My Life as a Trump Target (Please…!)

I’m feeling left out.

Everybody who is anybody has been targeted by President Trump: venerable universities and the devious Chinese spies they insist on enrolling; journalists asking mildly challenging questions; Congressional librarians and their DEI book collections; deep state feds; secret terrorists with tatooed knuckles, flipping burgers in fast-food joints while deviously plotting our downfall. Even Congressman, showing up at meetings with their nefarious motives, are being targeted and hauled off in handcuffs.

But what about me? I’ve done things, dangerous things. Or I might, one day. Why hasn’t the White House taken note? Where are the IRS auditors scrutinizing my returns? Why isn’t the oxymoronic Uniformed Secret Service tailing me as I buy groceries? I’ve been expecting teams of Heritage Foundation interns, brimming with ideological zeal, pouring over my FBI files and hunting down my deleted emails. Where are they? Come now, Mr. President, treat me to a one-way, all-expenses-paid, extended stay in El Salvador or South Sudan.

Watch my house with your Space Force satellites (you can’t miss it — it’s the one with the solar panels). Build a wall around my neighborhood and, for old times sake, get Mexico to pay for it. Levy a thousand percent tariff on everything I buy, sticking it to me and the globalists at the same time. My last jury duty, I voted “guilty” and sent a man to jail. Find him. Pardon him. Just for the heck of it.
Am I not deserving of being on the receiving end of Trump’s boundless, beautiful, deeply personal ire?

It’s a strange daydream to indulge in, I know, but it’s only the start. My real fantasy, what I truly desire, is this: I want to haul Trump into court. Not just any court — the Supreme Court. I want all nine justices (even you, Clarence Thomas; this is a fantasy, after all) telling you, with certainty, that your relentless assault on democracy is not just immoral, illegal, and unconstitutional, but so far beneath the dignity of the office you hold that they can hardly do more than sputter their frustration and outrage.

For now, though, I’ll settle for first getting Trump’s attention. An opinion piece in a fake-news media outlet is a good start. Even better though, is the personal insult; the man has a very, very, very thin skin. As I’m not prone to hurling invective, I’ll use the old press corps trick: “Mr. Trump, it’s been reported that some people have said you’re nuttier than Jimmy Carter’s peanut farm. How do you respond, sir?”

Maybe that will get his attention. If it’s not enough, I can add more: “you’re surrounding yourself with people almost as devoid of decency as you are and in the process, dragging our beloved country down into the depths of your madness. Or, so I’ve heard.”

Powerful people and major institutions buckle at the knees whenever Trump goes tweet, tweet on Truth Social. If I’m successful in my quest — if I become a target of Trump’s mighty wrath — will I respond any differently? I’m not worried. I’m pretty tough. I grew up in Brooklyn. Besides, If I wind up disappeared, I’m sure I can scrape up enough $Trump crypto to order up a quick Presidential pardon.

It’s up to us ordinary folks to stand strong. Because that’s what this is really about, Mr. President. Not your enemies list. Not your latest meltdown. It’s about your entrenched belief that power means impunity, that norms are for the weak, and that democracy is just another obstacle to bulldoze.
Mr. Trump, I defy you. I call your bluff. So have at it. You know where to find me.

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David Sarokin lives in Washington DC, and is…concerned.