Super Tuesday comes and goes and Carson quits, Kasich gets castrated, Cruz is crushed, and Micro Rubio reduced to rubble. The Accepted Wisdom seems to be that both Donald Trump and Hilary Clinton are destined to lead their respective party’s tickets. All that remains is the coronation. Oh, and the mad scramble to raise new money for their next campaigns
When I mention this to Duck Diamonds over drinks at the Liquor and Rubber Balls Sports Emporium and Flying Microwave Repair Shoppe, he looks bemused. But you never know with Duck — a professional gambler, he’s always working his way into people’s heads on his way to their wallets.
“Tell me straight,” he says. “Do you actually believe Donald Trump wants to be president?”
Well, if he doesn’t, he sure is putting on a helluva show and has a lot of folks fooled.
“Which is the story of his life, isn’t it? I mean, the man’s an actor and a con artist and a major league narcissist whose entire life is self-promotion. Why would he want to work as hard as he would have to if he really became President?”
Okay, Duck. So what’s your theory?
Duck softly sips his Wild Turkey 101, and just as gently swallows, enjoying the swirling smoky warmth on its winding way to his decaying liver.
“Trump doesn’t want to be president. What’s in it for him? He’d have to live in a crappy old house half the size of the ones he’s used to, where thousands of gawking strangers file through every day. He’d have to ride around in a cramped airplane, compared to the one he uses now, or a crummy downscale limo. He’s a germaphobe, and as President he’d need to be shaking hands all day and all night.
“Plus there’s the work itself. Presidents work 18 hours a day. They deal with dumb dangerous shit and some of the most irritating people on earth, called politicians. Why does Trump want to commit to this? What’s the upside?
“But front and center is the money. This is something that should have come up last time, with Romney, but never did. As President, he’d be obligated to put all his assets into a blind trust where he couldn’t get at them or even know what he owns. Can you imagine Donald Trump consenting to that? He’s no fool — he knows there are enough people out there who would love to ruin him and would, given the tiniest opportunity to try. Now he has to actually trust other people to handle his every red cent. This doesn’t happen. This is a classic deal-breaker.”
All this is fine, Duck, but last I looked, he was working his toupee off trying to win the race. Pretty odd behavior for a guy who doesn’t want the prize.
Duck smiles. “You just said it. What he wants, is to win. And that’s it. He wants to beat everybody, win the prize, and show the world how wonderful and lovable he truly is. He wants to say I-told-ya-so, and as a true New Yorker, finish off with a Fuck You You Wuz Schlonged. And he takes the oath of office, gets sworn in, tosses a HUGE YOOGE inauguration party………”
“And resigns. Quits. Sayonara. So long Sam See Ya in Miami. Thanks everybody and goes home. He proved what he hadda, did what he came for, and now there’s rounds of golf, his hot supermodel wife, and a new book for somebody to ghostwrite. In fact, he probably has that author signed up already, who’s following him around getting material.”
Duck, that’s just plain sick and evil.
“Oh, poor baby. You and Toto really miss Kansas, dontcha? This is the way of the 21st Century, where money is more in play than ever in history, and the rich have free rein to do whatever the hell they please. That Vermont commie and his Sandernistas happen to be exactly right about that. Trump pulls this off and bolsters his brand to unprecedented heights. He cashes in, and what Trump is all about, is cashing in.”
So the real question is, who’s his VP candidate?
“No, shithead, haven’t you been listening? Who gives a rat’s pie hole who his VP is, or who sits on the Court, or who the fuck gets elected dogcatcher? The real story is guys like Trump you and me never hear about, sitting behind all these empty suits like Chris Krispy and Micro Rubio and Hitlery Clinton, the billionaire power brokers who make the decisions, write the rules, and pocket the returns. They’re the owners. They pull the puppet strings. They own your ass, my ass, Congress’s ass, the entire world’s ass and all the assets. When Trump takes the oath of office next January, that’s what he proves. And that outta the way, he gets back to business.”
What a cheerful thought, Duck. What do we do?
Duck softy sips his Wild Turkey 101 (etc.). “Don’t know about you, but I’m gonna drink.”
Sounds like a plan. I head back to the bar.