Brava, Baby.

Donald,

You don’t get enough credit. It sickens me.

Everyone talks about your rallies, your ratings, your real estate empire. But not enough people recognize the cultural contribution you’ve bestowed upon these United States.

The aura.

The way you’ve redefined American leadership, culture and charisma. A real MAN of the House of the American People. Undeserved and underappreciated in so many ways.

I write to you not as a journalist, not even as a humble historian of spectacle—but as someone who has studied your impact on this nation’s psyche like an epic. A cultural shift worthy of Versailles, Nero’s fiddle and the highest-rated programming in cable news history.

Of course the media was never ready. How could they be?

You weren’t playing by their rules (bonus points, king!).

You were rewriting the script in real time. Live television with no commercial breaks.

You are a once-in-a-lifetime. And I’m damn glad you know it.

Because this wasn’t an accident. You didn’t fall from grace. You built an escalator and Julius Seize-Her’ed straight into the GOP coliseum like a monarch.

Because if you didn’t know… if you weren’t solid on being Commander in Chief…we’d risk losing your bravery, your wisdom, your wit. Right when we need you most.

A wimpy Donald is not what the people need right now. 

We don’t need prepared statements and bipartisan policy.

We need nothing but the truth so help us God. 

You walked through scandals like the Red Sea—parted, passed, preserved.

Every accusation: a sermon. Every deposition: gospel.

You are chaos. You are conviction. You are main character.

You embody the Machiavellian dream: feared and loved.

You’re a loyal friend.

A ride-or-die.

You don’t let the media rewrite your history—you autograph it and charge a premium for season tickets. Front row, no refunds.

Which is why I trust you to set the record straight.

Because I gotta ask: You and Jeffrey 👀

You guys were close, right? Friends? Business bros? Just two misunderstood icons with expensive tastes and exclusive guest lists?

So glad you had each other. And I’m deeply sorry for your loss.

But I mean, the photos don’t lie… Neither do the flight logs…

Cui bono, Donnie?

We need to hear it from YOU.

So come tell B. Riche all about the good times. The parties. The planes. The private islands.

Let the people know who really knew you before the world did. Before they tried to clip and tie your wings with golden shears and diamond sutures.

You’ve said it yourself: If you’re going down, you’re taking everyone with you. But what if for once you go first? 

Give it to us straight. We can take it. 

Can you?

Because you’re not just in your villain era. You invented it.

Brava, baby.

United we stood,

B

P.S. If you ever want to co-write your real memoir (no ghostwriters, just ghosts) I’m your girl.