Book Two · A Seussian Origin Story
How Trumpy-Wumpy
Got That Way
The Origins of Bumbloo-Wee's Most Peculiar Creature
"Every rotten egg was once a tiny egg"
Prologue
Before Bumbloo-Wee,
There Was New Yump-City
New Yump-City, where young Wumpy-Dumpling first drew breath
You've heard of Trumpy-Wumpy, that round orange fellow,
Whose face went from orange to something more yellow
Whenever someone dared to say something true.
But HOW did he get so? We'll tell it to you.
For creatures like Trumpy-Wumpy don't spring from thin air—
They're made, bit by bit, through the years and the where.
So pull up a chair, and prepare for the tale
Of young Wumpy-Dumpling, before he turned stale.
It started in New Yump-City, a grand towering place,
With skyscrapers tall and a competitive pace,
Where Daddy-Big-Wumpy, his father of gold,
Had made quite a fortune — or so we are told.
Chapter One
Daddy-Big-Wumpy and
The Buildings of Blame
Daddy-Big-Wumpy explaining which doors were "not available"
Now Daddy-Big-Wumpy owned buildings galore,
Great towering blocks stretching forty floors more.
He rented out rooms to the people who'd come—
But SOME were turned away. Every. Single. One.
If a family knocked and their skin was too brown,
The manager smiled and said, "Nothing in town."
He'd mark on the form — with a small letter C —
A code that meant: "Not the right kind for me."
Young Wumpy-Dumpling would watch from the stairs,
Learning which people deserved to be where.
Learning that rules were for OTHER folks' use,
And learning to fashion a very good excuse.
The U.S. Department of Justice sued Fred Trump in 1973 for violating the Fair Housing Act by refusing to rent to Black applicants. Properties used a "C" code on applications to identify and reject Black renters.
Chapter Two
The School of
Wumpy-Woo
Young Wumpy-Dumpling, academically distinguished (he said)
Young Wumpy-Dumpling was sent off to school,
Where he quickly established one principal rule:
"I am the smartest! The greatest! The best!
My brain is more brainier than all of the rest!"
The teachers would sigh and the students would stare,
As young Wumpy's grades floated somewhere in air—
Not high in the air, like an eagle in flight,
More low in the air, like a kite on a night.
He bounced between colleges — one, two, then three —
Till Daddy's connections set young Wumpy free
To attend a fine school with a very fine name,
Which he'd later claim credit for, proudly, with flame.
"I was TOP of my class!" he would bellow and crow.
His classmates said nothing. (They all seemed to know.)
Trump transferred to the University of Pennsylvania after two years at Fordham. He has repeatedly claimed to have graduated first in his class; the university does not award such honors and classmates dispute the claim.
Chapter Three
The Magical
Disappearing Spurs
Young Wumpy's feet, which were terribly, conveniently afflicted
When the call came for service — for war and for duty —
Young Wumpy discovered a medical beauty:
His feet! Oh his feet! They were dreadfully sore!
He simply could NOT go to fight in the war.
The doctor (who rented from Daddy, by chance)
Confirmed that young Wumpy could not even dance
On account of his spurs — little spurs on each heel —
Which were ever so painful. (Or so the forms feel.)
He got the deferment. Then another. Then five.
While other young men went — and didn't come back alive.
But Wumpy played tennis! And golf! With great zeal!
The spurs seemed to vanish — what excellent heal!
Years later he'd say, with a general's proud air,
"I always loved war. I was basically there."
Trump received five draft deferments during Vietnam — four for education and one for bone spurs diagnosed by a podiatrist who rented office space from Fred Trump. Trump has described his avoidance of STDs as his "personal Vietnam."
Chapter Four
The Builders Who
Built and Weren't Paid
The contractors of Bumbloo-Wee, awaiting payment that would not come
Now Wumpy-Dumpling grew up and built things —
Great gleaming towers with gold-plated rings.
He hired the plumbers, the painters, the crew,
And promised them payment when each job was through.
The workers worked hard. They toiled and they sweated.
They finished the building. And then they regretted.
For Wumpy declared that the work was "not right,"
And simply stopped paying — and vanished from sight.
The painters! The plumbers! The little small folk!
They took him to court, but the court was a joke —
For Wumpy had lawyers in suits by the score,
Who'd drag things along till the workers gave more
Than they could afford — so they'd settle for less,
Or get nothing at all. (Wumpy called this "success.")
USA Today identified over 200 contractors, workers, and partners who alleged Trump refused to fully pay them for work completed — including dishwashers, plumbers, painters, real estate brokers, and small business owners.
Chapter Five
The Six Great
Collapsings
Another Wumpy enterprise discovers gravity
Now Wumpy built casinos — great glittery halls
With carpets and fountains and gaudy-gilt walls.
He opened! He flourished! He bragged in the press!
Then quietly filed for a Chapter Eleven distress.
He did this not once, and not twice, but six times —
A record of sorts, set to bankruptcy chimes.
The Taj! And the Plaza! The Castle! The Grand!
Each fell like a tower of poorly-stacked sand.
The banks lost their money. The workers lost jobs.
The bondholders wept in sad bankrupt-y mobs.
But Wumpy walked out with his hair and his name,
And went on the TV to harvest the fame.
He also sold steaks! And a university grand!
And vodka! And mortgages! Throughout the land!
Each venture collapsed in a similar way.
"I'm great at business," he said anyway.
Trump's companies filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy six times: Trump Taj Mahal (1991), Trump Castle (1992), Trump Plaza Hotel (1992), Plaza Hotel (1992), Trump Hotels and Casino Resorts (2004), and Trump Entertainment Resorts (2009).
Chapter Six
The Friend from
The Shadow-Dark Isle
Wumpy and the Shadow-Man at one of their many, many parties
Now Wumpy had friends, as the powerful do,
And one friend in particular — slippery, too —
Was Jeffery the Shadow-Man, dweller of dark,
Who threw the grand parties from dusk until stark.
They flew on each other's planes! Partied for years!
Wumpy said Jeffery was "terrific, one hears,
A fun kind of fellow who likes the young crowd."
(He actually said this. He said it out loud.)
The Shadow-Man's parties were darker than night —
The girls who attended were not quite all right,
Not right in their ages, not right in their choice,
Not right in the having of anything — voice.
When questions were asked, Wumpy said with a frown,
"I barely knew Jeffery." (He'd known him for years.)
He'd said he was terrific. He'd flown on his plane.
He'd partied and partied and partied again.
Trump called Epstein "a terrific guy" who "likes beautiful women as much as I do, and many of them are on the younger side." Trump was listed in Epstein's flight logs and the two socialized for years before a falling out circa 2004.
Conclusion
And So Trumpy-Wumpy
Was Made
The finished product, ready to rule Bumbloo-Wee
And so, bit by bit, year by year, deed by deed,
Young Wumpy-Dumpling became what we'd need
To understand how someone gets to be quite
So perfectly, thoroughly, terribly right
About everything — in his own mind, at least —
While growing and growing, a small-hearted beast.
He learned from his father that rules weren't for him.
He learned from his schooling to bluster on whim.
He learned from his spurs that the brave could be bought.
He learned from contractors to pay them with naught.
He learned that six failures could still be reframed
As wins, if you talked loud enough and acclaimed.
He learned from his friendships what darkness can do
When power protects you from what might be true.
And armed with these lessons, so carefully learned,
He set off for Bumbloo-Wee, where he had yearned
To be the great ruler, the king, the big cheese —
To do there whatever his small heart would please.
The rest — as they say — you have read in Book One.
The wattle. The hair. The long tie. The bad son.
Unless someone cares — really, truly, a lot —
The Bumbloo-Wee world will keep going to rot.
— THE END —
(of the beginning, at any rate)
This is a work of political satire. All events referenced in the fact badges are drawn from public record,
court filings, published journalism, and the subject's own statements.
The Seussian framing is fictional. The facts are not.
The author maintains no personal grudge against bone spurs.