“…and Florida…we love Florida! And Tennessee! And Ohio, we’re beating the Governor there! And Michigan, they love us there! The whole thing, it’s just….and we love Nevada! We won with the young! We won with the old! We won with the highly educated. We won with the poorly educated. I love the poorly educated! We’re the smartest people and we’re the most loyal people! It’s going to be an amazing two months! We might not need the two months! We’re not going to be the people who are pushed around anymore…”
Yes. It’s happening. With a greater ease and dispatch than anyone thought. Trump is upon us, glad and big.
Mexico will build the wall. It’s gonna happen. They know it. You know it. We all know it. We have a trade deficit with Mexico. They will pay for it. We will be proud of our country again. We will Win Win Win. We will love winning.
Winning is a lovely sentiment. It would help a bit if the phrase hadn’t been trademarked by a guy with a straw permanently welded to his nostril and a call girl young enough to be his daughter under each arm.
Maybe there’s just something about banging hot chicks that lends itself to joyous megalomania. One watches Trump addressing the arena and cant help but think prophetic literature has overtaken life and Willie Stark has, Pygmalion-like, been made flesh.
I have three observations:
a) people want a functioning border wall to the United States.
b) they hate the Establishment media in this country, and the prevailing ethos of political correctness which forecloses discussion of the above, among many, many other things.
c) people are hungry for an unapologetic American nationalism, and are willing to cheer for a very flawed man who is willing to stand up to (B) on behalf of (A).
All the old arguments and creeds have been snatched away by the gale force winds of these ignored truths. Sometimes it’s just that simple.
This is an Altar Call for the Forgotten Man.
Mrs. UpintheValley and I were in West Hollywood last week, at uber-trendy Gracias Madre, and Trump was being discussed at the adjoining table in favorable terms. In WeHo! The man’s female dinner companion remained skeptical. “He’s gonna get something blown up somewhere, somehow, with that mouth of his…”
Mrs. U, reliably sensible in matters political, vows never to give her vote to a “blustering bully who speaks dismissively of other people”. In absence of a champion for good manners, she hopes for a well-chosen running mate, followed by a fortuitous assassination.
Willie Stark, again.
I think I’ll have another beer.