Big Dog

Donald Trump is a cross between the Tar Baby and Triumph the Insult Dog. Punch him and your fist gets stuck in the muck of verbal abuse. 
He is the first viable candidate for high office who speaks with the casual frankness of a sweaty locker room. 
In his view my colleague Fox News anchor Megyn Kelly is a “bimbo” because she asked him a few tough questions; businesswoman Carly Fiorina is hard-on-the-eyes (“look at that face”) coyote ugly because she dared call him out on his macho feelings about women, while Trump’s only real rival at the moment, retired neurosurgeon Ben Carson is just an “ok” doctor. Not to mention that he reduced to rubble noble ex-POW Senator John McCain, referring to him as a un-hero, while former governor Jeb Bush was labeled a crybaby wimp.
A vicious counter-puncher with the cutting power of a political Floyd Mayweather, Trump protests that he only attacks those who attack him. And like Mayweather, the billionaire businessman doesn’t lose. His targets tend to reply to his nuclear war with relative meekness, chagrined, exhausted by his attacks and fearful of more of the same. His message is crystal clear, attack me at your peril. 
And it is working. 
This morning he’s crowing about the most recent polling, which shows him pulling away and solidifying his lead in the race for the Republican presidential nomination. 
Trump has a big mouth, maybe the biggest ever to contend seriously for the highest office in the land. He also has big balls and a big lead, and he just might be our next president. How do you like them apples?