Absurdly Driven looks at the world of business with a skeptical eye and a firmly rooted tongue in cheek.

Donald Trump is a marketing legend.

At least that's the impression I've always gleaned from Donald Trump.

He makes killings, billions and is admired the world over.

I wanted to learn from this icon.

So I signed up to receive emails from his campaign.

At first, they were infrequent. However, as his campaign has gone to ever greater heights -- you must decide heights of what -- the trickle has tended toward torrent.

So I thought I'd offer a certain flavor of the Trump email marketing enticement -- one that has, allegedly, helped generate tens of millions of dollars in recent weeks.

I began to notice the increased frequency of the emails as I said farewell to July. Could this increased frequency have anything to do with rumors that things aren't going well?

I present the emails here with the date I received them and their real subject lines.

August 5: I Proudly Endorse Paul Ryan.

This email was enticing. Not only did the candidate talk about bringing the Republican Party together, but he also addressed me personally: "Chris: I'm calling on you to lead that unity right now." Donald Trump was asking me to take a leadership role? I was moved. The next line, however, moved me in a slightly different direction. The way that the candidate wanted me to lead was to give him money. Is leadership about being generous? Where's my Drucker?

August 6: Lunch?

How could I not open this one? I was being invited to lunch with Donald's son, Eric. Perhaps he realized that asking me to take a leadership role by giving money wasn't the best approach. He now wanted to talk to me personally about a substantial position. I read on. He wanted me to meet him in New York. What followed was this: "Your contribution of just $3 today automatically enters your name for a chance to get an insider tour of my father's campaign headquarters inside Trump Tower." Yes, the Trump campaign was upping the stakes. It really needed me in its highest echelons. Still, I resisted. This felt less like a sweeping endorsement of my talents and more like a sweepstakes.

August 7: Lunch With Eric Trump?

The campaign clearly meant it. They wanted me to sit down with the legend's son. This email, though, was sent by Eric Trump's scheduler. She's called Alex. She needed to put my name in her calendar. "Don't forget: hotel and flight are on us!" she said. Still, she needed money first. I'm not in the habit of paying clients before they begin to pay me. Is that naive of me?

August 8: Did You Watch My Speech?

This sounded somewhere between hurt and angry. Honestly, I was open to lunch with Eric Trump, but this felt like hectoring. How could I not watch every Trump speech that happens? They are truly events. They are also moments when Donald Trump decides that $3 won't do. He was angry that "a group of left-wing protesters interrupted me over ten times in an attempt to get us off message." How could I help getting him back on message? "Please contribute $100, $75, $50, $25, or $15 to help us stand our ground against the vicious attacks coming for the next three months of this election," said Donald Trump. The stakes had been raised. The sweepstakes weren't even mentioned.

August 9: Time To Focus On The Issues.

Was the candidate unhappy with my focus? I was worried. So I opened the email: "Chris, it truly is our campaign. I never would've gotten here without you. And I will not win the presidency without you." This was rare flattery. I was glad that I'd done something to help. The breakthrough with this email is that Donald Trump didn't want money. Instead, he wanted me to take the Trump Campaign Platform Survey. He wanted to know my feelings about which issue was the most important. There were thirty issues he wanted me to dissect. Sadly, I didn't have the time. It just didn't feel exclusive enough. I thought the Trump brand was all about exclusivity.

August 9: Autographed copy of The Art of the Deal.

It was Eric Trump again. He didn't sound happy. The email began: "Chris, did you see my father's email?" Which one? There had been so many. Eric enlightened: "He's offering signed copies of his best-selling book, The Art of the Deal for a campaign contribution of $184." I had seen the email. I hadn't been tempted. It seemed a lot of money for a book that I'd already felt I'd absorbed fully by watching the man himself in action. Eric, though, had found me out. "I just reviewed the list of supporters who ordered one, and noticed your name was missing." I was sorry. Truly, I was sorry.

August 10: PENDING: Activate your membership.

What had I joined? Had I performed some ill-judged, tipsy, late-night online shopping? No, I'd finally made it to the top of the gold Trump Tower. The email began: "Chris,
It is my great honor to invite you to join the highest ranks of our campaign as an Executive Member." So I was being appointed to a senior position? "In the past, I have asked supporters for a one-time induction fee of $100. But because of your outstanding generosity to date, I am only asking you to make a $35 contribution," the email said. But I hadn't been generous. I hadn't handed over money to any politician, nor to any member of the Trump family. What was this? It was a discounted gold card that I couldn't use in any store. I was perplexed.

August 10: Let's Meet In NYC.

Finally, Eric Trump understands. He knows that I need a really personal invitation. Not quite. He just wants those three bucks.

August 11: Trump's Approval Rating?

Well, I'd heard it was very good. And not so good. But why was I being asked? This surely can't still have been about the missing $3, can it? "Chris, As an identified Trump supporter from your zip code, your input is missing from our Official Campaign Trump vs. Hillary approval poll." Ah, it was just my missing input. But what was I to say?

August 12: They Lie.

Oh, everyone lies. Who's been lying this time? "We cannot rest, Chris. You've seen it -- the liberal media can't stop telling outrageous lies about me. They are really a disgrace to journalism, and they're so desperate to mislead the American people about our campaign!" Ah. Oh. Should I apologize? No, no. The candidate just wanted money.

August 12: Join my Board of Directors.

At last. At long last. Donald Trump doesn't lie. I was being promoted straight to the board. Holding out had been worth it. Perhaps one day, when NBC revives The Celebrity Apprentice, I could be sitting at the great man's right hand and berate a pop star from the 80s. This was for real. I was being offered a genuine Board of Directors Certificate to hang above my mantelpiece. But there was no mention of lunch with Eric. No, in order to secure one of these positions, I had to contribute $100. This was the longest job interview process in the world. I was getting tired of it.

August 12: EXCLUSIVE - your signed copy of The Art of the Deal.

This was the third email in a day. This was becoming like that lover who just won't let go. There was nothing new here. No novel enticement. Just a renewed request for the $184 to secure this collector's tome. I was poised to buy. But then I read: "These are going to go fast today, Chris. So don't wait. If we have any leftover next week, we're going to ask for a bigger contribution from people who want one." Wait, Donald Trump has adopted Uber's surge pricing? Oh, no.

August 13: Personalized Trump for President yard sign.

I was becoming a little numbed, I confess. How much was a yard sign going to set me back? $150? No, a mere $50 for one sign, $86 for two and $150 for four. Yes, it would have my name at the top. No, I didn't think my yard would look good with one of these in it.

August 13: Get Lunch With My Son Eric.

This was becoming like a bad Woody Allen movie. Talking of which, have you seen Cafe Society? I had begun to realize that I wasn't really wanted as an executive, I wasn't wanted on the Board of Directors and I wasn't ever going to have to privilege of lunch with Eric Trump. Disillusion had set in. That's what excessive email marketing can do to you. It can make you feel unlucky.