I Should've Worn a Fucking Condom

 (By Fred Trump, Patriotic Robber Baron)

     WWII had already ended in Europe and was winding down in the South Pacific. My wife, Mary Anne, was in a mood to celebrate.

     "I want another wee bairn!" she said in her damned Scotch accent and, since our annual scheduled intimacy was coming up, I said, "What the hell?" The returning troops were going to come back and start families of their own and they'd need affordable hovels to live in (provided they were of the right ethnicity).

     What could come of it, right? It wouldn't be as if that night would change world history, right?

     I should've trotted down to the drug store. I could've gotten three rubbers, which would've lasted me three years. I still would've gotten my jollies. But, oh no, I got caught up in the VE euphoria. So, even though Mary Anne's breath always smelled like haggis, I dove in and did the deed.

     Nine months later, June 14, 1946 happened.

    Now I'm looking up and watching what's going on with the product of that minute-long moment of passion and I can't believe what an incompetent douchebag my wife and I made.

    Over a half century ago, I created the Trump Organization, virtually the sole revenue stream of my real estate empire. I brought in a young, up and coming accountant named Allen Weisselberg to cook my books, both sets of them, and it gradually grew to one of the largest real estate development firms in New York City.

     Say bye bye to all that and I have no one else to thank but the product of that 60 seconds of passion, my son, Donald. I raised Donald to be creative with figures but his problem was he had no sense of proportion or moderation. A real professional crook like me knows there has to be some wiggle room, some plausible deniability.

    But, Jesus Christ on a rubber crutch, taking an 11,000 sq. foot apartment and trying to claim it's 33,000 sq. feet?! I always suspected Mary accidentally dropped him on his head when he was a newborn. Now I'm convinced of it.

     So, wanting him to be successful like me, I began pumping him little sums of money. A million here, a million there, pretty much it begins to add up to a legacy. Before all was said and done, I gave that fucking idiot $417,000,000 in today's money and he pissed it all away. Then he went after the rest of my money when he saw I had dementia. Thank goodness I had the paperwork looked over by my daughter the judge who told me not to sign it.

     Meanwhile, some fucking idiot named Mark Burnett decided it'd be a real corker of an idea to stick my son's jiggling orange puss on TV year after year so he could play the role of a successful businessman so every week he could stick his finger in someone's face and say, "You're fired!"

     The Apprentice earned him over $400,000,000. He pissed that away.

    At least when I was alive, I had competent attorneys to bail me out of trouble. Who did Donald surround himself with? Cocksucker extraordinaire Roy Cohn and drag queen Rudy Giuliani. Look where that's gotten him. Four criminal indictments and a massive civil suit that'll put the kibosh on my beloved Trump Org.

     By now, I had to give up on my final hopes that my namesake, Fred Jr, would come back and take over the family business and forget about that silly dream of his about flying crop dusters. He drank himself to death and to this day still blames me. No wonder Donald went to a movie the night he croaked.

    My other son, Robert, turned out to be an even bigger waste of a good orgasm than Donald but Robert didn't tank my business.

     So, my real estate empire is essentially in receivership thanks to my son's "stewardship" of it. Then, after getting caught inflating and deflating assets so they looked like a drunk puffer fish, he then tries to claim that the glorified beach house that he bought in Florida is worth $1.8 billion, which are the antics that got him in this mess to begin with!

     And his lawyer is so fucking incompetent, she actually checked the wrong box and got my son the bench trial he didn't want instead of the jury trial he wanted. Then she screams at the one person who's going to decide my company's fate. I don't know where my son Donald finds these ambulance chasers but my guess is NYC Craigslist has something to do with it.

     By now, it's become abundantly obvious that the best part of Donald dribbled down Mary Anne's thigh back in 1945. Thanks a lot, stupid ass. You should've stuck with keeping Black people out of our buildings and you never should've run for president.

(Fred Trump is a former real estate developer who is now a rotting corpse.)