... and still have the accent to prove it.

My grandfather owned a bar in Brooklyn. My cousins and I spent a lot of time, even as kids, listening to his patrons' conversations - some of them so loud, we could hear them from the apartment upstairs where my grandparents lived.

Listening to Trump at the debates has always reminded me of that. He's the loud-mouth at the end of the bar who rambles on and on and on - about things it's clear he knows nothing about. He tells all of the other patrons how he'd be much better at their jobs than they are - he'd tell the plumber that he knows more about installing pipes, he'd tell the butcher that he doesn't know fuck all about how to run his own business.

"If I opened a butcher shop, there'd be people lined up around the block to get in." "If I was a plumber, I'd have 50 guys working under me by now, and I'd never get my hands dirty."

He'd opine on politics - but never get the name of a country right, never get the facts straight, and didn't actually know the name of a single politician, no less the leader of a foreign country.

"This John Fitzsimmons Kennedy guy, he almost started a nuclear war with that Columbia Missile Crisis thing. If I was running this country, I'd spit in Nagita Krushtrove's eye."

He's the guy who'd tell jokes about women that were so gross, even the "locker room boy" types would just shake their heads and stare into their beers. He'd tell jokes about Chinks, and nig-nogs, and Hebes - and when no one laughed, he'd say it was obvious they had no sense of humour. He'd talk about how all the hot broads in the neighbourhood were making passes at him, and how all the men in the neighbourhood wanted to be his friend.

THAT'S the guy I hear when I hear Trump talk. And the NY accent really drives it home.