My Trump, Right or Wrong
At the risk of disappointing my readers, and losing circulation, today I am announcing a major change in editorial policy.
I am taking the Trumpocratic Oath and pledging to no longer cover Trumpismo, and every word that comes out of the mouth of the movement’s founding father, El Donald, as if el Jefe’s rise in American politics is the most important contribution to western civilization since the invention of sliced bread. And I suggest my colleagues in the media also take the pledge.
I feel bad about what’s happening to my political party, the party of Lincoln, Roosevelt and Donald Trump. It’s now on the endangered species list, and in danger of extinction, if something isn’t done to stop the Monster Trumpivorius from eating the GOP for lunch.
It’s my fault. For the last six weeks or so, I have been picking on numero uno, regaling my 1,245,000 readers (circulation figures unaudited by ABC) with satirical barbs aimed at bringing the monster down. We all know satire in the time of the Weimar Republic is what stopped Hitler.
My colleagues in the media have been using their own ways of dealing with what is becoming a national crisis for lovers of the two party system, my favorite kind.
Every time I tune into TV news show these days there is Trump launching another bizarre trial balloon. It’s almost as if he is a hologram who can make the rounds without even taking off his hat. Over-coverage is not working, either.
Now I know some people say I have failed to grasp the significance of Trumpismo. El Donald is the future of the Republican Party.
He is the candidate of the millennials, I am told, the candidate of the businessmen, the candidate of everybody who dreams of becoming a billionaire, who dreams of their father giving them $25 million on graduating from college, saying “See what you can done with it, son.” He is the businessman who can have three bankruptcies staring him in the face, laugh at them, and carry on as if credit scores mean nothing.
He is also the candidate of the people who want to open up the window and yell, “I am mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore.”
In 1970–71, in “Nixon Agonistes,” Gary Wills called George Wallace “America’s chance to scream in the dark.” Trump is our Howard Beale, our screamer. “He’s a perpetual tantrum,” explained historian R. B. Bernstein, author of “The Founding Fathers, “Tocqueville would weep and the founding guys would swear and chew the carpet if they could they see him in action.”
The major plank in Trump’s campaign platform is Vote for me because I am rich.” It’s the most inspirational economics program since Thomas Riley Marshall, serving as Vice President in the Woodrow Wilson administration of 1912, listening to candidate speeches’ promising to make America better, observed, “What this country needs is a really good five cent cigar.”
Trump’s blowing smoking about his being rich because he is so smart and went to Wharton never fooled me. Not because of those three bankruptcies; that could happen to anybody. It’s those 16 business ventures that went belly up: Trump Airlines, Trump Vodka, Trump: the game, Trump Magazine, Trump Steaks, Trump University, Trump Mortgage, Go: Trump, to name a few at random. What he could do with an open account at the U.S. Treasury is really scary.
No matter how absurd his proposals for making America great again, such as taking babies out of maternity wards and shipping them back to where they came from—his poll numbers keep rising. Getting 30% is being hailed by some of the more mathematically acute pundits as awesome. Do the math!
Let’s see, 40% of the electorate that can be counted on to vote Republican no matter what loser is running, plus 30 % in that poll…I better check this on my abacus… but it sounds like a losing number.
What we are seeing now in the Republican Party is a demonstration of what happens when the lunatics run the asylum. It’s enough to make a granite face on Mt. Rushmore weep.
If that’s the way the Party is going, all I can say is vaya con dios. They can’t count on me picking on their presumptive President –elect.
So what if Senor numero uno destroys the Party. Out of the ashes, as they used to say, will rise a Phoenix. Or at least a Tucson.
Taking the Trumpocratic Oath, I am leaving the rest of the rise and fall of Emperor Donald the First, pardon the mixing of metaphors, to the poli sci grad students who will make sense of it all in their dissertations in the 22nd Century. In the meanwhile, if it’s any comfort, it must have been like this in the last days of the Roman Empire.
August 27, 2015