Trump: Forget Your Perfect Offering

As a child growing up in Pakistan, I went to many Friday markets. Trimmed meat was on display: poultry and goats hanging -- skinned but whole. Scrawny cats and aggressive flies competed for offal scattered on a dirt floor. Ask for fresh chicken and you could watch the butcher slit its throat and throw the dying bird into a decrepit crate. The headless chicken noisily jerked around for a minute before it was plucked, gutted and handed to you in a blue, plastic bag. I knew where my meat came from ...