Stern, out of nowhere, with zero reference: “Why do people think it’s egotistical of you to say you could’ve gotten with Lady Di? You could’ve gotten her, right? You could’ve nailed her.”
“I think I could have,” Trump responds, uncertainly. But, with Stern’s nudging, he goes on to appraise the appearance of Diana—skin, height, etc., as if she were a horse—using the tone of sadistic connoisseurship he also used when talking about Machado. With this, Stern knows he’s got his checkmate. A fool’s mate, actually. Radio gold. Only a few sentences from Stern, and Trump has stooped to the show’s level of discussing every woman—and a princess, no less, who had recently died tragically—as though she were a stripper.
Time for a victory lap, Stern-style. “Can I feel your ass, Donald? Can I feel your ass?” Stern says, to howls from his studio sidekicks. “Check you for your wallet.” Trump had indeed been pickpocketed of his dignity.
The dignity theft, complete with Stern’s whoops of alpha dog dominance, would have delighted Stern’s regular listeners. After all, his mandate was, hour after hour, to induct new members into his notorious Wack Pack, the rotating parade of some 70 oddballs who regularly appeared on the show to be bullied by Stern, who gave them names like “Wendy the Retard,” “Crackhead Bob” and “Joe Cancer.” Here, Stern seems to have snagged another one, if only implicitly. Call him “Donald the Douchebag.”