He says “follow me,” gets in his car and starts to drive down the road. You follow. You’re not always 100% sure where he’s going, but more often than not you have a fairly decent idea, and you’ve kind of got a duty to try to see where he’s going–not to mention you’re curious as hell.

Then he suddenly swerves off into a cornfield. Sometimes he stops to pick an ear of corn, maybe sometimes he offers one to you. Sometimes he’ll swerve back onto the road. Sometimes he’ll drive through a pond and a forest and come out on a different road altogether. Then he stops and you have no idea where you are or where he intended to go; and asking him is pointless because he’ll just say “I’ll show you, follow me,” start up the car and start driving down the road again. When it’s all over you can identify where he’s led you about as often as a blind pig finds an acorn.

That’s what it’s like trying to understand Trump’s answers to questions in a debate.

Rhetorically he’s a hobo rummaging through a word dumpster and randomly picking out things to put in his verbal mulligan stew. He’s pretty dang proud of the stew, by the way. Tastes like bouillabaisse, he says. In fact, it’s even better than bouillabaisse. It’s the best stew that’s ever been made. Many people have said it’s going to win all kinds of awards. Except maybe not in France, because what do the French know, really, about cooking stew? Not that the French are bad people. He has many friends who are French.

Here’s why his supporters will stick by him no matter what he says, does or how poorly he performs in debates.

It’s because Trump is the big bully from that family who lives on the wrong side of the tracks and keep to themselves. The family that the whole town likes to make fun of and belittle. He got lucky and hit a lottery ticket for a couple thousand bucks and he’s already spent it on alligator shoes and straight pipes for his muscle car to make it sound louder.

He goes into a bar because he feels like hitting someone, anyone. And when, with no or some wholly imagined provocation, he does just that; and everyone in the bar is horrified and word spreads around town, and the town is outraged and can talk about nothing else. Somebody decides to go knock on the front door of his house and complain to his family that they should do something about him. What do you think they say?

They say, “Oh yeah? Well, that other fella, the one Donny hit? He got what he deserved. Now get your ass off my property!”

I’d be tickled pink if you’d go to my home page and click on the FOLLOW button down in the lower right hand corner.