It's Better Than the Hairbrush

The people who are dumbfounded at Trump's success continue to bitch and moan. Why, they ask. Why did you pick this phony?

Let me explain. No. It would take too long. Let me sum up: Trump put himself forward. The Republican field, although well populated, wasn't composed of world-striding, instantly recognizable individuals. Although there was some competence there, there wasn't any excitement. They were oatmeal, and Trump was Lucky Charms. You know in your heart that Lucky Charms are candy and not real food like oatmeal is. Now, who eats oatmeal? Old folks do, and children with strict parents do. For some kids it's a choice between eating the oatmeal or being whipped with a hairbrush by your mother. After you reach adulthood, the threat of the hairbrush isn't there, so you choose the Lucky Charms. To Hell with the oatmeal. And that is what the non-Trump candidates were: oatmeal, and bad memories of hairbrushes.

So Trump won, and we're given a choice of the Lucky Charms candidate, or the hairbrush candidate. Yah, we know that Trump is bad for us. We know he's P.T. Barnum, who'll promise us the Feejee Mermaid and deliver a shriveled sea creature made of sewn-together parts. The alternative, though, is the mean woman with the hairbrush who wants us to eat our fucking oatmeal.

What's that, Mr. Trump? This way to the egress? Cool, I've never seen one of those before!