It's good to be the king. At least it's good for business.

Another YY Development Group project, Trump Tower Punta del Este, rises in Uruguay. Photo credit to Gentileza El País via  TheBubble.

The story of that November 14 phone congratulations-on-your-election call from Argentine president Mauricio Macri to Donald Trump in which Trump may have asked Macri to help him out in getting a building permit for a Trump Tower Buenos Aires (Macri's office has denied that) is getting a little thicker, thanks at least in part to an intrepid Twitter researcher who reads Spanish:

The next day, Nov 15th, YY announces construction on TTBA will commence in June 2017, and will be completed in 2020. https://t.co/ssqtx7MF00

— Susan Simpson (@TheViewFromLL2) November 22, 2016

YY is YY Development Group, principals Felipe Yaryura and Moisés Yellati, the company that's actually developing the project—Trump, as is his usual practice, is simply supplying the brand name and the fabulous standards of excellence that go with it (he's said to have demanded that materials imported from outside Argentina, from bathroom fixtures to paint pigment). Felipe Yaryura, a pal of Eric Trump's, is the person from whom the Pink House (Casa Rosada, Argentina's presidential residence) got the president-elect's number when they placed the call (Macri, who publicly backed Clinton during the campaign, seems to have been pretty anxious to get on the phone with Trump, an old business associate of Macri's real estate magnate father).

Two limericks

My edition of a new poem by Donald J. Trump is out in the Sherman Oaks Review of Books. In the meantime, for those who just can't get enough poetry:

Image from The Telegraph and a funny-not funny Ukip story about "one of those things that happens between men," Farage said, speaking of that time one Ukip Member of the European Parliament beat up another one badly enough to put him in the hospital, which was yesterday morning, presumably to welcome Farage back to the party leadership after his 18-day sojourn in the back-bench wilderness.

1

There was an old fart called Farage
Who enjoyed a peculiar ménage:
   With his wife and his horse,
   Which was bare-backed, of course,
And its curiously rhythmic frottage.

2

A fascist called Nigel Farage
Was much more than a mere coprophage,
   For he ate his own shit,
   That disgraceful old git,
With a bottle of Mâcon-Villages.

Not provoked by anything in particular, just something I needed to do.