I never knew Arnold Palmer had a huge johnson. Thanks to Donald Trump, I now know this, and it makes me respect Arnie even more. I understand Donald Trump because I’m not a pumpkin spiced latte girly man. Donald Trump was paying his respects to Latrobe, Pennsylvania and its preeminent hometown hero. There is not a nicer or more respectful thing one can say to those folks. It’s like telling me that Robert E. Lee (one of my homies) had a giant member. Hell yeah, Rebel Yell baby. Charge that hill!
In an era when Tim Walz dons an Elmer Fudd outfit and a new $2,500 shotgun to prove he’s a real man, what’s the matter with commenting on the size of the one thing that actually makes one a man? If manhood is back in fashion, then penis size is too.
For 50 years the Left has been trying to make men women and women men. So much so, that the Left is really confused when it comes to sex and gender roles. We men are hunter gatherers and warriors. We use penis size as a metaphor for manly traits. If you are a bad ass, you’ve got a big one. If you are a skinny jeans crybaby twerp (see White Dudes For Harris), you have a little teeny tiny penis. Back during the Viking invasion of England, before the great battles started, the Anglo-Saxons and Viking armies would drink mead and yell penis insults at the opposing army. By the way “tiny penis” in Old Norse is pronounced “timwalz.”
It's funny how the Left can cheer orgasmically at the thought of sticking a tube into a full-term baby’s skull and sucking out its brains, but somehow gets the vapors at the mere suggestion that a great golf hero might have been well endowered. The Left can cheer on a tragic, unnecessary war in Ukraine where there are 500,000 needless deaths, but faint at the thought that Arnold Palmer had a penis. The Left couldn’t stop talking about Gweneth Paltrow’s V-candle? Shouldn’t penisphobia be a hate crime?
Except for Cory Booker and Pete Buttigieg, it seems the Democratic Party has a penis problem. In praising Arnold Palmer, the Donald didn’t even use the word “penis,” and the unhinged left went apoplectic. Somehow, it’s ok for drag queens to show their ding-a-lings to children, but it’s not ok for the Donald to complement Arnie on his manhood. Somehow, it’s ok to cut a 5-year-old boy’s penis off at taxpayer expense, but we can’t say the word “penis?” I’m confused. How do government auditors approve the billing for the sex change operation? “Dr. Jones is owed $40,000 for cutting off little Tommy’s XXXXXX.” Seems like an accounting nightmare to me.
The best part of the 2016 Republican primary debates was when Donald Trump questioned “Little Marco Rubio’s” manhood. That was great entertainment. You know why? Because that’s the way men who aren’t hairdressers talk to one another. Finally, after 200 years of fake and phony candidates, we had a realistic authentic debate, something you would actually hear at a Tuesday night poker game.
Look, when I go to the Great Beyond, I want my body interred in a giant marble mausoleum. Inside I want a 24/7 video of great University of Virginia sports highlights. Outside, I want a continuous tape of Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass and Barry White crooning, and it would be a great honor if my family thought enough about me to have chiseled on the marble an epitaph that mentioned my manhood. What an honor that would be! 300 years from now, folks could visit my grave and say, “wow, I knew Rob Smith was a great writer, but I never knew that about him!”
We all know that Donald Trump is not the smooth-talking gentlemanly charmer that I am. But seriously, who is? If I’m talking for 2 straight hours in front of a crowd of 100,000, lord knows what might slip off my tongue. Donald Trump is not perfect, but he is 100% transparent, and that’s why he gets away with the occasional verbal faux pas.
The reason people love Donald Trump is he is real. He doesn’t change his accent when talking to different groups. He doesn’t claim his Scottish grandmother was from Nairobi. He doesn’t don a red and black flannel shirt to prove that he is one of the guys. Seriously, have you even seen anything more ridiculous than the brand-new clothes from Orvis Walz was wearing in his “I’m a real man hunting video?” It reminded me of Dukakis driving the army tank. Trump doesn’t claim to have worked at McDonalds to snooker the populace into believing a fabricated focus group myth. Indeed, he doesn’t need any focus groups, he is his own man, knows what he believes and is completely unafraid to state it.
In many ways, he is the anti-politician. Folks would rather have someone who appears flawed at times but is not fake, than someone whose entire biography is choreographed to the point where there is absolutely nothing real about them. Kamala didn’t work at McDonalds, she doesn’t own a Glock, and she has never fired a pistol. She can’t convey the simplest idea unless it is written out for her on a teleprompter. She pays people to attend her rallies. Everyone hates a fake.
He has the testicles to say what everyone thinks, but other politicians are afraid to say. Sometimes he expresses himself in a less than artful manner, but those of us who are not part of the government/media/academic axis understand him because we know so many people like him and have seen their good judgment in making real world decisions.
Let me tell you about the biggest FAKE of this Arnold Plamer story. The very people who celebrate every sexual perversion known to mankind, who go around wearing vagina hats on the Washington Mall are not offended by Arnie’s appendage. They don’t want you to focus on the fact that Kamala’s a f-ing Marxist controlled by a cabal of people who absolutely hate you.
I will leave you with this CLIP from Austin Powers, the Spy Who Shagged Me.
