If the Monica Lewinsky affair taught us anything, other than the exhilarating sensation of receiving a blowski from a girl who just ate an Altoids, it’s that people like the idea of the president getting some stank on his hanglow. I don’t know why people were expecting Donald Trump to be forced, in shame, to resign his office after Stormy Daniels put his business in the street on a recent episode of 60 Minutes.
Granted, Trump wasn’t the president back in the mid to late ‘00s, when he had a series of sexual encounters with the pr0n star. But he was the CEO of the Trump Organization, which must have been a difficult job, if the fact that he went bankrupt on multiple occasions is any indication. He had a lot on his mind, and he needed “a release.” Melania was incapacitated, having recently given birth to their son Barron a/k/a The Expert.
Barron was probably an especially long baby (nullus), given that he’s already like 6’ tall as a 12-year-old boy, and there’s only so much those dissolving stitches can do. Melania’s vagine probably hasn’t been right ever since. Alas, there was no way she could deliver Barron via c-section, because obviously a guy who’s worth like a billion dollars is not going to want a wife with a scar across her midsection like some gross East Saint stripper.
Even if it were a situation where her life was in danger, he’d had to insist on her popping that bad boy out through the front entrance, so to speak. As they say in her native Russia, If she dies, she dies.
It’s too bad Trump didn’t have a baby girl with Melania. That child would have grown up to be smokin’ hot. Trump’s male children all look kinda retarded (in the clinical sense of the term, mind you). Don Jr. and Eric look like a real-life Beavis and Butthead, while Barron already kinda has that glassy-eyed school shooter thing going on. Ivanka, meanwhile, is so hot that you can’t even be that upset with her—even at the ripe old age of 36.
But I digress.
In the days leading up to the airing of Anderson Cooper’s interview with Stormy Daniels, this past Sunday, Daniels’ lawyer Michael Avenatti (who’s actually from my “hood”; hence, presumably, the strength of his troll game) posted, on Twitter, a pic of what appeared to be a CD-ROM, like one you might have used to listen to an illegally obtained copy of Freddie Foxxx’s ever-prescient Industry Shakedown. I was intrigued, but not so intrigued that I was about to watch 60 Minutes.
I was hoping the CD-ROM would contain grainy 480p video of the president getting spanked with an issue of Forbes with his own face on the cover, motorboating Stormy Daniels’ huge fake cans, calling her “Ivanka” and what have you, but I knew better than to think they could show that on 60 Minutes. Old people watch 60 Minutes! It comes on at 4:30 in the afternoon, i.e. right before bed time. You saw how many problems CBS had with that stunt Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake pulled at the Super Bowl back in '04.
In retrospect, the dead giveaway that this wasn’t going to be much of an interview was the fact that it was conducted by Anderson Cooper. Do the people who run CBS not know he’s gay? Not that gay people shouldn’t be allowed to be journalists (they’re great at sniffing out rumors), but you’d think that a straight guy, drawing from his imagination, would have more insight into what a sexual encounter with a pr0n chick would be like. Is that older black guy with the earring still alive? He was arguably the GOAT—with all due respect to Andy Rooney.
On the other hand, it probably would have been more difficult for a straight guy to sit across from her and not forget where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. I’d say that Stormy Daniels has held up reasonably well for a girl her age, i.e. more or less the same age as me. (Eww!) She’s actually here in the STL next weekend feature dancing. I’d consider going, for the sake of journalism, but pr0n chick feature dancers are always kind of a disappointment. If I’m spending that kind of money, I’m trying to walk out of there with my pants stuck to my leg.
Take it easy on yourself,