Mary Trump – 1918

Donald Trump claims he does not drink alcohol.

Donald Trump does not read. At least not that anyone could notice.

Neither does Donald Trump have interests – beyond golf.

But he does admire women – but only beautiful young women. (Donald Trump is frightened by smart, mature women).

Donald Trump is married – three times. He is presently married to a beautiful woman – but one who is not a young woman.

But that is not enough. Donald wants more women. Tonight, he will begin a search for a new woman.

Donald decides to go to a bar because, he thinks, that is where he can meet a new woman – a new woman who is both young and beautiful. He will go to a bar where no one will know him.  He knows a bar in an old Washington D.C. neighborhood known as Foggy Bottoms. The bar is on K street.  K street is where lobbyists have their offices. Spies also have offices on K Street. Donald knows lots of lobbyists. Donald know even more spies. He will go to the “Great America Bar” to find a new woman.

But, Donald Trump has a Secret Service security detail. They will not let him go to a bar by himself. What will he do? Donald does not want the security detail tagging along.

Donald Calls his good friend Rudolph Giuliani. Rudolph can tell him what to do. Donald does not want the Secret Service to know where he is going. They will tell Melania and then Melania will become very angry and maybe even leave him. That would cost Donald much more than $130,000.

Rudolph Giuliani tells Donald “you must hide that orange coif with a white cowboy hat. You must also wear a white suit and a black mask.””Why would that fool anyone?” Donald asks. “Because only ‘good guys’ wear white hats. You must also wear cowboy boots and a string tie.”

“But then I will look like a monkey” Donald moaned. Rudolph agreed but did not say so.

So, wearing the costume as Rudolph Giuliani instructed, Donald made his way out of the White House through the service entrance, unnoticed by anyone – even by the Secret Service. At least that is what he thought.

“POTUS is sneakin’ out again. Better put a tail on him but don’t let him see you” said the Agent-in-Charge. “Shouldn’t be a problem. He never notices  anyone except to salute cab drivers and hotel doormen; anyone in uniform” replied the tail.

Finally, Donald arrived at the “Great America Bar.” He finds it because the Secret Service has spray-painted orange arrows on the sidewalk to guide him.

The “Great America Bar” and the orange arrows were actually the idea of Kellyanne Conway. It was Kellyanne who arranged to have the old Foggy Bottoms “Diplomat” hotel condemned and then renovated into a bar where she and the Secret Service could easily monitor his movements.

Donald mounted a bar stool and ordered his favorite drink. Donald likes the color of orange juice. Donald is obsessed with the color orange. He also likes the Mickey Mouse shaped ice cubes at the Great America Bar. The barman (the agent assigned as his tail) pretended to not recognize Donald. “Any action here?” Donald winked at the barman. The barman did not see the wink because Donald’s eyes were mostly covered by the black mask. “Yes sir. You see the lady at the table in the dark, over by the piano? She comes in every night about this time looking for a gentleman who never shows.”

“Sad” thinks Donald. “Who is she?”

“Can’t say. I only know she’s Russian or possibly Eastern European.”

“Russian huh?” Donald is immediately overtaken with a desire to possess the woman. Donald is obsessed with all things Russia.

Just as he started to move toward her table, a man sidles up to the bar next to Donald. Strangely, the new customer is also wearing a white suit but no hat, or boots.

“Howdy Ranger. Out shootin’ silver bullets are we?” chortles the man. “I’m kinda new here. What’s the name” he asks with a wide, toothy grin.

“Sabe” replies Donald. “Kimo Sabe.” Donald is pleased with his clever rejoinder.

“Proud to make your acquaintance” says the stranger. “Name’s Tow, Ton Tow – Tonto for short”.

Donald, who by now had forgotten his original intent to hit on the woman at the table, resumed his seat at the bar, He felt a strong impulse to get better acquainted with this peculiar stranger.

The barman, seeing that Donald had become distracted by the customer, who has taken an overt interest in his attire, made a gesture towards a secluded table. Without a moment’s delay, two men in black suits and dark glasses were on either side of Tonto leading him out the door.

“What the hell was that about?” Donald angrily asked the bar tender. “Only one white suit allowed in the bar at a time sir” was the reply. The bartender, the Secret Service agent assigned to tail POTUS, had recognized the new friend as an Azerbaijani triple agent working for the Kremlin.

“Guess I’d better go over and relieve the lady of her anxiety” said Donald. “Yes sir. She does seem to be anxious about sitting alone in the dark. She will be leaving soon most likely.”

So, with a renewed prurient interest, Donald Trump carefully made his way over to the table (it is a challenge to navigate a dark bar room wearing a wide brim Stetson and a lone ranger mask).

“They tell me at the bar that you’re waiting for a special someone. Who might that be? (whispering ‘I’m pretty damn special as you’ve probably already guessed’) .”

“John Galt” replied the woman who was absently looking off into the dark. “And, you’re Hopalong Cassidy.” she smirked blowing smoke in The Donald’s face. (Smoking in Foggy Bottom bars is allowed due to the prodigious number of foreign dignitaries who frequent them.).

The woman was in her late fifties. Her hair was dark brown and bobbed just below the ears. Her clothes were throw-back forties and her accent a deep Russian contralto – obviously a result of chain-smoking Turkish cigarettes.

“Don’t know any Galt” coughed Donald. “Say, how is it they let you in here by yourself – unaccompanied?”

Again, blowing smoke at the mask’s eye holes, “The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me.”

Suddenly, the pall of mystery vanished. Donald Trump knew this woman.

“Mommy?” He gasped.

“Mommy only to the wealthy, the objectivist, and the capitalist. In other words, Mommy to the one percent” as she exhaled dark brown Turkish cigarette smoke again – this time in Donald’s ear. Then, in a whisper, “Name’s Rand, Ayn Rand” once again drifting off into her objectivistic analysis of the obscure nature of the bar room.

“Ann? Or is it Annie?” Whispered Donald, who loves guessing games. “Listen. I bet its  Anne as in Trump, Mary Anne Macleod Trump. Oh Mommy, you always taught me to ‘Trust in God and be true to yourself’. See this photo? I keep it with me wherever I go. It’s you sitting on the window ledge of your old home in sunny Scotland. Remember how you always used to say ‘There are two sides to every issue: one side is right and the other is wrong, but the middle is always evil,’ and  ‘The man who lets a leader prescribe his course is a wreck being towed to the scrap heap.’ See! I remember everything you taught me.

“It’s Ayn – fool. Rhymes with ‘I am’ and, I did not tell you that stuff. Those are quotes from my books that Mommy read to you. Mommy was a plagiarist.”

“Listen Hopalong, I gotta go. Galt’s here.” Then, leaning over as if to kiss Donald on the mouth, the woman blew one last breath of sulfurous smoke into his expectant, parted lips and swiftly exited to meet her lover.

“Oh My God!” exclaimed Donald coughing violently from the smoke. It’s Paul Ryan. John Galt is Paul Ryan.

With that, the suits, one on each arm, escorted the masked man out the bar room door, and followed the orange markers back to the White House residence.

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