The regal robes fit him like a glove, of course. He’s spent his entire life striving for supremacy, governed by a turbulent mix of braggadocio and truculence, driven by unquenchable thirst for wealth, power, fame, and influence.
That such a man should find his way to the very pinnacle of power, that his mighty surname should portend his destiny, remains no less astounding today than it was on election day. But that such a man, finding himself thus validated, should go on to conduct himself as unassailable tempestuous monarch is no surprise at all.
“What's in a name?” exclaimed Juliet in her long-ago lament to Romeo. “That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet.” Maybe so. But had young Donald had been forced to play the Drumpf card his ancestors were originally dealt I doubt he’d be counting the same winnings. “Drumpf Tower” conjures up images of tenement slums and ramshackle skid-row hotels rather than gleaming skyscrapers of glass and steel.