Some Questions I Have for Big Donny Trump RE: The Piss Bed Thing

Last night Buzzfeed published the full (and unverified) dossier of memos that have been doing the rounds in Washington and beyond for a while now; memos that make a number of allegations against President-elect Trump's ties to Russia an—

No: you know what? You're right. Let's skip the recap. Here's the bit about Trump getting a load of sex workers to do a big remunerated piss all over Obama's old hotel bed:

To reiterate again: these reports are unsubstantiated. They have not been verified in any way. Users on 4Chan have claimed the story originated there as a prank, but haven't provided any real proof. Trump himself tweeted to say: "FAKE NEWS - A TOTAL POLITICAL WITCH HUNT!", and you have to believe him, because historically his character has been so trustworthy and dignified – almost to a fault! – that such slurs against him are entirely outside the bounds of possibility. Get a load of sex workers to piss all over a bed in some petty and unseen act of revenge? Donald Trump? Don't be absurd.

As many others have pointed out, the publication of the unverified dossier also brings up questions about the whole idea of journalistic ethics and morals. So top to bottom: there is a lot to be wary about here, when we read the story about Donald Trump and the Piss Bed.

But—

No, this is silly. It's a silly thing to say. I shouldn't even… no.

B–but, what if— right. What if? What if, hypothetically, Donald Trump did actually pay a load of Russian sex workers to piss on President Obama's hotel bed, as alleged in that dossier about him?

Now, I've never paid a sex worker to piss on my bed before (*1), but if I'm going to make an event of it I'm going to need more than one bladder's worth of piss and, long story short: I am estimating this job took anywhere between 16 to 20 piss-doers – please confirm.

Listen, I don't know about you, but if I've paid a number of sex workers to piss all over my bed, I'm not going to sleep in that bed. That's just going to be such an uncomfortable night's sleep, even if you're bang into piss. I think there's a real glass ceiling when it comes to "getting really horny over piss", and it is pretty precisely situated over "the slow, dawning realisation that you're sleepy but you've got all piss on your bed". So.

Where did Donald Trump sleep, that hypothetical night, the piss night referred to in these unsubstantiated memos? Because I checked the specs of the Ritz-Carlton Moscow Presidential suite and here are all the beds they have:

You assume the Obamas slept in the Oversized King, so we can update the list a little bit:

So either, in this totally speculative situation: Donald Trump just tucked himself up on one of the many cosy seating areas and banquettes and what-not that were littered around the 2,550 sq ft room, sort of tucked his arms in a bit and folded his legs over, propped a few cushions behind him, tried to get his customary three hours on there but kept fidgeting, the velvet kept rubbing his back up all wrong; or – and I think this is more likely, in this situation I have imagined – Donald Trump rang down meekly to reception to ask for a rollaway.

In which case:

"Privet, kak ya mogu vam pomoch."

"HELLO, IS THAT RECEPTION?"

"Da."

"GOT A BIT OF A SITUATION UP HERE WITH THE BED."

"Tell me."

"LISTEN I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SAY THIS BUT UH… IT'S GOT A LOT OF PISS ON IT."

"…"

"THE BED. THE PRESIDENTIAL BED."

"Sir, did you—"

"NOT MY PISS, JESUS. GIRL PISS, LADY PISS. BUT IT'S PISS, AND IT'S EVERYWHERE."

"Sir, would you like me to send your butler—"

"NO, IT'S LATE, IT'S LATE. CAN SOMEONE BRING THE ROLLAWAY?"

"Da."

"AND UH… YEAH. PROBABLY GOING TO NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE THINK ABOUT WHAT TO DO WITH ALL THE PISS."

"Can I ask, sir, exactly how much piss we are dealing with?"

"A COUPLE LITRES, I WOULD VENTURE."

"Excellent, sir. I will send the rollaway up right away."

"SURE, SURE. LISTEN UH… CAN YOU. UM. NOT MENTION THE PISS."

"Sir?"

"THE BEDFUL OF PISS. THAT I DID. THAT… THE GIRL PISS. DON'T MENTION IT, TO ANYONE."

"Of course."

"WE'LL DEAL WITH IT TOMORROW."

"Run it by me again, Mr Trump."

"LISTEN JUST TELL ME HOW MUCH THE BED IS."

"Sir, I'd just like to— indulge me, a second here. How did the piss get on the bed?"

"I PAID FOR THAT TO HAPPEN."

"Okay, OK. And it was—"

"THE PISS FLOWED FREELY FROM THE SEX GIRLS, YES."

"Ah, OK, OK. And you weren't—"

"I WASN'T INVOLVED WITH THE PISS AT ALL, OK? GET THAT OUTTA YOUR HEAD STRAIGHT AWAY. I JUST SAT THERE AND WATCHED. I WASN'T UNDER THE PISS STREAM."

"So it was just—"

"REVENGE. I GOT CALL GIRLS TO PISS ON THE OBAMA BED FOR REVENGE."

"…"

"YOU STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND, DO YOU?"

"No, sir."

If I pissed on a bed in a Presidential suite I would guess that it would cost me somewhere around – remembering this is oversized King, almost certainly custom made, replete in fine linens and covers, with exquisite feather pillows and comforters and with likely the finest mattress money could buy – I am going to eyeball the cost of this at about £20,000, and that's assuming none of the piss got on a fine rug or the floor. I'm trying to decide if paying £20,000 to piss on a bed is an incredible, incredible flex, or whether it's the most embarrassing way to spend two racks ever in history. Still torn on that one. Will get back to you with a firm answer anon.

I have been thinking about this a lot and I think if I was mad at someone – really mad – and had a chance to defile their bed with piss… yeah, I think I'd want to do the piss myself. You know? There's just something so triumphant about that. It's me. My piss. I pissed on the ghost of you. That's the biggest F–U I can think to do with my piss.

So it's unusual, to me, to instead allegedly pay anywhere between one and a thousand sex workers to do the piss for me. Firstly: you're out of pocket. Secondly: you've stolen the real moment of retribution (*2) from yourself. And thirdly, now you have a load of someone else's piss to deal with. All the sex workers have filed out in clattering heels and with handfuls of cash, and it's just you, left alone, feeling that sort of feeling of dirty gloom you get after you wank, only your bed is full of piss and has piss all over it. Donald Trump, picking up a single pillow to see if it can be rescued somehow, and it just dripping a perfect line of piss out of the dangling corner of it. That can't be a good feeling, can it? Now imagine you just spent £100,000 on that (estimated cost of suite + cost of bed + sex worker costs + tips to hotel staff to please be discrete about the piss thing). That can't be a good feeling at all.

She cool with the piss thing, bro?

Listen, this whole thing is moot. It's moot. As far as we know, he didn't do the piss; he didn't pay women to do the piss for him. The piss has not in any way been verified. There was no piss, even though it really sounds like the kind of piss that Donald Trump would do. But no. We have to believe – until I have footage, until I have recordings of Donald Trump howling "I AM THE PISS KING" out off the balcony and into the frigid air of Moscow at night, until I have that – we have to believe there was no piss . But what if there was, though. These are the questions I would ask.

@joelgolby

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*1 SIDE-QUESTION: At what point does a sex worker cease to become a sex worker and simply become a piss worker? Because if they were only paid to piss, then that's just piss work. I suppose the question really is: at what point does several women pissing on a bed become a sex thing, and not just the maddest thing anyone's ever done with some piss? ✝

✝Actually reading back words 39 to 53 of that paragraph I think I have answered my own question, haven't I, really? It is always, always a sex thing.

*2 For this article please note we are occupying a mental space where "pissing on a bed someone slept in once" is considered in any way retribution or revenge for something, when it blatantly isn't, because, like: it wasn't even his bed. He just slept in it once. I'm just thinking about how I'd feel if one of my many enemies pissed in my bed to flex on me and I'm just laughing and laughing and laughing. How does you pissing in a bed hurt me! It doesn't! It's not my bed!

(Top image: bed photo (which was not taken at the hotel in question) by Derek Jensen, via; Donald Trump photo by Michael Vadon, via)