Yiddish for schmucks

Who slipped the schlong past that thong-th-thong-th-thong?

Who crammed the ram up my ramalamadingdong?

Who stuffed the putz up muh butt-buh-butt-buh-butts?

Who schtupped me up da poopy giggity-giggity bunghole?

Who was that man? I’d like to shake his hand;

But first we both shall don our nitrile gloves!


The foregoing may be unspeakably crude and juvenile, but the Barry Mann (or, dare I say, BM) original that I jacked, including “Who put the ram in the ramalamadingdong?” and “Who was that man? I’d like to shake his hand” (actual lines), was unspeakably stupid, even by the standards of doowop and–God cleanse our souls, this is an actual style of music–scat.

As it happens, everything that I’ve published above is consistent with Donald Trump’s standards of public decency. In fact, it’s an improvement, as I suggested the anal violation of my own Christian manhood, not the violation of the Christian womanhood of one of my political opponents by the same upstanding member. Trump was frankly unconscionable on The Apprentice (it is grossly immoral to fire a subordinate so cruelly, full stop), but at least that was a mere television show. He’s now running for the highest office in the land, and he’s the leading candidate for one of the two major parties, by a wide margin, while the other major party’s presumptive nominee is a former first lady from one of the crassest, crookedest, most venal political families active in the United States today.

At the risk of foolish nostalgia, it’s worth noting that JFK didn’t publicly comport himself like Donald Trump. He was a god-awful cockhound who must have sexually exploited unwilling women under his authority, just on account of the sheer number of female White House staffers he cornered for impromptu rutting, but he didn’t pollute the public discourse with on-the-record comments about the bathroom habits or menstrual cycles of public figures whom he opposed. In not-quite-private he may have been all, look, just pull that rag away from yuh twat and let me stick it up theh, theh we go, that’s the vigah. True story, he is reported to have cornered women in the White House hallways with lines including, “Up against the wall, signora, if you have five minutes,” so I only really made up the part at the end, about the vigah; the rest of it would have been completely in character. Regardless, he behaved with significant dignity and intelligence in public. Horrific lecher though he was behind the White House doors, and in various hotel bathtubs, he behaved in public with significant dignity and intelligence, refusing to openly beclown his office. That’s why he told his bathtub buddies to call him Mr. President while they scrubbed his pud.

Donald Trump’s comments truly are a regression to unabashed coarseness that has been absent from national politics in the US for generations. The Lewinsky affair was different: the impeachment drive was couched in a halfway plausible false concern for the moral fitness of America’s elected officials; sexual vice paid its homage to civic virtue while Larry Craig furiously spanked it to the thought of doing nasty, naughty things with a certain nasty, naughty boy. The blowjob impeachment trial was a full-throttle nosedive into the gutter, and one that set a terrible precedent (Slick Willie was no Tricky Dick), but at least those involved had the limited modesty to show some respect for the offices involved, even if that respect was bogus.

Trump has no such modesty. His entire brand has been one of gross immodesty for as long as he has been a public figure, and his immodesty has been intensifying. In his transitions from in-your-face real estate developer to sadistic boss on television to presidential candidate, he has progressed from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous new money tastelessness to the public humiliation of those under his workplace authority to inciting communal hatred with bogus birther demagoguery to making sexually inflammatory first-strike attacks on his political adversaries. (His comments to the effect that his male opponents are weaklings are only marginally more decent than his sexist comments about Hillary Clinton and Megyn Kelly.)

It’s scary to think that the Republican base may truly want, for psychosexual reasons, to be governed by this bumptious, dissolute, hateful oaf. Trump has taken important, timely stands for legitimate, morally sound populist positions that his opponents are too craven and venal to take, but it’s hard to tease apart the support he’s receiving for his positions from the support he’s receiving for his BDSM/WWF persona. The psychosexual trends in recent cultural memes are alarming: 50 Shades of Grey, the moral panics over campus rape and sex trafficking, public cuckoldry insults, PUA/MRA/red pill “manosphere” agitprop, Tom Wolfe since circa 2004, Law and Order: SVU. The equivalent memes in the eighties involved Tom Cruise making smooth, smooth, smooth love to m’lady, easy like an entire Commodores album playing all Sunday morning long. No one needed to think about rape to get horny.

The meta angle to this mess is appalling in its own right. Because Donald Trump keeps making these outrageous comments, he gets endless press coverage for making them, and so he is able to remain the Republican frontrunner without airing any campaign ads. There is no realistic solution to any of this. It’s like when Kim Kardashian takes off all her clothes and has someone rub a bottle or two of extra virgin olive oil all over her body, except unwholesome. It isn’t classy to do this, or socially or civically edifying, but it’s a huge improvement over “that disgusting woman just used the toilet” or “she must be mad at me because she’s on the rag.”

It wasn’t classy of me to accuse Kim of wasting food, either, even if she profligately wastes water during droughts, so I’ll say this much: there is no evidence yet that she has pulled a Tom Selleck on some water district.

It may be that Trump is engaging in all this potty talk in order to gross out reactionaries with low disgust thresholds, pursuant to Jonathan Haidt and that kind of shit. Trump used to be known for for refusing to shake hands, citing germs, a risky stance for someone who isn’t otherwise known as a social badass, since it’s obviously eccentric and can easily come across as antisocial and peevish. If this is true, it’s totally wrong. Being disgusted with something yucky isn’t wrong, but being an imperious asshole about it is.

The flip side of this coin, of course, is the Dubai Porta Potty. The Gulf Arabs officially make a huge deal about cleanliness unto Leviticus, while off the record they do things that would hopefully make you barf. Larry Craig is all about Bill Clinton not fornicating when he’s on the teevee, and he’s all about getting some quick strange with the nearest police sergeant when he’s in an airport bathroom. You know what Meghan Trainor is all about, or should by now, so instead of further ruminating about the grotesque sexual repressions and perversions of our political leaders, go look at some Tacoma escort ads, or at that picture of Kim Kardashian. Or at my Chocolate Lab board on Pinterest, where I’m pin twins with John Tesh, damn straight I am. Find something wholesome to do with whatever free time you still have left after reading this. #TeshTips #IFYL: just because I jack up my traffic by writing about Arab perverts shitting on rent girls doesn’t mean that you have to keep thinking about such abominations in a world that also includes thicky tricks, fat-bottom girls who pretend to be whores but aren’t, bitchin’ dogs, and #BigBandStyle.

Don’t worry. American politics will still be waiting to pollute you anew when you return to it.


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