Among the things Donald Trump has claimed to know more about than any human being alive are drones, the economy, renewable energy (including the concomitant scourge of windmill cancer), the courts, trade, our political system, infrastructure (which he inexplicably punted away into the ether), and, of course, taxes.
In March 2016, Trump told a rally crowd, “I know more about taxes than any human being that God ever created.”
He repeated his boast in May 2016 during an interview with Good Morning America, saying, “I think nobody knows more about taxes than I do, maybe in the history of the world.”
So you’d think a world-renowned expert on taxes would know when and why you’re supposed to pay them. And whether you can give your employees $1.7 million in income, tax-free. I’m too dumb to do my own taxes, and I know you can’t do that.
But Donald Trump is simultaneously the stupidest and smartest man in the world when it comes to the tax code. I’d be tempted to call him Schrödinger’s wankface if that weren’t far too salty an appellation for a former pr*sident.
TRUMP AT LOSER-PALOOZA II: “And yet they go after good, hardworking people for not paying taxes on a company car. Company car. You didn’t pay tax on the car, or a company apartment. You used an apartment because you need an apartment ‘cause you have to travel too far where your house is, you didn’t pay tax. Or education for your grandchildren. I don’t even know, do you have to …? Does anybody know the answer to that stuff? Okay. But they indict people for that stuff.”
I know of at least one person who knows the answer to that stuff: Cy Vance.
Also, nice job confirming the criminal conspiracy there, Al Cornpone. Trump doesn’t even need his dopey sons to incriminate him. He can do the heavy lifting himself.
Apparently, Trump is doing his best to appeal to his throngs of blue-collar fans, who also hate paying tax on Mercedes-Benz leases, private school tuition, and Upper West Side Manhattan apartments. That’s the kind of message that really resonates in the Rust Belt.
I don’t know about you, but I hope Vance cuts Trump open like a tauntaun and gives me at least five minutes to make whimsical snow angels in his regal viscera (metaphorically, of course). It would also be fun to watch his coming financial collapse from the quiet shores of Schadenfreude Island. Sure, I’ll settle for that. Prison would be gravy—as would Trump’s underpants if he was ever forced to live there without his full-time ass butler.
And with that—happy Fourth of July, everyone!
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