As much as conservatives want to imagine the American public is governed by reason, you are obviously not. For most (sane) people the ideal ending to another day of toil isn’t listening to Mark Levin read from John Adams’ autobiography for a bedtime story.
Conservatives think most of you vote for sound monetary policy, a muscular military and traditional values. The reality is you vote for A Shining City on a Hill. A Man From Hope. Morning in America. Yes, We Can.
What Donald is calculating is that there are a majority of you who want to Make America Great Again one dopey red hat at a time. He’s a salesman and he sold you the sizzle while conservatives were telling you there was no steak and if there was Donald got it from a cow he paid some illegals to rustle from a poor, widowed farmer. You didn’t care because Donald was coordinating your dreams and you fell in love.
In desperate need of a world without Mexicans? Donald’s got a wall (and you know who’s going to pay for it? All together now…) Pesky Muslims building mosques and shooting up your town? Donald’s gonna, well, not ban them exactly, but keep them out until we “can figure out what’s going on”. Wily Chinamen taking your factory job? Donald’s gonna tell those Commies where they can float their currency, alright.
Where conservatives heard a lout you heard someone who wasn’t gelded by political correctness. Where conservatives heard lies you heard a supple mind demonstrating flexibility. Where conservatives heard a tyrant who shouldn’t be anywhere near actual military or political power you heard a New York businessman who gets things done.
Now, what you heard was mostly imaginary but that is the nature of dreams. And who wants the reality of having their government underwritten life “reformed” aka “cut”? Who wants to live in a world where the President of the United States can’t just do whatever the hell he likes Congress or no Congress; especially with such a purposeful and vigorous a man as Donald waiting to grab the reigns? Certainly not you.
You’re all romantics. Not in the Charlotte Bronte sense but in that when you read biblical stories you imagine yourselves as Daniel not the gamekeeper. You’re Lawrence ruling the desert while astride a majestic white charger, not a faceless Arab extra on a camel. You’re never sweaty Sam making eyes and banging away on a piano — you’re wise guy Rick with the mysterious past.
So, it is with great regret I have to remind you that you are not Jesus. You didn’t heal the lame man — in that story you are the lame man. A week after Mr. Rick and Captain Renault formed their beautiful friendship Renault’s legs had been blown off by a landmine and Rick was shot by a jumpy British sentry who was unnerved by the sight of a man wandering through the desert in an overcoat. [director’s cut. trust me.]
Romances end and someone has to scrub the toilet, mow the yard and change the baby’s diapers. Who’s going to do that? It won’t be Donald. He’ll be on the other side of town sidling up to a new babe.
Hopefully, when you’re on the rebound, conservatives will have a better understanding of who you are and what you want. Hopefully, you won’t be a burned out cynic resistant to a new suitor. That’s a lot of hope to imagine but I’m not immune to having dreams of my own.