It’s happening. It’s actually happening. Barring intervention by the Hand of God, Donald Trump is going to be the Republican nominee. When he announced his candidacy last June to a room full of paid actors, I happily joined the sneering choir of elites, scoffing and haw-hawing The Donald off as a schmucky bag of gas; but here we are, less than a week away from Super Tuesday, and Trump is slaying it. He’s won his last three straight. His bitch slapping of Cruz and Rubio in Nevada today just cements his position as the GOP’s Anointed One, to the horror of the party’s kingmakers. His trajectory must be a slow-motion nightmare in their eyes, like looped footage of the space shuttle Challenger disaster. He’s hijacked their plane and is dead set on rocketing it straight into the Twin Towers of the Republican establishment.
Anyone who has talked to me or reads my screeds knows that I despise Donald Trump. He’s a vile entity, perhaps the worst person in America. He was born loaded and has shat upon and fingerfucked everyone in the room in his frenzied quest for billions. He looks like a bloated orangutan’s tumor-filled scrotum. His hair is radioactive cotton candy spun out of cat piss. His mouth is a spasmodic sphincter that threatens to birth glistening turds at any moment. I never get tired of inventing new ways to express my disgust for the man. I’ve repeatedly hissed and spat on Facebook about him and his supporters. Once, in the throes of a 4am Stella-induced delirium, I even penned a venemous poem. He is my Hate Muse.
As detestable as he is, I have to give The Donald some credit for making this year’s primary season one for the annuls. He is, of course, the consummate showman, and like so many others, I have cooked up and mainlined every Trump-related story dealt my way. Sometimes I’ve fumed and sometimes I’ve guffawed, but like Depeche Mode’s big 80’s hit, I just can’t get enough. The fact that he’s actually a viable candidate fascinates me: I am forced to pinch myself every time I take in his sneering, megalomaniac mug. Moreover, the fact that some of the dumbest people in America not only cheerlead his demagogic hokum, but trample over each other just to get a chance to grovel and fawn in glow of his egonova, has been nothing but fishhooks to my eyeballs. Who are these people? Can’t they see through the obvious peddling of hate-pablum, snake oil, and naked self-promotion? His insincerity is elementally obvious to me and anyone else with a brain thicker than their tongue, yet he now has a fevered army of supporters. Surely they can’t all be weapons-grade morons. I am told that otherwise reasonable people are putting their (most likely considerable) weight behind him. Belief is very much begged. Is there hypnotism afoot? Black magic?
Okay. Let’s give His Orangeness some credit where credit is due: he has played both the media and the Drooler Brigade with the deftness of a master. Every move he makes is a headline. Every utterance out of his epileptic side mouth is shot around the net and amplified ad infinitum and guess what? Sane people scratch their heads in wonderment, dread, and despair, while Goobernation gobbles it up like a load of bulimic crocodiles. And lest you think think that such a simile is a rhetorical stretch, consider the fact that Trump really is appealing to the reptilian brain.
As legions of others have pointed out, Trump is of course playing straight to the dark emotions and insecurities of a white America that sees the tide of its supremacy ebbing. They’re scared, because now they actually have to compete with whole segments of the population that were previously shut out of the gig, not just nationally, but on a global scale. Trump fingers that sweet spot in the amygdala that gets the adrenaline coursing, and the more he presses, the harder they foam. How many times has Trump puked forth some outrageous bile, only to see his poll numbers soar? Pundits across the spectrum (including me) have repeatedly declared him toast, while the hoopleheads clapped and clamored and extolled him for his lack of “political correctness.” The more rancid meat he chucks forth, the more roaches crawl to the feed.
Most anyone watching the show has long since ceased to predict Trump’s implosion. What was thought was his self-destructive destiny has proven to be quite evitable. He has outlived the prognostications of any political soothsayers, and there are reasons for it.
He’s not scripted. He’s often funny–a master troll–as proven in the last GOP debate where he reduced Jeb Bush to a seething, laughable nub. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d feel SORRY for a member of the Bush clan, but hey, it happened. And like Bernie, he’s not beholden any big moneyed interests (other than his own). People recognize just how corrupt our system is, though I doubt a President Trump would do a thing to change that, since corruption has undoubtedly enabled him to ascend the ladder of wealth and power.
Let us also not forget that Trump has taken some positions that have previously been anathema to the GOP, such as raising the tax on the uber-rich, and publicly repudiating George W. Bush’s invasion of Iraq. The latter nearly made me LIKE him, if only for the fact that it took serious balls, especially on the debate dais just days before the primary in South Carolina, arguably the most hawkish state in the Union.
That said, Donald Trump would be a catastrophe for America and the world. He is an obvious narcissist who could start lobbing missiles on the grounds of a perceived personal slight. He has nearly zero grasp of the issues and only seems to be running to make his pencil eraser of a dick semi-hard.
Despite the howling fervor of his supporters, more Republican primary voters are punching the ballot against him than for him. Whether it’s Hillary or Bernie come the fall (and it looks like Hillary), Trump will get buried Goldwater style. You can’t win an American election by writing off 90 percent of the nonwhite vote, and as awful and dumbed-downed as our country may be, I still believe there are more sane people than not. They just need to vote.
In the meantime, I’ll continue to watch with glee as he crashes the GOP presidential plane into the side of their building. For the past several decades the power brokers of the party have won elections by stoking the coals of bigotry. They have continually poured poison into the septic tank of their base and percolated it accordingly. This fetid brew has finally boiled over. The mob is armed with pitchforks and has a leader who relishes in lathering them up for his own self-congratulatory stroke sessions. Good luck with that, ye mountain of fucks.
The rest of us will just enjoy the movie while inhaling pure hits of Shadenfreude. You got the fire? We got the marshmallows.