Atrumpalypse Now...On the Stump With Trump 2015 (with sincere apologies to Francis Ford Coppola)

I’ve made no secret of my admiration of Batman.  Of all the superheroes, I think he is the coolest.  There is a deep, dark psychosexual element to the brooding character (and NO, I’m not talking about paunchy Adam West Batman). 

That said, I guess it is inevitable that one of the horde of lunatics running for president in 2016 would step forward to make the claim, “I am Batman!”

But, why o’ why did it have to be Trump?

While everyone else was reading the article on the CNN web site earlier this week, in which the author described the scene at the Iowa State Fair when Trump flew in on his customized Sikorsky helicopter.  I had the great fortune to ride along on another of his helicopter assaults (or, as he prefers to call the visits, ‘Schmooze from Above’). 

Imagine my surprise when Trump’s people contacted me at about 0400 on Monday morning to ask if I could get to Des Moines before noon.  “Ach mein Gott,” I responded!  “I only went to bed at 1AM!”

The caller who identified himself as Hector told me, “Mr. Trump is making another of his helicopter visits, this time to Northwest Oklahoma.  He reads your blog and wants you to ride along as he visits your home state.”

I rubbed my aching head…frankly, I had a hangover that would kill a horse.  I thought someone must be playing a joke on me.  I asked for proof that the call was on the level.

I could tell that Hector was becoming frustrated with me.  His voice took on a surly edge as he growled, “You’ll have your proof once you land in Des Moines.  Can you get there?”

I indicated that I would do my best and rolled out of bed and dressed, not bothering to shower or brush my teeth.  If the Trump wants me in Des Moines before noon, he would have to take me as I am!

Fortunately, the wife was already up and making biscuits at that hour.  I told her I had to get to the airport in Oklahoma City pronto.  I told her that I needed to fly to Des Moines and get there before noon.  I was being summoned by the Trump himself.  I pointed out this could be big for the blog.  I imagined myself being interviewed on CNN before sundown. 

The wife told me to sit and have a cup of coffee…after I brushed my teeth.  When I came out of the bathroom, I saw Cousin Fred sitting at the table looking even more bleary-eyed than me.  The wife pointed out that Cousin Fred has a pilot’s license and a friend with a plane over at West Woodward Airport.  She suggested that Cousin Fred fly me to Des Moines.  I squinted my eyes looking at the two of them wondering if she wasn’t purposely sending me to an inevitable early demise at the hands of my maniac cousin.  I figured death at the hands of Cousin Fred would look like an “accident” to the insurance company.

I began doing the time calculations in my head.  Two-plus hours to OKC…find an airline headed to Des Moines…get a ticket…get through security (they always detain me for secondary inspection following the “incident” in Trinidad & Tobago)…fly there…try to find Trump’s helo on the commercial side of the airport and board without being pummeled or shot by one of his atavistic overachiever bodyguards.  I didn’t have a prayer in hell of getting there before noon by conventional means.  That left unconventional means.

Looking across the table at Cousin Fred (who was now drooling out one side of his mouth), it occurred to me that the very definition of unconventional is Cousin Fred.  By my thinking, Des Moines is just over a two hour flight by private aircraft…this could actually work. 

“Hey,” I said, kicking him under the table!  “Get yourself together and get your friend on the phone.  We’re going flying!”

We made it to West Woodward by 0800.  The plane was already on the tarmac and the engine was turning.  Cousin Fred was looking a lot better though I had no idea why.  I still felt like a bag of dog crap that someone was continuously hammering. 

The flight to Des Moines was relatively uneventful and gave me pause to wonder why the Trump would ask me to come along.  I kept thinking about that scene in “Scarface” where the head of the drug cartel throws an informant from inside an airborne helicopter, dangling him on a rope by the neck.  Surely, I hadn’t pissed the Trump off that much!

Before I knew it, we were landing in Des Moines.  Cousin Fred was directed by the tower to the ramp where the Trump’s Sikorsky was parked.  As we taxied closer, I could see the Trump getting out of a long black limo and begin making his way to the waiting helicopter.   He was dressed in a camo flight suit under which I could see a dress shirt and tie.  He disappeared inside.

Cousin Fred brought our plane to a stop about 20 yards from the helo.  He looked over at me and said, “Good luck.”

I knew I would need it. 

To be continued...