Remember Mitt Romney? He’s that presidential wannabe who suggested “self-deportation” for undocumented Hispanic workers.
Gee, what a good idea. It’s one Donald Trump should heed. Even though Trump is not an undocumented worker, self-deportation would be good for him. He won’t be president in the United States; maybe he can be president in Mexico. He might be much happier in Mexico because it’s a country ripe for exploitation and large enough to hold his ego. In time, he could practically own the whole country. He could rename it “Trumpico.”
“The Donald” has always said how much he loves Mexico; he really loves Mexico; and he loves Mexicans; some of his best workers are Mexicans. He loves them. He really does.
Trump has an excellent brain. His health is excellent (the healthiest man in the world, his doctor said). He’s an excellent tycoon. His beautiful wife and wonderful children are all excellent. His steaks, his wine, his magazines – oh, how excellent! Living in Mexico among the comforts of his high-walled hacienda, Trump will be revered as “His Excellency” by his legions of maids, butlers, chauffeurs and pool cleaners. Business cronies will salute him as El Trumpo or (behind his back) “That Crazy Gringo.” Those hoping for a hand-out will act like toadies and call him “El Presidente.”
Just imagine all the fun El Donaldo could have South of the Border. He could take over most or all of the seaside resorts: Adios, Cozumel and Puerto Vallarta. Bienvenidos, Villa Donaldo and Puerto Trumpo. He could build many more resorts, casinos, skyscrapers, relying upon the labor of displaced peasants working for his company for 15 cents an hour – you know, those Mexican workers he loves so much. (Really, he does, honest.) In Mexico, he can fire anybody he wants, to his heart’s content.
When Trump’s not wheeling-and-dealing seaside, he could get busy with his other projects, such as constructing jails for women who are to be punished for having had abortions. If he gets a bit bored by getting richer and even richer, he could start building more walls, all the walls he wants. He’d pay for them.
There’s only one little problem. Peasant revolts – revolutions – have been known to rock Mexico from time to time. Oh well. Trump’s walls should keep him safe from any riff-raff upstarts. But if things get really hairy, no problemo, hombre. Trump and La Senora and the kids can just pack up and high-tail it to a Caribbean island, the one he’ll buy. There, he can kick back, playing the role of “President for Life,” the way Papa Doc Duvalier and son Baby Doc played Divine Rulers of Haiti for decades – that is, until those pesky, unpleasant uprisings toppled them.
From his island paradise, The Donald will still be able to rule the world. He can jet to New York City now and then to hobnob with all the celebrities and crooks he used to know and love. He’s smart. He really is. That’s why he’s so rich. Anybody as smart as him is bound to be rich, with excellent bank accounts and beautiful wives. Such fame and fortune were fated, meant to be. Pesos galore. Gorgeous women who give birth to children with excellent brains.
If Trump’s ego gets too big for Mexico, what the heck, he can start buying one or two Central American countries, maybe a couple more islands, with plenty of room to off-shore his parties. His Excellency, El Presidente del Mundo, will have many fine siestas in his Excellent New World. But it won’t be all fun and games. No siree! Much of the time, Donald “El Comandante” Trump will be busy recruiting Mexican soldiers of fortune, who, with Trumpo, sabre drawn and leading the charge, will attack ISIS in Syria and kick the (stuffing) out of them.
Senor Trump, please pack your ego in a jumbo jet and fly away south. We’ll be there at the airport, all waving goodbye and shouting adios for The Donald. Or as The Arnold used to say, “Hasta la vista, baby.”