The word cult is tossed around about Trump devotees, but I think there is a closer comparison. Even I have written in the past about the blind worship of Trump, who tells his followers to only believe in him. If he lies, it is for them, he says. The one woman he has been found liable for sexually assaulting and the twenty-six others who have accused him are liars and beneath his standards, he tells them.
Trump’s wealth of court cases from fraud, theft, and attempting to subvert the Constitution, he says, are witch hunts, likening himself to the Salem witch trials. To cover his grift, as proved by the recent 355-million-dollar (plus interest) judgment adjudicated by a New York court, he is looking to sell gold sneakers and a GoFundMe page to supplement his legal bills and fines. If you remember, he has already cut up one of his suits and sold what is tantamount to prayer cloths. So, from the outside looking in, it seems he is a few steps away from opening a Flavor Aid stand.
Many of you who have followed me over the years know I have been a professional wrestling fan for over sixty years because it brings back memories of sitting in my great-granny’s lap at five years old, head nestled in her bosom, shielding my ears as she screamed for Bobo Brazil and Bruno Sammartino. From Gorgeous George and Johnny Valiant to Ric Flair and Hulk Hogan, a bleached blonde with outrageous hair and their bodies covered in orange bronzer has been a staple of the sport. Among their talents was their microphone work. As it is known, cutting a promo means commanding an audience with loud, empty braggadocio filled with self-adulation. Chief among their taunting was hurling whimsical insults intended to belittle the opponent. Another oracle of the ring was wrestling manager Bobby “The Brain” Heenan, who once said of another wrestler he is “living proof that even with the best physician in the world, there’s no cure for ugly.”
Mr. Trump is fond of nicknames, as are wrestling bad guys. His oversized persona fits in well with wrestling fakery; Trump’s life is a creation. The brags of money, cars, and women are facades just like Trump’s claims of wealth beyond imagination. It would appear his wealth is more imagination than truth. The former President values his Mar-a-Lago
Trump’s wealth of court cases from fraud, theft, and attempting to subvert the Constitution, he says, are witch hunts, likening himself to the Salem witch trials. To cover his grift, as proved by the recent 355-million-dollar (plus interest) judgment adjudicated by a New York court, he is looking to sell gold sneakers and a GoFundMe page to supplement his legal bills and fines. If you remember, he has already cut up one of his suits and sold what is tantamount to prayer cloths. So, from the outside looking in, it seems he is a few steps away from opening a Flavor Aid stand.
Many of you who have followed me over the years know I have been a professional wrestling fan for over sixty years because it brings back memories of sitting in my great-granny’s lap at five years old, head nestled in her bosom, shielding my ears as she screamed for Bobo Brazil and Bruno Sammartino. From Gorgeous George and Johnny Valiant to Rick Flair and Hulk Hogan, a bleached blonde with outrageous hair and their bodies covered in orange bronzer has been a staple of the sport. Among their talents was their microphone work. As it is known, cutting a promo means commanding an audience with loud, empty braggadocio filled with self-adulation. Chief among their taunting was hurling whimsical insults intended to belittle the opponent. Another oracle of the ring was wrestling manager Bobby “The Brain” Heenan, who once said of another wrestler he is “living proof that even with the best physician in the world, there’s no cure for ugly.”
Mr. Trump is fond of nicknames, as are wrestling bad guys. His oversized persona fits in well with wrestling fakery; Trump’s life is a creation. The brags of money, cars, and women are facades just like Trump’s claims of wealth beyond imagination. It would appear his wealth is more imagination than truth. The former President valued his Florida compound (Mar-a-Lago) at 1.8 billion dollars. If one were to believe Mr. Trump—and New York Judge Arthur Engoron did not- his resort cost nearly as much as the 65,000-seat climate-controlled Allegiant Stadium, the home to the latest Super Bowl, estimated at 2 billion dollars.
The clownish spectacle of selling cheap merch in America’s lobby must stop. When one thinks about it is beneath the dignity of this great country. Steaks, Mr. Trump, of course, called the world’s greatest, sold in the back of a consumer electronics store and failed so spectacularly that Sharper Image pulled the product after two months. Bottled water with his name slapped on the label, failed casinos, a failed airplane shuttle service, and a bogus college were less laughable than his recent attempts to fleece his public with trading cards and gold-colored sneakers. Right now, Joe Biden is the man, and America needs to vote for the man.
Vote Against Guns
De shuttle service, and a bogus college were less laughable than his recent attempts to fleece his public with trading cards and gold-colored sneakers. Right now, Joe Biden is the man, and America needs to vote for the man.
Vote Against Guns