Mr. Charlie Empties His Mind

Likely a great many Donald Trump supporters are furious at the furor raised by their candidate’s long-ago intemperate remarks concerning the mating rituals of rich and crass males.

The rest of us are pleased seeing Mr. Free Association’s verbosity hoisting him by his balls. Also nice to hear his lack of impulse control isn’t a recent development.

When the would-be American Nero spies a woman who or what does he see? It’s a question that should’ve been asked throughout his campaign. Now that his disdain of women has emerged so graphically, it demands answering.

Obviously Der Trump appreciates feminine beauty. Well, at least the vessels containing it. Don’t his utterances across the years show he devalues what’s inside, the person occupying the core?

He’s certainly conflicted about women. He loves draping himself in them yet regards their function as base. For a man entering his eighth decade, Der Trump’s estimation of the fairer sex remains that of a severely damaged juvenile.

Understandably Der Trump’s piglets ask the relevance today of 11-year-old utterances. Two words shall suffice: Bill Cosby.

If the Cos can be pilloried, indicted, tried, found guilty, and sentenced in the court of public opinion from hazy, nearly half century distant allegations, then Der Trump has earned harsher judgment via actual evidence from his own flapping yap.

Nonetheless Der Trump’s piglets probably see the all-evil media as the main culprits who’ve driven this swine deeper in the swill. The short-fingered vulgarian remained true to his form. Stand-up as never, the mook blamed the Clintons then doubled-down on absence of accountability by claiming he’d heard Bill say far worse on the links.

Perhaps the former president has.

Guy’s guy as Der Trump enjoys portraying himself, shouldn’t he of all faking it Alpha Males own this? Let us agree golf courses, clubhouses, locker rooms, lodges, other redoubts absent women, are men’s preserves. Unless what occurs inside is abjectly criminal, what passes in them are only to circulate among those having been present.

This stricture is the main block of the unwritten yet sacrosanct male code.

Despite his having written a bestselling book and reaping wide fame from it, one-time Yankees pitcher Jim Bouton was for the longest a baseball pariah. By blabbing about shenanigans within the clubhouse he’d rightly forfeited players’ trust and respect.

Der Trump made patently offensive remarks. Not as an entertainer who animated a character by slipping on its mantle for a recognized performance, a la, say, Redd Foxx, but after finding his conversation partner kindred in spirit, felt no compunction against opening up the inner jumble of his self.

Had Der Trump made these remarks in a male sanctum, there may’ve been discomfort among some listeners but the disgust would’ve remained buried. Had someone present then spilled them outside that door he could’ve claimed injury but the deserved mortification never might’ve lessened.

But alas. The pig spoke them on a sound stage. Neither man saw any of the room’s microphones? A location that shares greater vulnerability than parks, sidewalks, or riding in public transportation – only fools assume privacy extends to them.

If Der Trump was blind to such clear hazards as looming microphones and unblinking camera lenses how can Americans see him fit for our presidency? After all, more dangerous menaces continually lurk less conspicuously on the periphery.

Intelligent as he claims himself, Der Trump made a bad assumption. He presumed privacy despite the people swirling around him and the profusion of recording devices inherent in a studio. His was a blithe lapse.

We can only presume reasonable expectations of privacy in our own homes, forget about beyond them. Although with technology leaping and bounding as it is, and propriety waning, how soon until our addresses no longer even offer this measure?

Rampage as progress does, are the days numbered when unexpressed or deepest suppressed thoughts can solely remain our own?

Especially the crudest ones which completely disrobe and leave us utterly bare-ass naked?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *