How Trump Turned The White House Into A Ghetto Nightclub.

In every town in America, there is one nightclub with the best music, the finest women and the cutest guys. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been there too.

I’m not talking about the “ultra-lounge” with leather booths, a VIP section and a bathroom attendant who guilts you into giving him a dollar (Those bathroom attendants are essentially bullies. When you wash your hands, they make you take some soap and a hand towel even if you’re like me. 99% of the time I will run a little bit of water over my hands with a tiny bit of soap, but those motherfuckers stare you down so hard that you are forced into scrubbing your hands like you’re about to perform surgery. And they have everything: Condoms, mints, cologne, perfume, lotion, cigarettes, cigars, sandwiches, weed, the Morning After pill, batteries, cell phone chargers, mixtapes… everything. One time I bought some Girl Scout cookies from a guy in the bathroom at The Compound in Atlanta. So there I was, walking around the club, dancing to Lil John with a box of Thin Mints under my arm. And all it costs me was $2! At least I smelled good).

Anyway, I’m not talking about that high-end place. I’m talking about the other spot. The spot where they only charge $5 to get in. The place where women get in free before 11. The place with the best wings in town. The place where the second-to-last song is always “Freak It” by Lathun (If you don’t dance to that song, please send in your black card). The place where Christmas lights are part of the decor. The place where every stall in the bathroom has blunt tobacco floating in the toilet water.

That place.

Even though you’re too old, too refined or too smart to go to frequent that spot anymore, now that the lacefront douchebag has become President, he has turned America into the living embodiment of the grimy night spot. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, allow me to explain how Donald Trump has turned America into the ‘hood club.

There’s always a cover charge: Whether you are NFL player, a lawyer or a local legend, everyone has to pay when they go to the hood club. And there’s always one person in your crew that you have to pay for. They aren’t always broke–sometimes they just forget to go by the ATM, even though they know the ghetto places don’t take credit cards. Shit, the DJ at the spot still plays records!  Sometimes, on special occasions, a crew at the hood spot will “put in” and get a seat in VIP. There is nothing in the world that stunts harder than a nigga in the VIP section, even though it’s usually just a regular seat at the club with a velvet rope around it. And it is always overcrowded. Especially if there is bottle service. When Tom Brady won the Super Bowl the year he got married to a supermodel and earned 50 million dollars, he still didn’t stunt harder than a nigga in VIP with a bottle of Hennessy and $84 in his pocket.

This is what it’s like at the Trump Administration. If I give millions of dollars like Betsy Devos’ family, who donated millions to the GOP, you can get VIP treatment which includes a VIP section (I think the correct term is a “cabinet position”), access to first drafts of Trump’s tweets, 20 minutes every day while he is in the tanning bed, and bottle service. And like the black club, everyone pays. Except for Paul Manafort. He always sneaks in.

And Trump stunts hard too! You think you were balling when you and your boys popped Asti Spumante at T’s Social Club Bar and Grill and Billiards Lounge that one time when you got a raise? Shiiiit. Trump and Vladimir Putin went in together on a VIP spot at the G-20 Summit and people are still talking about it. Have you and your boys ever take a  club picture with a glowing orb at the night spot? I thought not. Step your VIP game up, nigga.

Everyone is unqualified: When you go to the ghetto spot, no one in there is qualified to do their job. The club manager is just someone who knows how to make flyers and brags that “he got a good head for business.” The security is just some big niggas from the neighborhood that used to play football. The person at the door doesn’t know how to make change. The bartender is always the owner’s cousin who has no idea what they’re doing. If you ask her what kind of bourbon they have, she will just return a blank stare. This is because–in her universe–there are only two kinds of liquor: Brown and white

These are the same personnel decisions made by the Trump White House. Betsy Devos–the Secretary of Education–has no background in education. Aside from having lived in a house, Ben Carson is wholly unqualified to lead the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Treasury Secretary Steve Mnunchin literally bankrupted a bank. A bank, my nigga! How can you bankrupt a bank? Jared Kushner is in charge of everything else, although his only qualification is that he looks like the guy from 6th grade who the teacher told to take names when she left the class, and he actually took names. 

There are always a couple of white women: No matter how hood or black the club, wherever black people congregate, there are always a couple of white women in the mix.

One is always like Kellyanne Conway–a little over the hill, skinny blond woman who looks like she might have a meth pipe in her pocketbook. And she always lies. You know she’s lying, but she doesn’t care and neither do you. You know if you buy her a couple of screwdrivers or she’ll do anything you want, but you don’t like her like that

The other one is just like Sarah Huckabee. She is usually built like an interior defensive lineman, but she thinks she’s “thick” and has a “booty like a black girl.” She doesn’t. She just needs to do a few squats and you can see through her jeans that she doesn’t have a badonkadonk because it looks like she’s got a satchel full of quarters in her back pockets. She can lie, too. And her father is usually a preacher.

Someone is going to fight: You know the niggas who always start the fight at the club. You’re taking shots with this fine motherfucker making plans for a candlelit dinner at the Waffle House when Anthony Scaramucci starts talking shit because Reince Priebus stepped on his shoe. Mike Pence is over there trying to calm his crew down, but you peep Steve Bannon sneaking out the back door going to the truck, and you know it’s about to go down because these bastards are down with the NRA.

So here we are, in Trump’s ghetto club. Now Trump is in the parking lot shooting. Donald Jr is lying to the police. everyone’s running, You’ve lost sight of that fine motherfucker you were talking to. You need to throw up because the bartender gave you three shots of Patron, two shot of Ciroc and a shot of Bacardi (It’s all “white”). Kellyanne Conway wants to know if your homeboy is single. The bouncer won’t let you go get your homies in VIP, because they are over the fire limit, and you just want things to go back to how things used to be. Obama used to take you to nice places.

Aww fuck… they just kicked Scaramuci out of the club and they’re playing “Freak it.” Now Kellyanne Conway is grinding on you. This administration sucks. You might as well get some wings and go home

Does lemon pepper go with thin mints?

About the author

Michael Harriot is a renowned spoken word poet, the host of The Black One podcast and the editor-in-chief of NegusWhoRead. He is perpetually just getting warmed up because he has no chill. He is on Instagram and twitter as @michaelharriot

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