Some while back , I heard the 45th occupant of our U.S. White House practices to perfect his angry demeanor. He is an actor, after all, and fancies that his loyal subjects like him to display anger, about everything, always, so it makes sense. No, I can’t prove this, so no need to ask. It does make sense, from his daily public demeanor. Luckily, I think, perhaps a third of Americans buy his general approach, but that is small consolation. He has the throne for now.
Today from a couple of directions from people who don’t know each other, an item from “an Aussie friend”, and another from a good friend in London-town, England. I present both, below, as received. You can take your pick as to whose piece was submitted by the Aussie, which by the Brit….
I am trading relatively friendly emails with a couple of Trump supporters & below is my reply to one who proclaimed the remarks by president Trump at Mount Rushmore as “an excellent speech, the best I have heard by an American president in a long time”.
The main thing according to Trump’s supporters is that for once he followed what he was told to say in that oh-so-much-better-than-Lincoln’s-Gettysburg-Address speech. There you go even his supporters have set the bar low enough such that he can pass muster! He is working on a new book – that will also be written for him of course, as the Mount Rushmore speech was – Mein Strumpf (that’s sock in his grandpa’s language, German, because the world can’t wait till he puts a sock in it).
& as I am sure you know, Strumpfs (Smurfs in the UK or Schtroumpfs in France) are blond & so white they are blue like the best diamonds & she is up for it, none of this LGBT or feminism stumff.
In the book he will lay down the 4-year plan to make, sorry keep, America great & they will all live happily ever after:
I am vastly entertained by the choice of sobriquets the other camp has chosen for me! However Joyce as usual can do better with language, e.g.:
“The delegation, present in full force, consisted of Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone . . . Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram. Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Señor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasium- museumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocentgeneralhistoryspecial- professordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein.”
Please note that Mynheer Trik van Trumps is actually in the original, prophetic eh? (James Joyce: Ulysses, Chapter 12: Cyclops) – I would replace Mynheer with Menhir to stress the phallic virility of El Presidente.
Obelix carrying a Menhir:
“Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?” Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response:
A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.
Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.
There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.
So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
- Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.
- You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.
And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish: ‘My God… what… have… I… created?’ If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.