“The Trump Deflection Doctrine”
Every time Donald Trump is cornered by truth, he doesn’t defend—he deflects.
The pattern is so consistent it might as well be strategy.
Epstein connections start surfacing?
Suddenly:
“Obama has been caught. Biggest scandal in American history.”
No evidence. No facts. Just noise—louder and louder—until headlines forget what they were originally chasing.
His mental sharpness gets questioned?
He rolls out the old story:
“I took the test. I aced it. No one’s ever done better.”
What he’s referring to is not an IQ test, not even a memory test—it’s a cognitive screening for early dementia.
Questions like:
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“Name three words: cat, shy, kitchen.”
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“Draw a clock: the big hand is on 12, the little hand on 11.”
It’s a test for Alzheimer’s, not aptitude.
And yet, he brags about it—because he knows the headline isn’t the truth. It’s his confidence in the lie.
And when even that doesn’t work?
It’s “Biden’s fault”.
Or “The election was rigged.”
Or “They’re coming after me because of you.”
The Game Isn’t Defense—It’s Distraction
It’s never about answering the question.
It’s about changing the subject so fast and so furiously, the public can’t keep up.
It’s political sleight of hand.
While we’re staring at the noise, the truth quietly disappears.
This isn’t incompetence.
It’s a formula.
And unless we start recognizing the pattern, we’ll keep falling for it.
He does it because it works for him, but this stuff gets old and we get tired of it. Call him on all of it, all the time, over and over. Let him know we aren’t as stupid as he thinks we are, and yes, he thinks everyone but him is STUPID.
What’s With the Windmills?
Trump and the Windmill: A Case Study in Manufactured Enemies
Donald Trump’s bizarre vendetta against wind turbines might seem like comic relief—a sideshow of sound effects, bird-killing accusations, and cancer conspiracies—but it actually offers a telling window into how he operates politically. Like so many of his obsessions, the war on windmills began as a personal grievance, was inflated into a populist symbol, and has now become a permanent part of his rhetorical arsenal.
The origin is almost petty: Trump’s long, losing legal battle in Scotland, where he tried to block an offshore wind farm near his Aberdeenshire golf course. He claimed the turbines would ruin the view and diminish property values. When the courts and the Scottish government didn’t side with him, the issue metastasized into something larger. It was no longer about one golf course; it became about betrayal, liberal overreach, and the indignity of being told “no.”
And so, from that personal defeat, Trump built a narrative villain: the windmill. Not just a clean energy device—but a symbol of everything he resents: environmental regulation, international cooperation, changing technology, and a world where his preferences don’t automatically carry the day.
Trump’s windmill rants are more than comic outbursts. They’re a blueprint for his political style. He takes something real (wind energy), attaches a lie or distortion (“they cause cancer”), sprinkles in some emotional bait (“your property values will collapse”), and then sells it as a righteous fight. Facts don’t matter—what matters is that his audience feels under attack and sees him as their champion. Even when the “enemy” is a giant fan.
By mocking wind energy, he also draws a line in the sand between traditional energy (coal, oil, gas—industries tied to his base) and the future he’s convinced his supporters to fear. It’s climate denialism packaged in slapstick, grievance dressed up as policy. His windmill routine is both absurd and strategic.
It also fits into a larger pattern: Trump doesn’t battle real problems; he invents ones he can beat. Immigrants are “invaders.” Journalists are “enemies of the people.” Wind turbines are death machines. These inflated threats allow him to present himself as a larger-than-life warrior defending the country—when in fact, he’s just tilting at windmills.
In Don Quixote, Cervantes gave us a man so lost in his own delusion that he charged at windmills thinking they were giants. In Trump, we’ve somehow elected the same archetype—with a gold-plated golf cart instead of a horse, and a microphone instead of a lance.
We laugh at his windmill tirades because they’re ridiculous. But underneath the absurdity is a political strategy: Create the enemy. Exaggerate the threat. Declare yourself the savior. Rinse and repeat. The windmill is just the punchline. The pattern is the warning.
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