Here's the review:
April 28, 2011
Bullish. That's the one word that best embodies both the spirit of Trump, the man, and and the fragrance of his cologne.
Indeed, a bull was the image that immediately formed in my mind the first time I smelled "Trump the Fragrance for Men." I'll never forget that introductory whiff. It seized hold of my entire being, unleashing a storm of olfactory memories that left me gasping from a perch on a long-forgotten "bulling stool."
Authentic Americans, patriots like Joe the Plumber and Donald the Trump, simple men who revere the values of the Heartland, will always remember the joyful hours they spent on a bulling stool. Who could forget the wonderful sense of anticipation you feel as you sit there behind the bull, slowly massaging his glorious bull grenades while you screw up the courage to sniff the holy land--that tract of hide that resides so invitingly between the bull bag and the cave of shame--until, eventually, the wanting overcomes the fear and you thrust your nose hard up against the bull and take a whiff.
That, dear readers, is the musky barnyard smell of "Trump the Fragrance."
But that is only part of the bulling stool experience and its relationship to the Donald. Occasionally, the bull will mistake the grenade massage for a medical examination, and he'll turn his head and cough. When that happens, bovine physiology dictates that the bull forcefully eject the entire contents of its fourth stomach out through its cave of shame. Imagine leaning into that as you're thrusting you nose in for a sniff. It's a breathtaking experience, literally breathtaking. It's also very exhilarating to take the full force of such a load of pure bull in a single sitting. It's the only experience that is comparable to sitting through one of Mr. Trump's speeches. They're the same thing, really.