The King of Queens

I'm about 3/4 of the way through Mary Trump's new book detailing the more personal side of Grandpa Ramblemouth's ascent to the highest position on the planet. I'm still flabbergasted when I put those words to paper.

I probably should wait until finishing the 210 page tell-all, but between memeing, lifting weights, tree trimming, drain unclogging, dog poop picking upping, bill paying, groin muscle stretching and all the other activities that occupy a 44 year old man's working life, who knows when I'll get to finish the last 50 pages?

As I have noted before, The Donald and I share some scary similarities.

We are both first generation Americans, born to Scottish mothers.

We both spent our childhood in Queens, NY. He, in fancy schmancy Jamaica Estates. And me in Jackson Heights and Flushing. There's nothing remotely fancy schmancy about a place called Flushing.

And we both had severe, empathy-challenged, domineering fathers.

The first half of the book delves into great detail about Mary's father, Freddy (Trump's older alcoholic brother), who like me, was the first born son who bucked at following in his father's predetermined footsteps. It led Freddy to a rebellious life of excessive drinking and disease. It led me to advertising.

Donald, appears in the second half of the book, opportunistically shoving his older brother to the side and using his oily charm to step into his father's good graces. Not surprisingly that's where the money was at. He also tried the snake away all the money in the old man's will, but fell two ink strokes short of closing that deal.

From the very beginning we witness the habits, mannerisms and piss poor work ethic, that has followed him right into the Oval Office.

When his business ventures went south, he declared bankruptcy. And rather than learn his lesson, he doubled down on the very arrogance that landed him in Chapter 11. It got so bad that the folks at Deutschbank had to put him on a $450,000 a month allowance. And, if you hadn't guessed, Commander Fuckknuckle quickly ignored those limits and spent money as if he'd never have to pay the bills.

Which he often didn't.

It's that same refusal to be held accountable that has given us this.

As an avid Trump hater, and I have no shame about saying that. I HATE this man with a passion, for what he has done to this country and continues to do. And for what he hasn't done. As I write this, it is Saturday morning. The twitter machine has just told me he has arrived at his own private golf course, for the 7,925, 461st time.

Eleven days ago, and 6 months too late, he told a corps of press reporters and TV journalists (meaning it's on tape) that he was in the middle of "developing a very, very powerful strategy for dealing with coronavirus."

Apparently that strategy involves a fairway wood.

Fuck him.