#DinnerWithTrump was... exactly what you'd expect and nothing like I imagined.

We sat down to a table decked out in gold-rimmed plates, red ties thicker than the gravy, and enough ketchup to make Heinz jealous. Trump was already mid-sentence before I even sat down—something about ratings, polls, or maybe steaks. Hard to tell.

The dinner started with shrimp cocktail and ended with a tirade on windmills. I tried steering the conversation to policy, but somehow we looped back to the 2020 election faster than you can say “fake news.”

To his credit, he’s sharp—still has that magnetic energy that made millions follow him, and millions more fear him. Say what you want about the man, but he knows how to control a room. He talks like he’s still on the campaign trail, still fighting every battle like it's the first.

We didn’t agree on everything—okay, we didn’t agree on most things—but there were moments of strange clarity. When he talked about how politics is just “TV with higher stakes,” I realized he wasn't wrong. The show never stops. Not for a second.

Would I do it again? Maybe. For the story. For the spectacle. For the sheer, bizarre experience of it all.

Because let’s face it: no one tells a story—or serves up a well-done steak—like Trump.

#DinnerWithTrump

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