Purveyor of Truth
Donald Trump on Tuesday night dodged a post-debate question about whether he really believes President Obama was not born in the United States.
Following the CNN Republican presidential debate, MSNBC's Chris Matthews asked Trump, "Is Donald Trump honest when he says that Barack Obama isn’t a legitimate president?"
"So, I knew you were going to ask me that question," Trump said in response. "You know what I’ll say? I don’t talk about that anymore."
Trump has previously questioned whether Obama was actually born in Kenya, but has since dropped the issue.
When a MSNBC panelist told Trump on Tuesday night that he’ll have to address the question in the general election, Trump said, "Alright, well then I’ll answer it then."
"I do think that’s a blemish. I think it’s your original sin," Matthews told Trump about his birther past. "Because I’m an American, and I think our president should be respected. I think it has a little ethnic aspect to it. I don’t like it. He’s African American, and we’re saying he’s not a real president. I don’t like that. It’s not a good thing about you."
As Matthews spoke, Trump only said, "I know how you feel," and, "I understand."
Trump at one time alleged he had a team that was gathering info to prove President was not eligible to be president because he was not a natural born American. Mr. Bombast and Bluster was going to present the nation with a really big surprise on national television. Of course it never happened as there was never anything to it.
We rather suspect Trump has dropped the issue and is side stepping the questions because Senator Ted Cruz, who was born with similar parentage realities and circumstances happens to be of the "right color", thus the birther issue is a nasty inconvenience.
SOURCE with video.
TheNew Yorker ran an excellent article defining what most people who take the time to think beyond just the surface know about Donald Trump. Here's a teaser for the inquisitive.
Donald Trump, when he really gets going, hardly speaks in sentences anymore. He doesn’t need to. His audience is with him in fragments. He shuffles pages covered with poll numbers written in thick black ink; he ovals his mouth, the lower appendage of a solid orange-gold block, and lunges forward like the giant sandworm in “Dune,” which devours all before it. At times ecstatic, relying on emotional connections alone, he leaps from subject to subject. Fear, danger, stupidity. Stupidity! Weakness! The fate of the nation is at stake. The personal safety of the people before him is at stake. Something “terrible” is going on. “We can’t live like this. It’s gonna get worse and worse. You’re going to have more World Trade Centers. It’s gonna get worse and worse. We can be politically correct, and we can be stupid, and it’s gonna get worse and worse.”
The energy comes in surges—in bunched mini-waves, so rhythmically charged that they never bore the listener, even the listener who loathes every word that comes out of his mouth, every frown and eye-rolling grimace, every gesture of his right hand, which disposes of the world’s idiocy in jerking sweeps to the side. In one patch in a recent speech (the speech in which he read his proposal to ban all Muslims from entering the United States), Trump ran from Hillary Clinton (“She’s got no strength. She’s got no stamina”) to the United States being “ripped off on trade,” and then to veterans “not being taken care of,” and then to generals wasting time talking on television, and then to “Bush” (mimics a man sleeping), then to Hillary’s complaint that Trump’s tone was not “nice” (“We have people whose heads are being chopped off …”), then to the need for smart people (“I know a lot of tough people … but they’re not smart”), then to the money we “owe” (“We owe nineteen trillion … trillion, trillion, trillion dollars. Who the hell ever heard of the word ten years ago? There was no such word”), then back to the trade imbalance with China, Japan, and Mexico (“We’re going to build a wall. It will be a real wall. . . . It’s gonna happen”).
His speeches have no beginning or end, no shape, no culmination and release, and none is necessary. For the audience, his fervent incoherence makes him that much more present, for it is Trump alone who matters, the vividness of him standing there, in that moment, embodying what the audience fears and desires. At the Republican Convention in 1964, Barry Goldwater famously said, “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no vice. Moderation in the pursuit of justice is no virtue.” At the time, the left heard a reveille issued deep into the woods of the American right. The word “Fascism” was spoken (by Norman Mailer and others) to describe Goldwater’s speech. But now Goldwater’s statement, with its balanced clauses, its formality, seems merely rhetorical, a flourish more than a threat.
Trump is devoted to anti-rhetoric. Boasts and fears and menacing attacks are followed by instant “solutions” (about fighting ISIS: “You don’t want to know what I’m going to do”)—punctuated by war whoops and cries of adoration from the crowd. But put aside Trump’s ideas just for a second. When you do that, you might hear, especially in his recent speeches, uncanny echoes of Alan King and Don Rickles, the New York-born Jewish comics of the sixties and seventies who Trump must have listened to, as a young man, on late-night TV and in Vegas/Atlantic City entertainment rooms. The slow beginning, the sudden up-tempo shift, the shouted indignation, the repetition of a few simple phrases (“It’s not going to happen. Not going to happen”), the wounded expostulation, the exasperated bewilderment: it’s classic Alan King.
Much more BELOW THE FOLD.