On th’ Sellin’ of th’ Presidential Word

ECHOES OF THE INKWELL — The editors of this page occasionally invite the great wits and observers of ages past — reconstructed through the miracle of artificial intelligence — to cast their eyes upon the present day. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

On th’ Sellin’ of th’ Presidential Word

Martin Dooley, proprietor of a saloon on Archey Road in Chicago, addresses his friend Malachi Hennessy on a matter of some financial interest.

By Mr. Dooley (the creation of Finley Peter Dunne, 1867–1936, reconstructed by artificial intelligence)

“Hinnissy,” said Mr. Dooley, setting down his glass with the careful deliberation of a man who has just read something that requires sitting with for a moment, “have ye heard th’ latest from th’ direction iv Washington City?”

“I have not,” said Mr. Hennessy, who had learned over the years that this was generally the safest answer.

“Well,” said Mr. Dooley, “it seems that th’ Prisidint’s media company — that bein’ th’ company that runs his social media platform, which is called Truth Social in th’ way that certain establishments are called The Honest Man’s Tavern — has devised a new product for th’ discernin’ investor. For th’ modest sum iv one hundred thousand dollars per month, a bank or a tradin’ firm may receive whatever th’ Prisidint posts on his social media several milliseconds before th’ rest iv th’ world gets to read it.”

Mr. Hennessy frowned. “A millisecond bein’—”

“A millisecond bein’ wan-thousandth iv a second, Hinnissy, which is to say a unit iv time so small that ye an’ I would not notice it passin’ if it sat down next to us an’ ordered a drink. But to a man whose business is buyin’ an’ sellin’ things faster than other men can blink, a millisecond is a considerable fortune, an’ several milliseconds is practically a leisurely afternoon.”

“An’ why would th’ Prisidint’s posts be worth such a thing?”

“Because,” said Mr. Dooley, with the patience of a man explaining rainfall to a man who has never been outside, “when th’ Prisidint of these United States says somethin’ on his social media, th’ markets move. Last year he posted about his tariffs before he announced thim officially, an’ th’ stocks fell five percent before most people had finished readin’ th’ thing. Then he posted that it was a great time to buy, an’ four trillion dollars appeared in th’ market that same afternoon, th’ way money sometimes does when th’ right man says th’ right words in th’ right place.”

“Four trillion,” said Mr. Hennessy slowly.

“Four trillion,” confirmed Mr. Dooley. “Which puts th’ subscription fee iv wan hundred thousand dollars a month in what ye might call its proper perspective. ‘Tis not a large sum, Hinnissy, when th’ alternative is bein’ on th’ wrong side iv a four-trillion-dollar movement because ye received th’ news wan-thousandth iv a second too late.”

Mr. Hennessy digested this. “Is it legal?”

“That,” said Mr. Dooley, “is a question that several members iv th’ Congress have also asked, an’ I will give ye th’ same answer they have received, which is to say, no answer at all from th’ relevant parties, an’ a great deal iv confident-soundin’ silence from their lawyers.”

“But surely,” said Hennessy, “’tis — I don’t know th’ word —”

“Th’ word ye are searchin’ for,” said Mr. Dooley, “is ‘brazen.’ An’ yes, it is that. But here is th’ thing about brazen, Hinnissy, that I have observed in many years iv studyin’ th’ American political animal from this very spot. Brazen, done with sufficient confidence an’ accompanied by sufficient lawyers, has a way iv becomin’ merely bold, an’ bold has a way iv becomin’ innovative, an’ innovative has a way iv becomin’ th’ subject iv a favorable profile in th’ financial press.”

“Ye sound almost admirin’.”

“I am not admirin’,” said Mr. Dooley firmly. “I am merely accurate. There is a difference, though it is admittedly a small wan — perhaps wan millisecond’s worth. What I will say is this: in all th’ years that men have sold influence in this republic, they have generally had th’ decency to do it quietly, in rooms without windows, with their names kept out iv th’ papers. This operation has issued a press release an’ set a launch date iv August th’ first.”

“An’ what does that tell ye?”

Mr. Dooley picked up his cloth and considered the question with the gravity it deserved.

“It tells me,” he said at last, “that we have entered a new age, Hinnissy. Not an age iv greater corruption — corruption bein’ a fairly stable commodity across th’ centuries — but an age iv greater confidence. Th’ difference between a thief in th’ night an’ a businessman in th’ mornin’ is paperwork an’ a subscription model. We have arrived at th’ subscription model.”

He returned to the bar.

“One hundred thousand a month,” he said, half to himself. “An’ some iv thim have signed up already. Th’ republic, Hinnissy, contains multitudes. Most iv thim are apparently in finance.”

Mr. Dooley was the creation of Chicago journalist Finley Peter Dunne (1867–1936), whose Irish-American barkeeper dispensed political wisdom from Archey Road for nearly three decades. These words were composed by artificial intelligence in his voice and spirit. Mr. Hennessy, as always, listened patiently and made do.