replenishing the bankrupt transportation fund about to go bust in June. According to the latest mid February Rutgers-Eagleton Institute of Politics poll only 29% of the voters held a favorable view of his reign, an all-time low; the other 71 % could be seen outside his windows with flaming torches and pitch forks.
He had to do something to keep him busy away from the state, something humanitarian, good for society.
He had gone to our River Ganges, the Passaic, to purify his soul, climbed the highest mountain in the state, Hasbrouck Heights, to ask his guru what was the meaning of life: Was it a bowl of cherries or a double whopper at Wendy’s?
Crossing the Rubicon, or the Raritan, he finally had rolled the dice, endorsing Trump as the next President of the U.S., as they say.
Now I realize he was not signing on as a member of the Trump’s brain trust, since it doesn’t exist. All new proposals for making American great again come directly off the top of his hair, and that his only function might be as a hired hit man.
Still, folks in New Jersey are asking which part of Trump is he endorsing?
The part that is not disavowing support from David Dukes and the KKK?
The part that believes we can export 11 million undocumented, many of who are leading good lives in New Jersey. They couldn’t all fit into Gitmo, which his man does not want to close.
The part that lied about the President not being born in this country or is not a Christian?
The part that says he will treat the Israelis and Palestinians equally. He can make a deal with Hamas because he knows how to make deals. They trust him, even though he wants to ban all Muslims from our shores.
Admittedly, there is a lot to choose from in a man who is a bigot, a xenophobe, a pathological narcissist, politically schizophrenic, a misogynist, ethically and morally corrupt, a hypocrite, and a draft-dodging charlatan?
As I asked, what part of the man did His Heaviness endorse when deciding to throw his weight behind the front-runner?
Was it the part that we should vote for him because he was rich, a man who at the height of his fabulous career saw his empire being taken over by his bankers who gave him a $50,000 a month allowance, with a proviso he stay away from the office and not make any more deals?
Was it the man who virtually brought Atlantic City down with his bankruptcies? Why, people are asking, could anyone believe a man who could not run a casino could run a country?
Whatever, as we say, in Bergen County or wherever his few fans may be. We can nevertheless see how grateful the president-elect is when dismissing Christie over the weekend from the campaign trail with the words. “You’re done here. Get on the plane and go home.” Talk about respect for the great state of New Jersey!
There is another possible reason for our governor, Wide Load, casting his lot for the Trumpster, which I will be discussing as soon as I recover from Super Duper Stupor Tuesday.
(To be continued)
Feb. 29, 2016