The fake Trump-for-President campaign

During the 2008 presidential campaign I made a flat-out boast to several acquaintances: former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee would not be elected President of the United States in 2008.

In recent history, Southern governors who have become President have mostly been Democrats: Lyndon Johnson, Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton. So Republican Gov. Huckabee (just like Mississippi Go. Haley Barbour this time around) would have had too much Deep South “baggage” in the general election, and unlike the Southern Democrats, he would have had zero support from Black voters. Zilch. Nada. No Soul Brothers.

Don’t tell me Pres. George W. (for Worst in History) Bush was a Southerner. He was a Kennebunkport, Maine (like his Daddy and his Granddaddy), C-average, Yale University student, who adopted Texas later in life so he could deride New England pointy-headed liberals the way conservatives like to do.

And besides, “W.” was “selected” by a 5-4 U.S. Supreme Court vote, not “elected” by the voters, who gave more votes to Walter Mondale than to Bush in 2000. And Texas is no way an Alabama, Mississippi, or an Arkansas in its “Southern-ness.”

Finally, the world was not ready for the leader of a nuclear-armed Superpower named “Huckabee.” The name itself was ripe for monologues by late-night television comedians, not for diplomatic respect. I still laugh to myself when I think about it: “President Huckabee.”

But at least he was a serious politician, with (an albeit modest) record of public service to his credit. But Mike Huckabee had no realistic chance to win the 2008 Republican nomination, let alone the presidency.

So now, I’m prepared to make another boast. I don’t care how it’s diced, dissected, analyzed, polled, cubed, marinated, or otherwise served up: The United States of America will absolutely not elect Donald Trump President in 2012. He will not win the Republican nomination, not even if he was the Last Dorky Apprentice Standing. Fuhgeddaboutit. Anyway, he needs the money he’s paid for making TV appearances.

“The Donald” as he is affectionately called, has one “issue.” He insists that the incumbent President–Barack Obama–was not born in this country, and is ineligible for the position. Trump insists that Obama show him his real, official birth certificate.

That is the most preposterous “conspiracy theory” I’ve ever heard of: that 50 years ago, the Obama’s mother–knowing that her son would one want to be president–snuck back from Kenya (where her son was really born) into Hawaii with her newborn and then managed to get fake birth records so he would be Constitutionally eligible.

It doesn’t matter now if Obama was born on Kronos, the home planet of Star Trek’s Klingons, he’s now President of the United States, and The Truth about his birthplace, whatever that might be, will never change that fact. Only silly people would stress about that, two and a half years into the man’s presidency.

So when questioned about how his obsessing about the Obama-birth issue was causing resentment of him among Black voters, The Donald recently replied: “I have a great relationship with the Blacks. I’ve always had a great relationship with the Blacks,” Trump said on Talk 1300 AM radio in Albany, N.Y.

“The Blacks?” “The Blacks?”

Here’s a guy who would be President who has filed for bankruptcy, who’s in his third marriage, and who joked during an appearance on “The View,” that if his daughter, Ivanka, wasn’t his daughter, he would date her because she’s so hot. What? And he’s the owner of a beauty pageant and he gets to prowl, unchaperoned, among the contestants?

But then, he took a paid gig as the object of a Comedy Central celebrity roast, where comics uttered mouthfuls of filthy, expletive-laced jokes about each other and about The Donald. What kind of serious candidate for City Council member, let alone for President, would sit up in a room where such filth was dispensed? And then turn around and demand to see the birth certificate of the President of the United States?

During his rebuttal time at this celebrity roast, this would-be-president reminded the audience and his tormentors on the dais that he had “seven billion f—ing dollars in the bank.” Right.

Like most of the sexually-tinged jokes that were told all night by characters like “Jersey Shore’s” Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino, I’m certain The Donald’s boast about his bleeping-checking account was sheer exaggeration.

But The Donald Who Would Be President has one admirable quality: his mixed parentage. He is one-half Jack and one half Ass.

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