Give Till It Kills: Overcoming Trump Donor Fatigue
We are here to say suck it up, folks. Grow a pair!
by Rich Herschlag
The Trump campaign and Donald Trump himself have always taken great pride in compelling supporters of modest means to part with dollars they barely have. From Save America to Trump University, the 45th President makes no apologies for lining his pockets with cold hard coins originally destined for the Laundromat on the corner. This affinity has been driven in part by the political advantage of cultivating support at a grassroots level and in part by the need to laugh all the way to the Cayman Islands.
Now, however, this very support has begun to dry up like Peter Navarro in a federal prison cell. The campaign reports that for 2023 compared to 2019—the year before Trump’s failed attempt at reelection—small donor contributions dropped 62.5 percent from a robust high of $378 million. Trump donor fatigue has set in, and the reasons are as numerous as the patches on the rear tires of a typical supporter’s 1985 Datsun pickup truck.
For one thing, small donors fear their meager but hard won contributions will be consumed by Trump’s endless legal expenses—a concern that so far has been substantiated only by everything. For another thing, inflationary pressures have caused donors to have to choose between AR-15 ammunition and hush money to porn stars. For yet another thing, the average Trump tax cut of less than $500 for working class MAGA households has all but run out.
Well, we are here to say suck it up, folks. Grow a pair, though a pair of what we’re not quite sure. You onetime wretched refuse on our teeming shores, or however that song goes, need to remember why you’re here in the first place—to serve the Great Profit. This isn’t about you. It’s about the ability of the greatest grifter in the history of Scamerica to endlessly tap the deep national well of ignorance and gullibility so he can post bonds to appeal a slam dunk jury verdict of guilt and the resulting penalties in a civil rape trial. As such, it is your solemn duty to recognize that your nasty, brutish, and short time on this planet is merely a test of your faith and willingness to place the welfare of a larger than life sociopath over your own. Folks, you were doing so well for so long and now you’re going to blow it all just to pay an electric bill? Seriously?
Do not give in to temptation! There is plenty of spare change beneath the couch cushions, especially since the fight in your living room during Super Bowl LVIII when they put the camera on Taylor Swift during the fourth quarter. And though your son does not have a college fund, he does in fact have a middle school fund, and at $14.58 it is way more than he’ll ever need to buy his next Slim Jim twin pack.
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How about the woman of the house? Don’t tell us you’re not aware that every time you go to CVS to pick up a box of tampons you can also get cash from your VISA card. So get your Trump cash from there. Get it from your wherever. Run, don’t walk. Laid off from your seasonal job selling fireworks wholesale to Bible camps? Well cry me a river. If I remember correctly you turned a few tricks here and there during the mortgage crisis of 2008-9. No reason once again not to show a little leg along the shoulder of the expressway. Now is the time for all good girls to come to the aid of their Führer.
Our sources tell us when times were rough you cooked a little meth in the basement. It says here in the Book of Trump anything you would do to afford insulin for your stepmom you should be doubly willing to do for The Only One Who Can Fix It. I’ll be honest. Things are breaking bad down here at the RNC and we are looking now at the distinct possibility of no longer paying for Matt Gaetz’s underage interns to fly first class.
Matter of fact, friends of friends of someone who never met you reported they saw you at Applebee’s twice last month, both times ordering the large Riblets Platter and tipping that waitress with the kid with the cleft palate an unexplainably extravagant 15 percent even though at least one of those times the Sizzlin’ Butter Pecan Blondie arrived late. Get your priorities straight, man. One more misguided goodwill gesture like that one and Our Orange Leader will find himself in the role of a Cinnabom Mini-Swirl in a cell block at the Allenwood federal penitentiary.
And one more thing I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Clothes. That’s right, clothes. Why do you have so damn many of them? One set for going out, another set for sleeping in. Still another for when the other two sets are soaking in the cast iron tub Grandma died in some years ago. Back in the frontier days, Davy Crockett and his men had one set of clothes. One set for 40 or 50 of them. They took turns and they were grateful to the Good Lord for a minute here a minute there in a coonskin cap while being shot full of holes by marauding Mexicans. In fact, one of the last things ever heard at the Alamo was Crockett himself screaming, “Who the hell has my underwear?”
Well, I’m glad we had this little talk. Because quite frankly you’re getting soft in your old age, which by modern American working class standards is about 46. In any case, your donations are not tax deductible, but as we’ve told you before, the Teflon Don doesn’t pay taxes so why should you? Just scratch out “United States Treasury” on that payday loan money order and write in “MAGA Inc.” We’ll be glad you did. Aside from allowing us to avoid desperately remaking The Apprentice, there is a direct connection between your pathetically small contribution and the next Capitol Riot. There is an old saying—Give till it hurts. Today we are asking you—ordering you—to take it to the next level. Give till it kills.
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