We are at a precarious moment in the primary cycle where extruded bucket of USDA-rejected pink slime Donald Trump has amassed enough delegates to make it impossible for anyone else to win the Republican Presidential Nomination outright, but might be too unpopular and too sloppy to amass the winning amount of delegates himself.

Not only that, but Trump’s two-bit campaign operation has consistently failed to secure loyal delegates if the Republican convention (oh dream a little dream) ends up being brokered. In other words, once the first ballot passes and Trump fails to clinch the nomination, he’s fucked. Those delegates are going to Ted Cruz (LOL) or to some mysterious, and potentially hilarious, party-approved white knight like Paul Ryan or Mittens Romney or Mel Gibson or a hologram of Nixon.

Now here’s an obvious theory: Getting fucked at the convention is precisely what Trump wants.

You don’t need to be some insane truther to believe that Trump’s entire campaign was a publicity stunt that has spiraled out of control. One of his former strategists has said as much. That crummy ground game of his? Not only is it a sign of laziness (and Trump is very lazy), but it’s also a clear signal that Trump never expected to get this far and probably didn’t want to. Trump is a ribbon cutter. He shows up for the Grand Opening, and then never returns. That’s his deal. He doesn’t do details.

Of course, Trump can’t drop out of the race now. He’s come too far and built up a visibly insane following that is, frankly, too loyal. He can’t quit without pissing those yahoos off. Do you know what they’ll DO to Trump if he quits? They’ll take his fucking scalp.

But if Trump loses at the convention? Oh, that’s perfect. Not only does chickenshit Trump get to slither out of the race, but he can spend the rest of his life bitching that he was “robbed” of the nomination while secretly relishing his getaway. Trump is always droning on and on about winning, but his obsession is merely with LOOKING like he’s a success and not actually BEING one. Winning is a branding exercise for him. If the Republican party pries the nomination out of his stubby, cocktail-frank fingers, he can say that he technically “won,” and then slip out the Quicken Loans Arena fire escape in disgust, leaving a mob of angry voters and tattered party platforms behind him.

What would he care? All that matters is that HE looks good. Whatever comes of that—whatever terrible consequence comes at the price of keeping up appearances—it won’t matter because he’ll just go fuck off to a golf course for the rest of his life. All of the anger he’s ginned up over the course of his campaign would be directed at party elders, with no danger of it ever reflecting back onto Trump himself. He could turn on the TV at Mar-A-Lago and squeal with delight at the chaos he’s caused, knowing it won’t ever seriously blow back on him. He won’t have to attend any more rallies. He won’t have to endure the humiliation of losing the general election to Hillary Clinton. He would be the only person to walk away from the rubble relatively unharmed.

After that, he can alternate between wallowing in his eternal victimhood and boasting about his “victory” and an imaginary Trump presidency that doesn’t end with all of us dying in a five-way global thermonuclear hissy fit.

This is the best-case scenario for Trump. He doesn’t want to be President. But he doesn’t want to lose the Presidency. A contested convention allows him to avoid either outcome. It’s almost too perfect. In a way, it would be the only decent success story of his bullshit career. Watch this July as he lets it happen. Watch him complain about being treated unfairly and pretend to protest having the nomination taken away from him. Then watch him live out the rest of his life in fat, repulsive contentment as the rare man who won big by losing.

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