"A Feeling of Pressure"
The untold story of the Donald Trump assassination attempt
I have a friend in the US Secret Service. Ex-Ranger, devout Christian, smart and sassy. Let’s call her Molly.
She is funny and I love talking with her. She swears me to silence on most things and that’s a pity because she could write a book with some of her stories.
This one’s too good to let go.
She was on the detail with Donald Trump when they found a guy hiding in the treeline with a rifle. The agent who took a shot at the wannabee killer wasn’t actually looking for snipers; he was looking for a convenient, comfortable place out of view and it just happened that the place he found already had someone in it.
Donald Trump is not a well man. You can see it in his photographs now. He looks old and grey and tired. How he’s managing to hold it together with pills and quarter-pounders is a miracle of modern science.
One of the jobs of his aides - and the Secret Service, who are responsible for his security - is to find places where he can relieve the internal pressure quickly and safely and away from the cameras of the media.
On the golf course, this is not an easy job but it’s a vital one.
Trump has the world’s unhealthiest diet. Coke, meat, and onions, basically. With tubs of icecream.
There are two results. Usually not at the same time.
The first is dry and hard and solid and no fun to get out, judging by the noises.
“Molly honey, can you give me a hand here?” he will say once he’s safely behind a screen of trees.
“Sorry, Sir, right now it’s just you and God,” she will respond.
Molly brings the roll of kitchen paper from the buggy along with an evidence bag but that’s as far as she’ll go.
Of course, there’s always someone who is more than happy to get in there with a finger and help the process. Just not his Secret Service detail.
“Sir, you really should eat more vegetables,” she’ll offer.
The other kind is a lot easier to get out but this is where the kitchen paper comes in useful. He gets a feeling of pressure and a hunted look in his eyes and it’s go, go, go!
I shouldn’t really be repeating the story, but there was one time on his private jet - Trump Force One, he calls it - and he was taking a nap in flight between rallies in North Carolina and Pennsylvania.
There was an awful scream from inside the private cabin and of course Molly was in there in a flash.
She won’t give all the details but she says that her takeaway from the incident is that you should never take a sleeping pill at the same time as a laxative.
Near-death and new life on the golf links
This day was one of those “urgent, urgent, urgent” days and Molly had found a spot behind some bushes and was keeping everyone else away while getting ready to throw the kitchen paper to Mister Ex-President.
Suddenly he calls out.
“Molly, come over here, sweetie, and look.”
“Are you okay, Sir?”
“I don’t know why women make such a fuss. It was easy and quick.”
“Sir??” she said, “what is it?”
Here, and I could hear the emotion in her voice as she repeated Trump’s words to me, he said, “Molly, I’ve just given birth!”
“Sir?” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do you need the kitchen paper now?”
“Yes, but you should see. My little baby. It’s so cute. And it’s smiling at me!”
The way she tells it, he was in full mother mode, clucking and cuddling something to his chest. “Oh,” he crooned, “such big eyes! And tiny fingers. Look, Molly!”
She had to see now. She went closer and there, cradled in the dirty, dripping hands of the ex-president was …
“Sir,” she said, “You’ve just shat on a frog.”
That’s when the shooting started.
Britni
I enjoyed this.
hilarious!