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The Trump Phone is a classic Donny flim-flam operation: promise the moon, deliver bupkis.
Last June, Donny's two failsons — Cokey McSniffles and The Dumb One — announced that these phones were going to be great. great like no one thought possible. maybe the greatest phones of all time. their pitch worked. almost six hundred thousand brain-dead cultists — who, like their beloved Dear Leader, act first and think never — eagerly plunked down a hundred dollar deposit, giving Donny and his felonious hellspawn an immediate $60 million windfall.
Now it's almost a year later, and Trump Mobile has yet to ship one phone. MAGA got played, and they have no one to blame but their own stupid selves — because if any of these thick-witted lumps had spent ninety seconds doing critical thinking, it would have dawned on them that 'hey, maybe it's a bad idea to give our money to the con artists who stole from a charity for cancer-stricken children. maybe let's stay away from the family of the guy who ran a fake university.'
From substack column of Jeff Tiedrich,
May 10, 2026