Air Force One is One Fat Half-Wit

DATELINE: Ford Trumps Lincoln

 Prez Ford Shoots from Hip

Can it be that Trump thinks he is Harrison Ford in the hilarious presidential/terrorist movie called Air Force One?

Delusion takes many forms: for a fat old man to see himself as an idealized President Harrison Ford may not be a stretch for Mr. Trump. Here’s a president who goes off script in public speeches, much to the shock of his aides.

Ford’s president is no Gerald and no Lincoln. He orders outrageous tactical attacks on the Ukraine in conjunction with the Russian president! In 1997’s now sentient movie about the future of the American presidency should give everyone a nightmare.

Gary Oldman shows up with a suspicious crew in Moscow who plan to board Air Force One and do mayhem. Back at the White House, Vice President Glenn Close and Secretary of Defense Dean Stockwell are at loggerheads. The U.S. government is run by buffoons. Most of the movie takes place in mid-air: They are on a jet flying around, but there is not even the hum of an engine in this aircraft.

Within a matter of moments, the terror team has fairly much wiped out the highly trained and highly touted Secret Service aboard the aircraft. Hmmm. This is not a high recommendation for American protection service. We suppose most people tell themselves that it’s only a movie meant to give Harrison Ford some heroic moments.

Since this film takes place in the years right before 9-11, there is something creepy about a stolen plane filled with hostages about to fly into some kind of explosive crash.

Of course, the POTUS here is a Medal of Honor winner who was a hero in Vietnam: no, it’s not John McCain, but it isn’t exactly Trump. However, the President is surrounded by a bunch of cowering bureaucrats or power-grabbing traitors.

In one ridiculous moment, the President must cross fuel line wires to dump fuel: we figure this is realistic because Trump crosses wires daily. As a stable genius, we presume Trump can also fly Air Force One.

It is a cynical view of entertainment.

 

 

Carded at CVS!

DATELINE: Old Dogs Jump Through Hoops

The last time I was carded for my age was about forty years ago. I wanted to buy a bottle of white wine for a friend, and the clerk was quite sheepish—saying, “Oh, am I out of line?”

I insisted on showing my driver’s license to prove that I was well over 21.

This time, we were not amused.

Going to CVS to buy cough syrup, a young girl became quite belligerent as I stood in line with people behind me. She insisted that she needed my exact birthday before she could sell me a bottle of NyQuil.

Snide as an old curmudgeon can be, I asked, “Do I look older than 18?”  She said it was store policy.

I told her it was “unnecessary and outrageous.” That did not deter her insistence that I could not purchase cough syrup without a license.

Who the hell do they think they are at CVS? I said make up a date. She refused. I told her I was born in 2000. Only that would satisfy her.

I was waiting for a request for my ID, as she then asked if I had a CVS card. I told her I had burned it in protest. She was not amused. Did I have a telephone number? We are tracked by so many different means now. You cannot avoid having a police record of every item you buy at CVS.

It is an outrage for sure, but you never know when those old folks at the old folks’ home are making meth.

 

 

 

 

 

Blowing the Whistle on Trump

DATELINE: New Trump Godfather Movie?

 New Don Trump!

In a new Godfather sequel, Don Vito Trump makes an offer that a whistleblower cannot refuse.  Yes, if the anonymous whistleblower reveals his identity, Russian mobsters will not only break his legs, he will be able to meet the man he accuses of criminal deals as he is fitted with cement overshoes.

If you ever wondered why whistleblowers are afraid, you have only to ask Fox journalists who liken them to “rotten snitches.” Yes, so much for the fair and balanced approach to someone reporting on corruption found in the Washington swamp.

Like calling his lawyer Michael Cohen, his mouthpiece of yore, a rat, Trump envisions the world in movie mob terms.

We now know that if you drain the swamp, you will find a slime-ball with orange hair lurking in the mud. The Creature from the Black Lagoon is now POTUS.

Don Trump does have a right to meet his accuser—in a court of impeachment in the United States Senate. And by then, it will be too late to have him executed—unless the Senate decides that Trump is really a king, not a president.

As of today, we have received another request from Trump to pay for his impeachment defense: his billions are not enough. Now the Don Trump is baking canolis filled with creamy poison for the American electorate.

We are not sure if the Don knows that this is not the Vatican where you can have the Pope replaced (as in Godfather 3). In this sequel, the mob plans to supply the voters with Ukrainian voting booths.

We have seen a preview of the film in which Don Trump’s grandchildren are dressed up like the Storm Troopers in the Star Wars series. In case you forgot, the Nazi Storm Troopers in white plastic suits were the bad guys who went against the forces of good.

In Trump’s world, life is like a box of chocolate movie sequels: all covered in Rambo Blood.

Another Canard Tossed at Tom Brady

DATELINE: Uncle Tom’s Cabin and White Rice

 Racist Tom at Kentucky Derby 

If being an old codger in the NFL isn’t enough to create mockery, now a humbug New England sex professor is accusing Brady of the canard of a can of worms: the racist card canard.

Every time we try to extricate our reputation of being a Tom Brady critic, the forces of New England sports pull us back into the maelstrom.

Our latest laugh riot opinion centers on a University of Rhode Island Gender Studies professor who has written that Brady’s appeal is to white nationalist-types and typos.

If you know academia, like we do as a former don of the academic mob, you know this sort of “professor” has used gender politics as his bread and butter with jam topping.

Brady, guilty of deflating footballs and playing when he should be in a rocking chair, has now incurred the wrath of some transplant transgender New Englander who hates sports and loves gender misidentification. This sensation-seeking pariah now has taken aim at Brady’s Trump-loving demeanor.

It seems back in 2015, Uncle Tom expressed support for Trump and kept a MAGA hat in plain view that incensed Chicagoans like Jussie Smollett.

Now Brady is accused of fostering racism on his Kentucky Derby trips with many friends (nearly all of whom are, uh-oh, white in a sport that has 66% black players). As a crypto-Nazi sort, Tom-boy is always kissing owner Robert Kraft (who is Jewish) and Julian Edelman (who is lesser Jewish).

You may want to overlook that Brady recently invited black icon Antonio Brown to live in his home where his young daughter and model wife also reside. We have to complain that this is surely a coverup of his racism, unless you want tenure at URI.

Prof. Kyle Kusz sounds like a mixed bag of a political windbag variety.

Throwing a log onto the racist Brady theory encourages racist supporters’ fire-down-below is a low-blow even for an academic in New England unless he already has tenure and loves death threats.

Alms for the Rich! Trump Begs for $$

DATELINE: White Wash at the White House

 Defending the Indefensible?

All past Republican donors are now being asked by the Trump Defense Team to donate money to prevent impeachment. Yes, I have received a request, having made the horrid mistake of donating to Trump’s election by buying Trump Coffee Mug.

Yes, he sees this as a political campaign. Are there election laws for this kind of slime-ball request? It may not fall under Election laws.

Trump is calling this a “WITCH HUNT,” and asking previous donors (like me) to give money to defend his indefensible behavior. He has no idea what he has done, and he is not interested in facing his corrupt behavior. His supporters are of the same mind: like Lindsay “blackmail victim” Graham who now says that it’s an inconsequential phone call to a foreign leader to interfere in an American election. It is not a problem for these “patriots” to ask a foreign government to smear a candidate for the office of President.

There is a moral blind spot here. It’s like color-blindness. They simply cannot see red.

There is something unseemly about a defense team collecting money to defend a man who says he has done nothing wrong. If you live in a moral vacuum, you likely do not think you ever can do wrong. Wrong is a moral concept, and if there is a spot where Trump cannot see, it is when it comes to morality.

We cannot figure out who will actually receive any funds donated: Guiliani? Ivanka? Trump Tower?

And he counts on a bunch of idiots who will soon part with their money in defense of a criminal and lawless man who will destroy the Constitution before he leaves office.

If you want to buy the Brooklyn Bridge, you may as well give to the Impeachment Defense Fund. Better to buy a condo in Trump Tower. At least you might have a tax write-off if you are audited.

Now if they throw in a collectible coffee mug that will be worth its weight in gold after he is tossed out of office, I may consider sending $5.

 

 

 

Idiot’s Delight: ImPeach Delight!

DEADLINE:  Traitor to his Country

We can only imagine that King Louis XIV had the same reaction to the sentence of beheading that Trump showed when confronted with impeachment this week.

He can’t believe it. It’s impossible. It cannot happen in a privileged world to a billionaire who usually throws a tantrum, fires a few people, and has his way confirmed.

We imagine Czar Nicholas reacted the same way when the Bolsheviks pulled out their guns to fire him and his family with the ultimate fire squad. How can this be happening to a sovereign leader?

You can count on the fact that, as he stayed hunkered down in his bunker at the end, that Adolph Hitler couldn’t believe how a man with the world at his disposal could end up hiding like a mole in a hole.

Donald Trump’s famous line, “You’re fired,” has taken on a personal connection as the House of Representatives now want to utter it with biting irony. They have taken a page out of the double-down book and thrown it at Trump.

A man who thinks he can use his office as a staging ground to hawk his luxury golfing hotels and enrich his bank accounts is a little slow on the up-take when it comes to violating an oath of office he took.

Stable geniuses are supposed to be above the law. At least that’s what his lawyers are paid to say: Rudi Giuliani is not an idiot, but he’s paid to act like one.

Trump never had trouble telling professionals, like doctors, to report he is in perfect health—or they faced ruination by tweet.

However, Trump cannot buy a legion of “socialists,” nor can he order Russian mob hit squads to take them all out. So, you now have the befuddled, fat old man in the White House mulling over what legislation he can throw at the Democrats to derail his impeachment. Want immigration reform? Want tax relief? Want environmental safeguards? You got it—just leave the president in his oval office, and, oh yeah, let him run for re-election.

Where’s Roy Cohn indeed?

 

Angels in America: Part One

DATELINE: Where’s My Roy Cohn?

  We’re No Angels!

Can it be that 15 years after the Mike Nichols-HBO depiction of Tony Kushner’s Angels in America that it has new life?

Give credit to Donald Trump or damn him to hell for resurrecting his mentor, long-dead Roy Cohn.

The main character in Angels in Americais Cohn, as played by Al Pacino, in a fire-brand, brilliant performance while still in his salad days. In the first chapter he has only two scenes: one to start the episode, and one to finish. But he is what hooks you to begin the mini-series of an award-winning play—and his extraordinary scene with James Cromwell at the end will bring you back.

What’s in between is somewhat pedestrian gay:  a Mormon couple (Mary-Louise Parker and Patrick Wilson) are in discord because he may well be a closet case gay man in 1985. Counter this with a Jewish law clerk Louis (Ben Shenckman) and his HIV positive boyfriend Prior (Justin Kirk). They are cute and tortured by their inner gay demons.

We give Nichols credit for playing this up with references to Wizard of Oz and Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast. It’s pure gay counter-culture.

The actors are transcendent with characters who are not. Yet, the openness of the sexual lives is bracing, even today. To combine two hallucinations of characters who don’t know each other is nothing short of brilliant, cross-pollinating the subplots.

Yet, we are drawn to the foul-mouthed Cohn, nasty and demagogic, and though we see no Trump, we see what feeds the monster. His final exchange with his doctor, indicating he has liver cancer, not AIDS, and that he is not homosexual, but only fools around with men.

It is the massive unapologetic denial, lies upon lies, to feed self-delusion and feed media attention with distortion and misdirection. Episode One sets up a compelling situation for the remainder of the series.

 

 

 

Is Antonio Brown’s IQ Lower than Trump?

DATELINE: Sex Charged and Sex Charges

 Move over, Stable Genius!

Just how dumb is Antonio Brown? Let’s count the ways.

We have read that he is returning to college classes (online, of course)—and we wish him well in learning because this guy is dumb as a rock.

When you bite the hand that feeds you, it could be considered stupid.

When Brown attacks owner Robert Kraft, ridiculing in a tweet about Kraft’s still-pending misdemeanor investigation and prosecution, we have to figure this guy knows nothing about the law.

You cannot equate consensual sex with a prostitute (if it happened) with violent sex (rape) with a non-consensual victim—and you certainly cannot equate compounding the crime with threats of violence against another woman accuser, or the media messenger. Brown would shoot the messenger.

Brown cites the rape charges or allegations against Big Ben of the Steelers and dull Sharpe (formerly of the Broncos & NBC), for whom nothing was even proven in nearly a decade.

Brown’s case is as fresh as today’s garbage out in the smelly rubbish bin. Yes, he stinketh.

The Patriots may now recoil at paying $9million to Brown as a signing bonus because he withheld damaging information—and created new problems even while in the New England uniform. He played one game and practiced for nearly two weeks. For that he earned more than most people earn in a year or two (over $150,000).

He wants millions he claims he is owed.

If Kraft refuses to sign a check and uses his vast legal counsellor network to fight this for years to come, Brown may receive the money as part of his Social Security income. That’s a wait of about 30 years.

We suspect he will never make it that far. People like Brown never go the distance and come to unpleasant ends, blown up metaphorically in the ultimate act of self-destruction. It happens to terrorists, and it happens to idiots.

 

 

World’s “Best” Commercials?

DATELINE: From Wine to Cigarettes

‘Swedish’ lady sells coffee!

We now interrupt your viewing pleasure for a word from many, many sponsors from the alleged Golden Age of Advertising. For you more historically-minded, but young readers, that’s apparently the 1960s when this documentary collection of old black and white commercials dominated the airwaves.

The World’s Best Commercials is a misnomer at best. It was surely the Era of Advertising.

Your favorite TV show or movie was at the mercy of two or three minutes of sales pitches with a curve ball—or maybe that’s a screwball.

Yes, you may have the mad impulse to turn the channel, but you are facing 90 minutes of unrelenting, idiotic, culturally-altering advertisements, often lasting a minute in length. You will see rare cigarette and wine commercials, complete with marching cigarettes (after all, LS/MFT).

Attention spans were greater back then, or sponsors fewer.

In any respect, you will shock your sensibilities to learn about the Swing-Ding in which kids give themselves a self-propelled concussion with a tie-on toy. You wil meet again the “Swedish” Mrs. Olson who hucksters Folger’s coffee. You will learn that Miami is a hotspot as America’s Riviera.

And, without any organizing principle, or narrator, you simply sit back and are hit repeatedly with an endless barrage of products, many that are now gone (we think) or evolved into something else. We saw Baggies in three sizes. They were all the suburban rage back then, when you could pour silver dollars into them—and they would not rip or shred.

Several times we were moved to get up and go to the bathroom.

This compendium has nothing to do with quality, but likely what was readily available to the producers of this collection. Were we the only masochists who would force this stuff upon ourselves? If you are a student of sociology, marketing, or sociological marketing history, this film will thrill you.

This stuff is campy and may have even been humorous in its day.

You clearly see what was on the minds of the people controlling the purse-strings in those days:  suburban Mom. Kids, husbands, pets, all were at her whim to purchase or allow such items into the home. If you want to know who the big powers of the era were, this little ad ditties will tell you.

Pay TV reportedly was to end this blight on America’s vast wasteland of free TV.

Time & Again Machine

DATELINE: Wells Novel on Screen Again

 Guy Pearce face-off with hologram enacted by Orlando Jones!

 

Back in 2002, forty years after the original classic George Pal movie, there came a remake of The Time Machine, based on the H.G. Wells classic.

This time the stalwart hero is Guy Pearce, and the story once set in London during the Victorian Age with an American as the time traveler, is now set in New York with an Austrailian as the American scientist. It doesn’t matter much as Guy Pearce is so brilliant, humorous, and always watchable. His rebel scientist eschews hats and wears his long hair greasy. It is quasi-Victorian, but totally Hollywood.

The film’s best moments are its paeon to the earlier film and story. As if to underscore the homage, they have brought Mr. Ed’s Alan Young out of retirement to play a cameo. He was one of the stars of the 1960 version.

Our favorite moment is when Orlando Jones shows up as a hologram at the New York Public Library who can tell us about the earlier movie, the Wells novel, and can even sing a tune from the bad musical version of the same.

The time machine itself is a Rube Goldberg mess that looks worse than the one used in 1960, and one character even calls it a “cappuccino maker.”

The impetus for time travel is, of course, the unfortunate death of our hero’s girlfriend. He goes back to fix the problem but discovers that you might go back a thousand times, but her death will occur every time, however differently.

The interesting travels through time also takes us 802,000 years into the future when the planet has clearly gone through some ice ages and re-growth. It is interesting that the evolving of humans seems minimal. You can blame that lack of insight on Wells, not the movie.

All in all, this old-fashioned and fun movie plays with the subject and our memories of it. It’s hard to believe that it was almost twenty years ago that it escaped our attention.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dorian Blows Trump’s Mind!

DATELINE: Hard Blow to Blowhard

With Hurricane Dorian threatening the United States, we have had political opportunist Trump leading the charge to show his humanitarianism. Talk about fake news!

After denigrating the hurricane when it seemed about to hit Puerto Rico, he charged the political hacks of the island had willed the storm to hit them. Of course, it veered away, and so did Trump’s inane and malicious comments.

Now we expect Trump to request that a nuke be dropped into the eye of the hurricane—but only when it reaches Baltimore.

Next, Dorian was poised to hit Trump’s beloved Winter White House, the former Post estate, now labeled his golf course of choice.

This gave the President an opportunity to wax eloquent about the great people in Florida for whom he cared so much—especially since he needs the state and its voters for re-election.

Cynics may charge that his concern for the “average voter” corresponds to self-interest. That might be unfair until the Imbecile-in-Chief held a press conference and announced that Dorian was going to put the great Trump state of Alabama in harm’s way.

This caused some widespread consternation among meteorologists: the storm is nowhere near Alabama, but its voters are on the pea-brain of Trump. He was corrected about his geographic idiocy, but he managed to repeat the wrong assertion again later in the day’s tweets. He is, at best, slow on the uptake.

If that is not enough to roil your storm warnings, Trump said that he had never heard of a Category 5 hurricane before this week. However, enterprising reporters uncovered a half-dozen times he said the same thing over the past three years.

It seems you cannot teach an old dog much of anything.

Time to Cancel the Trump Show!

DATELINE:  Limited Series Ratings Down

Donald Trump once infamously said that he wanted each day of his presidency to be like a TV series episode. The Trump Show is not Another World, or even As the World Turns. It is stomach-turning overkill.

What fat old soap star failed to understand, among a million misunderstood points, is that even a soap opera is only on for five days per week, and it usually moves at a snail’s pace. The main characters may not appear every day. Trump violated his own comprehension of what his White House should be.

Even Dallas or Dynasty was on only for twenty weeks of the year—and then took a hiatus. It built toward a stunning climax. It did not try to create a climax each day. That is bad plotting, as Casca and Cassius might tell Brutus.

It certainly is what any decent soap writer would tell the notorious bed bug hotelier.

Trump’s show has no co-stars and no one receives a good bit of dialogue. Woe to them who ad lib, because they will find themselves out of the series post haste. Just ask Mattis, Scaramucci, Spicer, and Sessions. 

If the villain wins in an episode, Trump must put on a superhero outfit and damn the Kryptonite of collusion.

Even the good wife (or wives as it were) must be a Stepford robot, unable to speak out that she never met people he says she adores. And, most of the women are like J.R. Ewing castoffs: blondes who don’t cut it more than a guest episode or two.

You might yearn for the episode that asks who shot J.R.? You won’t find it in the Trump teleplay. He’s the one who can go out on Fifth Avenue and shoot someone (likely a black Baltimorian) and get away with murder.

He can lock up children like Richard III and not ask for a horse to help him get away. 

We do expect the forces of the empire to all turn against him in the final page of this bad show—much like they did to Laurence Olivier when he played that Son of York: chopped liver would be too good for Trump.

Cousy Loses Mettle over Medal

DATELINE: Tarnished Hero with Feats of Clay

 Chump or Champ with Cousy?

On a night when when usually are talking about Ancient Aliens, we find ourselves facing a true abduction crisis and missing time. It seems that Boston Celtics legend, Bob Cousy, has been taken prisoner to the White House, turned back the clock to the years before the Civil Rights movement, and now he has become the voice of white racist America in the Oval Office.

Yes, Bob Cousy who reconciled whatever differences he had with fellow NBA legend Bill Russell has rekindled the fires.

He received a pat on the back from the President he most admires apparently in his lifetime. What happened to the Celtic legend?

Well, his Jesuit roots of Holy Cross conservatism emerged. Perhaps you can write him off as the aging hero outliving his standards of integrity. Growing old does not always mean you die of Alzheimer’s. Sometimes you simply become the epitome of everything you lived through and fought against.

Time makes us all doddering fools and blithering idiots. You can outlive your usefulness and your own personal values. It’s called betrayal by younger idealists, but it is far more powerful than that.

Cousy once teamed with Tommy Heinsohn on the parquet floor of the Boston Garden, and they were both brilliant and talented men beyond the game that made them famous. One season in retirement years they were even teamed up as fellow commentators for a season of Celtics games on TV. It was extraordinary to behold.

When they grew furious with each other, now and then, they simply called each other, “Thomas,” and “Robert.”

We wonder if Tom has started calling his friend of lifelong years, “Robert.” We know that William Russell may be doing so, if he is even speaking to his one-time nemesis in the locker room. Time wounds all heels and we have an Achilles heel ripped  apart by the President Medal of Freedom. 

Perhaps Couz showed his mettle by doing and saying whatever needed to receive his Medal. 

He stood next to a man who wants to give himself the Congressional Medal of Honor. Heaven help our old heroes from their blithering end of days.

King of the What?

DATELINE: Jesus Express to Penthouse?

 A Wailing Wall!

There was a time in history when it was not a politically smart move to be called The King of the Jews. It could end your career, but Donald Trump is delighted to be given the title by a Jewish supporter: there is no word yet whether this guy is a Pharisee, or just an idiot.

Jesus found the title a little onerous when the governor of a local province took issue with it.

As for Trump, he has no worries that King Herod or his son Herod Antipas (no, not antipasto) will take umbrage. Trump thinks his political opponents are the antipastos.

 Herod, as you may recall from your history, murdered the Innocents, killing newborn babies. Trump merely puts kids in dog cages and denies them flu shots. How many die is yet to be determined.

Herod Antipas was the womanizer who like young girls, like Trump’s dear friend Jeffrey Epstein: you may recall that Antipas asked pre-adolescent Salome to dance without her seven veils—and then gave her the head of Barrack Obama, or someone like that.

So, the latest king of Israel would rather be a kingpin in Greenland where he denies he would build a gaudy skyscraper along the glaciers. He has even cancelled talks with Denmark because Erik the Red wanted Trump towers all over his island; sort of a thousand year old Green Plan.

We thought there was a law against American presidents accepting foreign titles of royalty, but no matter when it comes to Trump: he may not be president much longer if the insanity clause of the 25th Amendment to the Constitution is invoked.

Any Jew who votes Democratic is a traitor to God and Country if you hear the King of Jews in his latest tirade. Bernie Sanders, son of a Jewish immigrant, takes issue with the comment that all Jews who vote against Trump ought to be shot at sunrise by white supremacists.

Jesus denied he was King of the Jews, but Trump is not having any second thoughts. He revels in the notion that he can walk on water and change Greenland’s ice water into gold.

Trump Goes Green (land)!

DATELINE: More Folly from Trump!

greenland Look to the Top of the World!

If you haven’t heard of Trump’s Folly, you may be about to find the history repeating itself.

Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of State was William Seward and John Wilkes Booth tried to have him assassinated along with the president, But Seward’s real claim to fame was Seward’s Folly:  he paid a couple of million dollars for Alaska .

As you might expect, the public went nuts like the participants of a Trump rally  because this didn’t make America great. You just wasted tax-payer money on an iceberg.

History has vindicated Seward.  The natural resources of Alaska more than pay for themselves.

Now someone in the Trump administration has the bogus idea that Dwight Eisenhower bought Alaska, which may be more telling about the history levels in the White House today; however, the president now wants to buy Greenland.

Erik the Red went to Greenland about 1000 years ago and saw the ice–and to market his new real estate, he gave it a fake name: Greenland.

In case you’re wondering, part of Greenland is under 2 miles of glacier, But Trump think it’s a good putting green.  For his game of miniature golf.

Greenland is presently owned by Denmark and Trump wants to make them an offer they can’t refuse .

Historians will tell you Greenland was the place where the Vikings met their end when a mini-Ice Age occurred in the 1300s.

A documentary called Secrets of the Dead tells about the lost Vikings.  Today about 50,000 Inoits live on Greenland.   There are no roads and no economy so to speak.

It’s not part of Canada but a separate island with the Atlantic on one side in the Arctic Ocean on the other .

It’s perfect for a Trump resort hotel.  If Jeffrey Epstein were still alive, he probably would want to build a little bungalow there .

So Trump’s folly maybe coming down the pike.  If we recall correctly, an iceberg broke off Greeneland over 100 years ago and hit the Titanic .

The next iceberg you see could have Donald Trump’s name on it .