World's greatest troll: the humor of Donald Trump

That's President Donald Trump, thank you.

I've been thinking about this video since it was posted deep in comments at the Treehouse. It's a somewhat ugly video and I just now realized the voice matches the tone and speed of the narration on the early computer game, Jewels of the Oracle. I avoided including it with the earlier Trump troll post.

The narrator says Trump likes, or Trump enjoys, embarrassing people, making them feel uncomfortable. Yes, he does that, but that doesn't mean that he likes it.

To demonstrate this early in the video Trump is seen pushing away from interviewer (King, I think) and telling him that his breath is terrible. "Did you know that? Your breath is terrible."

"No. I didn't know that."

Because nobody had the cajones to tell him. I wouldn't. I've been tortured by people's terrible breath and I cannot bring myself to tell them. I hate that about myself. My misplaced sense to protect them from embarrassment overrides the requirement to tell them so they can know and so they can fix it and so they can end their bad breath embarrassment. The embarrassment of having bad breath, not the embarrassment of being told about it.

Trump does have the cajones. He does what I cannot do. He does the right thing.

Coffee + cigarette breath is the worst. No wait, dental decay breath is the worst. I've been subjected to both of those breaths and it is torture. I endure the torture instead of informing the individual where it could be helpful to them. I haven't found a way to do it.

I was talking to a man for a very long time. A handsome man, a model, actually. I did not want to embarrass him on something affecting his vanity. But I should have. He had a decaying tooth in his mouth and he needed to be told he must see a dentist. His breath smelled liked decay. Like death. But I could not do that. So I suffered instead.

That happened thirty years ago and it still bugs me. It bugs me that I cannot do my social duty.

A few weeks ago the man who is the perfect archetype for the cartoon character Shaggy Rogers on Scooby Do had coffee/cigarette (vaping) breath that could have wilted a garden. The best I could do was offer him chewing gum. He snatched the mint chiclet out of my hand. So he must have been aware at least his mouth was dry. Then I wondered why I hadn't done that sooner.

There was another time. "Joe, would you like a piece of gum?"

"No thank you."

"Have a piece of gum."

"I said, no thank you."

"I said, have some gum."

"Uh. Okay."

That's the best I can do.

Coffee and alcohol are kryptonite to my minty fresh breath and I appreciate people telling me those moments when my one superpower fails. There is no embarrassment to it. King or whomever, needed to be told and everyone around him is too weak to do it.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and confess something horrible.

The second viewing I shut off this video at "Republican potty." 

I can't take it.

I've been joking for decades and cracking people up with non-rhotic English not just omitting Rs but sticking them where they don't belong for complete consonant displacement confusion. Combined with omitting crucial consonants then substituting glottal stops to compensate for the omission. And all of that codified into national language. The result of laziness. Laziness on a national scale. Intergenerational national laziness. Consider, in French, how did all those letters that we see printed in words get omitted from French speech? Why all the extra printed letters? Intergenerational laziness on a national scale so that spoken language is elided while the printed language stays steady and shows us its origin. Netflix has ruined me. So many shows are from Britain and from Australia that I can no longer tolerate listening. I shut down. Immediately. There is too much. It started with Netflix Storybook series, where "heart" features prominently in each story thread. The witch reaches in and takes out your hot. The character's hot is broken. They know things deep in their hot. They feel things in their hots. Each episode. Over and over. 

The Australians on Netflix live close to nature so the first sentence you hear will have the word air, the second sentence will have the word "water" and these elements are timeless and age is impressive so the third sentence will have the word "years." And each of these key words fundamental to Australians are mangled by non-rhotic accent and by vowel smashing, and consonant glottal stop substitutions and by extreme emphasis highlighting the spots of omission, so, a-a-a-h and woo-tah and y-e-e-e-z. Over and over and over and over all through the show. Show after show. I cannot take it. My ears force my arms to reach for the remote, the bones in my ears control the bones in my fingers and force me to shut it off. So, I get three seconds into what could be the best shows available but I cannot watch them due to my repulse reactions caused by overexposure.

It's biochemical.

The syndrome was aggravated by YouTube videos about Egyptian archaeology. I've watched hundreds if not thousands. British researchers far outnumber American researchers. Apparently. British videos greatly outnumber American videos on the subject and that makes me think that Americans limit themselves to more immediate more sensible endeavors. British accents combined with British idiosyncratic speech impediments make the subject sound perfectly ridiculous. No matter how serious the discussion, the bathos of language takes the subject on a sudden descent from sublime to ridiculous. Then an American voice is included and it feels like a gust of fresh air even though the thing that they're saying has less value. 

So now my criteria for Netflix viewing is it must be in American accent or else it is not watched. Just like a tired worn out deeply prejudiced old man. That I am. 

This same thing happened with cardboard twenty-five years ago. I handled cardboard boxes every day so much that a chemical reaction developed to the arsenic used in cardboard production, I'm guessing, so much that my fingers can no longer tolerate touching it. Bad, because my last job required it. So I bought thin leather driving gloves. And, boy, was I ever stylish, wearing gloves inside the building. That syndrome wore off and now I touch Amazon boxes with no problem, so long as I don't handle them too long. And maybe the same thing will work out with intolerance for British accents too, so long as I don't overdo it. 

Frankly, they sound stupid to me. Like baby-talk. The entire country from queen to fisherman talks baby-talk. I told you I'm out on a limb. Go ahead and traduce me. I don't care.