You know how we keep saying, “I wish this election were over, I’m growing to hate my fellow American”? I feel ya — I say it myself about 60 times a day. On the other hand, when confronted with video evidence that your fellow American shouldn’t be allowed to drive a car, much less vote, isn’t that a perfectly normal reaction?
Eh, it’s all but over now. Alan and I went out for our customary Friday-night dinner, talking a bout what-else, when I speculated that if nothing else, this election would reduce the Trump “empire,” such as it is, to ruin. Who would want to do business with this guy now, other than other sleazebags? Even in New York society, which I suspect is far less genteel than they might have us believe, the had-it-up-to-here factor has to be strong by now. I told some friends that I didn’t just want Trump defeated and his “brand,” such as it is, destroyed, I wanted all his children likewise and all his acreage sowed with salt.
Nothing personal. I’m just tired of hearing about what a sweet, poised socialite Ivanka is, and all the rest of the tribe’s b.s. Not that I am extreme about it or anything.
Anyway, to our disagreement. I think Trump is not only toast for now, but toast forever, that he’ll look back on his deathbed and see June 2015 as the place when he lit the match that burned everything down. His wife will leave him, quietly, in a few months. His creditors will demand full payment, and when it isn’t forthcoming, liquidation of his assets. I think this is it.
Alan disagrees, and thinks he has a bright future – of more grifting, basically. His loyal fans will follow him to whatever tar-stained beach he washes up on.
But the second presidential debate is nigh. Let’s get the popcorn and see how it goes, eh?