Too Nuts To Nail?

It has been reported that the fat, farting, blubber baby …


… has lately been getting lost a lot. On a stage in Poland … on the tarmac after getting off Air Force 1—wandering around like he doesn’t have the sense God gave a pigeon.

Then there are the images of all the other G20 leaders—by which I mean real, legally-elected leaders—interacting and hobnobbing and discussing important world business, while he remains sitting at the big table, all by his lonesome, staring vacantly off into German space, as though he’s still waiting for Mommy to bring him that Popsicle she promised him if he didn’t mistreat any more kitties for the rest of the day.

People are asking: Is he losing it?

Entirely possible, though there are plenty of people who insist that he never had it to lose in the first place, if by “it,” we mean a highly functioning—even an adequately functioning—brain.

However, it behooves us to remember that just because someone is stupid, and has been so all of his life, does not mean he cannot be subject to a debilitating loss of mental functions later in life. After all, there is no law or principle or scientific theory that says even the dullest of brains can’t get duller—as our neighbors in the GOP demonstrate almost on a daily basis.

However, there is another possibility as to why this strutting, grunting caricature of an alpha male may be appearing more and more like he doesn’t have a clue. And to introduce this theory, first we must recall the spotted career of Vincent Gigante.

Vincent “the Chin” Gigante. He didn’t get much attention—except perhaps from the FBI—throughout his years as a New York mob boss, largely because throughout the Eighties and early Nineties, his most prominent rival was perpetually stealing the spotlight. I suspect normal Americans have room in their collective conscious for only one mob boss at a time, and John Gotti filled that niche with little room to spare.

Gotti, you will remember, headed the Gambino family, while Gigante was top wise guy in the Genovese family. Now, anyone with even a passing familiarity with New York City Mafiosi—either fictional (Vito Corleone) and non-fictional (Joe Valachi)—knows that these good fellas often don’t play together well. In fact, Gigante tried unsuccessfully (in 1986) to have Gotti killed. Or, in mob talk, “whacked.”

This would have been a mistake had Gotti actually been whacked, for as Gigante learned after Gotti was imprisoned six years later, then he became a central focus of American anti-organized crime forces. “The Chin” was nowhere near as flamboyant and charismatic as Gotti, but he proved to be a great deal cagier. Rather than high-roll it around the mean streets in flashy clothes, playing cutsie with New York journalists and flaunting his notoriety—as did John Gotti—Gigante shambled about in public dressed in a bathrobe and pajamas, muttering to himself like a mad man. And in fact, he had enough of the court system convinced, for three decades, that he was too incompetent to stand trial, and he successfully kept himself, except for a couple of minor exceptions, out of the slammer.

Back to the fat, farting blubber baby: Is it so hard to believe that this man’s seemingly-clueless recent behavior is a performance—as Vincent Gigante finally admitted his was after getting away with a multitude of crimes for over 30 years—designed to provide himself a legal defense should any accusations, indictments, and/or convictions be headed his way?

In fact, might this sleazy creep (storming around the White House in his bathrobe, tweeting crude and vulgar insults like a street gang punk) have been imitating the behavior of mobsters throughout his career? Think about it … stiffing his contractors and employees out of the money he owed them? … founding fake enterprises (e.g., Trump University) and swindling thousands with empty promises? … taking millions in pay-offs, then ducking into bankruptcy to avoid justice? Where’d he learn those tricks? … the Wharton School of Business?

Or consider the flamboyance and ostentation with which he got our attention long before he rose to be the Capo di tutt’i capi of the Republican Cosa Nostra. Surely, back when he was just a young, rich, spoiled, arrogant, New York real estate development thug, he crossed paths with John Gotti and admired his stylishness, his women, the attention he got from the press and the adoration he got from his underlings. Perhaps, he even thought Yo, that wise guy knows how to get noticed! And I’ll bet he can grab any pussy he wants to grab.

But now, with the spectre of a special prosecutor on his tail and intense scrutiny from the responsible press, he has decided the Gigante approach may be more prudent. As we get ever closer to a criminal exposure, might we see even more of his bumbling incompetence?  His deranged rants? His wandering around lost with a blank emptiness in his eyes? His daughter filling in for him at vital state functions as he is nowhere to be found? (In case you’re wondering, Vincent Gigante’s entire family, parents and children, knew about the deception and feigned insanity, and helped promote that falsity from the beginning.)

Final question: Is it time to give him a nickname, á la “Scar Face,” or “The Chin”? If it is, I have one we might consider.

The Squirts. Donny “The Squirts” Trump.




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