David Weiss is a Los Angeles-based freelancer who grew up in Oak Park. He has written for Newsweek, the LA Herald Examiner and Men’s Journal and co-founded the band Was (Not Was).
By David Weiss
No wonder my blood pressure pills aren’t working. All week I knew I would go without two precious hours of Labor Day weekend listening to Donald Trump’s first rally since he was accused of running a Top Secret souvenir shop. from his home in Palm Beach, Florida. Love letters from Kim Jong Un, fake Time magazine covers and salacious details about Emmanuel Macron’s “naughty” sex life – as if you’d expect anything less from a real French politician! Macron a crazy? What a surprise !
I’d like to say I’m watching a Trump rally, so you don’t need to, but that would be a lie. I drop onto the couch with a cocktail and cashews at arm’s length, ready to be disgusted and depressed, but mostly amused beyond measure. I’ve always thought that politicians differ from comedians only in that they make “serious” material delivered with a straight face instead of a sardonic smile. But our beloved chief curio salesman is a deadly variant/hybrid of the genre said to have emerged from a biohazard lab in Queens, not Wuhan. Call him Donald Dangerfield.
Without “disrespect” intended for Rodney, who invited derision and pity for the deplorable state of his family life, his sex life, his body image – you name it. These lines from Dangerfield fit The Orange One: “My psychiatrist told me I was crazy and I said I wanted a second opinion,” said one such bead. “He said okay, you’re ugly too.” “I drink too much,” he often confessed. “The last time I gave a urine sample, there was an olive in it.” And it went on, an avalanche of pithy, self-lacerating punchlines. One more? “I could tell my parents hated me. My bath toys were a toaster and a radio.
And now the golden hour had arrived! It was time for fascist comedian Charlie Callous to take the stage in Wilkes-Barre Township, Pennsylvania. “I’m thrilled to be back in this incredible Commonwealth with the thousands of proud, hard-working American patriots I’ve known so well,” Trump snarled, starting with a flattering micro-lie. As if anyone who worked in the mob was seen as anything other than a peon or a potential idiot.
Brilliant worthy of an Emmy
Aren’t you laughing yet? Hold on. “The FBI and the Department of Justice have become vicious monsters. They rummaged through the First Lady’s closet drawers and everything,’ he said with mock shock and awe, ‘and even did a deep, ugly search of my 16-year-old son’s bedroom. years…they try to silence me and more importantly they try to silence you! The evil and wickedness of this insane persecution of you and me should be obvious to all entities.
Take a moment to digest that last joke, because it’s worthy of an Emmy. First, in “looting” these garish, gold-leaf gray gardens for state secrets handed out like canapes or party favors, the government was entirely within its rights. But Donnie Dangerfield characterizes their behavior with adjectives usually reserved for describing Wes Craven films: vicious, deep and ugly, diabolical and malevolent and demented monsters! Obvious to all entities? Does this include ghosts, demons, poltergeists? More popcorn, please! This guy is a scream!
Of course, we don’t need the armchair analysis that niece Mary Trump offers so concisely and poignantly to know that Don-gerfield is a past master of projection, of taking that of the seven deadly sins of which he is currently accused and to brandish a vanity mirror (the narcissist’s preferred model) to accuse the accusers who deign to question his singular character. Obviously not a master of rhetoric, all this stupid schoolyard bully can offer in defense is the banal “I know you are, but who am I?” replica favored by dumb little men everywhere.
And don’t you think these bitter jokes end with the yahoos in the cheap seats? They have fun chanting “USA” at the slightest provocation (still not sure what that means), or demanding that Hillary Clinton be locked up. “It’s not just my house that was raided last month. These were the hopes and dreams of all citizens that I had been fighting for since the moment I walked down the golden escalator in 2015, wanting to represent the people.
Wow. Who needs a tank of nitrous oxide when you’re in the presence of a real comic genius? He got off a “golden” escalator in his zeal to defend the cause of all the little people? Wasn’t he also wearing a Rolex watch and smoking a Cohiba, dressed in a ketchup-stained tailored suit and a Chinese-made Trump tie? Yeah, he’s a regular Jimmy Carter — one of us, damn it, a real earth sultan.
But wait, there’s more choice laughs where these came from – we haven’t had the Don Rickles-style insult material yet! Let the insults begin!
“So when they lost, Hillary Clinton and her people, guys like Adam “Shifty” Schiff – watermelon head! Watermelon head, it’s a watermelon head, but not a dummy. Talk about damning with light praise. Schiff is not dummy – this according to the man who passed the senility test with flying colors – but his skull is shaped like a large gourd. An ordinary comedian would only use such an epithet once for maximum effect – but not President Carrot Top, who went with the gutbuster three times in five seconds, a land speed record like you never have seen before!
How do you track killer material like Watermelon Head? With an unwitting confession that holds more truth than anything that prevaricating pumpkin head (my apologies) has ever uttered: “Perhaps most importantly, we are a nation that is no longer respected or listened to around the world. . We are a nation that in many ways has become a joke.
Jokes like you’ve never heard before! And what dark future awaits the comedian-in-chief once and for all? After being barred from running for office following a conviction for obstruction, her former pal Steve Wynn will offer her a residency in Vegas at a custom-built theater called Donald’s Komedy Kingdom. Stormy Daniels will come out of retirement to open for the laugh-minuteman.
And when he delivers his final punchline, he’ll be buried on the golf course next to poor Ivana, consigned to a crypt adjacent to a water hazard as another inventive tax dodge. If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d be laughing like a hyena. More nitrous, please!!