(To get the full effect, imagine a teeny, tiny violin playing as you read this.)
Dear Donald Trump Jr. –
You know who I’m sick of right now?
You, Bill Gates, Jamie Dimon, and the rest of the wealthy whiners. But hey, another money man, Michael Bloomberg, is ready to throw his entitlement into the mix and save the republic from the likes of your father.
What’s the name of your book? Oh, Triggered, you say.
I am so goddamn triggered right now that I’m willing to give you even more publicity than you already have to rail about it.
By now it’s almost legend that you were inspired to write the book when the day before your father’s inauguration, driving by Arlington National Cemetery, you realized what your family would have to sacrifice to help your father succeed. This, while seeing the markers of heroes who made the ultimate sacrifice for this country. Perceived piles of cash on one hand. Lives lost in war on the other.
You’re on a fucking book tour because your con man father is President of the United States. Where is your big sacrifice, you vacuous SOB? Are you aware there are actual writers who have to toil away to write books that never see the light of day? Your entitled ass is arguing with Joy Behar while a vast swath of authors are sending out their 89th pitch to an agent or publisher.
What’s so hard? Life in the spotlight? Maybe Tiffany could give you some tips on how to reap the rewards of wealth without living in the media glare.
That doesn’t begin to cover it. I know plenty of people of means who aren’t dishonest and self-absorbed. You chose that. Your family foundation just got nailed in a $2 million settlement. You corrupt people can’t even navigate charitable giving and you’re running the friggin’ world.
My God. You won the lottery. Do something useful with it.
I received one of your recent fundraising emails with the subject line, “My father is asking about you.” Here’s what it says:
We’re running full steam ahead into 2020, and that means we’re almost done finalizing the Official 2019 Trump Donor Wall. There is no better way to show the Liberal Democrats that you reject their corrupt SOCIALIST agenda than by cementing your name in history with Team Trump. It’ll have them fuming.
So many sentences start with “My father.” Honey, it’s sad. And I’d feel bad except that you’re screwing with my life and the lives of millions by either executing or defending policies that do nothing to better our world and everything to harm it. They benefit your crooked, intellectually lazy father and the people licking his boots.
I’m triggered, all right, pal. You are absolutely awful and the world is your slimy oyster washed down with a bottle of that fine Trump Sparkling Reserve. (Incidentally, Thomas Jefferson is flipping in his grave knowing his name is all over the Trump Winery site. Ew).
It’s infuriating to hear you talk about sacrifice. And please stop throwing stones at people who remind you of who you are and how you got where you are (Hel-lo, Hunter Biden. Project much?).
Your father duped a segment of America. He won an election. You lucked out because a lot of the slime balls in Congress were perfectly willing to set aside any show of decorum or sense of morality and back your father so they could pack the courts with conservative judges. Pretty soon, when they’re ready to declare Mission Accomplished, they’ll dump your father in a mad second. (See Newt Gingrich breakups for reference on how cold that can be).
Where will that leave you?
Frankly, I don’t care. I’d be happy if you’d just get out of our lives and let us get back to a place where our country is run by rule of law and a President who is willing to read daily briefs. All that money you have (or don’t, who can tell?) certainly hasn’t given you breeding or conscience.
Please, go work on your big TV project with Mark Burnett. You can continue to entertain the people who still think your family has something to offer. Daddy loves his TV. No reading required. It’s a perfect fit.
He may find the money useful when the indictments from The Mueller Report start coming. Obstruction of justice, anyone?
A disgraced, impeached shell of a man and his family living in a high rise in Moscow.