At the end of last night’s GOP debate, Donald Trump pointed to Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz, who were each on one side of him and declared that the difference between them and himself was that they were “politicians” and he isn’t.
Well, we have a bit of bad news for Trump: the moment he declared himself a candidate in the race for the GOP nomination for President of the United States, he became a politician. Businessman though he may be, Trump has involved himself in “the competition between groups or individuals for power and leadership” in government.
The fact that Cruz and Rubio have never hired anyone in no way makes them less eligible to hold the office of President of the United States. In fact, it has nothing to do with. Trump was simply trying to divert attention away from an argument with Rubio which he was losing.
Last night was the most entertaining of all the debates. Rubio took on the heavyweight champion of business, Donald T. Trump, attacking him and laying it on, not letting Trump get oxygen, i.e., not letting him get a word in edgewise, to use the old cliché. Rubio just kept hammering and hammering.
The best Trump could come up with was a sleazy, vulgar insult, dismissing Rubio as a “choker.” Rubio was finally silenced, looking at Trump blankly, as he probably didn’t know what the term meant, being a gentleman. I’m not well-versed in sleaze myself, but I recognize a vulgar term when I hear one, even if I don’t know its precise meaning.
As Trump chuckled nastily and his supporters joined him in laughing at the inside joke, I guessed it was some sort of street term. And so it was, I discovered this morning, after consulting the online, vulgar Slang (or Urban Terms) Dictionary:
- a term relating to the elasticity of the female organ.
Disgusting, isn’t it? There’s plenty more where that came from. There are 144 web pages of this stuff under the letter “C” alone. “Choke” is also slang for pot, but I would guess Trump was referring to the derogatory definition above.
Cruz is too much of a gentleman, probably, to even consult this dictionary. However, it’s always a good idea to at least know the definition of the word with which you’re being slandered. There are some less disgusting terms which Rubio could employ, such as “I bagged on Trump last night!” Made fun of him.
Or if he really wants to incomprehensibly disgusting, he could say, “Trump is such a bawbag,” which means moron and, well, something else. Or there’s “BOF” meaning “Boring Old F—t” or “BOOF” meaning “Burned Out etc.”
I won’t waste your time with any more of this filthy language; you get the idea.
If I were running for office against this man, I’d take on his New York attitude (incidentally, Mr. New Jersey Attitude – Chris Christie – has just endorsed Trump). New York-born Conservatives can get away with it.
Just as Ted’s father and Rubio’s parents were from Cuba, my parents were from the Bronx. They were certainly not the type of people to use street language. But they knew the language and knew about street fighting.
Mom especially. If you were to use street lingo, to Bronx-born Mom, Trump would just be a sleaze-drooling poser from Queens. A Queens boy. How sweet. Tough Guy Trump’s mama probably made his lunch for him every day and made sure he had a nice clean hanky when he went to school.
My great-grandmother’s house in the Bronx, the last time we saw it, back in the Sixties, had barbed wire around it. Not that it looked that way in the Great Depression. The Edenwald section of the Bronx was a respectable neighborhood of Scandinavian immigrants who swept not only their sidewalks but their sections of the street every morning.
Still, Edenwald was not immune to toughness even then, close as it as to the city line with Mount Vernon, where my older brother was born. Dad, on the other hand, lived in the Riverdale section of the Bronx, just north of the island of Manhattan. Both communities had their problems with crime, though they weren’t yet overwhelmed.
My parents both talked tough, though never using vulgarity or profanity. But they were both quick on the comeback and never hesitated to respond to an attack.
Trump is quick with the vulgarities, but he doesn’t really think well on his feet. Rubio proved that last night. He only used that type of response when trying to escape an argument which he was losing and actually made him look weak from Bronx point-of-view.
Trump can posture all he wants, but he lost the streetfight to Rubio big time. That’s not to say he didn’t get his licks in, but Rubio really smacked him down.
“I’ve hired people and you haven’t.” Seriously, Trump? “Well, nyah, nyah nyah-nyah nyah-nyah to you, too!”
“I’m more popular than you are!” (to Cruz). No, he doesn’t have any friends in the Senate, Trump. That’s why we like him. You have friends in the Senate because you bought them. Speaking of money, you sure fumbled on your tax bills. How many was it again?
Crossing the state lines. Rubio made a monkey of you on that one, Mr. Trump. Not because it was an especially great come-back, but because you were obviously ignorant on the matter yourself, whereas Rubio, had he wished to, could have schooled you on the various names the legislation has borne. I’m ashamed to admit, former insurance company employee that I am, that I can’t remember it myself. But I do know that our Congressman warned our executives against it.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he advised; “you may get it and regret it.”
Trump makes himself out to be tough, with his gutter talk. But while he was winging his way to Atlantic City on his private jet, and from the airport to his casino in his posh limo, my Bronx-born Mom was navigating a 45-long bus down the Garden State Parkway in all sorts of weather.
Do you think Trump could put a set of chains on the wheels of a bus in the midst of a snowstorm? Could he keep a bus from hydroplaning? Could he steer a bus that had a front tire blow out or brakes fail on a snowy mountain road?
On the way back from Atlantic City, some punks threw a chunk of asphalt through her front window, blinding a passenger. Could Trump have picked up that passenger’s eye from the aisle of the bus to save it for the police? Not on your life.
There’s nothing tough about Queens. Brooklyn is nastier and mouthier. Manhattan? Its brand of nastiness lies in its snobbery. Staten Island? They’re just New Jerseyans who lost a yacht race. But if you want real-life tough, the Bronx will give it back to you – and your mother, too.
Trump must have been more unnerved than he’s willing to admit if he’s had to call on the aid of Chris Christie. Christie, a prosecuting attorney, can go one-on-one, slice you and dice you and serve you up as hamburger to the Media. If you let him. He’s used to intimidating defendants and witnesses (size does matter in those cases). If you remember that you’re not a criminal on trial, you can give it back to him. He has to put those size 54 pants on one leg at a time, just like anyone else.
Keep in mind that he’s only Trump’s messenger-boy, now. You’ll think that, well, I can’t hit at Christie because he’s not actually running. Yet he’s delivering the insults like a professional insult comic (he clearly missed his calling).
Just keep aiming at your target. The first joke is that he’s had to call on Christie, the heavyweight champion of snarcasm. The second joke is that no matter how good Christie is, Trump can’t use Christie’s thumb on Twitter. Trump can’t use Christie as his stand-in in the next debate. He’s on his own.
Perception is reality? The reality is that one bully is going to hide behind another.
Shouldn’t we, or rather Trump’s supporters, be asking if this is really what we want in a President of the United States – a foul-mouthed, crude, vulgar, flip-flopping, politician-buying, arrogant bully? We may think this is the kind of person we want to represent us in the United Nations, in Iran, in North Korea, in Mexico.
But the polls say that we’re cheering, not cringing. We’re forgetting that he’s not a superhero; he’s a politician, now, just like the rest of them.
(The literacy level of this post is Sixth Grade).