Cellino or Barnes, whichever one didn’t die in a plane crash.
My Cousin Skinny, Staten Island’s third-best My Cousin Vinny impersonator who also teaches kids about making healthy food choices.
Literally whoever picks up the phone; I’m gonna dial numbers at random until someone picks up, and that person is gonna be lead counsel for the President of the United States in his (second) impeachment trial.
Jared.
The cyber.
Cyber-Jared. (Tucked away in the Space Force budget was a line item for “Robot: Awesome” and $14 billion later, Cyber-Jared has killed 21 bus drivers. Luckily, President Biden has issued an Executive Order demanding that Cyber-Jared “cut the crap, roll up his sleeves, and get to work.” That should do it.)
Mr. Jiggs.
Cocaine Mitch’s Chinawife.
The Mooch. (Please, God. You’ve taken so much from me this year, and I ask so little in return. Please let The Mooch represent Basketball Head at the Impeachment. Please let The Mooch put the whole system on trial. Give me this one, O Lord.)
The rotting corpse of that cop who got beaten to death.
Something that needs to be summoned via cursed puzzle box.
Zombie William Jennings Bryan.
A large man, possibly named Phil, who responds to the accusations by hucking empty Coke bottles at Pat Leahy.
Family group chat. (Two texts marked 9/26/12: “Love you, dad” from Junior. One minute later, Trump responds “I love you, too, Ivanka.” There are no further entries in the chat.)
MoviePass.
Scroll through his photos. (1,224 shots of him giving the thumbs up with various fuckwits.)
That one app no one can identify that won’t open and blinks green every time he enters the Oval Office.
“Against this committee’s better judgement, and in the vain hope that if we just let you idiots bray for a while you’ll tire yourselves out, we will continue with the testimony of Melissa Carone. Miss Carone, you say that you worked for Dominion Voting Systems.”
“Yeah, I worked that shit. I put my thing down, flipped it, and reversed it.”
“Oh, great. You’re in the same mood as when we took a break.”
“Your head looks like a penis. And not a good penis. There are good penises! But not your head.”
“Knock that off.”
“I bet your penis-head is responsible at least 50,000 fake votes.”
“How?”
“Treachery!”
“Ma’am, I’m gonna plow through. You say you worked for Dominion, but have produced no evidence of that assertion.”
“Because I worked under the table. That company is super-shady, y’all.”
“So you worked for the company…secretly?”
“Yuh-huh.”
“Why?”
“Ask Affy David.”
“Who?”
“I talked to him about everything. Affy David. And I signed something.”
…
“Are you referring to an affidavit?”
“No, I don’t like foreign food.”
“Ma’am–”
“I’m gonna stick my head all the way in my purse for a sec. Do not speculate. It’s just a thing I do.”
LOONEY-BIRD DIVING INTO HER POCKETBOOK AND GUZZLING FROM A FLASK NOISE
“Mr. Giuliani, you used to be the Mayor of New York City, right?”
“I was.”
“Thought so.”
WACKADOODLE REEMERGING FROM HER HANDBAG NOISE
“I’m back! What was Fidel Castro up to while I was gone?”
“Nothing. He died years ago.”
“That’s what they want you to think. Not-President Hussein Obama keeps him alive with transfusions of communist blood.”
“No.”
“That’s why blood’s red.”
“Nope.”
“Somewhere from 3 to 85 million votes were illegally placed by Richard Simmons.”
“How did he become a part of this?”
“It’s all a part of this! Representative Jermajesty–”
“Johnson.”
“–you must reveal the Codex of Publius!”
“The what now?”
“The names! The names have been scrivened!”
“Scrivened?”
“The Democronomicon!”
…
…
…
“Are you talking about the poll book?”
“Yes, but I’m not being common about it.”
“Ma’am, the poll book is a matter of public record and available for any citizen to view.”
“You’ve clearly enchanted it with a Glamour Spell.”
“Please leave the occult out of this. People are already worked up enough without bringing dark magicks into it.”
“Representative Jamband–”
“Johnson. It’s one of the easiest names there is.”
“–I follow the truth. If the truth goes to, like, a forest then I go to a forest. That’s who I am. I put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“Not enough! Hey, Penis-head, quick question.”
“Johnson. Hell, call me Steve.”
“Just between you and me…you know a guy?”
“Wha?”
“Mama’s had a bit too much purse and needs to put some pocket on top of it.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Never been more serious. Don’t you have a cool nephew or something?”
“I’m just gonna pretend I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”
Rod Blagojevich. (Ruled illegal as the former Governor’s name was spelled four different ways within the space of 800 words.)
Roger Stone.
Oliver Stone.
Stone Phillips.
Magneto. (“Did nothing wrong, and Adelson really wants it. Shelly’s big on Magneto.”)
Kodak Black. (“Did nothing wrong, and Kim Kardashian really wants it. She knows blacks! Kim might know blacks better than blacks know blacks. So when Kim says, ‘Mr. President, please set Kodak Black free because he’s the best type of black,’ then I listen. Kim’s a killer, real killer. Knows blacks!”)
The Noid.
Bernhard Goetz.
Edward Snowden.
Albino Whatshisname. (While President Trump’s aides were fairly certain that he was here referring to Julian Assange, they also prepared letters of clemency for Edgar and Johnny Winter.)
Cosby.
Hillary Clinton. (Trick pardon! Written in invisible ink under the pardon is a full confession of Hillary’s many, many crimes, and so when she signs it: WE GOT HER! Hillary has yet to call back, but when she does: BOOM. It’s a good plan.)
The ronus.
Brundlefly.
All of his children except Junior. (“I’m gonna let Don Junior sweat a little. Just a little. Funny.”)
This morning, while updating the country–the greatest country in the world, by the way–about President Trump’s incredible recovery from Covid-19, I misspoke several times. I also stammered, stuttered, fumfered, straight-up used the wrong word words a couple times, and also was misquoted by the lying media which is also fake.
President Trump did not test positive for the virus 72 hours ago, instead he tested positive for the virus “72 hours” ago. “72 hours” is a medical term we use to mean “sometime before now.” For those doubting me, I advise that they go back and watch the briefing we gave, and see what clean lab coats we were wearing. And scrubs! Don’t forget the scrubs.
And “48 hours ago” isn’t the same as “two days ago.” Two days ago starts at 25 hours ago. There’s a lot of wiggle room in between “48 hours” and “two days.” Get that straight, fake news.
Similarly, I made a misstatement when relaying news of President Trump’s oxygen intake. What I should have said was, “Of course President Trump is on oxygen! We’re all on oxygen! That’s what we breathe, silly!” I should’ve said that, but I didn’t. It should also be noted that President Trump breathes better than probably anyone who’s ever breathed before. Guy’s got a set of lungs on him.
As to what medicines the President has been on: We have administered remymartin…remylebeau…remsleep…you know what I’m talking about. The New Hotness. We gave the President eight grams of the New Hotness by IV push, and he seemed to enjoy that. The President was also administered an off-label cocktail I like to call a Goody-Goody Gumdrop. There’s a bunch of stuff in that needle, and it’ll put some lead in your pencil. The President really enjoyed that. We had to wrestle him back into bed.
At this point, we cannot rule out the possibility that the President was deliberately infected by child-eating Satanists, or Joe Biden’s crackhead kid. Everything’s still on the operating table.
WHEREAS these radical leftists–who are so left you can’t believe, just way over there–want to defund Mt. Rushmore and let Mexicans eat the suburbs, Donald J. Trump stands for America and that’s what billions of people voted for in 2016, and will again in 2020, and maybe a couple more times after that, who knows, anything can happen.
WHEREAS nine out of ten teachers are commies.
WHEREAS they hate America, and they want to teach your children to hate America, too. They go into the classrooms with dartboards. There’s a map of America on the board. They get the children, the beautiful children, to throw the darts at America, which is also so beautiful. Everyone is talking about dartboards and children and America.
WHEREAS the kids have to learn about Washington and Lincoln and Churchill and our great generals, and not that America is so miserable and sad and unfair and racist and sexist. If America is racist and sexist, how does the WNBA exist?
WHEREAS we need to celebrate the greatness of America, which far exceeds any other country’s greatness by a thousand. By at least a thousand, and the children need to learn this. And they need to stand up for the Pledge of Allegiance. I’m gonna do another Executive Order to cut off federal funding for any school that sits for the Pledge.
WHEREAS maybe instead of just saying the Pledge once in the morning, they do it before each class?
WHEREAS the Revolution, and then whatever, and then the Civil War, and then World War Two, and you’ll notice that America was the winner in every conflict. America has never lost a war. Even countries that are really good at war lose one or two, but not us. That’s history. That’s what we should be teaching the children, about heroes. Some woman not wanting to give up her seat on a bus is not a hero. If she was a hero, she would have owned a car.
WHEREAS Noam Chomsky is fake news.
WHEREAS they want to fill in your swimming pools and set your patios on fire. They want to take America and rip out her guts. They want to stab God. They want to get ahold of your children. Some of them will be eaten, but maybe they’re the lucky ones. The rest will be indoctrinated by nefarious forces, some of the most nefarious you could imagine, working behind the scenes. These are the shadow people.
WHEREAS no other President had the strength to confront and defeat the shadow people.
WHEREAS Donald Trump will defend the children, who need to realize how spectacular America is, and not constantly hear all this depressing crap about slavery and whatever.
WHEREAS do I need to sign this? I do? Just print it out and bring it to me. Junior, shut the fuck up. You don’t clean up my words. Those are Presidential words, and you’re going to clean them up? I wouldn’t trust you to clean up a gas station bathroom. Christ, I want my name back. Print it out! PRINT IT OUT!”
Slapdicks and scrimpthoughts, Enthusiasts. Always recall this when dealing with the Pundit Class. They see a shiny object, and they fuck the shiny object. Today, that which glitters but is not gold is the comparison between Watergate and All The Bullshit This Maniacal Shithead Has Pulled. (Hereafter known as ATBTMSHP.) The analogy is, as one would expect, facile to the point of fallacious, and shoddily-constructed.
I prove my argument thusly:
IT’S EVERY FUCKING DAY WITH THIS GUY Watergate was just one crime. (Technically, it was several. Breaking & Entering and Wiretapping are separate offenses. What I’m saying is that all the individual felonies were parts of an overarching scheme.) Bunch of schmucks broke into an office. Whereas every day, Basketball Head commits at least four impeachable offenses.
THE CHEEKINESSÂ Watergate was adorable, admit it. Idiots in black turtlenecks and ski caps crouch-sneaking into darkened offices. Security guards patrolling the halls with flashlights. Scotch tape on the latch to keep the door from locking. Cops are called, and it’s 1972 so the cops have mustaches and .38 service revolvers. I bet they said “Get your hands up!” Even better, this initial burst of criminality had ramifications of pure delight: meetings in shadowy parking lots; envelopes stuffed with hundos; dramatic revelations during televised hearings, code names. CODE NAMES!
Like I said: adorable.
But none of ATBTMSHP has been even cute. Where’s the panache in bribing the President of Ukraine for dirt on your political rivals? Funneling money to one’s own properties? Pedestrian, don’t you think? Common.
We don’t go to the moon anymore.
WATERGATE, NOT BOUNTYGATEÂ Russkies didn’t pay for American scalps when Richard Fucking Nixon was in charge. There was respect, by God.
RED LIGHT BLUESÂ This latest spate of “Is Nixon like Turnip” takes come because the Pundit Class saw “Bob Woodward + Tapes” and went ass-over-teakettle in a thousand uncontextual words. The tapes in consideration are not related, save by both featuring a sitting President. There is an chasmic difference between private recordings obtained using hidden microphones that the Supreme Court had to force Nixon to turn over, and Trump just ring-a-dinging Bobby Dubs in the middle of the night all hopped up on Fox News and Filet-O-Fish to confess crimes.
Say what you will about Richard Nixon, but the man never called up a reporter at the Washington Post and said, “I did it.”
THE KUSHNER FACTORÂ Nixon wouldn’t have stood for Prince Milkdick. Nixon would have had Haldeman and Ehrlichman kick him half-to-death in the Oval Office. “Keep the bleeding internal, boys,” Nixon would say. “He has to walk out of here.” They’d stomp his kidneys with the heels of their well-laced broughams. Good boys, H & E. Good listeners, and loyal.
SHAME AND ITS BENEFITSÂ Nixon was smart enough to try covering up his crimes. That’s basic self-preservation. Whereas Trump, I remind you once again, called Bob Woodward 18 times for the sole purpose of admitting to shit.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Bob Woodward speaking.”
“Bob, it’s your favorite President. I’ve done crime.”
“I’ll be recording this.”
“Super. Record my crimes.”
And so on. That’s what the doofus did.
Actually, let’s have a thought experiment. Nixon was a savvy political operator, so he’d naturally know better than to call up a journalist and confess to impeachable offenses, but what about you? You’re no grizzled gladhander. You’re just some spaz. But what if–via some sort of topsy-turvydom–you were tomorrow morning to wake up in the Residence of the White House? What if you–dimbulb that you are–magically became the President?
You’d know better than to midnight-dial Bob Woodward and start spilling your guts, wouldn’t you? Or, failing that instinct, perhaps you’d have installed a staff that would talk you out of doing such a thing. Or maybe you’d call him once or twice. But not 18 times.
SPELLING BEEÂ Nixon would ravage Trump in a spelling bee. It would be brutal.
There is no evidence to suggest that Joe Biden is part of the Yakuza.
Saying “Anoroc!” three times into a mirror has not been proven to cure COVID19.
Speaking of which, the American people should not be “lucky that they’re not dealing with COVID20 or 21;” these diseases do not exist.
Trump Tower is not now, nor has it ever been, one of Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
President Trump did not “secretly manage the NY Giants” for any length of time.
Donald Junior is not a “strong boy,” nor is he a “good boy,” nor is he “such a good, good boy.”
The Constitution does not grant anyone the power to “turn Chicago into a giant prison like in Escape From New York.”
Cacti do not contain milk.
Nancy Pelosi was born and raised in Baltimore, not “belched from a stygian bog thick with foul magicks.”
There is no mechanism by which the President can add or subtract elements from the Periodic Table.
President Trump has ten grandchildren, not seven-and-a-half.
While former NFL great Herschel Walker has a solid reputation among his peers, he cannot rightly be called “the most respected Black of all.”
The language of Portuguese is not “just mumbled Spanish.”
Kamala Harris has never even been questioned in relation to a bank robbery, let alone served twelve years at Pelican Bay for knocking over a string of Wells Fargos in the San Jose area.
The Democratic platform contains no reference to “holding your white daughters down and shooting them up with dirty drugs.”
There is no such thing as a Reverse Pardon.
Iguanas and chameleons are completely different animals.
The Caesar salad was not named after Cesar Romero.
Kimberly Guilfoyle just chewed through an electrical conduit…and she’s fine. Yeah, I know it should’ve killed her. But she’s fine. Stronger, maybe.
I need that graphic of Joe Biden eating a child now.
Shit, that couple from St. Louis just saw Tim Scott and started waving their pistols around.
Due to Cease & Desist orders, our music selection is limited to Kid Rock or…Kid Rock’s later albums.
No, we can’t change the location of the Convention to Mar-a-lago, Eric. Why not? Because it’s Night Two already.
I don’t care if the conditions of his bail permit it, Steve Bannon does not get a speaking slot.
Do you smell ozone?
We need a CD copy of AC/DC’s Back in Black to Don Jr’s dressing room, please.
Legal has a problem with the graphic of Joe Biden eating children. No, I don’t think it matters what race the child is; it’s the whole concept they don’t like.
Jon Voight won’t stop slapping everyone who’s not in the Trump family.
Okay, I don’t know who put on Tomorrow Belongs To Me, but it’s not funny. Let’s be professional, people.
Legal also says we’re not allowed to put a tattoo on Biden’s face that reads “I H8 WHITES.”
We’re not executing any MS13 members. Was that ever part of the plan? Really?
The guy who was doing the camerawork for the Boaters 4 Trump regatta dropped his phone in the Intercoastal, and we’re gonna have to punt on that one.
Where did all these drug dealers come from? It looks like a Disco Biscuits show in here.
Well, run down to McDonald’s and get more Filet-O-Fishes, then.
Riiiiight. “Tiffany” Trump. A likely story. The President only has one daughter, and her name is Ivanka. Get out of here before I call the cops.
We can’t set the zoo on fire. I don’t care if President Trump wants to hear what that sounds like. It’s just not happening.
You dosed Nikki Haley? I dosed Nikki Haley. Jesus, how many people dosed Nikki Haley? We should check on her.
Legal also says that the President cannot openly call for the murder of his enemies, especially by name. They were real serious about it, too.
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