You don't have to be Donald Trump to think of trading as an art form: Some folks swap spit, some swap wives and some just swap lies. But you have to admire the libidinous lounge lizard who used his position at a cell-phone company to swap free airtime for periodic skin-flute serenades courtesy of the Gold Club's mouthy maidens. Give me head 'til I'm dead? Nah, just 'til the 10,000 Call Anywhere minutes run out. Talk about reaching out and touching someone. Yowza.