Two Trumpian Jackasses At The Trough
Trump's Economic Advisors Go To war: The Feud Between Pulte & Bessent
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If our republic continues to regress and must be put out of its misery, history may record that the collapse wasn’t hastened by revolutionaries or foreign invaders. But by two overfed Trump sycophants squabbling at a Georgetown dinner party like drunken frat boys tossing haymakers at a Buffalo Wild Wings.
As first reported by Politico, our nation was treated—if one can call it that—to the spectacle of Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent threatening to beat the living hell out of Bill Pulte, Trump’s scrawny housing regulator.
For the grave offense of…gossip. Not treason. Not excess corruption.
No, Bessent, financial genius and celebrated MAGA flunkey, nearly threw hands over playground whispers passed along to His Most Detested Orange Majesty.
“I’m going to f---ing beat your ass,” Bessent reportedly hissed, presumably while adjusting his cufflinks and downing a $400 bottle of Burgundy.
It was the kind of snarling idiocy that one expects in the cheap seats of a Philadelphia Eagles football game, not from the man responsible for steering the U.S. Treasury. But then, these are Trump’s men: feral, preening, and incapable of dignity.
Bessent: The Banker Who Mistook Himself for a Brawler
Let’s start with Bessent. This man, who has made a career of sniffing the groins of billionaires—first George Soros, now Donald Trump—fancies himself a warrior for “Main Street.”
Despite having never stepped foot on it without a chauffeur. His economic theories are mostly jumbled cliches borrowed from CNBC panels and drunk libertarians.
He parrots MAGA talking points about tariffs and inflation with the sleazy confidence of someone who has never had to balance a checkbook or walk within spitting distance of a Wal-Mart.
And yet, when insulted by a twerp half his age, this lion of finance drops the pretense and reverts to what he truly is: a rich thug with a Napoleon complex.
Had there not been witnesses, Bessent would have probably tried to throttle Pulte with a Hermès tie while screaming about mortgage-backed securities.
Pulte: The Nepo Baby That Cried Wolf
But if Bessent is a poser in pinstripes, Bill Pulte is something even worse: a zero. He is a man so thoroughly unqualified for public service that his only discernible talent is having emerged from the correct uterus.
Thrust into power at the Federal Housing Finance Agency by a patronage system that would shame Eric Trump, Pulte now struts around Washington as if he built the housing market himself. Rather than inheriting a family name and tweeting about giveaways like a carnival barker with a trust fund.
Pulte’s idea of governance, according to multiple reports, consists of tattling on grown adults to the president.
When he’s not hurling accusations of “fraud” against Federal Reserve governors. And pushing policy ideas that sound like they were photoshopped on a Reddit forum full of day traders and real estate agents.
Pulte is, in essence, a glorified snitch in loafers, who—upon being confronted—reportedly turned into a stammering child, blinking through his Chardonnay haze as Bessent offered to decorate his face with a closed fist.
An Administration of Dunces
This tussle apparently erupted during cocktail hour at the Executive Branch club in Georgetown where Trump allies gathered for a MAGA podcaster’s birthday celebration and the venue’s inaugural dinner.
Bessent erupted at Pulte who apparently seemed surprised and dumbfounded. What this incident reveals is not just the mediocrity of these two Trump cretins, but the absolute moral decay of the Trump civil service.
We have entrusted the public purse and the national mortgage market to two puffed-up sociopaths who, in a healthier era, would have been laughed out of the bar at an Olive Garden.
Instead, under Trump, they are gifted tuxedos, titles, and seats at the prominent end of every MAGA table.
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According to reports, the near brawl was broken up by a waiter clutching hors d’oeuvres. And by club co-owner and financier Omeed Malik.
Eventually, the referees convinced Pulte and Bessent to retreat to opposite corners of the room.
Then, cocktail hour festivities resumed, as if one guy hadn’t just threatened to stomp the other’s skull into the cobblestones. Eventually, everybody sat down at a long table for dinner with the combatants placed far apart.
Witnesses allegedly included:
- Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy
- Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick
- Interior Secretary Doug Burgum
- Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins
- Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard
- SBA Administrator Kelly Loeffler
- Medicare and Medicaid chief Mehmet Oz
Naturally, a few of them did what Bessent accused Pulte of doing, leaking unflattering depictions of Bessent. Only instead of whispering to the President, these Trump cabinet sources dialed up Politico.
It was Washington, D.C. under Trump in miniature: bluster, violence, cowardice, cake, and strategic story dropping.
If this country is a sinking ship, it is only because we keep letting leeches like Bessent and Pulte stand at the helm. They have all the ambition of Genghis Khan and none of the competence.
They are the sort of wealthy wretches who would burn down the Treasury for the chance to squat in its ashes, take a selfie, and post on social media about it.
When historians come calling and write the story of this Trump administration, the scribes won’t need to invent villains. We already have them.
Old Man Trump, rotting in the White House with his delusions… and members of his economic team, lounging in a private Georgetown club, trading insults over foie gras, and daring one another to fight like 7th graders behind the gym.
To all the members of the Trump team, do the rest of us a favor. Next time, and there will certainly be a next time – don’t break up any fisticuffs.
Just record them on your camera phone.
And leak that.
Every one of Trump’s MAGA regime are so nasty and vile, I wouldn’t expect anything less from them than this kind of disgusting unprofessional behavior!
David puts an appropriate picture of two preppie dip shits who together would not make a pimple on a mans ass. Typical of the felon's choices. Great column David.