Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: donald trump (page 1 of 29)

A Partial Transcript Of President Trump’s Press Conference, 10/27/19


“Thank you, thank you, yes, the best press conferences in the whole world. Obama gave very weak conferences. Couldn’t even call them that. I have so many people calling me up and saying, ‘Bless you, Mr. President. You do press conferences the country can be proud of again.’ No rap music at my press conferences.

“We just got back from the United Nations, which is such a dump. The carpets are from the 70’s, just the worst carpets you’ve ever seen in your lives. Maybe if the other countries of the world would pay their UN tabs, then they could get do some redecorating, but for now? A dump. I have to say it, I have to be honest. Prime Manhattan real estate, and it’s wasted on those people. Most of the delegates have barely been indoors. I saw the Indonesians crap on the floor. They just squat and crap! I’m not lying! Squat and crap!

“We made some of the best deals that anyone’s ever seen at the UN. We did a deal with Japan that was so beautiful, probably better than the Louisiana Purchase. That was Jefferson, he did that. A lot of people don’t give Jefferson the credit for the Louisiana Purchase, but that was all him. Good deal. Not great.

“I came here to talk about something. General Kelly knows what I was gonna talk about. Where’s my General?”

“General? Mulvaney, where’s my General?”

“He quit. I’m doing his job now.”


“He’s not hiding behind the flagpole, sir. He’s far larger than that.”


“ISIS, sir. You killed the head of ISIS.”

“That’s right, I did that, all by myself. Get out, Mulvaney. How dare you interrupt me when I know what I’m doing.”


“Last night, under my direct supervision, U.S. special forces brought the world’s greatest terrorist to justice. Boo-boo al-Babaganoosh is dead. Our brave and deadly killing special forces went in under cover of night and killed him, plus some other people that were there who were also probably enormous terrorists.

“Before he died, he was begging like a dog. ‘Please don’t kill me, I love America,that sort of thing. It was like in Miller’s Crossing. Remember Turturro in Miller’s Crossing? He’s in the woods, on his knees, such good acting. Anyway, that’s what this monster was doing, but he didn’t get an Oscar for it, he got maybe a thousand bullets in the face. We shot him right in the face like a dog.

“Obama couldn’t do it. And, y’know, come to think of it: Clinton couldn’t get this guy, either. No one talks about that! Maybe Hillary was part of that. Maybe Hillary was doing business with ISIS and persuaded Bill not to murder terrorists? You can’t put anything past that family. Even the great Ronald Reagan, who was very great, never killed the leader of ISIS. I did, but you won’t give me credit for that.

“Okay, questions.”

“Mr. President, when did this operation begin planning?”

“Well, I’ve always known that I was going to destroy ISIS. It was just a matter of the military picking the perfect day, night, whenever. They went in there so beautifully. I was watching it from the Situation Room with Mike Pence and Lou Dobbs, and a few other real high-level people. Real killers. You should have seen what these soldiers were doing. Helicopters, face-paint, the whole works. No doors! They don’t use doors! They blow a hole through the wall! It’s wild.”

“Sir, did the Kurds play any role?”

“Some. Maybe some. Maybe not as much as they could have, but some. Kurds are Kurds, good for them. Next question. You.”

“Mr. President, when did the United State confirm al-Baghdadi’s location?”

“It was tough, because he blends in. In that part of the world, he blends in. At Mar-a-Lago, he’d stand out like a dog, but over there? Can’t pick him out of a crowd. Plus, he’s very good at the internet. Barron is good, but Al Bundy is better. He posts on Instagram, but he never does the geo-tagging. That’s what they call that. Geo-tagging. ‘Oh, look at me, I’m here.’ That’s geo-tagging, and he had that shut off. Very tough to find, but we did. Next reporter.”

“Were the Russians notified?”

“Well, we had to. We were flying over their land, so we called and told them, and they were so lovely about it. ‘Thank you, Mr. Trump. This is the most perfect notification we’ve ever been given. Obama used to call and be so rude.’ The Russians were so strong in their compliments about our notification.

“What about Congress?”

“They’re being notified right now.”

“You mean that they’re being notified via this press conference.”

“Bing bang boop-ee-doop. Next?”

“Sir, I’m just trying to get a more precise timeline of all of this. Can you–”

“The dog is fine.”

“–walk us through…what?”

“We had a brave K9 soldier that was mildly injured. All the men were fine, but the dog got hurt like a dog. He’s okay now, though. Recovered like a dog.”


“I killed Al Baba-booey, and no one’s giving me the proper thanks for this. The worst terrorist in the entire world, and I may as well have shot him myself. I volunteered to do it, but many people begged me not to, and I decided to say okay. Both Theresa and Joe Guidice from Real Housewives of New Jersey begged me not to go over there. ‘You’re doing to much good for the country, except for Chicago, which is a hellhole and not your fault. Please stay here, sir.’ Very powerful words from Theresa and Joe. Good friends, very high ratings with Theresa and Joe.”


“Ooh, Filet-O-Fish. Okay, we’re done. You’re welcome.”

A Partial Transcript Of William Taylor’s Testimony Before Congress, 10/22/19


“Call this meeting to order. Order, please. Today, we will be hearing the testimony of William Taylor, who was America’s highest-ranking diplomat in Ukraine up until very recently. I welcome all my fellow Congresspeople from various committees, and do remind them that this hearing is secret and what is heard here should not be discussed with anyone outside this room. Goddammit, Ted Lieu, are you Tweeting?”

“No, I’m streaming on Twitch.”

“Knock it off!”


“Mr, Taylor, thank you for coming today. I understand that the White House attempted to prevent your appearance.”

“Congressman Hoyer, thank you for having me. And, in answer to your question: yes. The White House was rather aggressive in their desire that I not testify.”

“Can you describe their efforts?”

“I was contacted by various officials from various departments. State called, as did the White House counsel’s office. The Governor of Florida called me at home, real late, and used terrible language. Donald Trump, Jr., both texted me and tagged me in an Instagram post.”

“Anything else?”

“Letters ranging from ludicrous legal missives to incomprehensible, short-sentenced threats. You know the kind of letters this White House sends out.”


“One hand-written note from the President.”



“What did it say?”

Be a smart guy! Dummy up! and then his signature. The note was written on the bill of a Make America Great Again cap.”

“Do you have the cap, sir?”

“I do.”


“Thank you. Anything else?”

“Several interns from the White House tried to tackle me on the way in here this morning.”

“They were not successful, I take it?”

“Congressman, I was in ‘Nam. Some little bastards named Hunter aren’t gonna lay me out.”

“Thank you for your service.”


“Mr, Taylor, I’m told you have a prepared statement to read?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr, Chairman, I appreciate the opportunity to speak before Congress today. I hope to illuminate through detail the irredeemably fuckwadded misadventures of this White House, specifically in regard to Ukraine.

In terms of my background, I have been in the employ–in one way or another–of the American government for my entire life. I attended West Point, and then served in Vietnam. Upon my return home, I joined the Department of Energy, and I worked on the Hill, and at NATO, and finally became a diplomat with State. I have served loyally under both Republican and Democratic administrations.

I was the ambassador to Ukraine from 2006 to 2009, appointed by George W. Bush. I fell in love. Oh, the Kyiv Spring! I know most Americans spell the name of the city “Kiev,” but they don’t know her like I do. City of wonder, city of glamour, Kyiv. Don’t forget the countryside. The fertile fields. The sturdy peasants. The goats. Who could resist Ukraine?

But when Secretary of State Pompeo asked me to return to the role, and the country, I balked. First of all, because my would-be predecessor was treated quite shabbily by the White House Second: my wife was very against the idea. She said of the President His brain is made of soup, and This will end in tears and lawyer’s fees.

So I would like to formally, and on the Congressional record, say that my wife was exactly correct on both counts.

I made it clear over the phone that taking the job required that the United States maintain its current level of strong support for Ukraine, and Secretary Pompeo blew into the phone and pretended like there was a bad connection. I flew to Kyiv anyway.

Immediately, I began to suspect monkeyshines. The newly-elected President of Ukraine, Volodomyr Zelensky, reported receiving numerous middle-of-the-night phone calls from Rick Perry During each call, President Zelensky attempted to explain the concept of “time zones” to Rick Perry, but he (Rick Perry) failed to grasp the material. Rudy Giuliani also “popped by” Zelensky’s official residence on three separate occasions. I tried to explain just how inappropriate that was to him (Giuliani) but he failed to grasp the material, and was drunk.

I was also under pressure from the Ambassador to European Union, Gordon Sondland. He was less interested in the intricacies of international relations than he was in doing whatever President Trump wanted him to do, and going to dinner. In our initial meeting, he said that Ukraine was “the country with the great pastries?” When informed that Ukraine did have delicious baked goods, it wasn’t particularly known for its cakes Sondland became incensed, and began shouting. “NO! IT’S PASTRY FUCKING CENTRAL!”

I regret using that language, but I felt it necessary to quote Sondland completely.

During a call with Sondland on July 18th, I was made aware of a hold placed on $391 in military aid. I objected quite vociferously, and was told that President Trump needed President Zelensky to announce that he (Zelensky) was investigating Hunter Biden, or an internet company, or Hillary Clinton’s campaign; the subject of the investigation seemed to me quite fluid. For a full five minutes, I was also told that Zelensky had to “find the server.” When I asked what in God’s name that meant, Sondland screamed “I AM RICH AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME!” at me.

The following day, I met with President Zelensky, who showed me security-cam footage of an obviously liquored-up Giuliani and two of his fat idiot criminal friends trying to climb the fence of Maryinsky Palace. Needless to say, this was embarrassing to both America and myself. Rick Perry had also called again, once more in the middle of the night.

“Mr. Chairman!”

“Settle down, Congressman Jordan. Don’t interrupt Mr, Taylor!”

“I won’t sit here and let this pinko rape my President! That’s what’s happening here! The Democrats, in league with International Communism, the Deep State, and those drag queens from the library, are holding my wonderful President down and trying to forcefully reverse his butthole’s traffic flow!”

“That is a highly offensive analogy.”

“All of this is offensive! The non-phony parts of the Constitution says that you can’t rape a sitting President!”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“That’s it, Hoyer. Push-up contest. Right now.”

“I’m 80 years old, Jim.”


A Partial Transcript Of President Trump’s Meeting With Democratic Party Leaders, 10/16/19


“Nancy, Chuck, come in. I want you to know that I had no idea this meeting was taking place. Complete surprise to me, which is very rare because I am aware of everything that happens in all my properties.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Happy Sukkot, Mr. President.

“I come in here after lunch and wing wang womp there you are. We did Whoppers. Amazing sandwich, the Whopper. Whole different beast than a Big Mac. The Big Mac is tall and elegant, like Ivanka. Whopper’s low to the ground. Sturdy base on a Whopper. Couldn’t knock one over. Pence, run back to the Oval Office and see if there’s any Whoppers left. I wanna see if Nancy can knock it off its feet.”

“Mr. President, I don’t want to tackle a Whopper.”

“You can’t. You don’t want to because you can’t. Democrats are very weak and scared of my lunch, which is very strong.”

“Uh-huh. We were told that this meeting would be about Syria.”

“Syria, Shmyria. That’s what I told the Italian President when he was here this morning. No one in the Middle East voted for me, but almost everyone in the Middle West did. We had an incredible victory on election night that people are still talking about. You’ll never guess who called me last night.”

“Mr. President, I–”


“I don’t want to.”

“Guess, c’mon, guess.”

“Was it–”

“Pat Sajak! Guy’s had a hit show for how many years now? Big, big, big star. The yokels come in, they spin the wheel, win a car, whatever, it’s great. He does such a wonderful program over there, and he’s been rewarded. I never got an Emmy for The Apprentice, and I blame that on jealous losers being haters. And Hillary probably made some calls. I bet she made some calls. I believe she did.”

“Hillary Clinton rigged the Emmy Awards now?”

“You don’t know with that family! What was I talking about?”


“Don’t remind him about Sajak!”


“I wasn’t going to! I’m not an idiot.”


“Mr. President, once again: we were asked to come here today to discuss the ongoing events in Kurdish-held Syria.”

“Taken care of! I wrote a letter, one of the most perfect letters you’ve ever seen, and we sent it over to whats-his-name, Captain Turkey. All taken care of by your beloved President, probably the best one America’s ever had. I wanna read everybody the letter. General Kelly?”

“He quit months ago, Mr. President.”

“Where’s my General?”

“Why are you looking in Mike McCarthy’s ear? He’s not in there.”


“Maybe someone else could pass the letter out, Mr. President.”

“It won’t be as much fun. He does this thing where he flips the paper across the table, and it stops right in front of you. Never misses.”

“I think we’ll manage.”

“Fine. Pence!”


“I’m gonna read it, you can read along. Chuck, you can help Nancy sound out the letters. I had to say it, Nancy. I had to. Many people have told me that you don’t know how to read. Not well, at least. Some people say not at all, some people say a little bit. Maybe the truth’s in the middle, I don’t know.”

“Oh, just read the letter.”

“You’re gonna be amazed. Ahem.

Let’s work out a good deal! You don’t want to be responsible for slaughtering thousands of people, and I don’t want to be responsible for destroying the Turkish economy — and I will. I’ve already given you a little sample with respect to Pastor Bronson. I have worked hard to solve some of your problems. Don’t let the world down.

You can make a great deal. General Mazloum is willing to negotiate with you. and he is willing to make concessions that they would never have made in the past. I am confidentially enclosing a copy of his letter to me. just received.

History will look upon you favorably if you get this done the right and humane way. It will look upon you forever as the devil if good things don’t happen. Don’t be a tough guy. Don’t be a fool!

I will call you later.*

“Wasn’t that great?”


“Was that a joke?”

“You’re the joke, Nancy! You’re a nasty lady who wouldn’t know a good letter if it bit you, and you’re not hot anymore. No one invited you here to be rude and unpatriotic about my wonderful, very American and strong letter. I might have Ted Nugent set this letter to music, and that’ll be the new National Anthem.”

“Mr. President, that letter is going to get more Kurds killed, and it will get more ISIS prisoners released.”

“You’d love that. You love ISIS.”

“I do not love ISIS at all.”

“You love ISIS so much. You wanna kiss ISIS.”

“This is just insulting.”

“Nancy and ISIS, sittin’ in a tree.”

“Stop it! Mr. President, your rash decision–”

“Beautiful decision.”

“–to suddenly abandon the Kurds is leading to their slaughter. You’ve created a power vaccuum that will leave tens of thousands of civilians dead, thousands of ISIS fighters free, and more control of the region for Vladimir Putin.”

“What about Putin? Did you talk to him? What did he say about me?”

“Mr. President, you’re getting people killed.”

“Not people. Kurds.”

“Holy shit.”

“Have you ever met a Kurd? Not great. Not a fun experience. A little dangerous, if I’m totally honest. Something off about those folks.”

“Is there any chance of a fruitful discussion here?”

“Nancy, you have never given me a boner.”

“We’re done.”

“Not once!”




*This is the verbatim transcript of a letter that the President of the United States sent to the dictator of Turkey.

What’s In A (Superyacht’s) Name?

There is no connection between Queen and Basketball Head, you say. Perhaps you whisper it softly, as if a prayer. Please, dear Jesus, keep separate Freddie, who was made of joy and boners, separated from Donald Trump, who is a used band-aid. Some folks ought maintain a chasm betwixt. It’s like the Offspring said, Lord: Ya gotta keep ’em separated. If you won’t listen to me, Lord, then listen to the Offspring.


This is not a yacht. She is a superyacht, and she was originally called the Nabila, which is Arabic for Noble Lady, but she was also called the Flying Saucer when she starred in a James Bond movie. I am unaware of the helicopter’s name, or whether it appeared in any films. (The reason that boats are “she” and helicopters are “it” is because humans were not cooped up in helicopters for months at a time slowly going insane to the point where they began gendering vehicles.) The Nabila has, as you can see, a helipad and an outdoor swimming pool/sexy-time jacuzzi tub. Hidden within are 11 suites, a movie theater, gym, formal dining room, and quarters for the crew of 48. Cost $100 million, and that was in 1980, when $100 million was real money.

(WARNING: Do not start googling “superyachts unless you wanna go Full Commie. Did you know that the latest trend is away from 300-footers and towards ultra-luxury 200-footers paired with smaller support boats that act as floating garages for your tenders/waverunners/landing craft/chopper/etc.? You didn’t know that, did you? How does that fact make you feel? Violently redistributionish? Me too, comrade.)

Anyway, when she was called the Nabila, she was owned by Adnan Khashoggi, who was a social kind of fellow. In the 60’s and 70’s, he was good friends with the Saudi royal family, who wanted desperately to buy as many tanks and planes and bazookas as possible; he was also buddy-buddy with Lockheed Martin and Northrup Grumman, who wanted just as breathlessly to sell as many tanks and planes and bazookas as possible. The papers called him an arms dealer, but he was just an outgoing guy. The arms sales provided the seed money–about a billion’s worth–for further investment and trinket-collecting. Game reserves, and shopping malls, and far more mansions than necessary, and the Utah Jazz.

The boat got the most attention. So much so that Queen wrote a song about it in 1989.

It is not a major entry in the band’s canon, just a scrap of Brian’s usual Heavy Rock from The Miracle, but it’s still a Queen song. They didn’t write shit about you, did they? No, Queen wrote songs about not liking Jaws or Star Wars, and Beelzebub, and curvaceous bicyclists. And the Nabila. Heady company.

In 1990, Khashoggi sold the boat.

He ruins everything.

A Partial Transcript Of The Joint Press Conference Of American President Donald Trump And Finnish President Sauli Niinistö, 10/2/19

“Look at all of this press, President Ninjitsu–”


“–probably more press than there are people in Finland. Small country, but so beautiful. Part of a group. People don’t know this, but Finland is in Scandinavia. Like we have the Deep South, you got Alabama and Georgia, they got Scandinavia. Bunch of very beautiful, very cold countries. Vikings. It all comes back to Vikings. We have had such a perfect visit, maybe the greatest visit in the history of cooperation and friendship and you know, all that, between our two great, great countries.”

“Thank you, President Trump.”

“Beloved. This man here, Nagursky–”


“–is a god back home. A god. The Finns, they crowd around him and his wife, who is a knockout. Real knockout. He’s not so great-looking, but the wife? Top-notch. Can’t compete with Melania, but that’s not fair because everyone knows that Melania was one of the top, top, top supermodels in the world. Both of our wives, very high-class women, not like Michelle Obama, who should be executed for treason.”


“Okay, you talk now. Go.”

“Um, yes, well, we got the chance this morning to visit several of your incredible museums located along the Mall. Each was dedicated to the certain portion of your short, ferocious history, but they made a grand mosaic when viewed as a whole. I was struck by the fragility of what you call the American Experiment, but also by its worth. Your democracy is a chance worth taking. I pray that it continues.”

“Perfect. Just perfect. Diet Coke?”

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?”

“We can do a Fanta. Fanta?”

“I have a glass of water, Mr. President. That is all I require. Thank you for your interest.”

“Also, I want to give you my condolences on the horrible, horrible stabbing that took place at that college in Finland. That’s rough, nasty stuff. Probably an antifa. We have those over here, and they’re vicious and very bad. I’m probably going to be signing some Executive Orders making antifa illegal. That’s gonna be a win, a big win. I can make them illegal in Finland, too, if you want, President Nijinsky.”

“I’m not even going to correct you any more. Again, Mr. President: no, thank you. I do not want a soft drink, nor do I want you to do whatever the hell it was you just offered.”

“C’mon, pal, do me a favor. I’ll make antifa illegal in Finland, and you find me some dirt on Pocahontas’ husband.”

“You do realize we’re standing in front of a literal room full of reporters, right?”

“Very corrupt! Possibly the most corrupt people who aren’t Hillary Clinton in the entire world I believe in Finland you would call them ‘bad muchachos.”‘

“You shouldn’t believe that.”

“Okay, great, wonderful, let’s do a question. I’m gonna do a question. You. Next to the black guy. Not the black. I will be taking no black questions today.”


“You’re gonna be nice, okay? You’re gonna ask a question and you’re gonna be nice. Okay, go.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. The three House committees that are looking into the impeachment inquiry gave notice today that they will be sending a subpoena to the White House for documents and other materials.  Will you cooperate with those subpoenas?”

“That is the worst question I’ve ever heard, very nasty and biased, and it shows what I’ve had to put up with that no other President in history has. This Adam Schiff is a bad guy, and probably a murderer. Rudy Giuliani has been looking into this. Rudy is looking, and he says that Adam Schiff has maybe killed a lot of hookers. Li’l Adam Schiff, that’s what I call him. Not ‘Little.’ Li’l. It’s spelled ell-aye-semicolon-ell. Li’l.”

“So, will you cooperate with the subpoenas?”

“He goes up the microphone and starts to read from the transcript, and everyone knew he had nothing. He had nothing. We sent to him the most beautiful transcript you’ve ever seen. Word-for-word, so many words, the greatest words you’ve ever seen. The words were perfect. So many people called me up to tell me that, but Li’l Adam just makes things up. He fabricated. Fab–




“–cated, because he’s a bad, corrupt guy. Any other country, he would have been executed for treason. For two years, he gives us the Collusion Delusion. That’s what I call it. Collusion Delusion. Huge likes on Twitter from that one, huge. Collusion Delusion, and now we have this Ukrainian nothing. Nothing! The phone call was so perfect, and the Ukrainian President agreed. He agreed very strongly, and I never said ‘Quid pro quo.’ They say I said it eight or nine times, but I never said ‘Quid pro quo.'”

“Does that mean you will cooperate with the subpoenas or not?”

“If they’re real subpoenas.”

“What does that mean?”

“Some are fake! Li’l Adam Schiff sends over many, many fake subpoenas. And Elijah Cummings from Baltimore, which is a hellhole, he sends over subpoenas that are fake and black. I have a nickname for Elijah, too.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not gonna tell you. But I have one. I have one. Next question. Fox News?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Night is great. Hannity, Lou, the best shows in the world. Such good reporting. Your days are no good. Daytime is not great.”

“Yes, sir. I have a fair and balanced question: Do you think that Adam Schiff’s corruption is so vile that his family should be executed along with him?”


“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s do a Finn. I’m gonna do a Finn. Where’s a Finnish reporter? Not you. Not you. Definitely not you, I don’t even know how you got in here, not you. You, you look like a Finn. Ask a question.”

“Onko sinulla mitään sanottavaa kotona oleville ihmisille?”

“Auttakaa minua. En voi herätä tästä painajaisesta.”

“Se on selvää.”

“That was so great, so wonderful. You see, when countries come over here and don’t treat us like saps, then everything is so nice. So nice. Let’s have another Finnish question for President Nicodemus.”

“No, that’s fine. No more questions for me.”

“The last one was such a classy, beautiful exchange, I couldn’t believe my ears the things I was hearing, and I was very impressed by what I’ve done bringing our countries together. Have another question.”

“Really, it’s okay. Let’s get to the end of this.”

“One more. You, blondie. Ask your question.”

“President Niinistö, has President Trump asked you for any favors today?”

“Oh, God, why are you making this worse?”

“Let me take that, because it’s an unfair and unpleasant question, and the young woman who asked it should be ashamed of herself. Before me, 100 of our beloved veterans were being eaten by MS13 every day. Every day. These men, and sometimes even women, they fight for us and do such a beautiful job killing our enemies, and then they come back home to be eaten by illegal MS13’s. Obama let it happen, but not me. I put a stop to that. MS13, they say Hey, there’s a new sheriff in town. And they stopped eating our troops, stopped it cold. But I get no credit for that from the corrupt, lying media because you’re corrupt and you lie. President Ninnypants? Anything to add?”

“I want off this ride.”

“One more question. You. Is your name Stuey?”

“No, sir.”

“You look like a Stuey.”

“Thank you, sir. Mr. President, can you just make clear, right here: What do you or what did you want Ukrainian President Zelensky to do with regard to Joe and Hunter Biden?”

“Look at what he said, look at the beautiful, perfect transcript that I didn’t have to give out, and look at all the ambassadors and important people that we have here today, and they’ve all heard me say that we shouldn’t be suckers when it comes to Ukraine, which is probably the most corrupt nation in the entire world. You should hear Steven Segal talk about Ukraine. Very knowledgeable guy. Wouldn’t think so from all the kicking and punching, but you won’t meet a smarter man. Very smart. Ask him about Ukraine, and he’s got nothing good to say. Very corrupt.”

“Yes, sir. And what did you want President Zelensky to do about the Bidens?”


“Yes, sir?”

“You’re talking to me?”


“General Kelly? General?”

“He’s not here, Mr. President.”


“Why are you looking in the President of Finland’s trousers, sir? He’s obviously not there.”

“Tapa minut, Jumala. Tapa minut nyt.”


“Mr. President, what did you ask President Zelensky to do about the Bidens?”

“Ask the President of Finland a question.”

“You haven’t answered my previous–”

“I gave you the most beautiful answer, very long, and you’re being the rudest person in the entire world to our guest. Ask him a question.”

“Okay. President Niinistö, today the WTO–

“Huge win for the United States. Been a long time since we won, but now we’re winning again. WTO is scared of me. Scared. Of. Me. And that’s a very good thing, because for years, the WTO has been screwing us. Screw. Ing. Us. But now it’s Trump time, and we’re winning so hard. So hard.”


“That’s the kid with the KFC. In conclusion, CNN are all traitors to America, and the word-for-word was perfect.”



“What was I just a part of?”

A Partial Transcript Of Donald Trump’s Border Security Meeting

(Read this first so you know I’m not making this bullshit up.)

“Everyone come in, everyone make themselves the most comfortable they’ve ever been. Oval Office! Probably the best office in the world. The one I have in Trump Tower is a magnificent office, but this one might be better. Might be better. Of course, I had to re-decorate. The drapes were all me. Melania consulted on the rug, but I picked out the drapes. If I was gay, I’d be a great interior decorator. Not gay, though. Okay, where’s General Kelly?”

“He quit months ago, sir.”

“General? Where’s my General?”

“He’s not in your phone, Mr. President. Stop looking there.”


“He’ll be here. Kirstjen, you are doing a terrible job on the border, just the worst job anyone has ever seen, and many people have told me this. My very good friend Sly Stallone called the other day, and about most things he was very, very complimentary, but not the border. Then he said Yo, Mr. President. You know, like he said to Adrian.”

“Mr, Stallone’s input notwithstanding, sir, we are making progress at the border.”

“He usually fought a black, but in one of them, he fought a Russian. Better he should fight the black. More money fighting blacks.”

“Applications for migrant status is down by ten percent.”

“Applications? We’re wasting paper on these animals now? And you know they’re all stealing the pens. Do we provide clipboards, too? Tell me that, Miss Homeland Security: are we handing out clipboards at the border? They will take the clipboards, and they will turn the clips into knives. These people are knife-people! You’re killing me!”

“The applications are done on computers, sir.”

“Lou Dobbs is right about you.”

“I have no idea how to respond to that.”

“We’re gonna nuke the border.”

“What now?”

“I have that power as President. Many people don’t know that, but I have enormous power to nuke whatever the hell I want. All the way across the border, we’re gonna nuke. We warn first, but we’re gonna nuke. We’re only warn in English, though.”

“Mr. President, maybe this decision needs to be thought through.”

“The American people, the real ones, they didn’t elect me to think. They elected me to know.”


“And I know we should nuke the border. It’s so easy. No one realizes this, but it’s so easy. I figured this out, and we can do it so easy, it’ll be so beautiful that the entire world will be standing and cheering. We’re gonna nuke, whole border, all the way. Texas and Nevada and wherever, straight line. Leaves a huge ditch, maybe even bigger than the Grand Canyon. A lot of people agree with me that it’ll be bigger than the Grand Canyon. And we’re gonna do lava.”


“We’re gonna fill Trump Canyon with lava.”

“You’ve already named it.”

“Oh, yeah. Trump Canyon. And we’re gonna get the hottest lava available. A lot of countries have sub-standard lava, honey. Japan has weak lava. It wouldn’t even singe you. Our lava’s gonna be great, can’t swim through it at all. Most of those people can’t swim in the first place, but we’re still gonna do the lava.”

“I just don’t know if any of this is physically possible, Mr. President.”

“Lou Dobbs says it’s a go.”

“Again, sir, notwithstanding. The logistics alone would take several months, if not years, to work out.”

“What’s to work out? We nuke, then the lava, and put in the chimps. Easy!”


“Face first! First thing a chimp goes for is your face. Then your balls. Face, then balls. Chimps go for the soft bits. Nasty, nasty creatures. Kinda remind me of Roy Cohn. Anyway, the chimps go in the lava and pick off any Mexicans that make it that far.”

“Wouldn’t the chimps burn to death?”



“The chimps wear lavasuits. Sweetie, this is so easy. I don’t know why you’re having trouble with any of this.”

“I just don’t know if ‘lavasuits’ are a real…dear God, am I really having this conversation in the Oval Office?”

“No one has a better office. I saw What’s-his-face’s office in Saudi Arabia, the kid, the one who had the other guy killed, whatever-his-name-is. You’ve never seen anything like this. Falcons! They all got the hoods on, they’re majestic, the whole thing, falcons, amazing. Not tall. The head Arab, the one I talked to, we got along so wonderfully. Great office. Falcons.”




“We can do a tariff. We tariff the border.”

“Well, first of all: I’m the Homeland Security Director, and so I don’t have anything at all to do with tariffs; and, second: you can’t tariff a border, sir.”

“Ebola. Let’s do an Ebola. You approach the border from the Southern side, and you get Ebola. Bing bang bola. Not gonna lie, that was Stephen Miller’s idea. I love my Stevie. Stevie, tell Kirstjen your other idea for the border.”

“Immense machines of pain. Built to trample and rend. Imbued with the mind of the Sheltered One. My spells are nearly complete, but I need $6 trillion.”

“I love my Stevie. Kirstjen, sugardrop, is that in the budget?”

“No, sir.”

“I ran on the border! This is how I beat the very corrupt Crooked Hillary, who was so corrupt. Rudy Giuliani told me that Chelsea Clinton punched a cop in Budapest, but you never hear about that in the very biased media. I am maybe the most perfect President in the history of the country, but you’d never know it from the media, which is very biased. We have to close off the border, because if you don’t have a border, then you don’t have a country. This is my thing, the border. Purge?”

“I’m sorry, purge?”

“We do a Purge. The whole border. All of it gets a Purge.”

“Are you talking about the movies where all laws are suspended for one night each year?”

“Yeah. But for good. Permanent Purge. And then you let the Second Amendment types take care of the problem. Everyone’s happy, very easy. I’m gonna do a Purge.”

“Sir, you do not have the authority to declare an area of the United States law-free.”

“Obama made murder legal in Chicago.”

“I have to push back on that, sir. He did not.”

“Are you calling Lou Dobbs a liar?”

“Isn’t it time for lunch?”

“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said in this meeting.”

The Daily Recounting, 9/24/19

Shit has hit the fan, huh?

Not a fan. Fan’s blades don’t have enough power to spray the shit as far and wide as the shit’s been sprayed. Shit’s hit the weedwacker, or the jet engine, or the industrial turbine. There’s doody evvvvvvvverywhere.

I’m gonna ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.

Is it about my level of inebriation?


High. With gusts up to blotto.


Retsina is strong! The Greeks make some powerful wine, man.

Please don’t link their beverages to–

Probably all the buttfucking.


And who can blame ’em? I can think of no other activity that more requires a couple of pops before you get started.

Can we discuss politics, please?

Politics, buttfucking: what’s the difference?


You’re boring.

What happened today?

Nancy Pelosi emerged from her Georgetown penthouse and didn’t see her shadow. She raked her nails across her breasts, drawing thin and watery blood. They could smell it, the Congresspersons could, metallic and sharp. First the Black Caucus, and then the Jews and Other Ethnics from urban districts, and then the Mohammedan women, and by noon even the white men whom suburban voters had sent to DC. They ululated together-LALALALALALALA!–and Steve King from Iowa joined in, was told to leave, hid behind a flag, masturbated to AOC.

Don’t be crazy.


It’s here!? It’s finally here!?

The Wells Fargo wagon, she’s a-come around the bend.

I was beginning to think it was a myth, like dry land or the female orgasm.


Dry land. 


What’s changed? Basketball Head has committed, on average, three impeachable acts a week since assuming the Presidency. Why is this day different than every other day?


The Russian bear needs a warm-water port.

Da, tovarische. And so Ukraine needs military aid from the United States to defend themselves from Russia’s tankalicious entreaties.

Ohhhhh, right. Russia’s not our friend. I forgot.

Easy to lose track of who is on whose side nowadays. Can’t tell the players without a scorecard. Anyway, Ukraine needs Uncle Sam’s juicy missiles and sexy sniper rifles and all sorts of lethal doohickery.


Dude, I’m as pacifistic as the next guy who’s currently listening to the Grateful Dead, but: when your neighbor is Vladimir Putin, you need some fucking guns. The man thinks all maps are negotiable.

Okay. What did Fuckface fuck up?

Well, it turns out that Joe Biden and Donald Trump have a little more in common than either would admit: they’re both dubiously-coiffed blabbermouths with idiot sons. Joe’s kid Hunter was on the board of some Ukrainian energy company.


Because the whole world is rigged and corrupt.


Anyway, the whackadoodle sites have been horking out bullshit about the Biden kid for a year now. The Chinese bought him off, or he had a Ukrainian politician fired, or he invented a new AIDS that only infects straight white Christians.

Is any of that true?

The AIDS thing.

Stop it.

Well, he wouldn’t have been hired by the energy company if his name were Hunter Smith.

Isn’t that a punter?

Yes. Completely inadequate qualifications to sit on the board of a Ukrainian energy company. You want a fullback for that.

So: Joe Biden’s idiot son was up to the usual bullshit that idiot sons of powerful men get up when they go abroad. How does this get to the Offal Office?

The usual avenues: Fox News, 4chan, and Grima Wormtongue.


Bingo. Guy’s got a hard-on for this Ukrainian thing. Which is nice for him: at least he’s getting some sort of hard-on.

That’s defamatory.

Let him sue me. Rudy Giuliani is a drunken syphilitic with firefighters’ blood on his gnarled, weak hands.

Just continue. 

Rudy gets Donny all riled up about Ukraine. Rudy pours poison in Donny’s ear. Rudy is–

Don’t say it!

–the Dago Iago.


Wheels start turning in Fishmouth’s head. More dirt on Joe! And he needs it, too, because nothing Trump’s thrown at him yet has stuck. No one cared for “Sleepy Joe” and it was dangerous bringing up the “Joe is handsy” thing since the President’s an actual fucking rapist, but an idiot son? Trump’s got a ton of “idiot son” material for Twitter: he can just repurpose the stuff he tells Don Junior all the time. DISGRACE TO THE NAME, that sort of thing. And he’s got leverage, too.

The military aid?

You’re so smart. Somewhere in the middle of July–it’s unclear the exact date–the White House orders a hold placed on the $250 million. Then, on the 25th of the same month, Trump speaks with newly-elected Ukrainian President Volodomyr Zelensky.

Is there any chance the dumb fuck pronounced that correctly?

None whatsoever. Anyway: during the call, Dumbo tells Zelensky that he can have his guns if Hunter Biden gets investigated.

The President of the United States offered a foreign leader $250 million in arms in exchange for dirt on a political rival’s family?

Sounds fucked up when you say it all plain and simple like that, dunnit?

Then what happened?

Someone in the Intelligence Community submitted a report on the fuckery to the Inspector General, simultaneously asking for Whistle-Blower status. The IG investigated the report, and found that the fuckery was fuckier than could be tolerated. It was deemed “of urgent concern.”

Why is that phrase in quotes?

Because when a whistle-blower’s report is found to be “of urgent concern,” it must by law be submitted to Congress.

Lemme guess what happened.

It wasn’t.

That’s what I was gonna guess!

So, of course, everyone starts leaking. The Post starts publishing articles, and so do the Times, and then Congress issues a subpoena for the report. You’re not gonna believe what comes next.

White House ignores the subpoena?

In their defense, ignoring subpoenas has been a working strategy up until now. BUT there are more leaks, and specifics start coming out. First, that it was Ukraine. Second, that Reverse Einstein asked Zelensky EIGHT FUCKING TIMES during the call to frame Biden’s kid for something, anything. The White House war room roars into gear, and pushes back with a set of cogent and precise talking points that all staff members adhere to.

That doesn’t sound right.

It’s not. Fuck L’Orange immediately copped to all charges in the White House driveway, and then Rudy went on teevee and basically admitted to treason, and none of the Usual Suspects from the Senate knew what to say at all, so they fell back on yelling SOCIALISM! as loud as they could for no reason. It wasn’t even a clusterfuck: both clustering and fucking were beyond the intellectual grasp of this crowd. They tried to put out a fire by throwing lit matches on it.

And now we impeach.


Can’t we just eat him?



Mal carne.

Es verdad.

Nuking The Hurricanes: An FAQ

President Trump has suggested multiple times to senior Homeland Security and national security officials that they explore using nuclear bombs to stop hurricanes from hitting the United States, according to sources who have heard the president’s private remarks and been briefed on a National Security Council memorandum that recorded those comments. – Axios, 8/25/19

Should we nuke hurricanes?


How strong a “no” is that?

Stronger than the winner of “Strongest Man” in a Strongman competition who was only competing to honor his recently dead wife.

That’s very strong.

We understand each other. There should be not only no intentional deployment of nuclear weapons against hurricanes, but we must also endeavor to prevent any accidental meetings. Like Uncle Georgie and the children, nukes and hurricanes must be kept in separate rooms.

But why? It seems like an obvious idea.

“Let’s nuke the hurricanes” seems like an obvious idea to you? Did you go to the same medical school as Dr. Evil? Nuking hurricanes is prima faciea a dumb idea. It’s like infecting animals with diseases and pointing ’em towards the enemy.

I am being informed that humanity has attempted that particular gambit on countless occasions.

Yeah, we’re awful. Explain to me why we can’t nuke hurricanes. Debate me in the marketplace of ideas!

See, here’s why that’s stupid: the marketplace isn’t for debating. It’s for selling shit.


Oh, fine. You do the heavy lifting: why are we nuking the hurricanes now?

Well, hurricanes are organized weather systems. Maybe a large explosion in just the right place would break up the storm’s cohesion, thereby lessening its destructive power.

You’re absolutely right. It would.


A big enough bomb will kill anything.

Awesome. Let’s nuke some hurricanes.

We don’t have a big enough bomb. You’re vastly overestimating the power of a nuke, and vastly underestimating the power of a hurricane. A Category Five storm generates more energy in a day than humanity can in a year. 200 times more. You could trebuchet the Tsar Bomba at a hurricane and its asshole wouldn’t even twitch. And, you know, the other thing.

The radiation?

Yeah, that. Imagine throwing shit at a fan. Now imagine that the shit makes your skin peel off and your liver shoot out your nose.

I’d rather not imagine that.

No one would, except those longhair boys in the denim jackets sitting in the corner of the cafeteria passing around a copy of Fangoria.

I think they’re in a band.

Yeah, so, like I was saying: literally the dumbest fucking idea in the world. Nuking a hurricane is not something you do, it’s something that a super-villain threatens to do to you.

Just the tiniest bit of thinking revealed how dopey the plan was.

Just the itsy-bitsy, teenie-weeniest bit. Yeah.

Donald Trump Is A Stupid, Racist Asshole: An Exegesis

Mustn’t fumfer, Enthusiasts, or fart about. Shakespeare didn’t muck out the Aegean Stables so you could shim-sham and willy-nilly with your syntactical choices. Eisenhower said it in his famous farewell speech: Choose your words carefully, ya little puds. Still true.

Orwell knew what I’m talking about. Orwell was hip like that. Since Basketball Head got elected, all the dimwits and dummies have yammered on about 1984 and Winston and Big Brother and cabbage-stinking hallways, which is why they’re dim and dumb. Us smart fuckers know where the lotus grows, though, and it is in a different (and much shorter) work of Mr. Blair’s: his 1946 essay Politics and the English Language.

Here it is. Go read it.

One must write as simply and clearly as one is able. That’s the gist of Orwell’s brief, and it’s a hell of a gist. Never employ sesquipedalian verbalization when good ol’ short words’ll do. Abjure the Latinate; huzzah the Anglo-Saxon. There are, perhaps, 250,000 words in the English language; most of ’em are bullshit. Simply and clearly.

So: Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole. The sentiment can be made no simpler, nor expressed with more clarity. The sentence “Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole” is irreducible. Each word, as per Orwell’s instructions, is necessary and precise. Let’s break it down.

Donald Trump

That’s the man’s name. Gotta have that in there, or no one’ll know who you’re talking about. Maybe you could just say “Trump,” but including the full name improves the rhythm of the phrasing. And maybe you could throw in that middle initial J like the Times does, but it’s superfluous; there’s only one Donald Trump, as the President has told Junior so many times.


So much depends on what the meaning of the word “is” is, and here we employ the popular verb in a tense I have just invented called the “iterational infinite,” which means that Trump = Stupid, Racist Asshole for all possible tenses. Trump was a stupid, racist asshole; Trump will be a stupid, racist asshole; Trump has been being a stupid, racist asshole; etc.


Let’s face it: there’s a lot of stupid, racist assholes out there. Trump isn’t the stupid, racist asshole. Go read any other Comment Section on the internet, or come back and read this one after the limpdicked tugnuts who worship the Swine King show up. (They always do after I write about him, and I always toss their scribblings in the trash before you can be bothered by it. AND DO YOU FUCKERS THANK ME?)


Some businesses are bonanzas, and others are marginal. A rockyroll tour, that’s a bonanza: make a whole assload of cash in a couple of months. Girl Scout cookies, too, and Sotheby’s auction house. But then you got your alternate type of commerce, which is the supermarket model. Smaller profits, but you grind ’em out day after day. And, in those marginal operations, every penny counts. The airline business is firmly in the latter category, but moreso.

Airlines, you see, have a list of fixed costs as long as your pecker. Gotta buy the planes, and insure ’em, and maintain ’em to legal standards: nowhere to save a buck there. Planes don’t fly themselves, and pretzels don’t pass themselves out, so you gotta hire pilots and flight attendants, and–here’s that damned government getting in the way of the market again–and you need to have a certain amount of each on every flight. Airports get paid, too: they charge every time you take off or land, and tax you a certain amount per passenger. Non-negotiable, all of it. You’re deep in the hole before the plane takes off.

So where can you save a buck or two? Gas. The less fuel your plane burns, the more money you make, and the best way to conserve fuel is lose weight. Thinner, and therefore lighter, carpet could put tens of thousands of dollars back into the company’s coffers. Take a half-ounce of padding from every seat; that shit adds up. There are men and women who have spent their entire careers figuring out how to make passenger planes weigh less.

Enter Trump.

This was the summer of 1989, and Donald Trump had had a very good 80’s, which makes sense if you remember that the 80’s were, essentially, Satanic. He had just built Trump Tower, and bought the Plaza (he sold it soon after for a loss of $83 million) and Atlantic City’s Taj Mahal (which he would sell for four cents on the dollar). Eastern Airlines was going bankrupt; Turnip stepped in and snapped up their shuttle service, which ran between Boston, New York, and DC and catered to a limited, but lucrative and loyal market: business fuckers. People far too important to spend four hours driving or sitting on a train. Movers, shakers, that sort. The type of fellow with an expense account and a recent haircut. Women in shoulder pads who weren’t afraid to butt heads. Not owners; owners have private planes, or they can go about their travels in a more leisurely fashion, knowing that the meeting can’t start until they get there. No, these passengers were journalists with book deals, and lawyers who would one day be–but were not yet–partners at their firms, and State Department emeriti with sinecures at the Kennedy school.

You’re doing that thing again where you wander away from the point.

Yeah, but I do it entertainingly.

You’re your biggest fan.

Someone has to be.

Get back to it.

Businesses, ones that are run by people who aren’t biscuitheads, do all kinds of market research. What’s the most important thing we do? the surveys ask. Why do you patronize us instead of the guy across the street?  Eastern Airlines had two decades of market research about their shuttles, and when they asked their customers what it was that they cared most about, the answer was always the same: If you tell me the plane is gonna land at 8:34 am, then the plane needs to land at 8:34 am. Everything else is cheesecake. Oh, and there should be cheesecake on the snack cart. Predictability! That was what the shuttle customer demanded.

Trump immediately gold-plated the sinks.

Then he replaced plastic moldings with maple, and demanded meal service, and chromed all the belt buckles. Those who have been reading closely will recognize these touches as being specifically what no one had asked for, ever. Trump Shuttle’s market share remained the same as when it was called Eastern Airlines, but now the planes were heavier and–oops–oil prices skyrocketed in anticipation of the Gulf War. In ’91, Trump relinquished control of the assets to his bankers so they’d forgive the debts.

So, like I said, he’s stupid.


Trump is racist. Anyone who argues this fact is also racist. Nuff said.


One can be stupid without being an asshole. Forrest Gump, for example, or Gronk. How about Britney, bitch? Britney Spears is dumber than a possum wearing a hockey helmet, but you won’t find a bigger heart than the one beating in her chest.

And–though some may disagree with my reasoning–I believe that one can be racist without being an asshole. Plenty of folks hate black people but still remember their manners.

The definition of asshole is thus: The asshole is essentially selfish. The asshole performs at its own schedule; any attempt to force the asshole to action results in painful repercussions. The asshole does not know proportional response, and it will burn down the city to avenge a slight. The asshole must be treated well, and gently, and it still may turn on you in a second. The asshole gives not a whit for your dignity, just its needs. The asshole is without grace; it is blunt, but not charmingly so.

Many U.S. Presidents have been assholes. The Civil Rights Act only became law because of how enormous an asshole Lyndon Johnson was. Harding couldn’t cum unless he was beating hobos. Nixon…well, you know about Nix. They were pikers compared to Trump. Dabblers, dilettantes. Enthusiasts, they just didn’t have the gape. He is a quantum leap in executive assholery.

20 corpses. This is a good number for a big-city mortuary, but a terrible one for a Walmart. Walmarts should have no corpses at all. The cops and firefighters carried ’em all out of the store, but for a little while there were 20 corpses in the Walmart. Bunch more got hurt. Guy with an AK-47 walked in and started shooting. Making 20 corpses in a very short amount of time is precisely what the AK-47 was designed for, and the weapon performed predictably.

And now the President flies out to console the bereaved. This is all the President can do, because the Constitution says everyone can have a machine gun, and so he throws himself into the role. Clinton was the master. He’d be crying before he got off Air Force One. Both Bushes were superb at standing over hospital beds. Remember Obama at Sandy Hook?

Not this prize of a mammal. No, Donny had his aides edit together a highlight reel of his visit to the hospital–hunching over the wounded in their beds, double-thumbs with a lineup of white nurses–and used it as a fundraising ad. Christ, what an asshole.

Thus: QED: Donald Trump is a stupid, racist asshole.

Modifications To The Definition of Racism, Summer 2019 Update

NOT RACIST: Telling four sitting Congresswomen, 75% of whom are native-born, to “go back to there they came from.”
RACIST: Asking Israel to stop doing its little psychodrama Holocaust cosplay with the Palestinians.

NOT RACIST: Providing “studies” that “prove” black people are more violent than white people, even though everyone was talking about baseball or something.
RACIST: Remembering that slavery was a thing.

NOT RACIST: Pointing out the good stuff that Hitler did.
RACIST: Calling someone a Nazi just because they’re wearing swastika armbands while marching through town chanting about the Jews.*

NOT RACIST: Being a racist.
RACIST: Noticing a racist.



*And, you know: not good things. It would be odd if a large group of people marched through town chanting “THE JEWS’ BELIEF THAT EDUCATION IS THE BEDROCK OF ALL SUCCESS IS ONE THAT SHOULD BE MORE WIDELY ADOPTED” but I wouldn’t be dismayed by the display. But that’s not the kind of thing that people chant when they march through town with Jews on their minds.

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