National Review and a host of conservatives I have great respect for, recently wrote their take on Donald L. Trump.
Reading and listening to their words brought this picture into my minds eye.
Two guys and two gals go to a cattle ranch and claim, "We're cowboys and we're going to help gather your cows today."
So Harley, the head wrangler, trusts them. Although he could see by their gear, they were city slickers.
Harley says, "Meet me in the corral in 10. I have 4 gentle horses you can saddle up."
Joe, Gen, Ralph and Jodi, look at each other and ask, "What's 10?"
They straggle down to the corral and take - even with Harley's help - about 32 minutes to saddle their horse. Their "gentle" horse.
Harley mounts up and says, "We have 200 pairs and 10 bulls to gather today."
Pointing, he continues, "Joe. You ride up that pass beyond that goat rock. Gen, you go along the fence line. Ralph, you ride that way until you get to the meadow gate. Stay there. Jodi, ride up there and push whatever you find down that creek over there. I'll meet all of you at the meadow gate!"
Harley disappears over the ridge.
Terrified to mount up, Joe, Gen, Ralph and Jodi stay in the corral, lunge their horses and talk.
They talk and lunge, talk and lunge, "Boy! That Harley sure is a blunt SOB!"
"Damn it's hot," whines Jodi while talking off one layer of her many nylon tank tops.
"Well I'm thirsty. Wonder when that SOB's going to feed us?" grunts Ralph.
"I'm scared," admits Gen. "What if I get lost out there?"
"Well, I'll tell you what. Harley doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's too blunt for me. And did you notice, that red-neck SOB has a gun. Stupid, moron. What's he going to shoot out here? A prairie dog! Like a prairie dog's going to hurt him! God he's dumb. I'll just going to stay here. He can't get me to help. He's rude!" barks Ralph.
A few hours later, Harley gets to the meadow gate with 150 pairs and all 10 bulls. Not one city slicker's there. He pretty much figured that'd happen. That's why he didn't wait. There was work to be done, and, accustomed to "going it alone," he just did it.
Harley rode hard, kept the bulls apart from the pairs, pushed the pairs through the gate, dismounted fast, closed the gate, mounted up, pushed the bulls down the fence line, dismounted, opened a gate, mounted, pushed the bulls through the gate, dismounted, closed the gate and rode back to camp.
There he found all 4 city slickers, laying on straw bales.
The horses were wandering the corral, stepping on their reins.
"Where the hell were you guys?" roared Harley.
"We don't like you Harley. You're mean!" sniffled a very sun-burned Jodi.
"Yeh. You're too blunt!" challenged Ralph.
"And, and, and, I don't like guns. Guns hurt people," gurgled Joe.
"I could have helped you Harley, but I wanted these guys to do it too," said Gen.
"Well kids, nice try," said Harley.
"We have a saying out here in these parts that pretty much fits ya'll," said Harley.
"You're as worthless as tits on a boar. Now go home. I have work to do and you're in my way," Harley finished.
Yes. That's the picture the National Review painted in my mind.
Although their collective word-smithing was creative and lovely to behold, not one word "brought home one bull."
They are, yeh...here comes another cowboy saying, "They're all hat and no bull."