The President enjoy his floozies. This is one of the most unexceptional things to discover in a president: Clinton, Poppy Bush, JFK (“up against the wall, signora, if you have five minutes”), and Harding, for starters, were all irrepressible adulterers. Trump, for his part, devoted the bulk of the social part of his public life to leering at women who dressed like tramps in the hope of winning his praise for their good looks. Who the fuck ever expected the beauty pageant vulgarian with the child out of wedlock not to enjoy a good promiscuous lay now and then with one of the performatively immodest women orbiting him for the attention?
This louche persona might not have turned into a scandal in the first place had the Donald not taken on as his running mate that kochsucking Hoosier church hug scold in exchange for the dark money. Sure, it was that good old team of rivals shit, and the thing about pretending to have money, which is definitely Trump’s scene, is that getting actual money requires groveling or submission or flattery behind the scenes in the presence of those who in fact have the actual money, with the thick, sticky web of strings attached to the sleazy enterprise.
Mike Pence was a disreputable character in his own right, although in a starkly different way from Donald Trump; Pence’s deal was to preach joylessly about an ad hoc mashup of religious right family values and right-libertarian talking points for whatever combined revenue stream it would yield. As the VP candidate, he was the channel of that heavy sour Koch Bro sugar sweet, a channel that Trump, as a chronically insolvent hustler who played a billionaire on TV, needed for the campaign cash flow.
The old cockhound didn’t have what it took to prime that presidential pump in his own reserves, but being such a vain bastard he had to pretend that onboarding Pence was all about building that winning Republican coalition. It was that, too, but only up to a point; the popular energy in the primaries was clearly behind Trump’s celebratory, unashamedly libertine brand of Republicanism, that synthesis of disinhibited communal grievance and enthusiastic barnstorming on the reinvigoration of American industrial policy, not with any of the uncomfortable, joyless twerps desperate not to get caught deriving fleeting, sublimated sexual gratification from a coed hug like a shitty prose-translation Robin Thicke.
In spite of this, and, again, on account of the cash flow considerations, Trump cast his lot with Pence. Both of these guys had appallingly trashy reasons for making common cause. They have crudely, crassly been using each other from the start, Pence tarnished by his public association with a sexually aggressive oaf whom he quietly abhors as a deviant, Trump humiliated by his half-assed subordination to the dour moralizing of a lieutenant whom he quietly despises for spending his entire adult life afraid that he’ll be damned for discreetly ogling a lady’s chest. These guys are both sexually dysfunctional, in ways too violently clashing to ever be complementary. *Alt-right Temple Clinger voice chiming in from the cheap seats* In words of rapper psy sexy ladies whoop whoop compliment.
As I mentioned above in passing, this dysfunctional, mutually contemptuous relationship was and is savvy politics in spite of the shitty interpersonal dynamics. These two ARE complementary in philosophical and political terms, and specifically in ones that activate separate but similarly important parts of the Republican base. This stuff is still real shit, though.
And so, here we are, with the revelations that Trump tried to pay off a porn star for an impulsive one-night stand surreally being a major political scandal. Would that horny bastard NOT try to get into the dirty movie lady’s small clothes? *Commanding Russell Williams Voice* Watch what you say, soldier; he isn’t the only one!
How the hell is this a scandal? What does this reveal that any reasonable and attentive observer couldn’t easily have inferred about Trump decades ago? Stormy Daniels is a public tramp, Donald Trump is a public womanizer, they socialized together: put two and two together and, God willing, we’ve got Tiffany Trump’s kid half-sister. Or, God more mercifully willing, not. Nah, the Maples kid turned out all right. In fact, she’s the only one to pull that off. Environmental factors DO matter.
The story about Trump having that sleazy fixer Cohen slush-fund Stormy a hundred thirty grand in hush money is hilarious, but not because it’s about sex per se. It’d be less funny if it weren’t so louche, mind you, but the sexual nature of this clusterfuck isn’t enough on its own. If Trump had agreed in advance on a fee and paid it as contracted, we probably wouldn’t be hearing anything about this horseshit. A working girl paid is a working girl demure. It’s a good rule of thumb, or of all fingers but ring, to wit, two in the pink, one in the stink. One of the ridiculous things about Trump, though, is that he’s such an impulsive and vain bastard: pretending to write The Art of the Deal made him feel like a real macho man, but actually practicing the art of the deal with women who forthrightly make such deals would make him feel like a beta loser, because real men seduce their women, and so here we fucking are.
$130,000 is a really steep fee for an overnight date. It’s conceivable that a high-profile public figure might agree in advance to pay so much in the interest of discretion, but it isn’t very likely. What Trump was paying, of course, wasn’t a standard call girl’s fee; it was preemptive blackmail money. That’s why it was so expensive. It’s like being gifted a box of Hardy Brothers shiraz by a mob creep in a back alley in Perth Amboy, then getting all worked up about how he’ll go around telling the neighborhood that you’re a drunk and then sending your buddy over to beg him to accept this $200 payoff and please just keep his mouth shut.
This isn’t even a shocking thing to hear about Donald Trump. It’s a bit worse than his established personal brand, but in no way is it discordant. Did we ever fucking expect high time-preference of that man? Lol. What a joke.
The big tall G-Men are our buddies now because everybody’s fantasizing about how they’re gonna jam that oaf up, a psychosexual political dynamic that is in no way problematic in light the FBI’s historical directors. No homo, they’ve just got a problem with officials who aren’t straight about their affairs. Hoover? Hoover who? Why, he agreed with our man Michael Richard that it’s impossible to integrate women into a men’s office culture; the guy sounds all right.
Dem campaign finance roolz, tho. Yeah, sure. No one ever even tried to impeach Clinton over the Lincoln Bedroom thing, and that was sleazy as hell. One of the best glosses that can be put on the impeachment was that the plump Jewess was just an excuse, a cover for much more reasonable and responsible concerns about the Big Dog being a damned crook. Perceiving such high civics in Bob Livingston, Newt Gingrich, J. Denny Dundiddly, and Gateside Downlow may not be the clearest thinking, but whatever.
Hardly anyone plays by the rules in Washington, and even fewer play by the rules out of sincere respect for the rules. It’s a gaping ethical void. It’s so bad that one of the best outcomes to hope for now is that impeachment over the pretext of the president’s high-roller tramp-fancying will strip him of the bully pulpit for his Radio Mille Collines agitation. That’ll still leave us with that fucking supply-side church hug busybody, this time as the chief executive, not the deputy. Will that be an improvement? If we’re trying to stop the abetting of genocide, yes. If we’re trying to nurture a culture in which the universal enforcement of a milquetoast’s timid squeamishness around women not his wife is all that stands between our women and our pawing hands, not so much.
These are definitely not normal dudes, either of them.