“I just can’t believe that we’re at the White House, watching U.F.C. fights. Dude, I’m so filled with, like, testosterone, I want to kick someone in the chest, it’s crazy.”
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| NB: The White Guy is pounding the Black Guy |
Mad Dog has to admit, he has not (yet) seen the entire event on Youtube, but from the scraps he has savored from the New York Times and elsewhere, he just knows he'll love Fight Night at the White House.
This is just what Trump is all about: You've got your Kennedy Center and elitist high culture and I've got the hearts of White Trash (see Nancy Isenberg) and I'm going to rub your face in it.
This America, man.
Really, it is. It is berserk, bloody, testosterone gone wild America.
Inside the White House, we got gold drapes, gold everywhere.
Outside, we got Mad Dogs fighting.
You may prefer Baryshnikov, or Rachmaninoff or even Leonard Bernstein, but none of that candy ass stuff makes the cut with Mr. Trump. He knows what gets a rise out of his core, his base.
Nobody's putting on airs hereabouts.
We ARE the nitty gritty.
God Bless America.
Girls were girls and men were men.
Mister, we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again.
People seemed to be content.
Fifty dollars paid the rent.
Freaks were in a circus tent.
Those were the days
Take a little Sunday spin,
Go to watch the Dodgers win.
Have yourself a dandy day
That cost you under a fin.
Hair was short and skirts were long.
Kate Smith really sold a song.
I don't know just what went wrong
Those Were the Days
--"Those Were the Days" sung by Archie and Edith Bunker, Queens, NY
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