Donald Trump just can’t stop grifting.
The curriculum vitae of his grifting is long and varied. There were the investigations into money laundering at the Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City in the late 1990s, resulting in a $10 million fine for violating the Bank Secrecy Act; the charitable family foundation that he capitalized with other people’s money, then used $258,000 of the fund to pay his legal bills; Trump University, which taught phony business curricula with phony teachers, for which Trump was fined $25 million; operating his campaign as a slush fund for his business expenses; as a businessman, stiffing his vendors and contractors; sucking $2 and $5 and $10 donations out of his supporters, like a country preacher passing the plate, to fund the aforementioned campaign slush fund; creating sham companies like “All County Building Supply and Maintenance” to dodge taxes; Trump water (“Trump Ice”); Trump Steaks (“wholly mediocre,” sniffed Gourmet magazine); charging Secret Service agents $1,100 a night to stay at his hotel in Washington while under their protection; and of course, his financial statements, the net worth of which go up and down like the needle on a Trump polygraph.
Then there were the NFTs, digital trading cards for which he posed as George Washington and other heroic figures. A second round of the cards was released in April and their value dropped by more than 60 percent after roughly 1,300 of them were sold. Still, Trump bragged about their success.
These are just some of the highlights of a distinguished CV reflecting a life on the grift.
Now, just to polish the apple, gild the lily, and dot the “i” comes the latest grift — Trump Sneakers.
Right after being slapped with a $364 million fine by a New York judge for real estate fraud, Trump shimmied into Sneaker Con in Philadelphia to announce the launch of a new line of sneakers. The flagship model, “The Never Surrender High Top Sneaker,” is priced at $399 and already sold out. Trump’s missing a step in his old age; he should’ve priced them at $364 (he could’ve made up the difference with a $35 “service fee”).
Not to worry, there are still supplies of T-Red Wave and POTUS 45 low-top versions priced at $199. And if you really want to kick it up when you hit the clubs in your new sneaks, there is Victory 47 cologne at $99 a pop.
“‘Victory’ is the signature scent of strength and success, encased in a luxurious gold bottle,” according to the Trump Sneakers website. “This cologne, a part of President Trump’s exclusive line, is for the decisive and the bold. A crisp opening of citrus blends into a cedar heart, underpinned by a rich base of leather and amber, crafting a commanding presence.”
Trump must dab on a little of that every time he enters a courtroom, just to boost that “commanding presence” a notch higher.
Trump went to grifting school at an early age, eager to learn everything he could. If we could’ve been there at the beginning it might have looked like this scene out of “The Grifters.”
David Maurer wrote in his 1940 study “The Big Con,” that the grifter is “really not a thief at all because he does no actual stealing. The trusting victim literally thrusts a fat bank roll into his hands.” Sounds like Deutsche Bank after reading one of Trump’s financial statements.
This is what has defined Trump’s grifting career. His talents attract money like Willie Mays’ glove attracted fly balls.
Trump can do it all, from the “short con,” like passing off bottled water with zero mineral content as “one of the purest natural spring waters in the world” to the long con, like convincing half the Republican Party that the 2020 election was rigged in Joe Biden’s favor.
When he’s caught in the act of grifting, like the famous 2020 phone call with Brad Raffensperger in which he implored the Georgia Secretary of State to join his game of Electoral College Three-Card Monte by “just finding 11,000 votes,” Trump reverts to a classic grifter defense. He simply asserts an alternative reality where the call was “perfect.”
This is the vocabulary of the grifter: “perfect,” “the best there ever was,” “nothing like it probably in the history of the world,” “the greatest President that God ever created,” or “you’re going to see things you never thought about seeing.”
When Netflix finally makes a Trump biopic, the advisory at the beginning will note “Excessive use of superlatives.”
If Trump returns to the White House next year, expect the grifting to metastasize.
He might begin offering defense services to NATO members (“the best defense probably that anyone has ever seen”) in exchange for unlimited franchising rights for Trump properties across Europe.
He could declare immunity for life from “any charge ever” for his entire Cabinet.
He could have his sons build “Trump World” on some swampland in Florida and host the G7 there every year with “surge pricing.”
Don’t say you haven’t been warned. As a public service announcement, JEP is offering up this comprehensive list of how to spot a con artist.
Once a grifter, always a grifter. Keep your eyes open and your hand on your pocket.
Sooooo right!
Boy, you've got that guy right on the nose, Russ!