The natural color of Trump’s boxers is urine yellow no. 3. 

It may sound a bit unlikely, but Donald Trump has actually decided on a new logo banner for his little band of MAGA Republicans. Several possibilities had been proposed.

The first, suggested by Donald Trump, Jr., was a banner showing a donkey, lying in a puddle of blood with a red stake driven through its heart. Daddy really loved it, but it was finally trashed for being in bad taste.

Idea no. 2 was also a bummer—after it was discovered that “The Biggest Loser Award” was already taken (copyrighted by Weight Watchers) so that logo was also abandoned. Likewise, a third proposal also failed, simply because the Michelin Man seal of quality looked too much like Trump himself.

Then little Eric came up with a brainstorm. A giant yellow flag with a few essential symbols of the Trump campaign.

To say the least, Trumpers are now delighted with the flag that says it all. The gold-brocaded flag features Trump’s noble profile, a pair of fearsome gargoyles at every corner protecting a stone tablet of the commandments, and Jesus’s signature inked across the middle with a personal note: “Come unto me, y’all.”

You’re probably totally confused, and for good reason. Trump had actually wanted a rainbow-colored flag to express an all-inclusive welcome to potential supporters. But rainbow colors are unlikely symbols for a guy who insists that he’s only patronized straight hookers. (In a rare interview, Melania acknowledged that Donald won’t even sing falsetto in the shower, because he’s so afraid that he’ll be accused of being gay.)

Considering that Trump is not exactly a friend of the LBGTQ community, the rainbow idea was immediately scrapped. The big yellow one, designed by Eric, is now official.

Anyone who has been faithfully listening to Trump rallies knows that Trump’s words have become stale—stuff that even a Central Park pigeon wouldn’t touch. His promises of a new, more positive Trump are being run over by the reality of, simply, Trump being Trump.

Crowds who once actually believed that he was born in a manger behind the Bethlehem Motel 6 have been disappointed at the humdrum boredom that attends their candidate’s poor-me rants. Even some of his best buddies are saying he’s lost his pizzazz and that his mojo is gone.

And yet, try as he will, the new Donald is a victim of his own recidivism. The “new” pattern is familiar. He does a quick carnival barker routine, beats the drums, sounds the trumpets, but then, inevitably, slides back into negative territory, telling his crowd how it’s just not fair that people like the Obamas and Clintons are picking on him, and how unfairly he’s been treated by various accusers.

Sounding like the ongoing dirge of a memorial procession, he can’t seem to break out of the “boring-boring prison,” incarcerated by his own low intellect, bad habits and inability to focus on the issues. He's, at best, a prisoner of his teleprompter—definitely not star-quality.

Fact is, we’re now seeing DJT’s true color with a bit more accuracy. What once appeared to be a braggadocious glob of orange refuse is mutating through a wide range of the visible-light spectrum. If we could hold him up to our living room lamp—close one eye and then look through his puckered up mini-mouth and out the other end while gently rotating his voluminous belly—we’d see a grand demonstration of how fragments of mirrors, along with a few plastic color samples, can create a brilliant, visually-stimulating chromatic kaleidoscopic treat.

Kaleidoscopes, as you know, are a type of refractive device treasured by children, in which simple reflections are mirrored within a cylinder of cardboard into complex geometric patterns that excite our visual senses and charm our minds. Like music boxes, they are among the great delights of our youth.

But even for the most loyal Trumpers, the smoke and mirrors fizzle, and they’ve come to realize that what they’re seeing is not any type of reality, but only an illusion playing tricks on their minds.

The choice of a yellow Trump campaign banner makes total sense. “We’ve all been taught,” noted the prominent chromologist Wackzee Crayola, “that the three “primary colors” are red, yellow and blue, and that, with only small manipulations of the percentages of each color, we can create virtually any other color from those three. That,” he noted, “explains how Trump ended up being so orange—just a touch of red blood mixed with yellow.”

To make it simple for all the non-scientific readers out there, Dr. Crayola described the phenomenon as “a roadmap by which we can backtrack to find out where the orange came from.” It doesn’t require genius or a physics degree to understand that, though Trump has all three primary colors in his persona, yellow is the dominant one. “As a leading expert in analytic chromology, I can tell you that Trump’s core is virtually all yellow. Yellow, as we all know, is the color of fear,” he noted, “especially, Urine Yellow no. 3.

As Dr. Crayola explained it, I had an epiphany. Ah, yes! Yellow. It all made sense. The new MAGA flag symbolizes that kind of pee-your-pants fear—the understanding that, after all is said and done, you’re headed toward yet another loss.

It’s the same fear that has marred an entire lifetime for the little brat that would have served his country better by choking on his silver spoon. The yellow flag is a reminder of Trump’s “Selective Service” bone spur excuse. (He figured that “Selective Service” meant that he was free to choose.)

It’s a reminder that Trump is afraid of standing face-to-face to debate a woman who is far smarter and infinitely better educated than he. It’s a reminder of his consuming need for people to like him, and the demoralizing realization that his rape victims never begged him to come back for more.

It serves as a reminder of how his hollow victories were never achieved on a level playing field, and it serves as the nagging realization that his win-loss business record makes him a real business superlative. Yes, “The Worst” is definitely a superlative.

His father gave him hundreds of millions, but he's a self-made failure. Urine Yellow no. 3. Sorry, folks, it doesn’t come out in the wash.

The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and their adorable and ferocious dog “Poppy.”