September 15, 2016

Between the lies and the sarcasm, Baby DonDon sometimes gets philosophical. Lots of people say I lie almost all the time. They call Baby DonDon a con man. I resent that. I see himself as a con artist, with the emphasis on “artist.”

If I had pursued painting, I could have been Monet. If I had attempted songwriting, I could have been Paul McCartney or Paul Simon. Design? Valentino. Sculpture? Rodin. You get the idea. But my medium is BS, and now Baby DonDon stands before you as a mogul who may soon be your president.

A great sculptor couldn’t say that, now could he?

“Facts are horrid things” says a character in the movie Love and Friendship. I agree, but fleeing facts gets you only so far. Your lies must keep flowing like the great Mississippi so journalists get overwhelmed and voters say, “Well, some of what he’s saying has to be true.”

Because no one could run a campaign on total BS, right? Yeah, right. When Dr. Oz asked me yesterday what my favorite form of exercise was on the campaign trail, I thought of saying “lying,” but I know you can’t say that. Still, it would have been fun.

I have a gift for knowing which lies really work. People LOVED that I said I was self-funding my campaign, even though my website kept asking for money and I took in millions from small contributors. Your average politician would have stopped using the self-funding line. Not me.

Most pols worry when videotape contradicts them. Video evidence unhinges them. They lack the imagination of a true artist. Do water lilies look exactly as Monet depicted them? Of course not. That’s why I still say I never mocked the disabled New York Times reporter and always will, no matter how often Crooked Hillary runs her freakin’ ad.

Some people say I have no shame. How does shame help? If I had shame would I have told Matt Lauer I opposed the Iraq War from the start? No. But I correctly saw that Matt Lauer was a sexist girlie-man who would accept things from me that he’d never take from Hillary.

Part of my artistry is preemptively applying the liar label to others. Hey, Lyin’ Ted. Hey, the crooked and dishonest New York Times and Washington Post. Hey, everyone in the media. You’re all corrupt except for Sean Hannity. (Thank God for useful idiots.)

I have artistically branded myself as a strong leader. I do the Mussolini chin thing and call Obama and Hillary weak all day long. I have artfully blended real terrorist threats with a bogus crime wave led by illegals. People who weren’t afraid before are afraid now—and they see Baby DonDon as the solution.

The true BS artist must be consistent—sometimes. In reviewing my business career, the Times said it was hard to find a project I touched that did not “produce allegations of broken promises, blatant lies or outright fraud.” Right. But I always walked away with the money and my reputation for brilliance intact.

People want to believe. They are suckers for a good story.

The artist also knows when to use “replacement lies.” The birther issue? I don’t talk about it anymore. Now I focus on illegals and Muslims, but my fans haven’t forgotten my birther days, even if I have.

Charles Blow of the Times recently figured out what I discovered long ago, that “sustained outrage can be exhausting.” If you do enough outrageous things, you’ll be home free on most.

Do you know how much fun it is to say whatever the hell you want and know you will suffer no consequences? I can even promise my supporters I will always tell them the truth. And then they cheer.

That is true artistic freedom.

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Andrew Feinberg is the author of Four Score and Seven, a novel that imagines Abe Lincoln comes back to life for two weeks during the 2016 campaign and encounters a candidate who, some say, resembles Donald Trump. It is available on Amazon. He is the author or co-author of five non-fiction books. His political journalism and humor have appeared in the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, Playboy, GQ, Barron's and Kiplinger's Personal Finance.

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