Good Morning, Mister Trump By DeWitt Cheng
Good Morning, Mister Trump.
The view from above of Trump at his trial suggests that he might feel shame at the public exposure of his financial crimes and his seedy career as a wannabe Casanova — not that he cared what Melania thought, despite their public displays of affected affection. Of course when it comes to shame or remorse from this guy, good luck with that. Trump’s monstrous father, Fred Trump, Jr., looms above, taunting the supposed Closer as a closeted Loser. “Good morning, Mister Trump” is how Judge Merchan greets the “former guy.”
Why Hicks cried. Never talk about my business, Hope.
The Trump power handshake meets the Michael Corleone hug and kiss. Did she shed tears on the witness stand for the boss or for herself? The implications are clear. She may have to be put down in good time.
GOP Friends Of Donald show up at the courthouse for a belated surprise party wearing the new MAGA uniform: blue suits and red ties.
Apparently The Donald’s moans of abandonment at his Manhattan trial reached the ears of loyalists and sycophants, who came out to support him. Meanwhile Congress sits abandoned by legislators of one party while still in session. 100,000 in Donald costumes (except for wigs) — oops, wrong attendance figure. More like a handful of maybe 10 of the usual craven suspects. No Brownshirt uniforms this time, but Blue Suits with Red Ties present to violate the gag order by surrogate. “Man in the area” was a phrase beloved of Teddy Roosevelt and Richard Nixon, shown here in a statue striking his iconic pose. “Friends — good!” is Frankenstein, smoking with his blind hermit pal.
Maybe in 50 years we'll have Michael Cohen doing the fall-guy commentary on high school graduate Barron Trump that former Nixon counsel John Dean is dispensing now on Donald.
The possibility that one obstinate MAGA juror might save Trump from conviction led to my imagining that Donald dreamed in court of that ideal juror, the Conservative Political Action Conference gilded idol from 2023 topped with a crash-test Trump head, dedicated to staying tough. Trump’s mobster admonition to any potential Michael Cohens to clam up under questioning because they have friends in high places. The noose is a nod to Pence’s necktie party and to the Robert Enrico film, “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.”
Michael, Remember the Romans.
Trump’s absurd and unhinged praise for “the late great Hannibal Lecter” at a recent rally inspired my depicting Donald as Hannibal. Looks about right. His threatening Michael Cohen with “You are ‘loved’” led to the title, Made Men, meaning Mafia goodfellas. (Remember the Romans comes from “Godfather 2.”) Trump’s cunning madness links the crime and advertising/PR (Mad Men) worlds, and his recent nonsensical but cynical charge that Biden was abandoning Israel because of antisemitism triggered my memory: Trump once mispronounced Yosemite as Yo-Semite. Really.
Meanwhile back at the Florida ranch … Her Honor does the honors. Nation of lawyers, not laws!
A salute to Judge Aileen Cannon, a credit to her SCOTUS-associate-justice account. She certainly must revel in the approval of all of those male Federalist Society colleagues for whom “originalism” simply means whatever our self-interest deems original. Cannon’s youthful inexperience is beside the point. For these men it’s enough that she is hot, one of us, and delaying justice.
Cold Cell, Bernie Sanders winter coat. The new Oval Office is a disgrace!
Trump complains about the cold courtroom. When convicted, incarcerated — and elected? — maybe he will serve, awake or asleep, from a nice cold cell. Here he is observed from beyond by the socialist Presidential candidate Eugene V. Debs, who ran for office from jail (Woodrow Wilson landed him there under his World War I sedition law crafted to suppress anti-war sentiment). It was Debs’ fourth run for the presidency, starting in 1900. The binders of official documents will only pile up higher and higher, as always unread while Trump sleeps. Bernie, you are too nice.
