A Very Donald Trump breakfast:
The man himself opens up about his wall, immigration, sex workers, and his foreign affairs policy
I recently sat down to breakfast with Republican nominee Donald Trump. Sitting down is not quite the word for it; it was more like being smothered by him in the booth we occupied at his favorite after-hours Denny’s down the Las Vegas strip. I’m not exactly sure why he picked this Denny’s. Maybe it was across the street from one of his properties and he wanted to mingle with the ‘regular Joes’ of Vegas or maybe just the attraction of stale 3am sex that wafted from the direction of every booth. Whatever the reason, there we were and it was as surreal as you might have imagined.
Trump had his pick of writers at the magazine and he insisted on me. Apparently, he found my story about the all little people civil war re-enactment rather interesting. ‘It was that story–you know, the one with the midgets dressed like Abe Lincoln!’ Trump said while the waitress brought our food. I tried to point out that the correct terminology was ‘Little People’ but he made a comment about hating that band and we left it at that. This was, after all, a chance of a lifetime and I didn’t want to blow it.
As the food was dispersed, I tried to engage Trump on a list of questions that were burning a hole into the American psyche since he announced his entering into the race for President. Mr Trump, always the consummate gentilhomme, was rather obliging. If you thought you knew Donald Trump, well, think again! As this exclusive interview will show, we have yet just scratched the surface of ‘The Donald’.
The thing I first noticed about this interview is that he didn’t come with the regular entourage that most political candidates (or just men of his status in general) have. This man literally slipped his security detail just to meet with me in a ‘stress free’ (his words) environment. You’d think the man would wear a suit even to bed, but that isn’t the case. Trump knows how to blend in with the every-man. He was wearing what can only be described as ‘Daisy Dukes’ along with a t-shirt that made certain references to his level of ‘Quiero’ for Taco Bell.
I started my line of questions with a soft-ball. I asked Trump if he really planned on building a wall around the US. The answer was rather striking. ‘You know, I gave a lot of thought to that wall building idea. You can see the wall as two basic realities: ONE–it is a physical wall. Now, think about this–how many people are unemployed? Millions, right? Millions are unemployed or UNDERemployed through Obama and Crooked Clinton policies. How do we get them employed? Simple! By turning to what made America Great! Building!’ Trump said as he shoved a semi-burnt breakfast sausage into his mouth.
I tried to point out that America’s building was infrastructure and not walls, but he put up a finger and nodded knowingly to this. ‘Before I address that issue, let me lay out the second reality to that wall–the metaphorical one.’ His arm draped around my neck. I wiggled. The smell of the greasy blob was getting to me and so were the sausages. He kept consuming the food–refusing any attempts at silverware usage–each sausage bringing me closer to him. The casual 3am observer at Denny’s must have thought he was either hitting on me or putting me in a headlock–but I knew better. I knew that Mr Trump, the very definition of manhood, would never do anything to hurt another individual in a breakfast setting.
‘The metaphorical wall, you see is a form of cultural isolationism based upon proven methods in my own business strategy. It’s like a girlfriend who you keep calling. She doesn’t want to see you. She takes you for granted. What happens if you don’t call? Maybe don’t call for a day? A month? How about a year? Metaphorically, right? You make her want you. And that’s what we want Mexico to be! We want Mexico to want us badly. They need us! They just need to be put in their place.’
It made sense (or maybe I was getting a contact high from the booth next to us). Isolationism worked for the US before, right? What could possibly go wrong? My next question was directed at his relationship with minorities. He opened up to me about how the press tried to skewer things he’d said in the past in order to make him look bad now.
‘You know, I have a lot of black friends. I have a lot of Mexican friends. No Chinese friends, though. Not sure why. Just never got along with them. Maybe it’s because they smell like fish and I hate fish. But blacks and Mexicans? I love them. Who doesn’t? Just look at Aunt Jemima and Speedy Gonzales. They were like real people to me when I was growing up. I would put their faces on my dolls and we would have this tea party together.
‘Aunt Jemima, what a crazy broad she was! Wild! I’m telling you, wild! And Speedy, let’s just say that little rodent really knew his way around an expended bathroom tissue tube. Fun times, back then. How can the media possibly think I have something against blacks and Mexicans? Just the other day I saw a Mexican walking down the street. He called me El Jefe Pendejo! That’s like big in their culture. So, yeah, I obviously have been vilified by the media. Heck Melania has some black in her, did you know that? That’s right! She told me herself just the other day. She sounded pretty out of breath and excited when she said it too.
‘My Melania, always working. She’s not just a nice set of tits and ass either, she’s smart. I mean, almost man level of smarts. In fact, she’s coming up with this new thing. NEW. She says that the energy and mass are about the same thing. She even has this formula thing about E is equal to mc². Brilliant. Always a thinker, my Melania.
‘Now, I call her MY Melania not because I bought her as a mail order bride or anything. She does not fuck for money! I call her MY Melania because her dad lost a poker bet with me. That’s right. I’m a great poker player. Poker Face? That song by Lady Gaga? That’s all about me.’
I started to point out that if she was a poker winnings that, technically, she was still a prostitute and her dad was her pimp. Trump’s eyes seemed to glaze over, much like what happens when he sees his daughter’s behind. His eyes narrowed. He coughed and some of the instant-scrambled eggs flew out of his mouth. One piece narrowly avoided me but hit a poor bystander. The bystander crossed himself as if he were just blessed by the Pope.
Whatever Trump was processing in his mind about this allegation that his wife was a whore was lost in the moment. ‘Hey, and by the way, those tits? Yeah, Hecho in Mexico, baby! So you know The Donald is all open for equal trade. Don’t believe the hate and hype, folks.’
I next asked Trump what he thinks of Hillary as a person. ‘You see, she’s not like you and me. We were born poor. We know what it’s like to struggle for things. I was what, 13 before my dad would even raise my allowance! How was I supposed to live off of only a thousand dollars a week? That was my first negotiation. I mean, how else was I going to pay the Mexican cutting my grass for $5 week if I didn’t have a pay raise. That’s trickledown economics in motion! I invented that. Gave it to Reagan, though. He needed a win. Good guy.’ I became uneasy when Trump started to talk about Reagan. Not because he called the president a good guy, but because he was rubbing a nipple whilst saying it. My nipple. I must say, though, his hands are also baby soft.
‘Hillary. Hillary is a woman. We think. I want to see the birth certificate. Who knows. She looks like a woman. This, as we all know, means she had everything given to her and you know what my mentor had to say about this, right?’
Who would Donald name as his mentor. The mystery unfolded in my brain as Trump took time to shove a fistful of baby sausages into some pancakes. In one giant swallow, they were gone. After a pause, I admitted that I didn’t know. Trump nodded. A string of syrup hung between his top lip and his chin. It was held suspended in mid-air before joining its compatriots on his neck. A pool of stickiness started to seep into his shirt.
Without warning, Trump stopped using those sausages as breath-mints and he spoke. ‘Let me quote a guy upon whom I modeled my entire business–Jesus. Remember when Jesus said, and I quote, “Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast, for it is a human number. Its number is six hundred and sixty-six.” You know her phone number is all sixes? It’s true! Now, I’m not saying the Crooked Hillary is Satan, but she is the biblical beast Jesus spoke about. Think about this–if Hillary is so good, why doesn’t Christ say anything good about her? You tell me that! Something to think on, isn’t it?’
Time went on. The sausage plate became lighter and the stain on Donald’s shirt became darker. The Taco Bell dog was nearly a fire hazard now. Needless to say, I was a bit stunned by this exchange of ideas. They were the most thought out and focused I have ever seen from Donald Trump. We spent the next 30 minutes discussing everything from his foreign policy to why he thinks Alf got a bum rap for eating cats. NOTE: I’ll have many of these points in Part 2 of my interview with the ‘most interesting man in the world’. Let’s just say it was a lot to unpack. Spoiler alert: One item in Part 2 discusses his love for sausage and his connection with David Cameron. In fact, he claims to have been ‘on the other side’ of the alleged pig ‘split roast’. Or you could just go to Liberal America and read the real news (better act quickly, as Trump might threaten to sue them…again).
The Donald looked me in the eyes, a small spittle of saliva hung from his bottom lip, defying gravity, frozen in mid-motion; I too froze and watched his jaws crush another link. Appearing to be temporarily satisfied, Mr Trump once again addressed me, ‘I think we had a great interview. Hey, do you mind getting the bill? I would but I left my wallet in my suit. You know, I am a rich man. VERY rich man. It wouldn’t do for me to just show off my money all the time. I mean, I could buy this dump if I wanted to, but who needs the hassle of running something as big as a Denny’s? That would take massive amounts of effort and knowledge–not that I couldn’t do it if I wanted to, but I’m more of an ideas man. Actual work and running a business? Forget about it!’
His hand scooped down the last of the sausages and made a triumphant return to his face. In a blink, the man, the myth, the legend was gone. So was the tip I left on the table for the waitress. Thus ended the weirdest interview of my life. With his mission accomplished, Trump left me to tell the world in hopes people will truly understand the grandeur that is the current Republican Presidential nominee and Minnesota Cha-Cha Champion, Mr Donald Trump.