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@DanCrenshawTX should take lessons from Kayleigh McEnany @PressSec on how to pound leftist mobs into mush.

With this press conference, she showed them to be the deranged and intellectually deficient poseurs they are.

NOT ONE OF THEM had the courage to even COMMENT on the urban terrorism we're seeing in LEFTIST cities.

Instead, they tried to misdirect by asking about trivia and by insinuating...something.

The males were ESPECIALLY effeminate, and the females hard their Harpy knobs set at 11.

The problem with leftists is that they have no idea what to do when you REFUSE TO READ FROM THE SCRIPT THEY WRITE FOR YOU.

@realDonaldTrump and McEnany never read from the script.

When leftists try to emulate them, they FLOP.

Here's some unsolicited advice to leftist reporters (sorry for the redundancy):

To the males, try to not sound like snobby baronesses at tea in Victorian England.

To the females, dial back the gold-digger fishwifery.

You're grossing us out.

I knew a guy who specialized in viciousness that he thought was the height of elegant superiority.

Most of the time, he avoiding even speaking to me at our infrequent family gatherings.

But on one visit, he had a bone to pick with me about something he'd heard I'd done.

It had nothing whatsoever to do with him, but he laid into me with the sort of languid, "UM, does the president regret--?"

Here's what I do in those situations:

I go Dadaist.

Dadaism is my favorite art movement.

It was started after World War I.

This is excellent Dada.

So when this repulsive fellow laid into me for doing something THAT I DID TO TRY AND AVOID TOTAL DISASTER FOR OTHERS, I went Dada.

"I don't remember," I said.

And, "Maybe it wasn't me."

And, "I could've been sleepwalking."

And, "It sounds vaguely familiar."

I didn't give him A THING.

He finally gave up.

My family was APPALLED.

So what?

I wasn't going to be cross examined by a jerk who thought he could intimidate me into some kind of Marxist public apology.

I never apologize.

You know why?

Because I'm totally aware of my motivations.

I do nothing impulsively.

The only apologies I make are when I cross paths with someone at a market, and we have to do that silly aisle dance.

In terms of "You hurt me terribly," I never apologize.

Because it's never true.

It's always a power play.

And I'll tell you a secret:

I never tell people that they're screwing up.

I shouldn't have to do that.

It's always a mind game.

People do things to FORCE YOU TO CONFRONT THEM.

I never confront people.

I write them off.

During two friendships I had in my life, neither man ever did anything that upset me. That's what I demand. Awareness.

I'm not going to tell somebody to behave like an intelligent, civilized person.

You end up in a seesawing, ritualized battle that never ends.

The only time I ever confronted someone was when my father insisted on serving us stale bread.

He always set the dinner table two or three hours ahead of time, and he'd put thew bread or hamburger buns out.

By the time the meal was ready, the bread or buns would be ruined.

I asked him too many times to count to please not serve the bread or buns until dinner was ready.

"WHY?"

"Because it's stale. It's inedible."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

Then he'd do it again.

So one night, as soon as he put the bread on the table and went outside to the grill, I put the bread back in the bag and put the bag on the table.

He came in, stopped dead, and picked up the bag, holding it out in an accusatory way like it was a dead puppy.

"WHO DID THIS?"

"I did."

"WHY?"

"Because I've asked you 5 million times to not put out the bread three hours early. It gets stale."

Silence.

Next dinner, he put out the bread three hours early, and I rebagged it.

And next.

And next.

Then he put it in the bag BUT LEFT THE MOUTH OF THE BAG OPEN.

I closed it with a tie.

After MORE THAN A YEAR OF THIS, he gave up.

"LOOK!" he shouted at me. "I'm putting the bread in the bag, just like you want!"

"Thank you!" I said.

It didn't even piss me off. I just wanted to see how long it would take to force him to comply.

Man, did he sulk!

But I no longer had to eat stale bread or buns.

See, he knew what he was doing the whole time, so I messed with him in a way he never expected.

My mother was the peacemaker who hated any kind of turmoil.

But it WASN'T turmoil. It was DUMB.

I just did it because I wanted to show him that he'd underestimated me.

His own father was...complicated. I met him when I was a baby. My brother says he always spoke in a shout.

This is the best picture of him ever taken.

As my own father got older, he transformed HIS father into a saint.

He was NO saint.

But most sons don't know how to deal with...complicated fathers.

I wasn't close to my father, but I cared for him for 20 years.

He allowed me to live rent free in one of his houses, paid for my health insurance, and gave me a salary.

In exchange I was his factotum:

Essentially I helped and guarded him and my mother, which allowed them to stay out of managed care. It was a good arrangement.

I knew by 1994 that I wouldn't have a family or career, and my parents were terrified of their physical decline.

We pretty much slipped into the arrangement. I was under no illusions, but my parents got to pretend that they were still independent, which they needed.

I never had to bathe them or feed them or anything like that.

And now I had the time to try and figure out what the hell everything meant and why it all turned out this way.

My parents were both unreasonable and cantankerous, but caring for them wasn't stressful.

I CHOSE to be their factotum; everything they did came with the territory.

When they died, I didn't feel free or relieved or sad.

Just STRANGE.

When you know someone for 50 years, it's odd when they're suddenly gone.

See, I KNOW that there's an afterlife, so my parents simply walked into another room.

Except for my Vegas brother, the rest of my immediate family went to pieces. I haven't spoken to or seen any of them since 2013.

But that's THEIR choice.

I never chase after people.

Again, it's all games.

I love watching Trump and McEnany refuse to play the game. I started doing it years ago, and it made life so much easier.

It's good to see that others realize it too.

Refuse to play the game or join the dance leads to solitude, but I'd rather be alone than compromise.

All I ask from friends is honesty. No games. No power trips.

Two people came through for me, and we never had a single disagreement.

Two was enough.

They walked into the next, but I'll see them again.

When it's my time.

Until then, I watch our best president chop his enemies off at the knees.

And BOY, do I laugh.

END