A year into the media’s passionately promoting Donald Trump’s collusion
with “some Russians” to hack the 2016 election in his favor, precious little
(hey, dude, like zero) evidence has emerged to prove the allegation.
To be fair to liberal news outlets and their Democrat toadies, that Mr.
Trump has evidenced rogue Czarist proclivities is inescapable. For decades he
has publicly lavished the women in his romantic circle with expensive Russian
sable mink coats. He tweets about Chicken Kiev and Noodles Romanoff at least twice a day. His
hotels’ cocktail lounges worldwide openly proffer Stalinist concoctions like
“White Russians” and “Black Russians,” and that vile diabolical elixir of
revolutionary oppression, Stolichnaya Vodka. Even more outrageous, Beluga
caviar, the love-food of ruthless oligarchs, harvested from deep Russian waters, was served at Trump properties before it was banned in 2005.
All that aside, CNN and its fellow media travelers have been looking
for Russkie love in all the wrong places. Mr. Trump evidenced strong Soviet
leanings beginning in his early childhood. Friends recall his proclivity for
simply disappearing without a trace from family gatherings, T-ball games and
Halloween dances, to collude with the descendants of the Romanoff family that
ruled Russia for three hundred years before being toppled in 1917 by the
Marxist Bolsheviks. “Why, that boy Donald was always roamin’ off to heavens
knows where,” recalls one of his grade school chums. “Roamin’ off to some
pretty suspicious places, if you ask me! Roamin’ off Donald--that’s what we
called him.” Steve Bannon, President Trump’s Chief Strategist, has remarked how
his boss even today has been seen mysteriously roamin’ off, in the middle of
Cabinet meetings--most likely, his critics allege, to help reestablish the
Romanoff dynasty in the Mother Russian homeland. “If he’s successful, I can
only assume he’ll be off roamin’ off to visit the Romanoffs off the coast of
Lake Baikal,” opines Bannon.
Another of his boyhood pals recalls how young Donald appeared to suffer
symptoms of Soviet Commie Attention Deficit Disorder Syndrome, SCADDS. “He was constantly
rushin’ around here, rushin’ around there, rushing this way and that. Rushin’,
rushin’, rushin. Like a whirling dervish. Guy never stopped rushin.” Another
boyhood friend remarked, “We all thought he was just a nervous hyperactive
twit. Now we know it was really that he had scads of SCADDS under all that
hair.”
One of Mr. Trump’s favorite childhood books was an obscure volume
titled, “The Very Mad Bad Sad Saga of Ma’s Cow.” Although upon cursory
inspection the story seems to be just a juvenile passion play about a wretched
bovine only a mother could love who produces a scant teaspoon of milk daily,
analysts now know it was in truth a Soviet espionage drop, replete with
ciphered instructions to contact Moscow the minute the reader understood the
animal would overcome its disability. Said an NSA analyst familiar with the
book, “Next to Julius and Ethel and Rosenburg’s uber-spying, I can’t think of
any Cold War plant more damaging to American interests than “Ma’s Cow.”
Mr. Trump’s favorite television show when he was a teenager was,
according to reliable sources from deep within the Trump family, Rocky and Bullwinkle. “But the weird
thing was, Donald didn’t care much for the squirrel’s cute quips or the moose’s
over-the-top antics. He was instead obsessed with the characters Boris Badinov
and Natasha Fatale,” both Russian spies and agent provocateurs who, when they weren’t
trying to steal the formula for a secret US rocket fuel, were engaged in a
plethora of devious criminal enterprises intent upon overthrowing the Unites
States government. “I never knew if Donald’s fascination with these two
characters was rooted in both a desire to master safe cracking and learning
basic Russian spook stuff. But man it was crazy how he’d watch that show for
hours on end, studying Boris’s and Natasha’s every move!”
Young Donald Trump was never much of an ice hockey fan. Yet he had an
odd and enduring fascination with Stan Mikita, a Slovak-born star center of the
Chicago Black Hawks. One of the President’s boyhood friends, who would only
speak to me off-the-record and anonymously, confided, “He collected every Stan
Mikita card he could find. He’d spend hours playing with them, memorizing
Mikita’s stats.” Why would Mr. Trump, a New Yorker with deep ties to his home
town’s professional teams, embrace an opponent even as the Rangers in his own
back yard played at his beloved Madison Square Garden? “He told me Mikita
reminded him of Nikita,” said our source, referring to the ruthless Soviet
Premier Nikita Sergeyevich Khrushchev who ruled the Soviet empire with a fist of granite
during the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations.
Perhaps the most outrageous display of young Donald Trump’s devotion to
Russia occurred inside his Queens, NY, home one summer afternoon when he was
only seven. His sister Maryanne recalls the event with startling clarity. “Our
mother had just baked a scrumptious apple pie with a to-die-for crumb topping.
Donald took a bottle of Dean & Deluca Russian salad dressing and poured all
of it, to the last drop, over the pie. Then he taunted me. ‘I dare you to eat
it! Double dare! Triple dare! C’mon, sissy!’ I was mortified.” Years later,
when then House Speaker Nancy Pelosi heard of the atrocity, she exclaimed, “Had
I known, I would have drafted articles of impeachment that very day! Imagine,
disgracing our national symbol of wholesomeness with the Czar’s wicked sauce!”
As a budding real estate tycoon, young Donald often accompanied his
builder-father, Fred, to job sites. Fred later recalled, in a Q&A session
before his death, a curious conversation the two had on several occasions:
Donald: “Dad, what’s the most important tool?”
Fred: “Why, a hammer, son.”
Donald: “Yeah, sure, hammers are cool. I love hammers, especially the
big gross ones like Sergei over there uses. But what about sickles? Aren’t they
just as important?”
Fred: “No, Donald, we don’t use sickles to build houses and
apartments.”
Donald: “Oh. I think you should start using them.”
Fred also recalled how Donald always wanted a hammer and popsickle for
Christmas. No toys, not even a bike. Just a hammer and a bright Red popsickle.
“Never saw a kid so easy to please,” Fred smilingly recalled.
Today, although Mr. Trump has largely sublimated his dark
Marxist-Leninist-Trotskyite-Soviet-Russian passions, occasionally he slips up.
Just the other day, he was overheard saying, “Melania, you know that Chinese
dinner we scarfed down a couple hours ago? I was full, nyet now I’m hungry
again.”
