The author is a Los Angeles-based freelancer who grew up in Oak Park. He has written for the Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, the LA Herald Examiner and Men's Journal and co-founded the band Was (Not Was) with Don Was. His father, the late Rube Weiss, was Santa Claus in the Hudson's Thanksgiving Parade.
By David Weiss
"Irreality: not existing objectively or in fact. Imaginary. Essentially, it's the opposite of reality, encompassing things that are not real, fantastical, or not based on objective truth."
Donald Trump and Jeffrey Epstein
The word above sprung to mind recently when I was asked to riff on the tortured topic of Trump/Epstein, or how about just Trumpstein for short? The Twin Towers of Turpitude. Two Terrific Guys. And oh yes, duly convicted sexual offenders to boot -- let’s not forget their hard-won heraldry!
But let’s get back to the irreal deal, shall we? Why is this depressingly tawdry, ever-unfolding saga of carnal coercion and predatory manipulation so endlessly compelling? Perhaps because it walks such a fine line between fact and fiction, between seedy B-cinema and outright pornography, a tale so lurid and grotesque it strains both credulity and common sense. Kafka meets Russ Meyer in glorious 3D!
If I might beg your indulgence, I’ve deigned to morph old Sam Coleridge’s trademark theorem into the “willing suspension of belief.” For the last decade, we’ve been watching this mawkish miniseries, shaking our befuddled heads and muttering: “Can this actually be happening?” And not just once or a dozen times, but hundreds of brain-numbing, soul-killing episodes, one after another: real estate swindler as president, institutional erosion, compassionless moral blindness, and a once-proud democracy hijacked by bitcoin-barkers and rapacious tech-tators. Comfort bag optional but highly recommended. This fairy tale is for adults only.
Transactional
And of course, as leading man you have the most buyable Chief Exec since Sears, Roebuck. Flattery gets you everywhere with a textbook sociopath/narcissist like The Donald, but cold hard, untraceable cash seals the deal. Transactional they call him, but that’s cheap, Chinese-made Trump cologne masking the malodorous stench of corruption and self-interest. Transactional is a fitting euphemism for "what's in it for me?"
Ghislaine Maxwell
But the latest and perhaps most irreal (notice the repetitive conceit hard at work here) sideshow of all is the torrid Justice Department love affair with one Ghislaine Maxwell, a woman whose very name reeks of arriviste pretension and concealment of her Jewish heritage. Whether or not one can actually prove that 0017 Jeff Epstein belonged to “intelligence,” the feline-shrewd daughter of tabloid catch-and-killer, Robert Maxwell, certainly knew the ropes when it came to reputation-ruining oppo-research and blackmail. Like daughter, like dad – isn’t that sweet? Pops even named that fancy rowboat he ”slipped” off of after little Jilly! Chip off the old block she is.
Yes, it’s a noble and enduring tradition, the sycophantic alliance between scurrilous power broker/journalists (Murdoch, Maxwell, et al) and wealthy and depraved elites. Flip the coin of a muckraker and you’ve got a spy and vice-versa. They’re basically in the same gumshoe-and-gossip racket and even collaborate with each other covertly when duty or circumstance requires.
Does the tender tale of Stormy & Donald ring a bell here? Pay the triple-X rated paramour for her stony silence, and the august National Enquirer will send the hotcakes-hot copy straight to the dead letter office, never to sully Uncle Donald’s squeaky-clean rep as the "Chief Bra-Strap-Straightener” at the Miss Teen USA Pageant. Come on now, Grampa didn’t mean no harm to them innocent girls! Or as he proudly told Howard Stern when he was still just Citizen Don and proudly flaunting his own perversions:
“No men are anywhere, and I’m allowed to go in, because I’m the owner of the pageant and therefore I’m inspecting -- ‘Is everyone OK?’ You know, they’re standing there with no clothes. ‘Is everybody OK?’ And you see these incredible-looking women, and so I sort of get away with things like that.”
Parasitic Appetites
Okay, we’re all grownups here, right? So we needn’t be in disbelief or at all shocked by the parasitic appetites of the rich and powerful, those well-accustomed to getting what they want without having to ask first. It’s a breed of slaveholder/patrician entitlement that traditionally comes with reliable protection from the prying eyes of the law.
Ex-Florida U.S. Attorrney Alex Acosta
The ever-vigilant Alphabet Mafia – FBI, CIA, NSA -- can always be persuaded to look the other way if the proper word comes down -- as it obviously did to Alex Acosta and those sleepyhead prison guards tasked with keeping an eye on the former Lolita Airlines executive. Not to mention shielding the shady financiers and politicians, marquee showbiz types and fun-loving academics playing against type. Bill Gates as a Diddy-like playa? Steven Hawking? Harvard professor Al Dershowitz? Sax addict and ex-Prez Billy Bob Clinton? All of them addicted to the sweet smell of illicit sex and underage females.
As accustomed I am to the absurd twists and turns of this sub-pulp fictional saga, I must say I was fairly shocked to see how fast Ghoulaine went from the spartan privations of Lady Sing-Sing to penal-world Woodstock. From gruel to gruyere without passing Go – call it magical realism or just more run of the mill irreality. Jaw-droppingly absurd yet perfectly plausible. What's next, she’ll be appointed Ambassador to Israel following her inevitable pardon? Like I said, the more unbelievable, the more possible. Her studied silence is apparently as golden as it is threatening to the lowly slumlord of Pennsylvania Avenue.
Harry Houdini
To be serious just for a second, does DJT’s diminishing MAGA support – if it bears out – mean that karma has finally got ahold of the President’s tattered coat and he won’t manage to wriggle free this time? Don’t be so sure -- Donald John Trump is more Harry Houdini than Harry Truman, that’s for sure, and he might well escape the rusty leg-irons of the law yet again.
If the disgraced Willy Loman of American politics is to be admired for anything, it’s for sticking to the script religiously no matter the damningly stubborn facts. He is either deluded or desperate, or even worse, both. Keep the popcorn hot and the cola cold. This lousy reality show won't be over for another season or two, god help us all.
