A Bull With UTI / Donald Trump aka 'Ole Orange Hair'

So there was this high priced pure bred Black Angus bull, stretched out in the pasture away from the cows he was supposed to be breeding. Not natural.The veterinarian opined that the fucking bull had a urinary tract infection and was partially blind in one eye. We forced the bull back on his feet and led him back to the farm yard. The son of a bitch stumbled into an unknown well pit, poked his other eye out. He died as we entered the grounds of Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa which was 120 miles from the farm yard.

So much for a Bronx, Jew farming in Iowa. My specialty as a farmer was to snatch disaster out of the jaws of defeat.

If it is true that one of the three most dangerous people in the world is a Jew with an attorney, then Donald Trump, Ole Orange Hair, should be Jewish. Law suits are one of Trump's specialties.

In the olden days, the 90's, Cipriani’s in the Sherry Netherlands Hotel in the Big Apple was my favorite stomping ground. It had a low ceiling and was loved by women who had bodies of Auschwitz survivors, boobs by Dow Chemical and lips puffed up with Botox. Dressed by Bergdorf Goodman, the women, single, divorced and married thought they looked beautiful. I thought they looked like shit. As phony as three dollar bills.

Trump, a big guy, would stand under the lights under the low ceiling. His wig would take on an orange glow. You sort of expected Gypsy Rose Lee to show up and do a burlesque routine with the Man With The Orange Hair. What a fucking pair to draw to.

Me and Donald Trump aren't even kissin' cousins and I would be stunned, one surprised Bronx Jew, if Ole Orange Hair would even remember me. He most certainly saves his memory for people he can still use or sue or preferentially, in thinking about his wonderful self. He is a fabulous person. Just ask him. Even with that big gut of his escaping from his shirt.

Trump was well on his way to real estate bankruptcy (circa early 90's) when Dale Frey, John Myers and David Wiederecht of the General Electric Pension Trust took that narcissistic, egomaniac in hand and saved his business ass. Taught him how to leverage his name into something with a franchise value and acquire real estate interests, at no cost to him, along the way.

Trump had a well deserved reputation of a low cost builder. GE Pension had taken possession of what was then known as the Gulf Western Building on the corner of 59th street and Central Park West on which the Trust had a mortgage.

The fucking building was vacated because it swayed in the wind. David Wiederecht and Trump came up with the notion to build a hotel around the remaining stripped down framework. Trump had no money; his father had saved his ass from personal bankruptcy a few years earlier.

Dale and John came up with the idea to have Trump take charge of the rebuilding process, build a hotel around the stripped down framework and Ole Orange Hair could earn an interest, out of the profits of the hotel, which he did. (Suzie Mills, the manager of the Trump International Hotel, deserves enormous credit for the success of the hotel).

This has been Trump's formula for the bulk of his ensuing success, putting his name on all those fucking buildings. Put up zero money and earn an interest in the properties. If the deal fell flat then Trump sued the owner to have his, Trump's name, taken off the property.

While the hotel was being built David Wiederecht thought that it would be a good idea that The Genius and I should meet. So I put my fat, lower case, bronx, jewish ass on a airplane and flew to New York for lunch with the self proclaimed genius.

Flying to N.Y. for lunch was something I did with some regularity which highlights what was a major stupidity problem of mine. I really thought that I was a big shot. Time has proved that to be a major fucking piece of bull shit. Trump and I met in the Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel for lunch. Mr. Wonderful, David and me.

In those days, Trump "controlled" the Plaza and there was a regular parade to our luncheon table of his acolytes, genuflecting for Trump who was in hog heaven. Trying to have a conversation in between Trump's pontifications to his worshipers was impossible.

By the time lunch ended, I was wired for sound with frustration at being treated rudely and with zero respect. And that, after what I considered to be a major league effort to get to The Big Apple (I was no longer drinking and getting blasted on airplanes).A total of 10 ridiculous hours, coming and going, in a fucking tube.

After 'lunch', I got back to my hotel and called Trump's office. I told his assistant that I wanted to see Trump again, immediately. His assistant told me that his calendar was too full for me which almost pushed me out the fucking 10th story window.

I pointed out that I had taken a serious trip from California to see him and that he absolutely owed me the courtesy of 20 minutes of his time. She phoned me back and told me to get my ass over to his office right away and the Great One would see me.

Our ‘conversation’ could have been on Saturday Night Live.

What an arrogant, self consumed guy he was/is. He told me that once a person spoke the first five words of a sentence he, Trump, knew what the other person had to say and that he, Trump, didn't have to listen any further. After a few more minutes of this bizarre ‘conversation’, I told Trump that "if they knew what ADD was when he was in the third grade that he would still be in the third grade and that his mind had the staying power of a moth on a hot light bulb".

But history does says that Trump is a bright guy if a boor as well. I never had the desire to ever see him again though I did spot him again in Cipriani's. He was standing under a bright light fixture which made his hair shine ORANGE. Bizarre. He looked right through me. Shit, I couldn't, wouldn't do him any fucking good so he didn't 'see' me.

P.S. Without GE Pension Fund and the education and financing Dale, John and David provided him, Trump would have been another very smart failed RE operator who earlier had needed his Daddy to bail him out. Trump was fighting bankruptcy of his Atlantic City gambling emporium with interest on a loan coming due. His Daddy bought enough chips to cover the interest and didn't cash the chips in.