The Second Presidential debate was anything but boring. The unmistakable and unprecedented level of disrespect, especially towards the first female POTUS candidate by Herr Drümpf was hard to miss.
Not only was Mr. Trump extremely insulting, his lying elevated to epic levels. Here's just one example:
The incessantly dishonest loony nominee of the GOP truly deserved disrespect. But Hillary somehow kept her anger in check and it was pretty admirable. The Chicago Tribune noted:
He repeatedly interrupted the Democratic nominee. He lashed out at her with a multitude of falsehoods over her foreign and domestic policies as well as her judgment and character. He called her "a liar" and "the Devil." And as Clinton answered voters' questions in the town-hall-style debate, Trump lurked just an arm's length behind her with a grimace on his face.
Clinton, while mostly restrained, showed flashes of ire at her aggressor. "OK, Donald, I know you're into big diversion tonight," she said. "Anything to avoid talking about your campaign and the way it's exploding and the way Republicans are leaving you."
Surely you've noticed that most people refer to Drumpf as 'Mister Trump.' It's an almost unwritten law, very rarely broken by anyone, friend or foe to use this moniker exclusively. Perhaps you've noticed all along, or perhaps the cavalcade of wacky surrogates who always refer to the orange tyrant as Mister Trump has started to get under your skin.
An obvious example of this was especially evident in March, 2016, at the height of the ugliest GOP Primary in history.
Chris Christie, introducing the candidate he’d just endorsed, referred to him as “Mr. Trump.”
“Thanks, Chris,” Trump replied to the sitting governor of New Jersey.
Hillary Clinton called him 'Donald,' an effective and not-so-subtle way to get under his very thin skin many times during the Town Hall event. Contrary to the declaration of MSNBC's Chris Matthews, who claimed that Trump won the debate, Hillary was clearly the victor.
No doubt some of her victory can be ascribed to her constant poke-poke-poke of that little tiny needle, meant to pierce his very fragile ego. It worked.
