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This is not the first time I have written about one Donald John Trump finally going one step too far, finally treading past the line that would bring him down. Call it wishful thinking, which it is, or call it far-fetched fantasy. Both are equally true. Occasionally I also fantasize about winning the mega-millions lottery, but I fear that the odds of that are much better than ever getting to enjoy a down-goes-Trump moment.
I haven’t heard the term Teflon Don used much these days, nor do many people offer up that great boast of the Don, spoken ten years ago, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters.” But the Golden Boy with the golden locks seems impervious to harm. For heaven sake, that guy in Pennsylvania carefully lined him up in his rifle sights, pulled the trigger—and grazed his ear.
So what might bring the man down? For a long time, Trump has urged, in both subtle and obvious ways, violence against his enemies. Obama, Schiff, Colbert, the list goes on and on. Although I really don’t want to see harm to come to any of Donald’s targets, might there be a public outcry if Trump told us that the world would be a better place without, let’s say, Joe Biden, and then it was good bye Joe. Joe, I wish you a long life, but my guess is that the current Pres would have the audacity to say that the world was actually better without you, and the loonies who adore him would agree and move on
Oh, and then there’s old buddy Jeffrey Epstein. I don’t in any way want to dismiss the relevance of moral indiscretions, of having sexual relations with female minors, but I’m amazed how even his Republican allies take this, and only this, one opportunity to confront Trump. Sending us into and dangerous and unnecessary wars, profiting openly in total disregard of the law, threatening every tradition of democracy—I guess those can be rationalized and forgiven. But Donald, if we get a photo of you and a 15 year old, you’re a goner. But you know what, it’s moot. We never will. Those files have been rinsed, sanitized, and filtered so thoroughly that I can virtually guarantee that we’ll never see an ounce of incriminating evidence.
And then we come, finally, to the circumstance that motivated me to sit down at my keyboard today. Don Jr is getting married this weekend. Dad was invited, and sends his best wishes, but unfortunately won’t be able to attend. After all, he is the leader of what was once the free world. He has all sorts of important business to transact with leaders around the globe. He has to sit down with Pete Hegseth and figure out how to obliterate Iran and its nuclear arsenal—again. Deals, he has to make deals, and maybe also get in a round of golf. Son, I really don’t like your choice of a wife. I told you to get rid of that bitch, but no, you wouldn’t listen. So let me offer my congratulations and say screw you as loud and clear as I can.
Donny Jr, you’ve been totally loyal. You’ve defended your dad through thick and thin. You’ve stood by his side and mocked all the naysayers with that glare and smirk of yours. And yet look how he treats you like s__t if you dare do anything–anything–he doesn’t like. Donny Jr, you know all the secrets. You know all the crap. Be a man and say, “Enough Dad. You’ve crossed the line, and I have a few things I’d like to tell the public.”
Yes, that’s my fantasy of the day. It’s a farewell story to Teflon Don.
