Fourth Estate Donald Trump and the Clown Show His presidential machinations mix Mario Cuomo’s indecision with the slim chances of Herman Cain.

Jack Shafer is POLITICO's senior media writer. Previously, Jack wrote a column about the press and politics for Reuters and before that worked at Slate as a columnist and as the site's deputy editor. He also edited two alternative weeklies, SF Weekly and Washington City Paper. His work has been published in The New York Times Magazine, The New York Times Book Review, The Washington Post, the Columbia Journalism Review, Foreign Affairs, The New Republic, BookForum and the op-ed page of The Wall Street Journal.

Will Donald Trump at long last make good on his persistent threat to run for president?

The tease—or the con, depending on how you view it—started in 1987 when the real estate mogul responded to a New Hampshire man’s “Draft Donald Trump” initiative by helicoptering to the state to make a speech and then taking out a politically tinged full-page advertisement in newspapers. Trump didn’t run that year. Nor did he run in 2000 when he next made aspirational noises. Nor did he run in 2012 when the noises returned, although he did flap his sweaty arms and wag the pulchritude of his tail to display his feral desire to be president.


The Trump threat has returned this political season, and it even has a date assigned to it: He promises to make a formal announcement on June 16 about his 2016 intentions, which may include a run for the Republican nomination. He’s reopened the tap that is his mouth and from it are flowing fresh Trumpisms, like these just collected by the Raleigh News & Observer:

“I would be the greatest jobs president that God ever created.”

“I would be strongest by far on security, because I’m very big into the military, very big into the vets.”

“That’s always a sign when people hate me: They say he wears a wig.”

Jeb Bush and Marco Rubio, said Trump, have made “assholes” of themselves. The Republican field is filled with “clowns.” Barack Obama is “most likely incompetent.”

The campaign playground has never witnessed a player quite like Trump before. Sometimes his feints for the White House resemble the stunt runs mounted by comedians Stephen Colbert, Pat Paulsen, Pigasus, John Hagelin, Pogo and George Papoon. Other times, Trump’s I-can’t-make-up-my-mind shtick conjures visions of Mario Cuomo and Sarah Palin and their Hamlet acts. Still other times—like when he’s sleeping or when you’re just waking—Trump seems no more improbable a candidate for president than Ben Carson, Pat Buchanan, Herman Cain, Ralph Nader, Alan Keyes, Steve Forbes, Al Sharpton, Gary Bauer, Jesse Jackson or other public figures who have never won an election but think they’d look good in the Oval Office.

As presidential campaigners have proved, you don’t need a chance to win it to be in it. A failed presidential campaign can lead to a cable news gig or a book contract. Sometimes, it translates into a place in the paid lecture-circuit. But that’s not Trump’s game. Experienced Trump-watcher Michael Scherer noted in Time several months ago that the best way to understand his candidacies are as another part of the Trump “show,” a view of himself the mogul articulated in his 1990 Playboy interview. Being a candidate—or teasing the public with a candidacy—is just another visible product (hotels, country clubs, beauty pageants, reality shows, eatables, et al.) upon which he can hang his name and profit. It doesn’t matter to Trump what you say about him, only that you say something.

The Scherer interpretation, which I endorse, helps explain Trump’s trash-talking of the other candidates as well as his loony musings about Obama’s citizenship and his speculation that Obama might be a Manchurian Candidate. You don’t have to be a megalomaniac to prefer quantity of attention over quality of attention, as the Wharton-educated Trump would probably tell you if he were to allow himself a reflective moment. As we approach the third decade of Trump’s presidential flirtations, reporters still seem unable to appreciate that Trump’s prime directive is to exploit the media’s appetite for hot and goofy copy.

Gore Vidal once said that nobody should ever turn down a chance to have sex or go on TV. To that, Trump might add never neglect an opportunity to run for president—or the opportunity of turning a minor slight into a feud. So numerous and frequent are Trump’s senseless feuds, often conducted via Twitter and usually covered by the press, that a couple of years ago the Hollywood Reporter made a slideshow of them. In recent weeks, as if preparing himself for the statesmanship his presidency would demand, Trump has escalated his feuds with the conservative commentariate, as the Washington Post reports, insulting them for offending him. Charles Krauthammer? “A totally overrated clown.” Jonah Goldberg? “No talent.” George Will? “[E]xhausted, boring, and not even a little relevant.” Michelle Malkin? “Born stupid!” Stephen Hayes? “[A] joke.” (Chris Cillizza, who is not a conservative, got a “Moron” rating.)

Fumbleheaded and blackhearted, Trump brings to the presidential campaign gouts of irrational fury that would be entertaining if we hadn’t grown weary of his act years ago. As in previous campaign seasons, Trump will extract what he needs from the process and then retire into one of his towers to await the next election. We’ll never be able to miss him because he will never go away.

Now, I demand my Twitter skewering.

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