Trump's Texas Madness: Weeping Supporters, War as a Money-Making Business, the Self-Proclaimed Savior of Christianity, and a Dancing President

Lubbock/Corpus Christi (KB) - People are lining up outside the convention center in Lubbock. Some have been waiting for hours to see Donald Trump, while others are fighting back tears as they're interviewed on camera. They want to see their president. A man who is holding two campaign rallies in Texas this Tuesday and is being celebrated by his supporters as though he'd accomplished some extraordinary human feat. Even reporters half his age can barely keep up with his stamina, his admirers gush. Seven days before the congressional elections, grown adults are crying with excitement because a politician is coming to their town. In Lubbock, the devotion seems to have reached the point where his mere presence is enough. The question of what Trump actually has to offer these people apparently has no room left among all those tears.

We have put together coverage of both of Trump's October 27, 2026, campaign rallies in Corpus Christi and Lubbock, along with interviews with his supporters at the venues. The footage shows what the American president actually said that evening and just how enthusiastically his supporters responded. Two rallies, one president, and an evening of sheer political madness. The article follows the sequence of the footage.

While his supporters are still waiting in Lubbock, Trump begins his first rally in Corpus Christi. "Hello, Texas!" Just seconds later, the American president explains why he likes coming here so much. He claims he won Texas in three presidential elections by exceptionally large margins. "It's good for my ego," he announces. The crowd laughs. At least on this particular subject, there's little reason to doubt the president's sincerity. Other politicians occasionally make an effort to portray the public's admiration for them as a responsibility to their voters. Trump spares himself the trouble. People come to celebrate their president. Their president comes to be celebrated. The fact that their interests fit together so harmoniously must be extraordinarily satisfying to him.

Later in Lubbock, things take a considerably darker turn. Trump talks about the war against Venezuela and America's oil business. Ships are bringing Venezuelan oil to the United States without American taxpayers having to pay for it, he claims. He describes a shipment of one million barrels as a gift. Then he asks a question: "What happened seven months ago? The war." The answer follows immediately. America is now making a fortune, more than ever before. War as an economic windfall. People die, families lose loved ones, and the talk on the American campaign trail is about revenue. Trump celebrates his country's military superiority and describes the equipment used with obvious delight. The president of a world power has a remarkably simple idea of how military violence can be justified. Apparently, it just has to pay well enough.

Back to Corpus Christi. There, Trump tears into Democratic politician James Talarico, though in a way that reveals more about the president than about his opponent. Talarico wants to take people's meat away, Trump claims. Then he launches into a grotesque imitation of a supposed visit to a barbecue: "I love meat! Ahhhh! I love it, look!" He gestures like a bad comedian who's afraid his audience might otherwise miss the joke. Trump claims Talarico had to go behind a tent to throw up. He offers no evidence for the story. Instead, he recounts how Melania corrected his pronunciation of the English word for vegan eating. The supporters laugh. An American president spends his speaking time ridiculing a political opponent with seemingly made-up ideas about his eating habits. The real problems facing Texas will have to wait.

Trump then accuses Talarico of wanting to restrict gun rights and allow gender reassignment procedures for young children. The allegations are presented as though they had long since been proven. The Democrat is cast as an enemy of everything familiar, while the crowd voices its disapproval. The audience learns little about his opponent's actual policy proposals. Trump has already called the man a communist. Now he's apparently supposed to be responsible for the destruction of American family life as well. A convenient way to campaign: Just describe your opponent as badly enough, and there's no longer any need to deal with his actual politics.

In Lubbock, Trump then attempts the traditional "Guns Up" hand sign of Texas Tech University. He raises his fingers, makes the gesture, and receives the expected applause. Republican Senator Ted Cruz is among his supporters. For a moment, the relationship between the president and this region is reduced to a hand gesture. His supporters are satisfied. In Texas, apparently, political closeness can be sufficiently demonstrated with just two raised fingers.

Then Marco Rubio appears. The American secretary of state receives applause and uses his appearance to deliver an astonishing tribute to the president. "Our enemies are weaker, our country is stronger, and our people are safer because Donald J. Trump is the President of the United States." Rubio speaks as though reality itself had already conclusively confirmed that claim. You have to hear it twice to believe it. An American secretary of state comes running like a dachshund when his master calls, obediently delivers the requested hymn of praise, and disappears again. A trained poodle probably could have handled the appearance just as well. While American soldiers are being deployed in wars, the secretary of state assures his president that the population has become safer. The supporters applaud. A secretary of state whose job is to represent his country's interests before foreign governments stands before a campaign crowd and praises his boss. Trump has created just the right setting for such declarations of love.

The president, however, has another special assignment in mind for Rubio. They would simply drop him into Cuba by parachute. "We'll fly him in with a parachute, and he'll solve the problem in about two minutes." Cuba, a country with millions of inhabitants and decades of political history, becomes the subject of a joke about the secretary of state. Trump doesn't reveal what Rubio is supposed to accomplish there in two minutes. Presumably, his mere presence will be enough. In the president's imagination, diplomatic relations between countries shaped by decades of conflict can apparently be sorted out with a parachute and a suitable landing spot. Perhaps the State Department should at least have the necessary aircraft ready in the future.

In Lubbock, Trump then claims a role for himself that is enormous even by his standards. He will lead America into a new era of Christianity that no other human being could bring about. The president apparently regards the future of religion as another matter of his own personal uniqueness. Nearly 2,000 years of Christianity, countless believers, and a history full of religious conflicts are apparently not enough. Only Donald Trump can supposedly bring about the decisive change. His supporters listen. A man who just moments earlier mocked his political opponent over his alleged eating habits now declares himself the extraordinary trailblazer of Christian history. Exactly what this new religious era is supposed to look like remains unclear. There is, however, absolutely no doubt about Donald Trump's indispensable role in it.

Shortly afterward, the president discovers wind turbines. "Name me one country that has lots of windmills and is solvent. There are none." Germany and Denmark still exist, operate numerous wind turbines, and are financially solvent. Trump nevertheless considers his claim a suitable explanation of European economic policy. In moments like these, reality has to bend to the speaker. He declares wind energy an economic disaster and spares his audience any examination of the actual circumstances. Even the existence of financially solvent countries with extensive wind power apparently makes no difference to his claim. His supporters get a simple answer. The numbers would only get in the way.

On tariffs, Trump continues with his peculiar brand of economics. Other countries supposedly have to pay America $650 billion to get their tariffs reduced. He offers no comprehensible explanation of how he arrived at that figure. American import tariffs are initially paid by the companies importing the goods. The higher costs can then be passed on to consumers. Trump, however, treats those duties as though foreign governments simply had to transfer money to the American government. In his speeches, a burden on businesses regularly becomes a gift from abroad. That notion probably won't be much help at the grocery store checkout. That's where bills are usually paid with money whose origins can't be changed by a presidential claim.

Now it's about November 3. Trump demands that Texas defeat Democrat James Talarico. Governor Greg Abbott and Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick are supposed to be reelected. Ken Paxton receives particularly lavish praise. Paxton tells his supporters that Trump had told him he normally doesn't hold two campaign rallies in one day for anyone. Apparently, he must really like Paxton. "Mr. President, I really like you too!" The audience applauds this mutual display of affection. Trump also praises ICE agents and Border Patrol officers as "heroes." He claims 25 million people entered the United States without being checked. Now he says he has to get them back out of the country. He attacks judges who block deportations. He provides no credible evidence for his figure in the statement presented.

As the rally in Lubbock comes to an end, "YMCA" starts playing. Donald Trump dances. The man who only moments ago celebrated war as an economic windfall moves his arms to the music. Earlier, he wanted to send Marco Rubio into Cuba by parachute and had claimed a unique role for himself in the future of Christianity. His supporters cheer, some having cried before he arrived. A president has told them about his ego, talked about supposedly unaffordable wind turbines, and presented billion-dollar figures from his own tariff calculations. Now he dances his way out of the room. Outside, people are waiting who believe in this man. Inside, the event ends with a song whose exuberant cheerfulness could hardly offer a more cruel contrast to the words spoken just minutes earlier.