“This was done by the stupid restaurant to get publicity,” he said. “. . . It’s not my signature.”
I guess this means Jerry Bruckheimer wins the “Whose dick is bigger?” contest by default. Apparently the Donald is comfortable with that. I wouldn’t be. I need to know everyday that my reproductive organs dwarf the man who brought us The Rock and Bad Boys. So that way, when my girlfriend asks if it’s in yet, I can respond, “Hey, you could be having sex with tiny Jerry Bruckheimer on top of a pile of cash.” Except when I tried that once, she said “Really?” and got dressed then left. I haven’t seen her since, but I hear she’s in a movie now. Not the response I was looking for which involved tears of repentance followed
two minutes a vast eternity of pleasure later by a delicious sandwich.