Who’s worse than a creep? Someone trying too hard to be a creep.
Late comedian Norm Macdonald once told the following joke on Saturday Night Live back in the 1900s: “U.S. News And World Report’s list of the best and worst jobs for 1996 is out. In the worst job category, last year’s winner, Crack Whore, has lost its spot. The new worst job is Assistant Crack Whore.”
Donald Trump, in describing world-class predator and creep Jeffrey Epstein as a “terrific guy” (New York Magazine, 2002. Trump elaborated by saying “He’s a lot of fun to be with. It is even said that he likes beautiful women as much as I do, and many of them are on the younger side.”) makes a case for Creep Simp as an even worse title than simply “Creep.” If a creep’s efforts are unwelcome, then an aspiring creep adds “trying too hard to be a creep” to his terminal cringeyness.
In trying too hard to liken himself to his hero, Epstein, Trump actually surpasses the late sex trafficker in creepiness—a Shakespearean achievement.
Because in a few key respects, greatness is like creepiness. Even if Donald Trump thinks he is one despite demonstrably being the other.
Malvolio, in William Shakespeare’s “Twelfth Night,” reads a cunning letter in which he is told “Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”
Some people, indeed, are born creepy. Recall the person whose skeeviness impressed you from the moment you met as children. Some people, like Ron Jeremy, achieved creepiness. Once upon a time I watched giddy, attractive women line up to be groped by the eminent Golden Age porn star, yet there’s a difficult—but unmistakeable—point at which even the most charming, witty person (as Jeremy often was) must realize when such behavior is no longer welcome, regardless of whether it once was.
While numerous Trump biographers and even his niece, therapist Mary Trump, say her uncle was born creepy, Creepiness and Greatness differ when it comes to who’s doing the thrusting.
We know that it is The Time (not Morris Day’s The Time) that thrusts greatness on an individual—such as Luke Skywalker or Erin Brockovich—but it is the Creep who thrusts his creepiness on others. (“And if you’re famous, they just let you,” our creepy president once told a reporter back when he was just a creepy adulterer, tax cheat, and grifter).
Which brings us to Donald Trump’s extra-creepy aspirational creepiness as evidenced by his obsequious birthday letter to Jeffrey Epstein.
Voice Over: There must be more to life than having everything.
Donald
Yes, there is, but I won’t tell you what it is.
Jeffrey
Nor will I, since I also know what it is.
Donald
We have certain things in common, Jeffrey.
Jeffrey
Yes, we do, come to think of it.
Donald
Enigmas never age, have you noticed that?
Jeffrey
As a matter of fact, it was clear to me the last time I saw you.
Donald
A pal is a wonderful thing. Happy Birthday—and may every day be another wonderful secret.
Gross. The Bible (sure I’ll go there) tells us that love is not boastful. Similarly the true Smooth Operator needn’t flaunt it. Trump, on the other hand, spent the 80s, 90s, and 2000s publicizing his adultery to every outlet desperate enough to take his calls (he even invented a press agent, John Barron, to peddle stories about himself, then named his offspring after the fictitious hack. What a legacy! It’s like when I named my lemur Ponante).
In inventing a movie script in which Trump compares himself to his “pal” and Epstein agrees—both fascinating enigmas sharing a secret!—the slovenly blowhard seeks to endear himself to the younger, single, jet-setting man by saying they are the same. OIne can imagine Epstein reading this and muttering “No we most certainly are not—I make this look good, but you just look creepy.”
One difference between liberals and conservatives in re: Trump is liberals’ obsessive need to understand him versus conservatives’ prudent hesitation not to look this bloated gift horse in its drooping mouth. Perhaps what the birthday letter reveals is another example of the president’s lifelong struggle to be accepted by more powerful men. Their toying with him (Putin) or outright rejection of him (Fred Trump Sr.) is the reason he surrounds himself either with opportunistic toadies he holds in contempt or the puppeteers who prop him up as a useful idiot.
Regardless, it’s creepy.
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