Melancholia solicits Eric's expert help with her garage sale
"Not any more difficult than a children's cancer charity."
Melancholia squinted at the youngest of Spanky’s original brood, batted her eyelashes and, sounding much like nails screeching on a blackboard asked, “Ereek, can you help me vith my garage sale? I vant to help Downey.”
Eric Trump, ignoring his father’s number one rule, stared directly at her, and looked her in her eyes. No one ever asked for his help. He had been an afterthought since before he was conceived. Spanky the Raw Dogger hated condoms. And clearly hated thinking about consequences.
“You need help? I thought it was going well. The squinty eyes NFT, the white Clint Eastwood hat - they should bring in lots of money. They go together so nicely. You sure you want me involved in this? The only fundraising I have done is for a Children’s Charity and that really did not end well. I’m lucky I didn’t end up in prison. And to top it off, dad took all the money I had made and said I’m too stupid to grift.”
“No, it has to be you. You’re the only one who talks to me. They all hate me and Barron. You vant to know something? Epstein may be Barron’s real father. Tings used to get crazy back then. Epstein liked raw dogging too. By the way, you might vant to get a paternity check. I heard Fred Trump had a thing for Ivana in those days. Ivanka’s kids should be tested too. Family of fuckink hillbillies. But I like the money.”