The line of people who believe that the death of confirmed scumbag and alleged child molester Jeffrey Epstein was the result of murder and not suicide is long – probably even longer that this sentence…or not. When asked, they say, with grim certainty, that Epstein knew too much of the wrong kind of information about too many of the wrong kind of people – heavily monied or heavily made individuals whose reputations meant far more to them than the life of Jeffrey Epstein. To such thinking I say “point well taken”. After all, a dead scumbag is a silent scumbag.
…which brings me to today’s topic: Will Donald Trump live long enough to receive his so richly deserved legal comeuppance? (and please don’t try to tell me that the thought hasn’t already occurred to you!)
Certainly, his present physical condition – all 300 plus pounds of it – coupled with his notorious diet of burgers, fries and pizza, along with his disdain for physical exercise (riding in golf carts and occasionally swinging little sticks doesn’t actually count as exercise) would tend to limit the longevity of any 73 year old. Now, add to that a daily regimen of pharmaceutical enhancements of the Narcotic variety, as has long been speculated, and top it all off with the emotional frenzy caused by a personal and professional life that is unravelling at warp speed, under the watchful eye of…I dunno…say about six billion people, give or take a few million.
Under normal circumstances, what you would get from that is one very dead heart attack or stroke victim. But, of course, we Americans haven’t seen normal circumstances since Mr. and Mrs. Normal Circumstances left the building in late 2016 — and they didn’t even have the decency to leave a forwarding address! But let us assume, if only for the sake of this here piece I’m penning – that Tweety Turd (as I’ve taken to calling him) does manage to remain alive…that the heart that his actions suggest he doesn’t actually possess continues to beat even as the evidence against him mounts and more and more Featured Players in his poorly directed drama take leave of their roles and seek early retirement in Papua, New Guinea. Let’s just assume that for a moment, shall we?
Now…remember Jeffrey Epstein? Consider, if you will, the names, the contacts in Tweety Turd’s Smart Phone. The phone that contains the Who’s Who of What’s What of Planet Earth. Jeffrey Epstein may not have been privy to Vladimir Putin’s peskiest peccadillos, but five will get you ten that Donny Trump is! Then there are the Royal Families of Great Britain and Saudi Arabia, and the cold-blooded cousins of North Korea…and that’s just the top of what must be a very long batting order!
Just how good will the Secret Service have to be to protect Trump from some of the best-trained assassins on the planet? If I’m wondering about this, it’s a safe bet that the three still-functioning brain cells in Tweety Turd’s head must be beside themselves. Of course that would mean that he’d suddenly have six functioning brain cells – that’s a one hundred percent increase in brain power – so perhaps it’s not all bad news for him.
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