Last night was one of those stare-at-the-ceiling-until-dawn nights, when my mind went wandering in 100 different directions and I dozed fitfully until the sun came up and I was finally able to sleep soundly for a few hours.

Yes, I know . . . I’m probably part bat. Or maybe just a little batty. But tell it to my body clock.

In any event, one of the weird thoughts that cycled through my so-called brain — or perhaps it was a dream during one of the brief periods of sleep — had to do with Jeffrey Epstein’s Island, known as Little Saint James, and what has happened to it since his death.

It is described as a 70- to 78-acre private island in the U.S. Virgin Islands southeast of St. Thomas. It is said to feature a main compound, multiple villas, a private dock, a helipad, a library, and some sort of “striped temple-like structure,” according to Google’s AI Overview. And it seems to be sitting there, waiting to be brought back to life . . . hopefully as something lovely and legal, and not a reincarnation of its former self.

In fact, Epstein’s compound consisted of two islands. And in May of 2023, billionaire investor Stephen Deckoff purchased both of them for a total of about $60 million for the announced purpose of developing them as a 25-room “world-class destination” luxury resort.

But, as of a few months ago, it was reported that permitting delays have stalled development. So I had an idea.

What if Donald Trump, who will be out of work in about 32 months at the outside (but who’s counting?), were to make Deckoff an offer he couldn’t refuse — say, $240 million, or a nice 300% profit — for the properties to be turned into . . .

HIS OWN COUNTRY!

Picture it: He could name it Trumplandia, or whatever he wanted to. It would have its own flag, emblazoned with the Trump Family crest; its own currency, with his face on it; its own laws; the biggest, most beautiful palace with the biggest, most beautiful ballroom in the whole world; and all of the tacky golden statues he could find space for.

His word would be law. There would be no bothersome constitution, no legislature, no courts, and no “fake news” media. He could declare polygamy legal, and immigration verboten.

He could populate Trumplandia exclusively with White, Christian, conservative billionaires . . . except, of course, for the servants, who would live in dormitories on the second island, receive minimum wage, and be required to shop in the overpriced Trump-Lutnick Market and pay for their own medical care at the Trump-Kennedy Walk-In Clinic and Mortuary.

And he could have himself crowned King for Life, and awarded the First Annual Trump Peace Prize.

Truly a malignant narcissist’s wet dream come true.

Then, when Trumplandia had been recognized by the world as a sovereign nation, all of the other nations would join together, declare war on it, and form the world’s biggest, most beautiful blockade around the islands, rendering them inaccessible by air or sea . . . along with a total communications blackout. Only humanitarian aid — essential food, water and medicines dropped from helicopters — would be allowed in; and any attempts at escape would be treated as suspected drug runners and blown out of the water.

And Donald Trump, and all of his minions — just like all of the ogres in all of the fairy tales ever written — would never be heard from again.

And the rest of the world would live happily ever after.

THE END

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
5/11/26