I can’t remember when or why I signed up for the Trump campaign’s mailing list, but it’s a pretty good distraction from election news. If I see an email from “Donald J. Trump” in my inbox, I can rest assured that unlike everything else in my media diet, it will make no mention of whatever scandalous, stupid, or sociopathic comment flew out of his puckered pie hole in the past twenty-four hours.
This morning’s dispatch was especially intriguing. It plays upon social-status anxiety so expertly that I wonder if it was transcribed directly from Trump’s wounded subconscious, the gloomy twilight in which he is forever a Queens-born striver gazing up at the nostrils of elitist snobs.
It’s about a membership card.
You should get one of these, friend.
The “Elite Membership” card is a Visa-sized token of one’s support for Trump’s campaign.
At my inauguration next year, there will be upwards of a million people there, but only a few will have Presidential Black Cards and the recognition as leading Trump supporters who really drove our campaign to victory.
This is the final round of Presidential Black Cards our campaign will be issuing so please respond before tomorrow at 9 AM to guarantee yours.
In the taxonomy of credit-card colors, black is king. What’s more powerful than a black credit card? Every financial transaction becomes a ninja attack, shrouded in mystery and defined by dominance. Why should a dopey campaign-contribution card be any less intimidating?
Our effort to defeat Hillary Clinton and turn this country around is more than just a campaign, it is a movement.
(I have excised all the typical boring stuff about career politicians and why can’t anything get done in Washington and only I, Donald Trump, can move mountains with my mind.)
I hope you will emerge as a leader of our movement to rescue America before it is too late, friend.
Of course, the fact that the glorious Presidential Black Card can be “activated” for a piddling $35 belies the intimidation factor of its “none more black” aesthetic. It’s the equivalent of spray-painting a pile of spaghetti red and telling people it’s a Ferrari. But this low-class simulacrum of a high-class phenomenon is the core of the Trump campaign and the core of the desperate attention-seeking man himself.
The only thing more pathetic than this dumb-ass card is the fact that Trump addresses his reader as “friend.”
The man has no friends.