By David Glenn Cox
Donald Trump is out and out begging now, and It’s almost become a sad act. Appearing in front of oil company execs Trump bellows, “Please sir, give me more money! Please! Please! Give me money! Please! I’ll let you do whatever you want! You can bring back Desoto’s. You can sleep with my sister. I don’t care! You can murder the planet only, please give me money!” Just blatant pathetic pandering now, no sparkly shoes were offered, no sporty Bibles, no nothing.
At this point, Mr. Trump is looking for someone open to throw his hail Mary pass to. “I’ll make the rivers run backwards! I’ll put liquor in the streams and plant cigarette trees. I’ll murder the jerk who invented work. I’ll do away with Mondays! Men will stand taller, and women will lose weight! McDonalds will bring back the McRib sandwich, and everyone will win the lottery.
And they publish these stories straight-faced of Donald Trump said this or Donald Trump said that. Going around scaring honest folks with these Trumpy fairy stories. Donald Trump is a pathological liar, and everybody knows it! As tempting as it might be for the executives to fund a Trumpocalypse. They didn’t get to be the head of a big oil company by acting dumb. He says anything to anybody! Everybody knows that! He loves you at breakfast and doesn’t know who you are at lunch.
A friendship bought in frequent controversy. A friendship bought while the wheel is still in spin. Michael Cohen never thought he was going to wind up jail either, by befriending Mr. Trump. It just sort of happens sometimes. Donald Trump is a free radical and a loose ball in the pinball machine of life. Anyone who tells you what outrage Mr. Trump will likely perform in the next thirty days is lying to you. Do you want to handcuff yourself to that level of unpredictability?
Like a Mafia Godfather, you want to be polite and friendly and all, but definitely not getting too close. Be careful petting the nice crocodile. Not being in the room, I can only imagine the looks on the faces of the executives. A polite smile while looking questioningly towards the others in the room with a knowing “Do you believe this bullshit?” look of hidden anxiety and fear. “There’s a killer on the road. His brain is squirming like a toad.”
Danger Will Robinson! This guy is nuts, he could get me fired! Self-preservation is the order of the day. The executives live under the tyranny of the arrow and the decimal point. If the little arrow points the wrong direction for too long or the decimal point moves, it’s curtains for certain. So as tempting as robbing the candy store sounds, the execs know every action brings an equal and opposite reaction. You can only get fired for doing something wrong if you did something first.
Sure, a second Trump Presidency could bring about reduced environmental regulations between the nuclear war and the world-wide depression. The math just isn’t there and what are the chances Trump would actually keep his promises anyway? Give Trump a billion dollars and just trust him huh? You must be new in town.
The problem for Trump is simple, how can he influence those with much only with the promise of giving them more? How much richer than an oil company exec can one possibly be? The fear of losing what they have is greater than the belief that with Trump they’ll have even more.
Cracks are appearing in Trump’s persona, and this is one of them. The strain is beginning to tell on Donald and his face sometimes appears gaunt. The champion of the Republican Party is besieged in his own castle on all sides by the armies of the law.
It was announced that young Barron Trump was going to be a Florida delegate to the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee. (Detroit was busy) I don’t know, a job like that seems like quite a plum for such a young man. Wave a sign and walk around. Have a drink and meet a prostitute. Maybe your brother has some more of that white powder stuff.
Maybe I’m missing something here. Isn’t that the kind of job Party functionaries and high rolling contributors fight over? Odd, ain’t it? It was announced the other Trump children would also be Florida delegates. But why? Why pass out plums to ungrateful and useless children? Maybe to fill the ranks? Maybe, the functionaries and high rollers have decided to pet the crocodile some other time. No! I don’t want my picture taken with Mike Lindell.
Mr. Trump wants to present a Milwaukee convention where everybody’s happy. Trials? What trials? Casting the illusion of unity while unable to fill the seats with Buttheads. Oh no, I was a delegate last time. It’s your turn this time! The phony elector scandal is also casting a pall on the enthusiasm. You know how wives are; just a couple of indictments in the news and they want you to come home.
There is a palpable sense of foreboding inside the Republican Party. What will he say or do next? A sense that Republicans are carrying a large lump of ice to the North Pole in November. The sense of being on a doomed ghost ship, lost at sea. A knackered Napoleon plotting his escape from Elba and planning to bring back his glory days when everyone else knows, they are so obviously over.
“Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside” ― John F. Kennedy