Donald Trump gave one of his best and most conciliatory speeches of his political career after his win in the recent Iowa primaries—that might explain why the media would not cover it.

Later, to answer an ad hoc ambush reporter's question whether he would hold grudges, he emphatically said he did not.

Yet after his win in New Hampshire, Trump went ballistic at Nikki Haley's earlier charges that he, rather than Joe Biden, was cognitively challenged, past his prime, and a perennial loser of popular votes.

In response, Trump shed his short-lived Iowa temperance. He went wholehog after Haley's dress and her affectations and trashed her character. He tweeted that she was a "birdbrain," and on and on.

For six years, observers have noted the disconnect between Trump's stellar record of governance, his occasional sense of humor and even self-criticism—and his ad hominem venom that often turns off the 3-7 percent of the electorate in the suburbs who otherwise might vote for him.

Reasonable calls to tone it down by pundits, aides, and friends do not work with Trump, and perhaps for several understandable reasons.

One, Trump is reactive in his "they started it, I finish it" mode. His theory of deterrence is to be disproportionate in retort to eliminate future preemptive attacks. Almost all of Trump's crudeness was in disproportionate response, sometimes even to minor offenses.

In such a world of Trump deterrence, if you do not relish a crude Trump, then don't first talk about cutting off his head, blowing him up, stabbing him, shooting him, or lighting him on fire, or don't spread lies like "Russian collusion," "laptop disinformation," or that the influence-selling Biden consortium was innocent of shaking down foreign interests for millions of dollars that were routed into the clan's coffers.