The Family Von Trump
♬There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall
And the bells in the steeple too
And up in the nursery an absurd little bird
Is popping out to say “cuckoo”
The moment was so fuzzy it made Donald’s hair look flat.
Adoring children from two former marriages plus the current wife (mother of the absent fifth child, Barron; the Baroness, perhaps?). Lesser known daughter Tiffany — her lips permanently pursed in a sultry “O,” her name conjuring up the unlikely combination of old wealth and stripper. Ivanka,
designer of spiked heels (and, oops, kicking them off on primary day, voting with her bare feet to not vote for daddy, all gushing aside).
There was no sign of the working girl/slutty nun, the common little floozy who does all the dirty work. As in take a letter I mean take a tweet, Maria. Was everyone else so moved by the gooey blended family love fest to not hear the part about the Donald dictating his misogynistic tweets to one of the “office gals?” Keep the Kool-Aid coming.
As I watched the morning CNN recap (through half spread fingers, as I tend to do these days), hoping that maybe clearer heads would prevail after a few hours of sleep, I was no less horrified than I had been by the immediate post mortem the night before. He made great kids, therefore he will make America great again. Seriously? I’ll be the first to admit my kids are great in spite of their parents.
I was particularly moved by the appearance of the regular Joe Shmo who was tickled to be on TV — again. At the Town Hall meeting, he had asked a question, which was somewhat pointless since he had prefaced it with his profession of undying Trump love and devotion. For Act II of his fifteen minutes of fame, he gave a shout out to his kids, praised Donald for his impending trek across the Verrazano to visit the oft forgotten borough of Staten Island, and, finally getting down to policy, said (and I paraphrase here, but you get the gist): “all everybody wants is to have more spending money.”
Speak for yourself buddy. All I want is, um, well, come to think of it, a bit of extra cash would be nice. Have I been too quick to judge? I glanced over at my dresser, at the package that has sat unopened since it arrived two months ago. I had flipped on CNN in the wee hours, some time between late night and early morning punditry, and oh my God I’m as shallow and dumb as the next guy. The infomercial sucked me in, and I sucked back, gulped down my own pitcher of Kool-Aid. I ordered a three month supply of some miracle potion that would make my neck look younger, which in turn would make me look younger, which in turn would change my life for the better forever. Hmm. Maybe even put more cash in my pockets.
Shoot me now. Next thing you know, I’ll watch Ted and Heidi tonight and I’ll want to invite them to dinner. Cuckoo. Cuckoo.