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The Purple Heart is awarded in the name of the President of the United States to any member of the Armed Forces of the United States who, while serving under competent authority in any capacity with one of the U.S. Armed Services after April 5, 1917, has been wounded or killed. Specific examples of services which warrant the Purple Heart include any action against an enemy of the United States; any action with an opposing armed force of a foreign country in which the Armed Forces of the United States are or have been engaged; while serving with friendly foreign forces engaged in an armed conflict against an opposing armed force in which the United States is not a belligerent party; as a result of an act of any such enemy of opposing armed forces; or as the result of an act of any hostile foreign force. After 28 March 1973, it may be awarded as a result of an international terrorist attack against the United States or a foreign nation friendly to the United States, recognized as such an attack by the Secretary of the Army, or jointly by the Secretaries of the separate armed services concerned if persons from more than one service are wounded in the attack. After 28 March 1973, it may be awarded as a result of military operations while serving outside the territory of the United States as part of a peacekeeping force. – Army Regulation 600–8–22. Army Publishing Directorate.

Shame on you, Donald Trump.

That might actually be helpful to you as you have no shame left, so let me rephrase this delicately.

Fuck you, Donald Trump.

I don’t care if you win in November or not because you have cemented your character for all time as an ignorant, screeching meat cartoon.  Your antics as a would-be Sid & Marty Krofft villain might have been amusing on Saturday mornings back in the bucolic 70s and 80s, but now you are after the role of Commander-in-Chief in a time of war and you’re acting like every cliched home video antagonist ever scripted.  You, sir, are straight out of a fucking Golan-Globus production.

You know something very nice just happened to me. A man came up to me and he handed me his purple heart. Now I said to him is that a real one or is that a copy. And he said that’s my real purple heart. I have such confidence in you and I said, man that’s like big stuff. I’ve always wanted to have a purple heart. This was much easier. – Scheiße Gesicht von Drumph, Il Douche of 2016.

Let’s first touch on the man who gifted you this prize.  Lieutenant Colonel Louis Edward Dorfman III,wounded in Iraq in 2007.  He should be thanked for his service, his sacrifice and respected.  Unlike you, Puffy McUpchuck, and me – Lt. Col. Dorfman earned something no one should ever “want” in life.  And, frankly, he has earned to right to do whatever he wants with the medal.  He could be buried with it, sell it for crystal meth, use it as a teaching tool for kids in school, return it in protest of an unjust war, or give it away to a wretched bag of failure and scrapple farts like you, Donald J. Trump.

In light of your recent Technicolor clusterfuck of bad choices, you failed to capitalize on a golden moment of redemption.  A sincere and presumably decent man came to you and offered up the symbol of his personal sacrifice for his country.  It is, as you say, “big stuff”. But instead of using the moment to show how much you love our armed forces, you decided to pin that medal right on the head of your massive ego-dick.

“I’ve always wanted to have a purple heart,” you said in a way that did not suggest you wanted it in place of a blackened one.

In that moment, you could have been that reality star we all  (well, okay, a lot of people) loved.  You could have taken the award up on stage and made the moment about Lt. Colonel Dorfman.  You could have owned the moment where the man offered you the award because he believed in you and turned it into a moment where you professed your belief, your support, your commitment, and your LOVE for all the troops.  You could have offered a condition that you were only borrowing it to remind you of your obligation to fix the outdated and overloaded VA system and to bring our troops home, close Gitmo, win “peace in our time” or some such shit and promise to return the medal to him personally when your work was done.

You could have made it a moment that showed people you had a soul.  Even if you had to fake like the extras you hired to attend your early rallies.

But, no.  You turned it into a moment with slightly more dignity than an impulse buy at a pawn shop.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted one of these!”

Look, bubbles.  I have had a lifelong fascination with badges.  Recently I was looking for old west badges, replicas of the ones worn by lawmen like Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, Pinkerton Agents and Texas Rangers.  I never earned one of them and I’d never claim to.  Owning one didn’t make me a law enforcement officer any more than your face makes you a replica of the planet Mercury with a giant alien haystack on top of it.  But you seemed to equate this award with what you’ve been through on this campaign.

I look at these badges as reminders of what greater men and women earned and accomplished.  I am surrounded by books and images and sounds and symbols of greater men and women than I’ll EVER be.  That’s the lesson of when a good man comes to you with his heart.  In moments of doubt, you have more than just a 1990s TGI Friday’s around you to take your mind off the layoffs and losses you have to excuse to your investors.  That’s the point of having a crucifix on the wall for a Christian.  It isn’t – “ooh! I’ve always wanted one of these on my wall” – but a reminder of someone else’s sacrifice to keep you trying hard to be better than you were.  Had you made any gesture in that direction, said anything to indicate that this was something more than just a token to slip into your pocket, I think it would have been an astonishing moment for your campaign.

But, as everyone on the planet expected, you fucked that up.  Well done.

What put you over the top?  Was it the crying baby?  Tell the truth.  You were annoyed as fuck by that kid to the point you couldn’t even excrete from your mouth properly.  That baby fucked up your shit so bad that the look of your face is now in Kim Jong Un’s permanent spank bank as another sign of America’s weakness.  You had to humiliate a child’s mother because you couldn’t handle another loud, screeching titty leech vying for control of YOUR room.

Fuck you, Donald.  Clinton might be a criminal on the level of a decent Bond villain, but you’re just an incompetent henchman.  You’re the fucking un-named thug who got his neck slit or his dick punched because he didn’t bother to keep his eye on the task at hand.

And YOU want to be C-in-C.  My guess is that’s because you owe so many people in the private sector and public that the only way you won’t end up like Hoffa or John Bobbitt after 2016 is to find a way to hand out cabinet, ambassador, and Supreme Court seats to every sleazebag who ever cleared away the bureaucracy for your or got you out of a financial or legal mess.

You clearly don’t understand the job.  You seem to not WANT the job.  And I’ll lay my beer budget for a year that if you went on a game show with Jeff Foxworthy, a half dozen 10-11 year olds would stomp your ass at history and civics like some of your supporters would love to act at a #BLM rally.

But I digress because there is so much wrong with you that I risk going after the GOP machine that allowed you to exist in the first place.  By the way: FUCK YOU, GOP.  Once again, your pony in the race is lame and, this time, rabid as fuck.  Well done.

We are at war, puddin’head.  It’s been so long that few people remember a time when that wasn’t true.  Even the tender wounds of 9/11 seem inflicted so long ago.  But it is true.  Every day, our volunteer military goes to work against the people who want to do us harm.  And you’ve claimed to have military training on par with the men and women who actually serve. You’ve compared your history as a celebrity and a businessman to a tour of duty.

You’ve spent the last week establishing clearly and firmly that you have no fucking clue about the job you’re after. There is not one critic your ego can allow to go unpunished by your singular-syllable vocabulary and non-existent wit.

And then you said MY TOWN was a war zone.

A “war zone”?   Snitch, please.

There are many reasons President Obama looks 80 years old these days.  And the people he has to deal with on a daily basis present far greater a challenge than a crying baby and the grieving parents of a heroic soldier.  You’re not fooling anyone that you’ll do better than the so-called “Worst President in the History of Ever”.

Give the medal back.  You don’t deserve it any more than I do.  And you should know better than me.

 

 

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