Proud of his erections, Der Fuehrer points out where there are no illegal aliens working at his many construction sites.
By Donald J Trump
Special to Little Big Town MT
For 40 years I have made millions, maybe tens of millions of dollars, off the labor of illegal aliens. That’s the real reason I want them deported. Frankly, I just owe them too much dough.
A while back the Washington Post ran a nasty article detailing how my new $200 million hotel in Washington, which will be absolutely the most fabulous hotel in Washington when its finished, and that’s not just me talking, that’s a lot of people I know who’ve told me that, is being built by a lot of illegal aliens. Liberals and Democrats want me to say “undocumented workers” but I don’t do that. There’s also people who want me to say ‘wetbacks,’ but I don’t do that either, because that’s a mean word and I am not mean or racist. Unless I have to be.
“I’m no rat and I don’t expect anyone else to be.”
You know I used to like the Washington Post, once upon a time it was a good newspaper but nowadays it’s not so good, it really isn’t. It’s staffed by a bunch of post-hippie potheads who all think they’re those two Watergate reporter guys, Siskel and Ebert. I guess that’s why they print nasty stuff about me I don’t know. I could be nasty to them right back, but I won’t. I’m a very rich man and I don’t make enemies. I destroy them. That’s what I do.
But without thinking too much about it, here’s my answer to them anyway: so what? I only hire illegal aliens because they are cheap and easy to exploit, okay? Of course, I don’t actually hire them, I delegate that, I manage that. I insist that all my subcontractors use legal workers, but c’mon this is New York City they’d lose their ass if they did that. You know what a real union laborer gets in New York? It’s unbelievable. It’s like $175 an hour, maybe $250 an hour if you include their benefits. And I’m just talking a laborer, a grunt. A skilled worker like a bricklayer, a steelworker, or an electrician, or a plumber, you can double that or forget it. Trust me, I’m one of the biggest builders in the City and I know what I’m talking about here. The politicians don’t. Barack Obama, he doesn’t have a clue.
Another thing about union guys is they’re all lazy. Union guys spend four hours a day sitting on their asses, drinking coffee, farting, goofing off, moving equipment they’ve broken or breaking equipment they’ve just moved and asking passing young ladies to share intimacies with them, or describing procedures they would like to attempt with them, or show to them, I tell you, they’re disgusting. Actually that last bit is pretty funny, and the ladies know it’s all in good fun, they really do. The guys are just busting their balls. Show me a woman who doesn’t like a good catcall from an in-shape hard working American guy and I’ll show you a real dog, a feminist like Rosie O’Donnell or Heidi Klum.
Anyway, illegal guys, they’ll work hard ten hours a day and if you do catch them jerking around you can say ‘Hey Jose, want me to ICE your ass back to Tacos, New Mexico?’ They straighten right out. So they’re good workers, that’s another reason I hire them. I mean I don’t hire them, I tell my contractors not to hire them, but I don’t make a big deal about who my contractors hire. I’m no rat and I don’t expect anyone else to be. That’s the way I’ve managed my business for more than 40 years, and that’s the way I’ll manage America. No rats.
For a building as magnificent as Trump Tower we had to hire 10,000 workers. That’s why I’ll be such a good jobs guy. Not jobs for over-priced union guys, not jobs for guys who expect to make a living, but jobs for guys who want to earn as much as an illegal alien – enough to barely get by.
That’s the Trump promise: Make American great again by making me richer.
“Make American great again – make me richer.”
Have you seen these people?
More than 50 years ago, a tiny ship called the Minnow set sail on a three-hour tour of the Hawaiian Islands. Suddenly the weather started getting rough, and the tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage of its fearless crew the Minnow would be lost.
Six decades later, Gilligan’s Island remains stranded on the desert isle of American television. And why not? The show was awesomely terrible!
Yet Gilligan’s Island remains a beacon of pop culture, a Statue of Booberty, welcoming the huddled masses home to our happy harbor. I laugh, you laugh, we all laugh at Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire and his wife and All the Rest (later ID’d as the Professor and Mary Ann).
The show could just as easily been called “All in the Schwartz Family,” since it was the creation of genius producer Sherwood Schwartz, orbited by two lesser Schwartzes, brothers Elroy and Al. They needed a job so why not?
Like many folk in early American TV, Sherwood made his bones writing for what’s now called “Old Time Radio,” those radio programs broadcast in America between ca. 1932 and 1962. While Europeans spent the 1930s devising sinister ways to liquidate themselves and their Jewish citizens, Americans laughed themselves silly listening to its Jewish citizens, famous comedians like Jack Benny, Groucho Marx and George Burns. So there’s another argument against the Holocaust for you.
CBS Radio was the last to shut down its radio program division for good in April of 1962. People demanded color talkies at the theater, and radio with pictures at home. Thus video killed the radio star, and AM radio declined, sinking first into rock-and-roll music, until finally bottoming out into the wreck it is today, a sunken waste inhabited only by ventriloquists like Rush Limbo and his dummy Sean Hannity. (He’s a ventriloquist – on the radio!)
Among Sherwood’s best radio work was The Alan Young Show, which ran between 1944 and 1950. This was a raucous yet influential program starring “the young Mr. Young” from Canada, who is still with us today as the old Mr. Young, celebrating 94 years of joy. Mr. Young would win TV immortality as the human belonging to Mr. Ed, a talking horse. While writing for Young’s show, Schwartz would work with a young Jim Backus, developing a funny millionaire character named Hubert Updike III, the lodestone for Thurston Howell III. (When you think about it, which might be hazardous, the real star of Gilligan’s Island was Jim Backus. He always had the best lines.)
Yet it was on Gilligan’s Island that Schwartz would excel, learning to squeeze every drop of humor out of material so illogical, so thin and so nonsensical that the Three Stooges would have shook their noggins on it.
The army wants to test a new nuclear weapon. Where to drop it? How about that island where nobody lives. The Army knows because it hasn’t been there.
A misanthropic aviator seeks to vanish from civilization. So does a South American dictator, and developer Zsa Zsa Gabor. And a Broadway/Hollywood producer (played by the show’s owner, the treacly Phil Silvers). A champion surfer. A lonely woman who’s ugly because she looks like Ginger Grant — but with glasses. An actor planning to play an ape man. An ape boy who resembles Kurt Russell (pre-Goldie Hawn). All of them and many more show up on the island with the castaways and leave without telling a soul.
Perhaps more celebrated than these inanities is the show’s ridiculous set-up. Why did the movie star wear an evening gown for a three-hour boat tour? Why did a millionaire and his wife sail on a tiny tub instead of one of the many yachts they bragged about owning? Why did any of the passengers bring luggage with them? Including the Howells, who brought along a steamer trunk full of money? And of course, why couldn’t the professor, who could create an oil refinery out of coconut shells, fix the boat? And since Gilligan always messes things up, why not just kill him?
Because it would have sabotaged the premise, that’s why. It’s absurdist humor. Asking Why Gilligan? Is like asking if Pluto is Mickey Mouse’s dog, what is his best friend Goofy?
This is the secret treasure of Gilligan’s Island. Jokes aren’t needed any more than reason. We are compelled to watch. From the bright red and blue jerseys worn by the Skipper and Gilligan, to the handsome ensemble acting, it is comfort TV, unthreatening, predictable and safe. The world is beset by monsters, the Viet Cong and racial unrest in the sixties, and ISIS and Vladimir Putin today, but we know that on Gilligan’s Island, no rescue this week means next week’s show is still waiting for us.
And who needs a joke to be funny when you have a laugh track? “’Hello Gilligan.’ ‘Hello Skipper.’” Yuk yuk yuk yuk yuk.
The unfunnyness of Gilligan’s Island continues to inspire today’s most unfunny comedians: Ben Stiller, Adam Sandler, and one of two late night Jimmys. And where would The Big Bang Theory be without the prophecy of Gilligan’s Island: If it ain’t funny, just up the laugh machine. We must teach the children when to laugh. (“’Hello Penny.’ ‘Hello Sheldon.’” Yuk yuk yuk yuk yuk….)
Later Sherwood would create another icon of American entertainment, The Brady Bunch. That’s why to this day he is known as “America’s Shakespeare,” although I’ve never heard anyone call him that.
We must salute the subversive genius of Gilligan’s Island. It should have sunk to the bottom of the sea decades ago. Instead it foundered the industry of modern television comedy. Take that Ayatollah Axis!