I apologize. I really screwed up, I totally missed the boat, and otherwise fell asleep at the proverbial golden wheel. I should have noted this years ago.
Once the gilded halfpence drops, it is impossible to unsee it, kinda like a pretty naked lady on a vase, which also looks like a hideous witch.
Let us hitch a ride on Mr. Peabody and Sherman’s WABAC (pronounced way-back) machine to go back in the time and place to when Trump opened yet another media campaign blintz (with two scoops of heavy whipped cream), showing off his NY condo of 30,000 squirreled feet . . . or was it 10,000? in a nationally boredcast media promo spot. This was WABAC when back when “Yer fired!” was still a think amongst the unthinking.
Ah yes, the Trump condo. Trump Tower. Trump. And enough spray painted golden props to let the screen actors’ gilt film the colorized version “Midas, the Man, the Finger, the Magic” with no other investment, other than film and development.
Think tacky. No, think of the winner of The Tackiest, Most Tasteless, Laughable, Interior (mis)-Designed Condo ever, decorated floor to ceiling with microns’ thick gold foil. Everything about it and the condo’s owner was slightly north of hideous, while maintaining a pure aroma and essence of revolting, tasteless, overdone, excessive and pathetic.
Gold everywhere. I mean everywhere, even the bathroom faucets, toilet, as well as the kitchen sink, garbage disposal and trash compactor. If mammaries serve, (especially the silica/saline ones preferred by teh Don for his female conquests, even his unfortunate little girl) he announced his run for the presidency.
I must admit that i was amused/appalled by the idea that Trump would actually run, much less having to live in a reality where he was elected. After all, he had threatened this flat earth with at least one previous run for office. After the election, I still had to pinch myself daily to make sure I was not in some involuntary, drug-induced nachtmare, but no, sadly not. We actually had con-man Trump elected as president. Don the Con - reality TV nachmare.
But it is Gold which sticks in my mind. “Gold,” both the color and the actual metal represents to Trump the ultimate sign of wealth. Power. Glory. Talent and greed, resulting in tons and tons of riches and money. More than anything, he revels in it and wants more. His insatiable greed made me fear for the health of Fort Knox, once the repository for almost all of USA’s official supply, used to create a valued and respected dollar. I really thought it would turn into Camp Donald, as he mistreated it as a personal piggy bank. He must have found out that Knox had not been a rare metal repository for decades. In real life, it was nothing like the site seen in Goldfinger.
Then, while Honey, our two YUGE dogs, and I celebrated the recent judgments and verdicts, it struck me. In the throes of great mental illness (every single thing about Trump is “great,” including his complex mental problems), he went back to his roots. Gold. Gold carpets. Faucets. Walls. Every single thing. Including himself. When he visited Moscow, he was fed in a golden restaurant, perhaps by chance, but with Putin’s network of spies, gathering dirt on many Americans, they had some good hints about his love. Gold plates, gold curtains, gold serving dishes, golden showers. It starts to make sense.
It struck me that he himself was conned. There are many visual impairments, color blindness, degeneration, detached retinas, and more. When his team of image makers would work on his personal image every day, they convinced him that his heavy facial make-up actually contained gold, and would give him The Richest Glow. Golden boy, indeed. With his unique orange -gold defect, he really thinks that he is Gold. Immutable. Powerful. Rich. But like the rest of him and his life, it is mainly iron pyrite. Let’s not let him make fool’s gold out of us.
Ugly golden sneakers? For an athlete of your size, strength (downwind, at least) your ghastly physique, and unending cheating to win?
Seriously? Yes, you would be.