At the premiere of Melania at the Kennedy Center, excited attendees on the red carpet included Speaker of The House and super ass kisser Mike Johnson, brain damaged convicted rapist Mike Tyson, and disgraced New York City Mayor Eric Adams. Fired U.S. attorney Alina Habba posed with Harvey Weinstein look-a-like director Brett Rattner, once a Hollywood big shot director with credits like Rush Hour, who fled to Israel after several women accused him of sexual assault. Absent from the premiere was Barron Trump and all of the Trump children, which made a chilling statement about Step Mommy Dearest. But Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil were there, while Oprah stayed at home, horrified.
If I were to give initial blurbs for the movie I would say “It was the scariest documentary I’ve ever seen!” or “One hour and 44 minutes of visual and emotional abuse! I still have PTSD from watching it!” It was a disgrace.
It was opening night and I counted a total of 14 people in the movie theater. I went alone because I couldn’t even bribe anyone to go with, even with the promise of a hand job. He knew the movie was going to be that bad.
A few rows over from me sat a row of 20-something MAGA bros who brought their own blankees, sipped snuck-in mason jar cocktails with straws, and looked like a bunch of big baby white Aryan Brotherhood quintuplets.
The movie opens with Melania walking out of Mar-A-Lardo with the camera zooming in on her 5-inch Louboutin hooker heels. In the first 20 minutes we see her getting in and out of limos, in and out of Trump planes, and getting fitted for her inaugural hat and outfits. Nobody cares. I was bored already. Thank God the zero Coke I bought had caffeine in it, because I started feeling drowsy, like Trump feels during cabinet meetings.
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