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 plus a mouth bigger than the entrance to a subway station spewing pure nonsense aka bullshit are Trump's specialties.
In my golden days, the 90's, Cipriani’s at 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 in Cipriani's under the low ceiling. His hair piece 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 that would have been 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, sue or
in thinking about his wonderful self. He is a fabulous person. Just ask
him.
Absolutely
the King of Shameless Self Promotion. Even with that big gut of his
escaping from his custom made Italian, French or British 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. Ole Orange Hair now places billions of dollars on the value of his
name.
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 Pension 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 then 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 for The Genius and I to 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 bullshit.
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 to
have lunch with an overweight, self consumed, obnoxious suit, Master of
The Universe.
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, 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 say 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. Standing under a bright
light fixture, hair shining ORANGE with the air conditioning blowing
his wig up. Bizarre.
He looked right through me. Shit, I couldn't, wouldn't do him any fucking good so he didn't 'see' me. My experience with Ole Orange Hair was highlighted by Trump's total rudeness to anyone he couldn't use.
At
a Thanksgiving Day viewing from the then not quite completed Trump
International Hotel, Trump with his then wife Marla and Marla's Mother, hosted a friend of mine with my friend's wife and four kids. One of my
friend's kids was a knockout 18-19 year old daughter who, in front of his
wife etc., hit on the 19 year old.
Some years ago Ole Orange Hair, at a lunch with a friend of mine, asked my friend why no one liked him, Ole Orange Hair.
P.S. Without GE Pension Fund and the education and financing that 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.
~
