For all the salacious details of the alleged affair between Donald Trump and adult film actor Stormy Daniels—and there are a lot—there’s one aspect that arguably renders the whole thing not worth discussing: It requires you to think about Donald Trump naked. One bleach cocktail, please.
If you’d like a quick refresher, or if you’ve just stumbled out of the Badlands after a two-week acid trip and are being slowly reintroduced to society, the story has a fairly simple basis. On January 12, The Wall Street Journal reported that the Trump campaign had paid $130,000 in hush money to Daniels (real name Stephanie Clifford) to cover up an affair between her and the president. This money was paid out one month before the election, and the affair itself began sometime following the pair’s initial meeting in 2006, i.e. a year or so after Trump married Melania.
And now Jimmy Kimmel, of all people, is set to capitalize on the scandal. Maybe she’s just a fan of “Celebrities Read Mean Tweets,” but whatever the reason, Daniels has agreed to appear on Jimmy Kimmel Live! on Tuesday, January 30—the night of Trump’s very first State Of The Union address. Kimmel announced the news via tweet, perhaps because those are the only things we can be sure Donald Trump actually reads.
Obviously, this could be a tremendous letdown of an interview. Daniels’ lawyer supplied a letter purportedly signed by her which denies the affair, which is exactly what someone who got paid a shitload of money to keep things quiet is supposed to do. Too bad for both sides that the Journal, not exactly a paragon of liberal propaganda, appears pretty confident in its reporting. Oh, and the more than 5,000-word transcript from an interview Daniels reportedly gave to In Touch about the affair back in 2011 doesn’t help matters—an interview in which she also testifies to Trump’s pathological fear of sharks, probably stemming from the nightmarish realization that he’s not the only cold-blooded douchebag up all night trolling for chum.
Still, despite what a colossal feeling of schadenfreude this generates in anyone with a general ability to see the rambling megalomania emanating like cartoon stink lines from the White House, the joke may be on us in the long run if it requires us to spend even one iota more of time imagining the president’s wheezing, sweaty body doing the one thing we’ve watched him do time and again in every conceivable situation: failing to satisfy anyone.