A Rose by Any Other Name

Did you ever play that game where you cast yourself and your friends in your favorite TV show? When we did Beverly Hills, 90210, I was always Andrea. When we did Friends, I was always Ross. When we did Sex & the City…..well, you get it. So, I was thinking it would be fun to cast the current set of love-seekers on Bachelor in Paradise with the current political players.

But here’s the problem: maybe I’ve been seeing too much of him or maybe it’s because it takes place in Mexico, but I have to cast Trump in every role, which sort of makes sense given that everyone is there to find love. If ever he were looking for someone worthy of his rose, I have no doubt he’d magnet it on to his own lapel. {And I apologize to those of who you don’t watch the show. I promise I’ll get back to CNN, but there were 2 episodes in a row, so I’m going to need you to take this journey with me now.}

Of course we think Trump is Chad. He’s a brute, a bully, a man who prides himself on telling the truth and walking with a big stick. Likewise, of course we think Trump is Lace. (Honestly, just insert the same description of Chad and then remind me why those two couldn’t just run off together in the first episode.)

Hear me out, though. Is Trump Josh? They speak in the same cadence and slogan pattern, they always seem to be on the defense, they suffer from a case of the red face, and tonight Josh even offered to “throw you some stuff under the table” in exchange for a date card. But Josh devours that pizza with his hands, and I’m pretty sure Trump is a pizza-with-a-fork-and-knife guy. (Insert small hands joke here, because I think it’s against the rules to mention Trump and hands without calling attention to their size. It’s just smart politics.)

Tonight, I thought maybe he was Evan. Evan faked an injury. Trump faked a publicist. Could work.

It’s a little on the blonde nose, but is he the twins? They seem to lack the same general knowledge of geography and world history. But the twins know they aren’t winning on their intellect. Trump, however, has all the best words and, until the recent campaign shake-up, he relied exclusively on his brain to be his primary consultant. He relied bigly. (I’m sorry. I didn’t even know how to use that word in a sentence. Why are we allowing his continued use of that word? If you see something, say something.) But I don’t think the twins are actually as dumb as they pretend, so Trump is not the twins, unless of course we accept my Wag the Dog theory that this is all somehow an act for some other purpose (to get Hillary Clinton elected, to get him a network, to restart the Cold War?). And I’m also not going to take the bait and make some reference to Trump and beautiful, young blonde twins, because I’m a lady. Plus, Trump has made it abundantly clear that he finds another younger blonde particularly attractive.

So, I saw that he tweeted this:

DTtweet

He may just be Ashley I. He’s a cry-baby, everything makes him sad(!), and, like Ashley, everything that happens to him is the worst thing that’s happened anywhere to anyone ever in all time. Sad!

But, friends, we’re not there yet. I was thinking today about the ping-pong game that is a conversation with Donald Trump. And by “conversation,” I mean that he’s the only one talking. But he loves the baby, and then he wants the baby out, and then he truly does love babies, but seriously, how could someone think he loves the baby? And that’s how he is with everything, from a side comment to a promise to a potential ally. He cannot stay in a lane.

And that’s when it hit me: he’s Caila, flowing hair and all!

At the rose ceremony, Caila committed herself to Jared. Then, Brett walked in and asked her on a date. (Is his name Brett? I don’t know. I know it’s not Carl. Let’s call him Brett.) Caila smiled and said yes. When she told Jared she was going on a date with Brett, he expressed an appropriate amount of disappointment but said she should do what she wants, to which she responded with a seeming monologue of, “Ok, I’m going to go. I just feel like I should. I want to explore what will make me happy. No. I’ll stay. Yeah, I’ll stay. I won’t go. That would make me happy. You know what? I’m going to go.” Defeated, Jared held his little rat head high. (Was that mean? I’m not saying Jared looks like a rat; I’m just saying his dad might be Master Splinter.)

When they returned to the group, Caila announced that, sigh, she was not going to go on the date with Brett. They went for a walk, and she gave him (and us) yet another performance of her “should I stay or should I go” routine. She ultimately decided she would go. Or, wait, no, she’s unsure. Of her feelings for Jared. And for Brett. So, she’ll stay. Or go. But maybe she should stay. Or go. Not kidding, kids. It’s as hard to write this stuff as it is to explain why a guy suction-cupped himself up Trump Tower. Nothing makes sense anymore, and yet the schtick plays on.

Now, all of this seems appropriately ridiculous and confounding in an episode of Caila Dates Whatshisname, but it’s less amusing when it’s an episode of Trump: Obama & Crooked Hillary Founded Isis or Trump: Second Amendment People Could Take Out Hillary. He was kidding! But not really. But doesn’t “low-ratings CNN” understand sarcasm? He was being sarcastic. But also not sarcastic at all. He was totally serious. But it was a joke.

And none of these are my analysis or thoughts on the matter. I have as little an ability to guess or understand why Trump says the things he does as I do to ultimately latch on to anything that happens in Paradise. The above was his analysis, his explanation as to the truth of his own statements. He basically gave us Caila’s monologue, but instead of a date with a dude in cuffed jeans, we’re talking about terrorism and incited assassination. He is Caila with nuclear codes.

After 2 nights of Bachelor in Paradise, the only thing I think I’ve learned is that Trump is not a Nick. Tonight, a disheartened Nick said, “I don’t want to be a joke.” Trump, however, is the stuff comedian’s dreams are made of. It’s as if he does want to be a joke, or at the very least entertainment, so he doesn’t strike me as a Nick. Then again, Nick is the eternal runner-up, so for everyone’s sake, let’s hope Trump is a Nick.

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