Finally Trump Gets To Live Out His Fondest “Mob Boss” Fantasy

I am one of many people who have written about Trump’s sick, pathetic bromance with mobsters, and his thinly veiled desire to be one of them. It is so pathetically obvious that under oath, testifying before congress, former Trump fixer Michael Cohen came right out and said that Traitor Tot’s use of mob vernacular was intentional.

Just one small problem. Trump is by nature a cowardly chickensh*t. He probably faints at the sight of a bloody nose. And he’s so cowardly that, when he used to go out to the racetrack in the old days, he’d run and surrender to the nearest cop every time the starter’s gun went off.

But now, at an age when most men have to content themselves with fondly remembering their most cherished fantasies, a weird confluence of circumstances have put His Lowness in position to actually live out one of his most beloved mob operations, which I realized as they were reporting on his takeover of the RNC,

It’s called a Bust Out Joint. The fundamentals aren’t complicated. You have a nice joint, a bar, maybe a restaurant, a deli, something with a good line of credit. But whether due to an unforeseen business expense, or the owner is into the bookies or pushers, he needs money.

So he goes to the mob, which gladly lends him the cash under brutal repayment terms. And when the check comes due, and the business owner is tap city, he is presented with a simple choice, Go for an all expenses paid underwater cruise of Sheepshead Bay, or turn over the business and fuc*k off. I think you can guess which door the poor slob chooses.

Then the fun begins. Usually a trusted capo is put in charge of the place, with a few well chosen buttons to help. First step is to scare off the actual paying customers so they can shutter the place down. The scratch the customers provide is bupkis, and pretty soon the mob is going to need that space.

And then, to quote Marcellus Wallace in Pulp Fiction, they call in a couple of hard, pipe hittin’ *bleeps* to go to work on the credit line with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. And it’s done with lightening speed.

If it’s non perishable, it gets bought. Electric cash registers, barstools, glasses and plates. Booze by the case. And non perishables like chips, jerky, beef sticks, and all other various snacks and munchies. Borrow like a drunken sailor on shore leave until the joint’s credit line is burned up, and then some if you can get more credit.

And once there isn’t even room in the bathrooms to store any more boxes, you call the crew together at two in the morning, an 18 wheeler shows up, everything goes in the back, and then they lock the door for the last time and walk away without a backwards glance. Because one thing they do know, is that if the sh*t is literally free, you can offer deep discounts when you resell it all.

And that’s exactly what El Pendejo Presidente is going to do, in fact he’s already started the process! Sweet Jesus, his capo and top aide only took over yesterday, and already according to one news report, some 20% of senior and office staff have either been fired, or coerced into resigning. They’re already scaring away the straights, so there’s nobody left to report to the outside world comes next.

A couple of months ago, as the legal bills piled up, Trump started threatening deep pocket donors that if they didn’t pony up to his campaign and Leadership PAC, they’d be personas non grata in a future Trump administration. Now he’ll just turn that chore over to Lara Trump, over the telephone, so he can use the RNC into a gigantic legal defense fund money laundering operation. After all, pretty much the major operation of a political party is to donate money to campaigns. There’s his cutout.

Normally where would be one major problem for Trump. Because unlike a legitimate business being busted out by the mob, a major political party has to file quarterly statements to the FEC. And those are automatically publicly facing reports. And the media are going to be all over those like white on rice, looking for hanky-panky.

But if Traitor Tot can chain his inner imbecile, it shouldn’t matter much. Because Trump just has to keep this operation wheezing along until November, then he could give a sh*t less. After all, if he wins in November, he’s untouchable, and will never have to run for reelection again. And if he loses, then he spends the rest of his miserable life either in court, or in state and/or federal prison, in which the RNC is no longer of any use to him, being the broke ass shell that it will be.

It’s actually kind of funny when you think about it. For most of his misbegotten life, Trump has still had at least some of the wherewithal to engage in some hedonistic fantasy fulfillment. But that has been difficult, since Trump’s #1 fantasy is Trump himself. But at least before The Mango Messiah permanently checks into the crossbar Hilton, he’ll have the chance to know how a real Godfather feels. Maybe it’ll help get him through the nights in solitary.

I thank you for the privilege of your time.