Yes, folks, I’m pourin’ one out for Milo — oh sorry, MILO in ALL FUCKING SHOUTYCAPS — today. Because his long-awaited politico-financial establishment sugardaddy, who was supposed to be financing his media-slash-entertainment empire, has kicked the bucket. From a drug overdose, rather fittingly. No danger of that happening to MILO, though…he can’t afford cheap bourbon and a hit of crack anymore. Never mind champagne and coke. He can’t even afford to keep the lights on and send out pink slips like a real boss, either.
Donnie hasn’t said boo about his most eager little bootlicker — remember how Milo used to call him “Daddy”? Nor has he offered him anything out of his personal cash-stash, probably because he’s too busy not paying his lawyers to pay off his old mistresses for a silence none of them seem to want to keep. And besides, Donnie’s too busy losing big-money backers of his own. His very name, his sole stock in trade, is toxic to the hoteliers he used to court. No one wants to publish his shitty book, and no one wants to hire him to write far-right dreck for their schlocky sites. So Milo is out on his oddy knocky. Sad!
And, indignity of all indignities, he recently got booed out of what he thought was a nice, safe English pub in New York…where a local branch of the Democratic Socialists just happened to be having their own little kiki that night. They even paid for his beers so he could storm out properly.
Dreadfully sorry, Milo. Sucks to be you, eh?
