Donald Trump.
Remember him? The fat orange fool is still hiding out in Florida, having renovated a wing of his dumpy resort into an office, the way some hairdressers turn their garage at home into a ‘salon’.
But it’s still a garage, and the Office of the Former President is still a place where rich old white people fly in on Trump Airlines to enjoy a shot of Trump Vodka with a Trump Ice chaser while chowing down on Trump Steaks.
Maybe they’re waiting for their kid to graduate from Trump University so he or she can work in Atlantic City and aspire to the fashions and lifstyle in Trump Magazine.
Yep, Ivanka before breast implants.
He could tune in to Trumped! talkback radio for inspiration from The Man himself, and in his downtime learn some cunning strategic moves playing Trump: The Game, where “It’s not whether you win or lose, but whether you win!” that matters.
Me? I’m glad Trump is starting to get restless.
The Blessed Joe’s administration is so damn competent and professional that it’s boring. It’s like a circus where nobody ever gets stomped by the elephant. Under Trump there were daily executions: Political careers cut short, everyone on edge. Reading the news was like stepping into the Roman Colosseum to watch the Christians v Lions match.
Good wholesome fun.
Instead its all vaccine, vaccine, vaccine and full steam ahead.
Economies are slowly recovering, humanity prevailing against the odds, a new normal emerging from the post-Trump world. But he almost fucked it, didn’t he. He almost triggered a second US civil war. Instead, Trump will become irrelevant, lawyers circling his shrinking fortune like vultures above a dying man crawling through the desert.
Sad.
Maybe he was, once upon a time, a winner. But we don’t believe in faerie tales anymore, let alone the pro-Trump lies and hype. He is a spent force. When DJT starts vlogging out of his garage-office, you’ll know he’s reached the end. Like most enterprises with the Trump name, anything he touches now will crumble to a fine, powdery orange dust.