Sunday, August 19, 2018

P.O.E.T.S.

A brief summary of the presidential* week:

Attacked a (black) woman he had hired four times as a "dog" and a "lowlife" because she revealed the astonishing news that he is a racist.  Ordered his attorney general, Three-Fifths of a Man Sessions, to arrest her, although publishing a book is not currently illegal.

Wrote his name bigly on the bottom of the John McCain National Defense Authorization Act without mentioning John McCain.

Got into a bizarre argument with a group of Vietnam War veterans who had come to ask for more assistance for victims of Agent Orange.  "You mean the stuff from that movie?" the stable genius asked.  Eventually it became clear that he was talking about Apocalypse Now, which is as close as Cadet Bonespurs got to the war.  No, they explained, that was napalm.  As in Col. Kilgore (Robert Duvall):  "I love the smell of napalm in the morning.  Smells like...victory."  Went around the table asking every veteran if that was "the stuff."  Still refused to believe it.  Lost interest in veterans and their so-called problems.

Handed out medals to the ICEstapo to recognize their fine work in protecting us from Central American  toddlers.  Continued to ignore a court order to reunite the children with their parents.

Had a shit-fit when told the price of the Mayday-in-Red-Square parade he covets for Washington, claimed he cancelled it and will use the money to buy more invisible fighter planes instead,  vroom vroom.  Threatened to attend Paris parade on November 11 marking the hundredth anniversary of the Armistice, to indulge his unhealthy obsession with the Macrons.

Marked the death of Aretha Franklin by noting that "she used to work for me," possibly confusing the Queen of Soul with the Help.  Actually, Franklin was among the hundreds of artists who wanted nothing to do with Trump's pathetic "inauguration."

Cancelled the security clearance of former CIA Director John Brennan in a display of bratty spite.  In response, retired Adm. William McRaven asked to have his security clearance revoked.  Adm. McRaven led the raid which killed Osama bin Laden and is now chancellor of the University of Texas.  He may be America's most distinguished badass.

Pointedly had nothing to tweet about the grand jury's finding that three hundred priests molested thousands of children in Pennsylvania, and that the Catholic Church systematically covered it up for decades.  (Imagine if it had involved three hundred imams...or three.)

Left on Friday morning for a badly-needed golf weekend.  (Piss Off Early, Tomorrow's Saturday.)   As always, accomplished more in one week than FDR in sixteen years.




Friday, August 17, 2018

Guest editorial


What with the multiple wives, the obesity, the megalomania, the yen to go after political enemies, the breaking of traditional structures for personal gain, and the overall petty meanness, Trump is basically Henry VIII...but if Henry VIII was the puppet of Ivan the Terrible.- Greg Olear
I don't know who Greg Olear is, or where he posted this, but now I keep wishing Charles Laughton was still alive to make the movie.  Oh, and he left out the ghostwritten book:  most historians believe Henry's Defense of the Seven Sacraments is actually the work of Thomas More, who he eventually beheaded.  (As Trump would love to do to Tony Schwartz.)

Friday, August 10, 2018

Meet the Knavses

Melania's Parents Receive Citizenship, Thanks To 'Chain Migration'
Since they're clearly too old to work, and are unlikely to start a business, it's not clear how America's newest citizens will contribute to their new country.  I assume they can live comfortably off the money they made selling their daughter to her rich old husband, and will not be applying for Social Security, Medicare, or any other geezer giveaway.  All we can be sure of is their pure Aryan blood and the inevitable Netflix satire starring John Goodman and Debra Winger.

Remember when Barack Obama's aunt was deported?  Now imagine if he had even made a phone call to prevent it.  Instant impeachment!

I miss the rule of law.

Saturday, August 04, 2018

Dick Tuck's last hurrah

Last May, Dick Tuck died at the age of 94.  Tuck was a legendary Democratic Party strategist and hoaxer whose special joy it was to torment the humorless Richard Nixon (hiring garbage trucks to park outside the 1964 convention in San Francisco with signs that said DUMP NIXON, for instance).  At the end of his life, he created the ultimate prank, the conspiracy theory known as "QAnon," predicated on the fact that stupid people are stupid, and that Trumpism was crafted for the stupid.  The name is based on Al Anon, the support organization for the families of alcoholics; that's a bit mean, but it creates a sense of authenticity if you don't think too long or hard about it.  "Q" is actually a level of security clearance in the Department of Energy, but hardly anyone knows or cares about that.  To conspiracy mongers, QAnon is a person or group of persons working to bring down the "Deep State" and save the nation from Hillary Clinton, John Podesta, James Comey and all the other Usual Suspects who -- borrowing from Pizzagate -- are operating a pedophilia ring so vast, no one knows its true dimensions (possibly including colonies on Mars).  Is that nutty enough for you?  Needless to say, the "fake news" media are key to this plot, attempting to distract True Patriots with a constant stream of stories about the Helsinki surrender, Paul Manafort, North Korea's nuclear plans, climate change and similar trivialities -- as one Trumpanzee put it, the media have been "weaponized by the CIA."   Yes, the CIA is in on it, the DIA, the FBI, the IRS, the Federal Reserve, and of course [insert shadowy organization here].  Only Trump can save us.  He said so.  

Tuck gave himself away, deliberately I think, when he included Tom Hanks on his list of pedophile-plotters.*  How he must have laughed at the thought of all these poor dumb fish taking the bait, the hook, the rod itself.  The best jokes are cruel.  And cruelty is usually deserved.  The grotesques with the tiki torches are impervious to reason, but not to laughter.  Well done, Mr. Tuck.




*I'm reminded of Christopher Durang's play Sister Mary Ignatius Explains It All For You, where the title character reels off a list of people who are going to hell, concluding with Betty Comden and Adolphe Green.  Why?  Well, why not?    

Saturday, July 21, 2018

The Internet is forever

ThumbnailWho am I to argue with a stable genius?

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Play "La Marseillaise"! Play it!

You spend weeks getting ready for the big date, you do your "hair" so carefully, and just when you can imagine how good that Russian schwantz will taste, Robert Mueller indicts another bunch of Russians.  It's like finding a giant zit on your nose the morning of Prom.

Fuckbonkers McMoron gives an interview to The Sun (has he never heard of the Daily Mail?), and then claims he never said all those nasty things about Theresa May.  Knowing what they're dealing with, The Sun has videotape of McMoron saying every one of the nasty things while his tiny, mindless eyes roll around in the wads of orange fat.  He says some of them two and three times because of senility.  After describing his own oral flatulence as "fake news," because he accidentally tells the truth every few months, McMoron goes off to eat with May and continues trying to destroy both her government and the NATO alliance, which is the least he can do for his smart, talented, handsome friend Vladimir.  He would like her replaced by his fellow buffoon Boris Johnson.  He used to like London before it got all full of brown people and crime and that Muslim guy became the mayor, probably because of millions of illegal votes.  The Muslim guy must have ordered them to display that baby blimp and carry signs like "Do all lives still matter?  Asking for a kid in a cage" and "I could shit a better president" and "Feed him to the corgis" and some that were downright rude.  Fuckbonkers prefers small, select audiences of paste-eating imbeciles in places like Fistula, Ohio, packed into the function room at the Optimists Club to look like a crowd.  London is a hell hole.  No carriage ride!  

McMoron told the country that just buried Stephen Hawking what a genius he is.  He kept the Queen waiting in the heat for fifteen minutes while he finished a tweet about how the farmers love him.  He demanded that Air Force One be repainted in his personal colors, orange and stupid, and equipped with a bed that will accommodate his ever more porcine carcass.  Most bizarrely, he announced that a poll nobody else has seen declared him "more popular" than Abraham Lincoln*.  Also better looking and richer.  And then it was off to Scotland to bone up for his date with Volodya by playing golf.  A Greenpeace protester glided onto the course, causing McMoron to waddle run away.  In Scotland many of the fuck-off signs are in dialect, reminders of how Ma Trump used to work the Glasgow docks.  Why can't we have more diseased white immigrants?  Speaking of working girls, Melania showed off her double-D kidneys (Bethesda doesn't do boob jobs) and trashed her feckless cunt step-daughter.  I'm guessing here, because she's too smart to talk to reporters.

MOSCOW!  What a great city.  No haters with clever signs.  No lady prime ministers who are at best a four.  No pushy reporters.  Lock 'em up!  You did?  No crappy tea in some shithole palace without a single gold toilet.  No Muslim terrorist mayor.  People who sit up and applaud their leader which they love him so much, believe me.  No hookers!  NO COLLUSION!!

Happy quatorze juillet.  What are you waiting for?  Fucking storm something.




*Nearly a century ago, Woodrow Wilson was greeted in London and Paris by crowds in the millions who treated him like a god.  Who wants to tell him?  



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Friday, July 13, 2018

This scepter'd isle