There is no modern parallel to what Donald Trump did prior to Sunday night's debate. Seated in a room in a luxury hotel that looked like nothing more than the town council chamber in a backwater Rust Belt town, El Caudillo del Mar-A-Lago hosted a bizarre photo-op with three of Bill Clinton's most famous accusers, Juanita Broaddrick, Paula Jones, and Kathleen Willey, as well as Kathy Shelton, who was raped when she was 12 by a man who later became a client of young lawyer Hillary Rodham Clinton.
Thus was democracy rendered a shambles, once again, by a vulgar talking yam who speaks for far too many of his fellow citizens. And let us pause in our chortling to remember that, to a substantial percentage of the people in the country, this event was absolutely the balls. For a considerable number of them, it was an orgasmic celebration of the impeachment interruptus in which, they believe, Bill Clinton beat the rap.
On Sunday night, he solidified his base the only way that his base can be solidified—with bullying, bluster, and an amazing ability not to know dick about so many of the important issues of the day.
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