The current default defense of people with the last name “Trump” in light of the extremely explicit emails released by a person with the last name “Trump” boils down to “Since there was no dirt on Hillary Clinton on offer, there was nothing to trade for, so there was no trade, no crime.” Young Mr. Jr. himself complained earlier today,
“As Rob Goldstone said just today in the press, the entire meeting was ‘the most inane nonsense I ever heard. And I was actually agitated by it.’”
Can’t believe that idiot Goldstone set me up with promises of Clinton emails and I’ve got to sit through this adoption crap.
Donny, I want to tell you a little story about deals, real and imaginary.
My friend G’s made some unwise choices over the years. More than once, he’s been found in some rather compromising relationships, with cars full, houses full, boats full of things that, technically, are against the law. As a result, he’s spent a bit of time in, um, public housing, shall we say.
On these taxpayer-funded sabbaticals, G’s met some truly remarkable people with eye-popping stories to tell, including the fellow I’ll call the guard.
The guard was just that, a security guard, rented by the hour, at a medium sized regional airport. The guard was a marginally-educated man with a growing family and bills to pay. When a mysterious fellow showed up one day with a lucrative side job, the guard was very interested.
The job would consist of nothing more than leaving a key to one service road gate in a certain place. The reason, explained the mystery man, was that a cargo plane carrying many tons of illegal drugs would be coming to the airport and the owners wished to have that gate open to spirit away the dope without inconvenient details like investigations and declarations. In return for leaving a key in a prearranged spot, the guard would earn an impressive night’s wage in the five-figure range. After a bit of soul and wallet searching, the guard agreed to the deal and left the key where he was directed.
Of course, there was no plane. There was no international conspiracy of smugglers. There were no tons of dope, not even a dime bag. Nothing. It was all fiction.
The only real bit was the sentence the guard received for his part in a “conspiracy” to “import and distribute” the imaginary shipment. Oh, and the commendations and promotions the DEA guys got for coming up with the scheme and “preventing the importation of drugs with a street value of...” however many millions of dollars they decided their fairy tale dope was worth.
That was many years ago. I imagine the guard got out of federal prison long, long ago, but maybe not. The law may be an ass, but she does have a kick, and it’s possible the guard is still, to this day, sitting in a minimally-secure but still grim little cell.
For hoping to get a little personal advantage off a phony offer from a bogus operator with a ghost plane full of fairy dope.
“And I was actually agitated by it.”
I know what you mean, son. Kind of thing can ruin your whole day.