mattyreads

[mattyreads]

Trump Temptations; Chapter 3: The Meeting (final)

Edit: This is being reposted because one of the images did not meet tumblr’s new guidelines despite the rampant neo-nazis, porn bots, and smut that makes it past the censors anyway.

Jack takes the short walk back to the hotel for his and Trump's second meeting. Meanwhile, I brace myself for what's going to be the worst business transaction in existence, but I’m excited to see how Jack will go from a nice suit to the leather-clad dom on the front cover.

I reached the building and made my way up the elevator, my heart and meat monster both throbbing more and more with each floor we passed.

"We" again. Jack's either using the royal "we", or referring to his Monster, who I’m starting to think is an employee at Monsters Inc. Instead of scaring small children, the Purple-People-Eater lays dormant in young gay men’s pants until it thinks it can take advantage of old rich men’s money. This has turned into quite the Orange Vampire/Purple People Eater slashfic.

The elevator rang loud and opened her doors like a white girl's legs on prom night.

I'd rather open my legs on a magical night for someone I was dating, than open my anus for a pruning, walking cesspool of racial ignorance and UTIs.

The door creaked open and there he was, handsome as ever, like a giant melting fat carrot with fake hair.

I will give Daniel credit: His Trump analogies almost make up for the unflattering characteristics he's attributed to women, now on two out of three occasions. Whatever Daniel thinks about women while drunk and attempting to write satire about a questionable businessman and politician, he probably thinks a lot worse about Trump.

Trump invites Jack inside, asks him to sit, and tells him that he looks good.

"Why did you ask me here?" I said as I sat down. "You know why I asked you here." He said as he brushed his hand against my cheek, leaving a stream of self tanner dripping down me.

Good lord, never mind the vampire jokes, Trump is apparently an Orange Lantern, but less badass and more gelatinous and oozy.

The only thing I knew was that I wanted to ride the elevator to the top of his Trump Tower.

I have a feeling Daniel was waiting the entire time to get to that joke. This was the punchline, wasn't it? It was almost cute compared to the rest of this story's analogies.

He moved closer, putting his cold, dead lips on my neck.

Maybe he's like, an Orange Lantern vampire. If I know my comic book trivia, (and I don't) there's gotta be one of those.

His hands felt like an old dried out gingerbread house.

Probably needs some lotion. I think there's a brand made just for old, greed-motivated vampires.

Trump tells him that there's something he needs to tell Jack. Jacks says to save it for later.

"Fine, but close your eyes" he said. I was reluctant, but obedient. I unzipped his pants and touched his cold scaly thighs. I opened my eyes as I grabbed his thick, long... TAIL? WHAT?

Jack screams in shock.

His neck flared up like that dinosaur on Jurassic Park, you know the which one I mean. He hissed and lept for the window. Leaving behind nothing but broken glass, and shattered hearts.

Bet You Didn't Fucking Expect That

The End... Or is it?

And that's the end. If you don't believe me, here's a shot taken on my phone:

I have to heave a giant disappointed sigh, because I was looking forward to reading about Trump's wrinkled, avocado-like testicles, and the piss-drinking kink he probably has. Maybe Trump would have Jack dress up like his daughter, and call him "Auntie" while Trump was tied to a fucking machine.

(Here’s a fucking machine if you don’t know what that looks like).

The plethora of bizarre sexual acts at Daniel's disposal are endless, the audience vast. Even good ol' vanilla sex could have been hilarious with creative analogies and the willpower to continue writing, and not pass out after being too drunk and high.

This would have been the greatest opportunity for Daniel to show the world every bizarre kink he knew, possibly enjoyed, and still say "It was for the lols."  Instead, he wussed out and went for the "lol randomz lizard people" route. I'm disappointed Daniel, though I guess you did give us fair warning. Whelp, I spent my $2 on my own volition. Thank you for the chuckle.

As for myself, I hope you enjoyed my own commentary. I had a lot of fun with this, and will gladly read and commentate more.

<< Previous

[mattyreads]

Trump Temptations; Chapter 2: Blood Sausage

Chapter two opens with our hero making his way downtown, asking himself the important questions.

Should I meet him at 8pm? No. I can't do that. What am I'm thinking. I'm thinking about him.

The real question should be why are you thinking about him, outside of America's baffling willingness to vote for him.

I couldn't fight it anymore.

You were never fighting, son.

I had to admit it, I wanted his geriatric 2006 Perez Hilton jello body, and I wanted it bad.

I'm at a point with this story where I'm just going to lay my head on my desk and cry. I also had to look up what Perez Hilton looked like and have to say, a combination of Photoshop, professional makeup, and actual weight loss got Perez Hilton looking pretty good.

But before long we had a new problem, my lustful thoughts had awoken the purple-headed yogurt slinger in my pants.

Jack Torrance hustles on back to his apartment, realizing that sporting a People-Eater-colored boner from Hell, in public is probably bad form.

making sure nobody saw the bulging blood sausage I was rocking.

This is actually a rather clever analogy, given that sausage has the general shape of a penis, and blood actually runs to the genitals when aroused. I can approve of most penis-related commentary mentioning blood running south. However, the actual image of a penis looking like blood sausage is nigh horrific.

Please God, no.

His roommate, Nickole, makes an appearance and calls Jack Torrance a “fat bitch.” I’m not sure if she's talking about his body, the state of his penis, or using some affectionate slang with which I'm unfamiliar.

“Why are you acting so fucking weird?” she asked. “I'm not,” I said. “I met a boy.” Is he cute?” she asked me as she made a sandwich. “Gorgeous. His face is wrinkled like a beautiful overflowing flesh toilet.”

What the actual fuck does that mean? Does the author mean he would like to take a shit on Trump’s face? Not that I can blame him.

“What the fuck does that mean, that's really weird. Nobody fucking talks like that” she said,

I like Nickole. Too bad she also has no identifiable traits besides cursing a lot, presumably liking sandwiches, and one of those names that are “uniquely” misspelled. Her parents are probably hippies from Wisconsin, with an organic cheese farm and too many feral cats.

“He's also rich” I followed. “Oh okay, go get that dick boo”

No Nickole, you don't know what you're saying. You’re sending Jack to be consumed by an orange vampire. That was part of her plan, wasn’t it? Donald and Nickole must be in on this together!

Despite my warnings, her encouragement has Jack Torrance going to the mall and buying a black suit.

His Wikipedia page says he's 69 year young, what a magical number.

Wait. I had to double-check to make sure I got my math right. I'm admittedly terrible at math. This story takes place in 2012, and Donald Trump is 69 as of 2016. He should be 65 as of the date of this story. Either someone is lying (Trump), drunk (The author), or really bad at math (Trump, The author, and myself).

The next option is that Trump is a vampire and has to keep lying about his age to keep his identity secret. I knew it! This is actually a horror story.

It also says that his nickname is “The Donald,” but I'm pretty sure they mean “Daddy.”

The last person to (probably) un-ironically call him “daddy” was his daughter, and I'm pretty sure he wants to bang her. Which, I guess works out for Jack Torrance.

Jack Torrance gets himself pretty and heads out.

Thus ends chapter two with a still-nameless main character, and probably more than one complicated daddy issue.

<< Previous | Next >>

[mattyreads]

Trump Temptations; Chapter 1: The Mysterious Meeting (cont.)

In our last post, our main character, still unnamed, has met Donald Trump, something that makes his heart go doki doki. Or, that maybe a mild stomach cramp from the burrito and pancake analogies. He runs to the bathroom to ponder.

“This is insane, I must be crazy” I said to myself in the mirror as the cold water dripped down my face and uniform.

Here we establish he is in fact, wearing a uniform, not the assless, garter-corset abomination featured on the front cover. 

The main character stares at his reflection, and neglects to tell us anything about his appearance. He requests a break from the hotel manager, Helen.

She growls at him like a hotel manager who is forced to serve rich, entitled pricks, whose business successes are dependent on absorbing smaller businesses like a young bellhop's anus, hungry for aging penis and disappointing but predictable politics. Maybe this is all foreshadowing. Maybe I'm giving more detail to the writing than is actually presented.

Before he goes on his 15 minute break, Helen tells him that Mr. Trump has requested him personally, to bring his bags to his room immediately. I'm actually impressed with Mr. Trump since our bellboy has given no indication he has a name.

So many questions racing through my mind, like a cool teenager on heelys in a mall.

I have questions too, mostly about the legitimacy of the quoted sentence.

The bellhop observes the luggage is “Made in China” and declares it ironic. I'm not sure why it's ironic, or why the observation was included. They're in Hong Kong, and Trump is American, so I'm sure it's common for him to own things made in China. Would it be less ironic if it were made in Hong Kong?

I-ron-ic

happening in the opposite way to what is expected, and typically causing wry amusement because of this.

Whatever gives you a chuckle, mate. Irony would be me getting half a tingly feeling from reading this story. As you may suspect, nothing resembling pleasure has occurred within the vicinity of my pants.

I wonder why he asked for me? What could this be about? I wonder if he... likes me? How could he like me, he JUST met me!

I'm now imagining our bellhop to be giggling like a high schooler. Does Donny LIKE me? Do you think he'll DATE me? Does my lipstick look okay Helen? Quick, do my boxer briefs make my package bulge enough?

Maybe the teenager on heelys analogy was more apt than I credited. I've decided our bellhop nineteen, fresh out of high school. He got the internship for good grades, or maybe because he sucked the principal's dick. As a result, the principal found a way to send him out of the country to avoid a lawsuit. I'm sure we'll never know, because character development and identifiable traits are for chumps.

the elevator rang as we reached the penthouse.

I thought he was alone. Oh god, am I now part of this horror story? Why is there a penthouse in this hotel? Will the door open to reveal a flood of blood caused by the hallucinations of a madman?

He answered the door wearing only a robe.

Close enough.

The robe open just enough for me to see this beautiful saggy chest. A chest that would give Betty White a run for her money.

I'm going to speak up for Betty White here, and say she's looking pretty fab for a 94-year-old actress who grew up during the Depression.

Trump is currently 69 (As of March, 2016), something I'm sure he's never done as that would involve pleasing his partner, and minimal creativity.

Trump proceeds to slam the door in Jack Torrance's face (That's his name now. I've decided), and he is of course, overjoyed that nothing is expected of him and he can go safely home to his host family, and play Tekken with their attractive and intelligent 20-year-old son.

Just kidding.

My heart sank. I guess he just wanted his bags? As soon as I began to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart, the door whipped open again.

Trump gives Jack a several-hundred dollar tip, a smile, and a note that reads,

“Be back here at 8pm, and get yourself something nice to wear.”

Jack goes home early, knees trembling and claiming that he feels sick.

I couldn't be there anymore, I needed to go home.

I'm not sure if this is in excitement or fear, because it sure doesn't match the excitement he's been projecting this entire time. I was actually a little put off and concerned at the change in tone. Maybe Daniel finally realized exactly what kind of horror novel he was writing, and decided to make the language more appropriate.

Here is where we end chapter one, with a note demanding Jack Torrance's presence, and no closer to the question on everyone's mind: What is Jack's actual name?

<< Previous | Next >>

[mattyreads]

Trump Temptations; Chapter 1: The Mysterious Meeting

The opening line:

It all started one fateful afternoon in the summer of 2012.

Fateful indeed. It was fate that I read this story. Now, immediately I'm a little put off that the author has chosen to give us a date. It's my expert literary opinion that specific dates should be avoided in fictional works, because stories should try to be timeless, placing the reader in almost any point in history, unless you know, the time stamp is important. I'll keep an open mind, because Trump hasn't aged well in his very long life, like an orange vampire with an overused muppet on his head.

Our main character is working as a bellboy at Trump Hotel in Hong Kong on an internship program. I'm not sure what internship you can get as a bellboy, but the character doesn't seem too concerned with such details. Who needs legitimacy when you can work at Trump Hotel? I suppose the main character must be a student at Trump University - He's from a small Michigan farm town, and absolutely loves Hong Kong.

I was stacking someone's tacky luggage when the door behind me swept open. My loins trembled as the scent of toupee adhesive and spray tan swept through my nasal cavity. I wanted nothing more than to turn around and see the golden god behind these scents, but I couldn't move.

It was Donald!

Oh good, maybe he brought Mickey.

He stood there in front of me, like a tall stallion. With this oily orange skin glistening in the sunlight as if he were a soggy cheeto, his hair unkept and messy, like a gorgeous rat's nest. He was beautiful. More beautiful than I could have ever dreamed.

Your dreams must not be very good, son. As of now, here's the image that's been painted based on science and analogies:

Trump does that thing where your boss tells you to do something that you were clearly in the process of doing. He tells the bellboy to bring his bags to his room.

His voice wrapped around my body like queso around a smothered burrito. I was unable to speak. What is this feeling I'm having?

Probably constipation from your burrito analogies.

I forced myself to speak, but only the word 'what” would come out. “I don't have all fucking day, you loser” he said next. “I'm so sorry, sir” I whimpered as I grabbed his bags. “I'll get these up to you immediately.”

He shook his head and trotted off toward the elevator.

More horse analogies. I'm beginning to think the bellboy wishes Trump looked more like a horse, as a horse would be much more attractive and useful.

I have to bring up an issue with formatting at this point. It's an amateur mistake, but you need to create a new paragraph every time a new speaker begins speaking. It's a readability issue, more than than anything. The lines I previously quoted should look like this:

His voice wrapped around my body like queso around a smothered burrito. I was unable to speak. What is this feeling I'm having? I forced myself to speak, but only the word “what” would come out.

“I don't have all fucking day, you loser” he said next.

“I'm so sorry, sir” I whimpered as I grabbed his bags. “I'll get these up to you immediately.”

He shook his head and trotted off toward the elevator.

All  typos have been preserved in their original form. But isn’t that much better? Much more readable. I can almost believe the author believes in his own writing.

His gorgeous ass flapped behind him like a mouthwatering stack of pancakes in his pants. My hunger for pancakes had never been stronger.

And that's when it happened. He looked back. He caught me staring at his donk. He could have me immediately had me fired for this, but he didn't.

That wasn't a typo on my part. That's what was written.

Instead, he smiled and continued to hop on the elevator. What is happening? Am I losing my mind?

Yes. Yes you are.

I didn't come here to find love, but did love fine me? No. It couldn't be.

I assure you it's not. The only thing finding you is STDs, questionable business practices, and the KKK.  Run while you still can. You seem like a nice kid.

This is not all that’s left of chapter 1, but I’m afraid all this hot and steamy reading is giving me a craving for pancakes and Pepto-Bismol. 

Next >>

[mattyreads]

Trump Temptations, The Billionaire & The Bellboy (Author’s note)

I said I'd be reviewing page-by-page, but I'll start with the whole disclaimer, which takes two pages on my Kindle.

The author, Elijah Daniel, opens on a grim-sounding note:

This is a work of fiction, a really bad one, but a work of fiction nonetheless. All characters in this book, including those inspired by real people are fake. Everything in this book is fake. And after this book, my parents love for me will also probably be fake.

I'm immediately intrigued. What sort of literary masterpiece would warrant parents to disown, or stop loving their child? Trump Temptations must venture into the realm of cultural taboo. Perhaps this will be an thinly-veiled account of the author's own experiences, a commentary on the role of sex in politics. Daniel's parents could be close to Trump himself, and don't appreciate a rich and powerful political partner being outed for his sexual deviancy. American sexual culture has progressed significantly, but the world of gay culture and BDSM is still heavily misunderstood.

A Message to Readers Stop. What the fuck are you doing? Seriously. Why are you reading this shit? I wrote this really fucking drunk and in 4hrs. This is really bad, and it's meant to be really bad. You paid fucking real actual money for this shit. You need to reevaluate your life.

But thanks for reading my fucking garbage, I guess.

I'm so sorry.

A casual mention of alcohol makes me wonder in this is a plea for help. For anyone to imagine Donald Trump in a sexual fashion, a lot of alcohol or morphine would have to be involved. It's okay Daniel, we all make mistakes, including sleeping with Donald Trump and writing about it as a way to expose the corruption in America's political system.

My observation that the author's parents may be close to Trump is spurred by the apology present at the end of the author's note; Is he apologizing to his parents for what he feels was a necessary evil? Exposing political corruption is usually at a huge personal cost. I applaud you for your bravery, Elijah Daniel.

[mattyreads]

Inspired by the blog, http://btothef.tumblr.com/, which reads Back to the Future and critically analyzes every page. Mostly. I was asked by a friend to do the same review style for Trump Temptations, The Billionaire & The Bellboy, by Elijah Daniel, a task I joyfully accepted.

It would give me great pleasure for you to sit with me through what is surely to be a delightful 139 page novella. 

From here on, all Trump Temptations will be tagged and I will soon post the means to read all related posts chronologically. Please feel free to discuss and ask questions about this lovely work of fiction.