Why the Denial, Donny?
Remember way back in the Pliocene epoch (i.e. slightly more than a year ago), Donald Trump was campaigning for president, and at that time an Access Hollywood recording with audio of Trumpkins saying some ish to Billy Bush was released? And on the recording Tumpety was all I-can-grab-women-by-the-pussy-and-it’s-cool, and the interwebs was all, oh-man-he’s-just-lost-the-election, and Trump was like men-talk-like-that, and we were all, na-ah, and then he ended up winning the election and the white women’s vote?
Well, because we’re living in upside down land (except that suggests a kind of binarism that is too simple for the what-the-fuckery we’ve got going on in these here United States) and even though Trump conceded to saying what he was clearly recorded saying, now it turns out he’s telling people behind the scenes that he didn’t. Billy Bush (of all people) has come forward saying not only did Trump say it, but he said it in front of several other people, none of whom actually believed him. But, and here comes the twist, now Billy Bush legit thinks maybe Donny-Grabby-Hands is a sexual predator. In a recent New York Times op-ed he revisits the accusations which, as he points out, are pretty much in line with Donny-Small-Hands’ claims on the Access Hollywood tape.
Some of what Natasha Stoynoff, Rachel Crooks, Jessica Leeds and Jill Harth alleged involved forceful kissing. Ms. Harth said he pushed her up against a wall, with his hands all over her, trying to kiss her.
“He was relentless,” she said. “I didn’t know how to handle it.” Her story makes the whole “better use some Tic Tacs” and “just start kissing them” routine real. I believe her.
Kristin Anderson said that Mr. Trump reached under her skirt and “touched her vagina through her underwear” while they were at a New York nightclub in the 1990s. That makes the “grab ’em by the pussy” routine real. I believe her.
All of which sounds about right. It’s never struck me that Emperor Zero has ever been the least bit ashamed of being a gross leech, any more than his friend Roy Moore has been about pursuing children (after all, 14 year-olds were fair game in the Bible). What does puzzle me, however, is this sudden disclaiming of his pussy-grabbing-skillz. What possible motivation could he have for backing away from something that his trolly sexist followers secretly (and not so secretly) delight in? Why is he denying this?
Well, you have to look at things from Trump’s perspective: which is to say from the perspective of your best friend Hannah’s tantruming 3 year-old, Petunia; then it makes perfect sense. Trump and Petunia haven’t reached the developmental stage where they accept that they cannot necessarily have everything they want. So Petunia pitches a fit when she can’t have that creepy-ass LOL Big Surprise toy, and Trumpkin can’t prevent himself from striking out furiously about the Russia investigation, even if it means he incriminates himself. (Also, like Petunia, Orange Kool-aid isn’t good with big words).
So what atavistic urge is Lobster Claws struggling with regarding The Great Sexual Harassment Outing of 2017?
Might I suggest the glorious rush one gets from meting out a good old-fashioned public shaming? Think of all the finger-pointing and nah-nah-nah-nah-nahing Donny’s missing out on because he’s made sexual harassment part of the Lobster Claw brand? I mean he’s released a few mediocre tweets about the issue …
… but I doubt I’m the only one who doesn’t think his heart’s in these. If Humpty Trumpty can convince
himself us that it isn’t his voice on that tape, though, then he can throw as many stones as he wants from his White glass house. He can peacock and play moraller-than-thou to his heart’s delight! …but for that recording.
As they say in South Africa, “Ag shame, poor thing,” but I doubt it’s pity-shame that Spray Tan Mansicle is looking for.
Trump as Reality Talent 101
The one pleasure I have about the Trump presidency is that, since mofo was a reality star I get to write about him on this blog. Actually it’s less a pleasure than a tiny solace as viewed from space, but I digress. As an experienced Reality Showrunner I have special insight into the deportment of America’s Own Despot given that, hey, we hark from the same business.
Reality Lesson 1: Reality talent is reality talent. Whether they end up with their own QVC line or the presidency of the United States (or both!) they behave consistently.
Recently (oh who’re we kidding, for the past ten months and sixteen days but who’s counting) there have been some actions coming out of the White House that puzzle the conventional political class and the media. This has led to a lot of pondering on what motivates these actions, even what the endgame might be. Fortunately I’m here to clarify: no matter how much reality producers plan in advance in terms of what we want to shoot, our so-called Talent is gonna come along and take a big shit in the middle of everything and screw it up.
Even though we script a story that makes perfect sense (yes, reality is scripted, move along) chances are the moron who is shameless enough to embrace reality stardom will fuck that shit up. And then viewers will be all, why’s this story all fucked up? and (completely unfairly) blame the editors. (Editors are the only people between reality and the deep blue sea, but that’s for another post).
And that, simply, is what Baby Fists is doing to his team. Eyeballing their plans and then taking a big fat shit in the middle of them.
And there goes every previous attempt at denial, evasion, cover-up or rebuke, because although every version of the script had DonDon claiming ignorance, DonDon gone all Flavor of Love and pooped on it.
So the next time Donny tweets about how he sees no problem with selling his country out to the highest bidder (he’s a businessman after all!) or gives a public statement about how Nazis are cool and all, stop looking for the stratagem. There is none. He’s just being a reality star which, as established above, means he has the emotional makeup of a three year-old and he’s shitting on the script.
And for the White House staff, welcome to Reality. Ain’t it glamorous?