Making a Million

This weekend, we attended a horrible event that promised 61,000 participants that they could all become millionaires. Um, yeah. I don't really know why we thought it was a good idea to go, but the tickets were tolerably cheap and justifiable because we donated money to our local public radio station to get them. There, see, we are okay.

Here were some good takeaway lessons from Mr. Donald Trump, who, by the way, was fucking funny. His hair could actually reach his shoulders if he didn't take so much care to brush if over his forehead.

Mr. Trump said that there are some ways to be successful in life, and for each lesson, he provided a completely irrelevant story to back himself up. Some of us rejoiced in the absurdity of hearing this self-proclaimed schmuck prattle on in non-sequiturs prior to taking questions that probed his taste in young women and his preference for boxers or briefs. Others, not us, really thought they were finding the path to that million dollars the event sponsors advertised. In the interest of protecting myself from any of you who might expect a million at the conclusion of this blog entry, I am going to say now, don't expect shit.

Here is a partial list of Trump's steps to success. (I can't give it all away or you will anticipate my next move when I go to steal your next deal.)
1. Luck.
2. Don't trust anyone because we are a bad species.
3. Get even. Or, don't let them come back for seconds.
4. Love losers because they make you look good.
5. Do what you enjoy.

So, that was the gist of it. Much to the chagrin of all the presenters who preceded him, with arena rock blaring as they preached the next snake oil that guarantees fiscal liberation, Trump said, "Buy low, sell high, and sign a prenup; it's just about that easy." Are there any questions? Okay, are there any questions that don't relate to whether Trump likes boxers or briefs?

I didn't think so. He likes boxers.