by Dr Rahim Said
Like a man proudly showing off his brand-new Nokia 3310 in a world of iPhones, Donald Trump has reportedly agreed to accept a second-hand Boeing 747-8 from the Qataris.
And let’s be clear — while Trump calls it a “tremendous, beautiful deal,” the Qataris are somewhere in Doha right now popping bubbly alcohol-free grape juice and chuckling into their silk keffiyehs.
This isn’t some shrewd diplomatic masterstroke. No, this is the world’s most elaborate garage sale. The Qatari royal family, owners of one of the gaudiest and most impractical private jet fleets on earth, have been desperate to offload this airborne fossil for years.
Selling it proved as difficult. So what’s a royal family to do? Gift it to a man whose taste for gold-plated everything rivals their own.
Sure, the legal and ethical implications of a U.S. president cosying up to a foreign monarchy by accepting a $367 million flying mansion are concerning. But let’s not dwell on trivialities when the comedy writes itself.
For starters, this isn’t just any plane. This is a four-engine, fuel-guzzling behemoth that costs $23,000 an hour to operate — perfect for a man who declared bankruptcy six times but still thinks he’s a financial genius.
It’s a flying Versailles, a palace in the clouds with sycamore wood furnishings, silk walls, and more beige than a Florida retirement community. It’s so impractical, that even the Saudis scrapped one with just 42 flight hours.
And let’s not forget the upkeep. The landing gear overhaul alone would cost more than Mar-a-Lago’s annual spray tan budget.
A 12-year maintenance check is looming, where every nut, bolt, and bidet will have to be disassembled, inspected, and blessed by an overpriced contractor. It’s the aviation equivalent of adopting a purebred Great Dane with a hip problem and an addiction to Wagyu beef.
Security-wise? A nightmare. This plane was designed for opulence, not nuclear apocalypse. To turn it into a proper Air Force One, they’d have to gut it, reinforce it, and install more classified technology than a James Bond villain’s lair.
By the time the U.S. Air Force finishes retrofitting it, the only thing original will be the leather armrests and, possibly, the faint scent of oud lingering in the curtains.
But Trump, forever the real estate mogul at heart, sees a “deal.” Never mind that the aerospace experts are practically begging him not to.
Never mind that even his party finds it sketchier than a timeshare pitch in Vegas. The Qataris get to avoid millions in storage, maintenance, and the global embarrassment of owning a diplomatic dinosaur, and Trump gets a floating relic of old-school geopolitical bling.
In short: the Qataris didn’t curry favour — they dodged a multimillion-dollar headache and made Trump think it was his idea. The art of the deal, indeed.
WE