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Trumps Golden Rule of Governing
Link to tweet
https://crooked.com/article/trump-golden-rule-governing-pee-tape/
It’s November 2013 and you’re Donald Trump. By your standards it’s a normal weekend, which means you’re sitting in the presidential suite of the Moscow Ritz Carlton fuming at Barack Obama. In part you’re fuming because you’re very racist, and in part you’re fuming because Obama publicly humiliated you more than two years ago. If you were more self-aware than a mosquito, you’d realize these were heavily intertwined sources of aggrievement.
In any case, neither the opulence all around you, nor the celebrity-welcome you’ve just received, can lighten your mood. When you learn that Russia hosted the Obamas in the same suite in 2009, your mood darkens further. You can’t let go of your anger. You must do something.
After 45 minutes of rocking hypnotically in a gaudy piece of hotel furniture, inspiration strikes. Your plan requires the participation of young women—specifically white women—but discretion dictates that you cannot solicit professional escorts yourself, so you ask a younger man in your entourage to make the request for you.
Upon their arrival, you hand each a glass of champagne, and lead them graciously to the master bedroom, where you imagine the Obamas once slept. It is very hard to settle a score with the president of the United States, but you intend to try. At your direction, one after another, everyone in the room urinates on the bed. Maybe you top it all off with a dribbling of your own. You laugh maniacally. Victory is yours.
Except…
In any case, neither the opulence all around you, nor the celebrity-welcome you’ve just received, can lighten your mood. When you learn that Russia hosted the Obamas in the same suite in 2009, your mood darkens further. You can’t let go of your anger. You must do something.
After 45 minutes of rocking hypnotically in a gaudy piece of hotel furniture, inspiration strikes. Your plan requires the participation of young women—specifically white women—but discretion dictates that you cannot solicit professional escorts yourself, so you ask a younger man in your entourage to make the request for you.
Upon their arrival, you hand each a glass of champagne, and lead them graciously to the master bedroom, where you imagine the Obamas once slept. It is very hard to settle a score with the president of the United States, but you intend to try. At your direction, one after another, everyone in the room urinates on the bed. Maybe you top it all off with a dribbling of your own. You laugh maniacally. Victory is yours.
Except…
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