Understanding Trump: He only wanted to be loved

I only wanted people to like me. More people, I mean, than already like me. I’m not stupid; I hear things. People laugh at my hair, even still. They laugh at the way my homes are decorated. I didn’t do it myself, I hired a gal. I just told her to fill my mansion and apartments with fuiture made by Frenchmen. Frenchmen make the best fuiture, like King Louie Louie the Whatever.

I got tired of it, the laughing. Millions of people actually do like me. They like my image, they like the Trump brand. If you see Trump on a product, you can be sure it’s the fanciest, classiest of whatever it is: steaks, wine, books, hotels, universities, casinos, golf courses. That’s what I wanted more people to realize.

A year ago I decided to run for the presidency. I did it for one reason: to get more people to like me, to understand that I’m not a joke, that the Trump brand is not a joke.

I didn’t know it would tu out like it did. I don’t know these people. I have nothing in common with them. I wouldn’t let most of them into my homes and most can’t afford to stay in my hotels or play golf on my courses, or even buy a Trump ribeye.

They come from towns I wouldn’t visit. Towns that have nothing of interest. Towns I could buy.

And it tus out these people love me. They come by the thousands to see me everywhere I go. I’m on all the news chaels all the time. They’re crazy about me. It’s unbelievable.

For me, I just wanted to finish second in the primaries. Twelve percent of the vote and then out. Make a dent. Wipe those goofy grins off people’s faces who laughed at me.

I didn’t want to win the whole thing. That was never my intention. I thought I could narrow my following just by speaking my mind, just saying anything that came to me. The thing about the Mexicans, the thing about African-Americans, the thing about the reporter whose arms didn’t work right, the thing about the Fox News hostess bleeding from wherever, the thing I said about McCain being a loser for being captured, the thing about Carly Fiorina’s face, the thing about bombing the (excuse me) out of them, the thing about dating my daughter…. Oh, God, so many things, and people ate it up! Everything I said got me another million votes.

When I think of all the things that have knocked people out of the race – Dukakis riding in a tank, Dean braying like a donkey – it’s amazing, isn’t it, how many people agree with whatever I say? People don’t like political correctness. They’re tired of being nice. I can understand that. We all know where nice guys finish.

Now it’s getting a little scary. I’ll admit it. I’m not an idiot, like they say I am. I know it’s too big of a job for me. I know hotels and golf courses and women. I know New York and Florida. I don’t know world affairs. Is there still a Yugoslavia, or is that part of Bulgaria or Turkey now? I don’t even know what the deal is with Scotland.

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And I don’t know how to lose. I thought losing would be easy. It’s not. Not without all these people from towns I never heard of before flocking to me. Not for a proven wier like me.

I only wanted people to like me. Now, I’m wishing I wasn’t so good at it.

Contact Tim Grobaty at 562-714-2116, [email protected], @grobaty on Twitter.