Exclusive Vegas Interview: Trump Aborts Birthers & Delivers Stunning New Allegations
May 29, 2012. Reporting from Las Vegas, Nevada. Bad news for those who applaud entertainer Donald Trump’s obsession with the reliability of President Obama’s birth certificate. He’s dropping the issue. Completely. He’s moving on, telling this reporter in an exclusive early Vegas morning interview:
“President Obama was never, never, ‘born,’ in the normal sense. In fact, he’s what I think they call a hologram. I have people on the ground who tell me this hologram was conceived in Mecca, built in Kenya, and tested in Babylonia many years before Obama became president. There’s something going on here.”
For a country whose citizens had just accepted Mr. Trump’s recent offer of proof that had pushed doubt out of the mind of even the most strident Obama supporter, this new allegation will stun the country and alarm the world. Nostalgically, it was just last Tuesday when Mr. Trump put the question of the validity of the President’s birth certificate to its final rest during an appearance on CNBC’s Squawk Box, he revealed the killing blow:
“A publisher came out last week and had a statement about Obama given to them by Obama while he was doing a book as a young man a number of years in the 90′s, born in Kenya, and raised in Indonesia.”
I reasoned – like you, I’d guess – President Obama must immediately resign.
So, imagine my astonishment this morning when, here in Vegas comped to a fine room in Mr. Trump’s International Hotel, I got a call from Trump’s scheduler. “Mr. Trump wants a meeting with you and only you right now . . . to let you know the birth certificate thing? That’ll shrink to the size of a hamster’s balls when he tells you this new thing he’s got . . .” I was already on my way, underpants, tee shirt, robe, pencil, and paper. I’m old school. Think Hunter Thompson. Think a guy who hopes to improve his personal habits enough to be compared to Hunter Thompson.
Here’s the exclusive interview.
I entered Mr. Trump’s airport-sized “Presidential Suites of Presidential Suites” high above the Vegas strip. He was in another room, on the phone, barking, literally. So, to pass the time, I moved to the mammoth picture window and gazed into the early morning vastness below. It swayed to and fro. Dancing to its own dizzying beat. When my head hit the window pane I noted that it was I, not the world, that had been swaying to and fro to my own dizzying beat. Moreover, as my body succumbed to the liquor induced vertigo that clung to me still, and my head darted toward the floor, I noticed, just before landing in a potted plant, that I was not wearing underpants. Suddenly I regained what, for me, passes for consciousness. On my feet. Tee shirt, robe, pencil, pen. Old school.
Then, the Donald, entre avec brio:
TR: (With vast bonhomie) Come on over here, have a seat on that ottoman there. It’s 15th century you know. Oh, and please, cross your legs.
ME: (Embarrassed) Sorry sir. Just ran from my room. Didn’t think. Just ran. Underpants. Don’t know where . . .
TR: (Chuckling, after all, he himself was naked) You’re here. That’s what matters. And for you I have what’s going to be my most incredible announcement, fabulous announcement. I’ve made thousands of incredible announcements. You are the first I’m telling this one to, naked man to nearly naked man.
ME: I can’t tell you how much I appreciate . . .
TR: Of course you can’t. Don’t concern yourself. Do you like this chair I’m sitting in? It’s hand carved. Some sort of wood. Very rare. 17th century. It’s the largest chair in the world. Look, my feet don’t even touch the floor, yet I somehow seem bigger than the chair.
ME: It is quite the chair. The only thing I’ve ever seen that was even close was . . .
TR: Look, my hands cannot reach the arms of this chair. I’d have to stand up! We should have dropped a chair like this on Qaddafi. I owned him you know. He combed my hair. Carried my bags. I shot his camel.
ME: That is quite the chair. When I was small my grandfather once . . .
TR: Me too. I had one too. Fabulous man, my grandfather. Invented midget bowling. Wore make-up in the days before it was normal for a man to wear make-up. Fabulous man. Died. Look, I like your family stories, maybe someday we can have a lunch and we can swap memories. But, for now, let’s move ahead with this interview. Are you ready for this? can you feel how marvelous, how astounding this will be?
ME: Yes, indeed I can and I can only say that . . .
TR: I know. I know. You’re a stand-up guy. You’re happy, I’m happy I made you happy. So, here’s the scoop. Breathtaking. Look, I like the President. I’m not trying to cause him trouble, but look, people asked me all the time, “Is our President a born American?” I’m just like the average guy a little bit. I ask myself the same thing. So, I get some top notch investigators and I tell them “look into this thing.” We find out Obama’s a Kenyan. No one listens to me.
ME: Absolutely, and that had to hurt you deeply. How do you answer your critics who say . . .
TR: I don’t answer critics. I’ve got hundreds of businesses and hundreds of decisions to make each day from who I’ll kick off Celebrity Apprentice to what I’ll say about Rosie O’Donnell and that schmuck George Will, who, by the way, really is the dumbest most dishonest person in the media.
ME: He did offend . . .
TR: Yes, but I move on. I can’t hold onto those things. Will’s a small person. He wouldn’t know what to do with a chair like this one that I’m sitting in.
ME: (Looking up some seven feet above my ottoman perch) No, he would not. I recall an event in my life like that where . . .
TR: So, Mike, here’s my scoop. It’s not a “scoop” so much as it’s a whole gallon. It’s big. Fabulous. So, here we go. Last week I get this email from one of my associates, Sheldon Adelson, a casino guy like me, supported Gingrich. Anyway, he tells me about this guy who one of his drivers knows who heard about a rumor going around that Obama . . . wasn’t even born at all! So, Sheldon says to me, “Who gives a peasant’s ass about his g.d. birth certificate?”
ME: Oh, my God, are you saying that . . .
TR: Yes, I am. So, Sheldon says to me, “Donald, do you know what a hologram or a hopograph or a holomyass or whatever it is is? Anyway, that’s what my driver’s pal says Obama is.” I’m looking a your stunned face right now, Mike, and I see you know what a fabulous announcement this is.
ME: I’ll remember this always like I remember where I was and what I was doing way back in November 1967 when I . . .
TR: So, Sheldon’s a nice guy, doesn’t want to get involved in politics much. Ask me, he’s got no sense of the moment, no sense of the marvelous. Anyway, he says, “Donald, we can’t have a holo-whatever-it-is running around as a president. Who controls this guy, this thing? I don’t care that Obama’s a holo-thing. I only care who controls it. Capiche? What do you think, Donald?”
ME: I see his point, and . . .
TR: I knew that you would. So I decided right then and there to do the right thing, the honest thing, the breathtaking thing. I decided to go after this hologram, to bring him, it, down. The birth certificate? That’s now a sideshow. Even after I just proved the document was false by finding a guy in publishing – a reputable man – who says the document is false. [reader, see reference above to this]
ME: But what about Mr. Adelson suggestion that . . .
TR: That we find out who controls it? And then take it over ourselves? I’ve got to tell you, I considered it. But you know, it’s more fabulous to make this a big event. Like a t.v. show or a Vegas act that keeps on giving. If we find who controls this hologram Obama we’d have to do it on the down low, hear what I’m saying?
ME: I feel you, and I’d like to observe that . . .
TR: Yeah. We’d get no ratings out of it. No face time. No Greta on FOX, no Blitzer, no Maddow, no pressers, no nothing. I’ve got a media empire to run. Know what I’m saying?
ME: Word. I feel you, and I . . .
TR: So, it’s better for everyone if I go public and just go after our so-called President. He’s not worthy of being called a loser. He’s a hologram! I wondered how he could sing so well. He’s a phony, and I hate phonies, ask George Will, Rosie O’Donnell. So, Mike that’s my announcement, it’ll topple the government. Obama’s out! And even Romney can beat that loser Biden, that putz.
ME: And if Bide too is a hologram, then you just might . . .
TR: No question. We can kick him out too. And then, who is our new President?
ME: According to the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, that’s be the Speaker of the House of Representatives, John . . .
TR: John Boehner. Now that’s a victory that will unite the country. I told Boehner last night that he should consider Romney for his VP.
ME: How’d he . . .
ME: I have to say that your announcement will be remembered as long as humans and holograms walk this . . .
TR: Yes, it’s marvelous. Breathtaking. Here, here’s a few hundred chips. Why don’t you write your story, get it up on your blog, and go play some craps? I have to put my hair down for a nap. See you, kid.
ME: Thanks again Mr. Trump, this story will make my blog a national . . .
TR: See you, kid,
And with that he disappeared onto the seat of his enormous chair, the one made of some sort of wood, 17th century.