You Want a Piece of me? Here’s what that costs! Trump’s Formula

Nuts and bolts are always the interesting things about investigative stories, which is why good reporters dig and dig and dig for the stuff that makes what is basically a common theme, man’s lust for money, somehow compelling enough to read.

Here is a collection of nuts and bolts about Donald Trump that just doesn’t stop. It’s the second part of the New York Times series on his tax history and while it is not as shocking as the notice that his tax bill when he entered the White House was a whopping $750, it has its own troubling luster.

I would like to remind you all that more than 200,000 people in this nation have died because of what I have taken to calling “The Trump Virus” because it very much is, fueled by his ignorance and dishonesty. None of his stunts seems to be working.

But you already know that.

What’s new?

The president, it would appear, would sign, sell, rent, stamp anything if he could get some money from it. And the key to doing that was to create a persona that would make him look like the golden boy, from his hair right down to his golf shoes. He became what he needed to become to create a fraud so convincing it created a wave that was just enough to get him into the White House.

Just enough, mind you, and not a bucket of votes more. Hillary Clinton, after all, beat him by 3 million votes in the popular vote tabulation, but he had hit just the right corners in places like Central Pennsylvania and Wisconsin and Michigan to get an electoral college victory, a con man’s avenue into the White House.

That, of course, is pathetic but fits the con man’s image perfectly. Of course he couldn’t win a real election. He was not a real politician and was essentially clueless about anything but his own crushing need to gather money and build businesses to lose money with so he could convince the federal government he owed no taxes.

My own personal feeling about this is that it is something that could ONLY happen in New York, a city built on an ever eroding set of mythologies about luck and cunning and business acumen, except it’s all so fragile that it could fall over with the arrival of the first harsh wind.

That’s what this is for Trump, the first harsh wind.

People who build things pay close attention to the foundations because, after all, you don’t want your big thing sliding into the muck and falling over. Pilings go down to bedrock. Cement is poured everywhere. A solid foundation must present itself before you go stacking a billon tons of steel and concrete on it. A bad thing could happen if you don’t.

And that, in essence, is the problem the president is facing. Most of his life is a gigantic con, and his election was a fluke so apparent that it is undeniable. He has his base, the very same base that helped him squeak into office. It has not grown. It has not become more solid. It loves name calling and clown faces and the spectacle of campaign rallies crammed into airport hangers. It loves its president.

But he is not on a firm foundation. He has the brains of a rock, as best we can tell, no intellectual curiosity that is discernible and no sense of reality that anyone can recognize but himself. It’s all built on wet and shifting sand, and it’s going to go down hard when it goes.

So be prepared.

It will be spectacular to watch, like blasting one of those old Atlantic City casinos into smithereens. You just don’t want to be anywhere near it when it happens.

And all you have to do is push the plunger that sets off the explosion on Nov. 3. Then he will be reduced to dust and a lot of worn talk about being robbed by the very people he has been victimizing for years.

That would be us.