4Donald J. Trump State Park Is A Poisonous Hellhole
When you imagine Trump properties, you probably don’t picture beautiful rolling vistas, glorious sunsets, and lush greenery — just hideous gold-plated carbuncles with zero redeeming features, much like their owner. And then there’s Donald J. Trump State Park, a 400-acre park outside of Westchester, New York, which has all of these beautiful features and much, much more!
Or it did once, before the garbage people moved in.
Back in the ’90s, Trump bought the land in order to convert it into a golf course, but thanks to some pesky red tape that said rich assholes can’t buy up acres of woodland for vanity projects designed to attract other rich assholes, the town where the park sits denied his request. That left Trump with a big tract of land that he couldn’t do much with except his favorite thing in the world: get a tax break. He donated the land to the state of New York, netting a tax write-off estimated at $100 million.
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As great as this worked for Trump, it was terrible for New York, which was left holding a big chunk of land it didn’t want. They tried to make it look nice (they really did), but they could only afford $2,500 for annual upkeep, and having no full-time staff, the park soon turned into a nightmare zone of dilapidated buildings, moldy swimming pools, and other scenes that make it resemble a post-nuclear wasteland.
In 2010, the state attempted to convert the site into a dog park, but after construction unearthed asbestos in several of the buildings, they closed the park for good and left it to rot. This irritated Trump so much that he demanded the park back, to which the state told him to go screw. It’s not entirely clear why he wanted the park back, knowing full well he couldn’t do anything with it, but it might be due to the fact that not only does he think asbestos is perfectly safe („It’s a mob conspiracy!“), but he’s also a big goddamn baby.
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3An Extremely Suspicious Random Piece Of Florida Forest
Trump’s business interests tend to stick to the cities — not just because that’s where the money and fast food restaurants are, but also because that’s where he’s liable to get the most attention, a commodity he values more than oxygen. So you’re probably wondering why he owns, for no apparent particular reason, a random quarter-acre lot of woodland in Florida. The lot isn’t anywhere near Mar-a-Lago, and contains nothing of any value, like roads, pavement, buildings, or even utilities. It is completely inaccessible without, as one local put it, „a Jeep, a helicopter or a parachute.“