Enjoy The Greatest Show On Earth - Only The Left Still Flummoxed By Donald Trump Cannot Bear To Watch

Anyone paying attention to the Trump rise to power knew that his presidency would not be one of quiet rectitude - a Jimmy Carter presidency of sweaters, good will, and fireside chats.  Nor would it be that of patrician, Kennebunkport, George Herbert Walker Bush, or any one of a number of 'presidential' presidents who had preceded him. 

He was a vaudevillian, a tummler, a  Borscht Belt comedian.  He was as raw and hilarious as Jackie Mason, Don Rickles, and Joan Rivers put together.  He was the master of the personal parody, the caricature, the takedown, the smear.  He was a one-man band, a stand-up comic, a master of ceremonies of a circus act. 

His Washington would not be the old, staid, wood-paneled, protocoled Robert's Rules of Order Washington.  More at home with the glitz and glamour of Las Vegas, its bright lights, sequins, tinsel, and runways, he would fashion the White House in that image.  He would take down the old traditional icons of American history, get rid of Chippendale, Townsend, and Reynolds and deck the halls with his images - starlets, American baroque, and all the glamour and fantastical expressions of contemporary culture he could find. 

 

No one expected Pablo Casals or Robert Frost, icons of the Kennedy Camelot years, artists of the old, forgotten generation, no Ronald Reagan and George Bush II brush clearing, back-forty cowboy grit, no FDR aristocratic patrimony, no Jefferson Monticello.  The Trump administration would be a departure, a break from the ossified traditions of the past.  His years would be not just populist but popular - American popular culture is what defines the nation not the Washington ballet or the New York City opera. 

He was not a compromiser, an across-the-aisle supplicant - he was a bullying, aggressive, no-holds-barred street fighter who made his bones in the dog-eat-dog world of New York real estate.  'So sue me', was his calling card.  Braggadocio, empty promises, wheedling, and canny back-door deals were his stock-in-trade.  There was nothing genteel or reserved about him.  

Trump has made good on all his promises - the White House ballroom, the Triumphal Arch, beautiful people - not the Jackie Kennedy Euro-dames but blonde, blue-eyed, peaches-and-cream beauties from Iowa, young women proud of their simple heritage, patriotic to the core, and with an unmistakable American enthusiasm. 

He and his staff have taken no prisoners.  When grilled by gotcha Democrats in Congressional hearings, they have tossed aside the old prayerbook, refused to genuflect, and have barked back retorts to their tormenters recalling their own smarmy ways, calling them out, refusing to sit back and toady to fools.  Trump's Press Secretary has shut up reporters with a summary 'Next', and the President himself has not hesitated to call opponents stupid.  

The Left has cried foul.  Trump is not acting presidential, they say.  Where is his sense of decency, respect, honor?  His arrogance and flippancy dishonor the office of the president.  His remaking of the White House in a meretricious, bourgeois style offends the spirit of the Founding Fathers.  His boorish, crude, barnyard behavior does a disservice to American exceptionalism and the righteousness of a nation of principle, responsibility, and good faith. 

His supporters, on the other hand, and most of America outside the liberal warrens of the coasts, cheer every takedown, every invocation of the real America. The WWF (World Wrestling Federation) will showcase its muscles and macho bravura at the White House, and nothing could be more Donald Trump.  Of course professional wrestling is fake, but what a show it is! Popular by any measure, and like stock car racing, very American.  

There are few scripted Trump presidential press conferences. Trump is the most accessible President in history, eager to answer shouted questions from reporter, turning the whole presidential scene into a marvelous three-ring circus. He is the ringmaster, but his spot-on caricatures of his political opponents - sharp, hilarious images, fit to a tee - are the stuff of Grossinger's comedy.  No one tunes in to the news to hear about his policy initiatives - they are clear, unequivocal, straightforward, and predictable - but for the show, the circus act.  What will he say next?

Everything he has done has been well within the margins of Constitutional government.  His deployment of federal troops to enforce the laws against illegal immigration and to halt the increase in inner city crime; his destruction of Iran's nuclear capacity; the current war against a murderous, terrorist Iranian regime, the removal of a brutal Venezuelan dictator, the opening up of oil and gas fields, the reversal of the corrosive social policies of the Left all are the other half of the show.  

Yet, the American Left cannot help themselves and conflate the two.  They attack Trump for his behavior and for their own unhinged, fantastical assumptions about him - a king in waiting, a tyrant, a dictator, a homophobic racist - not his policies.  Their hate has metastasized to the point where it has become viral, epidemic, with a life of its own.  

The Trump circus cannot be the exciting, anticipated extravaganza it is without the clown show of the Left.  They are the perfect foils, the dupes, the fools which make it fun to watch Trump's lashing of them. Everything Trump does is designed to enrage the Left to apoplexy.  Yes, a new White House ballroom is long overdue, but such a showy, glitzy bourgeois creation?  The Kennedy Center, home of opera, symphony, and ballet was also showing its age, but the planned Trump renovation, like the ballroom, was designed to madden his outraged opponents. 

The Great Washington soap opera would be nothing but reruns if it weren't for the likes of AOC, the Squad, Pocahontas, Chuckie Schumer, and the felines of Congress.  The Left is a caricature of leadership, a feral pack of scavengers, a hysterical mob claiming legitimacy.  Gender choice and reassignment? White supremacy? Homophobia? All fictions, balmy assumptions, a priori conclusions, nonsense and bad taste.  Americans get it, see it, dismiss it, and are glad that progressivism has been outed for the sham that it is. 

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas said it best: 

Progressivism seeks to replace the basic premises of the Declaration of Independence, and hence our form of government. It holds that our rights and our dignities come not from God, but from the government. It requires of the people a subservience and weakness incompatible with a Constitution premised on the transcendent origin of our rights.

 

That's being polite.  What is on display is 'a romp of the addled' - a St. Vitus' dance of the obsessed, a ship of fools, a freak show.  It may come to pass that the  sage wisdom and historical understanding of Thomas and the wild crew of Donald Trump will finally come together in a perfect storm to eradicate the virus; but for the time being, the circus doesn't come around that often, so enjoy it while you can. 

Donald Trump And The Second Coming - No Kings Missed The Point, It's King Of Kings We Need To Worry About

Donald Trump posted a picture of himself as Jesus Christ curing the sick in a hilarious retort to Pope Leo XIV who criticized the President for his war in Iran.  

Of course the liberal press went apoplectic over the image.  How could he? Sacrilege’, they shouted. ‘Hateful…disgraceful!’ but of course these Gideon's trumpets were far out of tune.  

The Pope had conveniently forgotten the Iranian regime's slaughter of 30,000 peaceful protestors gunned down in the streets demanding the end of fifty years of oppressive theocracy. 

That was only the first twig of the Pope's ignorance as he also forgot the Allies' defeat of Naziism, the militant march across Germany, and liberation of thousands of Jewish internees in the camps, the Crusades led by Pope Urban I and his successors to forcibly evict usurping Muslims from Jerusalem, or the countless other wars initiated by the Vatican in the days of its geopolitical power.

Perhaps most telling of all was his omission of the Biblical history of the Jews - a violent overthrow of Pharoah, and the march of Moses' armies from Egypt to Jericho and the final, victorious battle over the Canaanites. 

Even Catholic intellectual and an early Church father, Thomas Aquinas, admitted there was such a thing as a just war, morally imperative, geopolitically sound, and inevitable. Aquinas, in his Summa Theologica, laid out the moral conditions under which war could be just. His framework remains foundational to modern just war theory.

In order for a war to be just, three things are necessary.  First, the authority of the sovereign by whose command the war is to be waged.  Second, a just cause.  Third, a rightful intention. 

 

The war against the Nazis clearly meets all Aquinas' criteria as does the fight against Imperial Japan, but using the same philosophical rubric, so does the war against Iran.  The mullahs, like Hitler, declared war against the Jews and issued a call for the elimination of Israel.  Israel's war against Iran's clients, Hamas and Hezbollah was justified because of this existential threat.  

Israel’s partnership with the United States in a war to destroy the patron of such threats and to rid the region and the world of a terrorist regime determined to establish Islamic hegemony by force of arms, certainly falls within the ambit of Aquinas' reasoning. 

Anyone who has been following Donald Trump knows that the man is not your grandfather's president.  He is a tummler, a vaudevillian, a master of ceremonies of a three-ring circus, an untamed, unrepentant Borscht Belt comedian. 

Trump could have simply responded to the Pope's ignorance with a carefully-worded statement of disagreement, but he, typically and not surprisingly, posted a hilarious image of himself as Jesus Christ curing the sick, a sendup of the whole idea of the divine right of popes and their direct lineage to Christ himself.  

The image was reminiscent of the best political cartoons of Thomas Nast and Tom Toles - excoriatingly honest, brutal and hilarious depictions of American presidents.  Making leaders look ridiculous was their stock in trade.

This of course was not the first time Trump went after the Pope, and this image of him on the papal throne had the same reaction among the injured, offended Left. 

The Left simply does not get Trump and never will.  Already apoplectic about the President, ICE, the opening of oil fields, the trashing of race, gender, and inclusivity, and the attacks on Venezuela and Iran, liberals literally choked on this latest expression from what they see as an idiot, a boor, a political miscreant, and the Devil. 

Now, with the publication of the Trump-as-Christ image, American progressives realize they have a problem far more serious than No Kings to deal with.  Trump now believes himself to be a divine savior.  

The cartoon is not just Trump being Trump, liberals say, but an expression of his descent into complete and utter schizophrenia. He is not just alluding to his divine calling, he is taking the place of Christ, decommissioning him, relegating him and his Vatican chiefs to the  bottom shelf.

Donald Trump believes he is doing more to create a world of peace, harmony, and good will than Jesus ever did.  Jesus was a man of great promises but who never delivered.  He would. 

'He must go now!, spluttered one speaker after another before the gates of the White House, raising their fists in righteous anger.  This insult, this barbaric assault on a good man cannot stand.  The President, already convinced of his innate regal authority, is  now claiming divine right.  If there were ever a reason to believe his is off his rocker, this is it.  

The howling misery, boiling anger, bilious hatred against ICE and the man who deployed them was nothing compared to this.  Progressives' worst fear was coming true.  The man was possessed, psychotic, and completely unhinged.  

Wailing at an Italian wake was nothing compared to the caterwauling cries on neighborhood streetcorners, from the pulpits of normally quietly liberal churches, on college campuses, and on the National Mall.  

Nothing has energized the Left, feeling more and more marginalized and ridiculed as the fancy clothes of its queer agenda and renascent socialism came off, than this. 'See, we told you', said women who had still not gotten over the defeat of Kamala Harris, the Left's own divine one. 

Never before in American political history has their been such animus, such ad hominem hatred, such belief in the demonic possession of a president than with Donald Trump.  Policy, programs, political philosophy, geopolitical gamesmanship have all been overlooked in the miasma of feral attacks leveled at the President. This was the final straw. 

But it was the Left that was made to look ridiculous.  Most Americans knows that Trump is a showman, a comedian, an Eddie Murphy Raw performer, a Jackie Mason in spades, a hilarious man without a scintilla of political correctness, a crude, expletive-spouting hero; and the Left's apoplexy looked like the insane St. Vitus' dancers, hopping around in a crazy, demented, mad Virginia reel. 

It's not who can take Trump seriously.  It's who can take the Left seriously. The Congressional side show of Schumer, AOC, Elizabeth Warren, Cory Booker and their shills is just for openers.  Their crazed gotchas, wild stump speeches, and unhinged viral hysteria has spread.

Normally well-adjusted burghers, happy in house and home, politically engaged but never outlandish, have become whirling dervishes. 

The circus comes around only every so often, and no Barnum & Bailey big top can possibly match what is going on in Washington right now.  It's worth the price of admission and then some.  No need to spend money to see two-headed babies and bearded ladies.  No entry fee is required to see a freak show par excellence.  Schumer et al are providing all the freaky Fridays you will ever need. 

Trump as Jesus? Sure, why not.  Nothing the Left has thrown at Trump in ten years has stuck, but that has not dampened their enthusiasm.  'We must...we have to...we're bound and determined to...', but those intentions are just whistlin' Dixie. 

The Straits Of Hormuz, Isn't That Homophobic? - The Last Circus Act In The Gender Big Top

In a hilarious send-up, an eager young woman is asked if she doesn't think the term 'The Straits of Hormuz' is homophobic. 'Why isn't it called The Gays of Hormuz'.  She enthusiastically agrees. 

When the President was told of the interview, he laughed and said, 'You never know what you'll find under those burqas' which of course set off the usual caterwauling of LGBTQ+ lesbians who seem to be the ones who most defiantly take up the cudgel of gay rights. 

 

Billie-Ann Fitch, spokesperson for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance, had this to say: 'Typical of the man - and I use that term loosely for a closeted gay homophobe who sucks dick in the Oval Office'.  She continued her thought in a rant quoted in full in the queer press.   

The irony of the circle was completely lost on her - a joke, a put-on, gotcha fake news doubled down by the President then taken seriously by 'Billie La Douce', a Bernal Heights butch nickname for her 'lubricious delights'.  Eating out was never such a pleasure, said her protege, associate and speech writer who had come with her to Washington and who had penned her lover's screed.  

The send-up clip and the President's response went viral. In one fell swoop Trump had ridiculed the bagged ladies of Tehran, the idiots who had bought the social media charade, and took a swipe at the whole LGBTQ+ thing.  'Did you mean to disrespect the freely-held views of the gay community?', asked the reporter from CNN at the President's press conference. 

'Disrespect?' he replied.  'No, I respect everyone's opinions, even those which are horseshit'.  The briefing room went quiet.  Now, that was going overboard even for a president who was increasingly using foul language in public utterances, and after a moment of stunned silence, the room erupted.  Reporters blurted incoherent questions, some left the room to file, but many, used to the President's Grossinger's shtick, clapped. 

 

The whole fantastical gender jamboree was finally outed for the clown show it was.  The parade of twisted sisters was finally closed down.  Not even New Orleans Mardi Gras organizers wanted any more of it and shut down the entire gay flotilla for 2027.  The San Francisco Bay-to-Breakers gay 'parade to the sea' was no more, as was the S&M Folsom Street fair. 

Axel Phipps took a last swallow of his beer, hitched his overalls, and waved so long to his afternoon drinking buddies at Ernie's of Greenwood, Mississippi and walked out into the hot summer sun. The cab of his truck was baking, the Mars bar he had left on the dashboard had melted and dripped all the way to the console, and it felt like his pack of Camels would light themselves. 

But Axel was a happy man.  His man in the White House was once again telling it like it is, ridiculing the perverts claiming space in his Nation's Capital, subversives all, political vermin, traitors, and anarchists. Finally and at long last the President was making good on his promise to drain the swamp, set the country on is originalist course, and restore family values. 

'Nothing against them', Axel said, 'as long as they stay out of my pants'.  No fear of that, he mused as he waited for the AC to kick in.  He never had had a sexually seditious thought, never once even wondered what it would be like, sucking some guy's cock and....Here he shook his head to perish the thought. 

God forbid, he said; but he had never until this moment thought of his foreman Brad Loughlin, 'queer as a three-dollar bill' that way.  Good worker, that Brad, never complained, quiet, reserved, none of this swishy stuff you see on television.  

Axel had nothing at gays per se. It was only this Sodom and Gomorrah cavalcade that upset him, this unholy aggressiveness, these demands to strut and pout and call it mainstream which made his blood boil. 

 

Axel had an ally half-way across the country in Chevy Chase, Maryland, a wealthy suburb of Washington, uniformly and universally progressive.  Every other home had a Hate Has No Home Here lawn sign, residents had loudly outed COVID deniers, maskless truants who mindlessly infected others; and were in solidarity with the progressive agenda. They were Trump haters to a man, locked arms in unison in marches for democracy and an end to autocracy, shared their anger and hate with neighbors, and were active in the PTA to assure diversity, equity, and inclusivity. 

Vicki Chalmers was one of the most ardent, active promoters of the liberal canon, and had marched for abortion, the climate, the black man, and most recently the gay, lesbian, and transgender community. She, however, had balked at her elementary school's invitation of a transgender woman, formerly a Brooklyn dockworker, to read to the kindergarten class.  The book 'Love Is Like A Garden' was a story of 'love in all its shapes and sizes'.  It was a story of Robert and Peter who swung on the swings together, took walks in the woods, and - this was the part that alerted Vicki - shared kisses 'under the maple tree'. 

'What's happening to me?', she asked herself at the PTA meeting where parents applauded the school's decision to diversify and become more inclusive but she bridled.  The....thing...that was the only thought that came into her mind, horrible as it was...should never set foot in a classroom. His...or should I say her outfit was as tarted up as could be, all spangles and rouge, dangly earrings, and costume jewelry.  He barked his thank you and welcome introduction, and when he stood up he dwarfed Mrs. Hayes, the principal, and her associate teachers. 

'The Gays of Hormuz', that now famous, viral meme, popped into her head.  The whole ridiculousness of the enterprise, the flogging of gayness, the sacrificial mass to transgenderism, the outrageous pomp and circumstance of a confected sexual fantasy suddenly hit home.  Enough is enough, she said. 

Mississippi Axel and Chevy Chase Vicki might well be seeing the last of the sexual circus, the 'horseshit' so aptly named by the President, the badgering, hectoring, hammering insistence on a sexual inclusivity which was nothing more than a Barnum & Bailey side show.  Let homosexuals fold back into the body politic where they have always peacefully resided. Discrimination against them has increased, not decreased in the progressive era of outing every impossible sexual permutation.  Most people took no notice of the gay pharmacist on Main Street, but now conflated him with the flaming queers on Bay-to-Breakers floats. His interests were disserved, his personal integrity shamed. 

Vicki would of course never vote for Donald Trump in a million years, but she had to admit, privately of course, that he was right in one - the gay cavalcade was over the top, baroque and rococo, and in its twisted excesses. ridiculous. 

Could she be a one issue voter and change her political allegiance?  Was this one definitive, principled stance by the President the turning point?  Perhaps, and she dared not think which lever she would pull in 2028. 

Such is the bully pulpit - the innate power of the Presidency.  All it takes is one dismissive, categorical send-up of something obviously ridiculous for every American to nod in agreement. When woke was the meme, the ethos of the previous administration, the gay thing was take as gospel, never questioned, received wisdom, but it only took Trump's 'horseshit' to clear the air, to send the whole ridiculous kit-and-kaboodle packing.