- A small, trusting dog being lured into an alley and beaten to death with a hammer.
- Endless loop of blackhead-poping TikToks.
- Cats.
- Freddie Krueger’s conception.
- My zombie father risen from the grave and blowing hobos.
- Billy Borstal, the Boy with the Mouth where his Asshole Should be, eating lobster bisque.
- Sausages made.
- Budd Dwyer press conference.
- Really cute toddler being hanged for a crime she did not commit.
- Unnecessary penile surgery sans anesthetic while Widespread Panic plays real loud in the background.
- Any random ten minutes of Joe Rogan’s podcast.
- My whole family massacred by Serbian paramilitary forces in a field outside Kostrići.
- The immolation of the Library of Alexandria.
- That fucking David Lynch thing with the fucking monkey.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: hillary clinton (Page 1 of 4)
“God, I hate white funerals.”
“Not, uhhhh, a lot of conflict. No one gets drunk, throws herself into the casket. Subdued folks.”
“How much longer is this, anyway? I got a basketball arena full of wine-drunk ladies waiting for me.”
“Little bit longer. Just George W.’s eulogy and then they fly the body to Houston.”
“How many places are they burying this man? Is this a horcrux thing?”
“No idea. Michelle?”
“Mm?”
“He keeping his hands to himself?”
“For the most part.”
“I can hear Hillary grinding her teeth from here.”
“She is not in a healthy headspace right now. How you doing?”
“Michelle, I am, uhhhh, not gonna lie to you: popped a xanax on the ride over.”
“Not a terrible idea. Holy shit, you’re kidding me.”
“What?”
“Is he snoring?”
…
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Tell Melania to elbow him in the fat.”
“Oh, don’t make me talk to her.”
“Barack Hussein Mohammad Mustafa Whiteyhater Obama, you get that cat-woman to wake Lumpy up. We are on camera.”
“Fine, okay. Um, Melania?”
“Da, Chocolate President?”
…
“Michelle, she called me–”
“I don’t care what she called you. Take care of this.”
“Everythin’ all raht down there?”
“We’re fine, Bill.”
“Yer thigh cold? Ah c’d rub it for yew.”
“All good on the thigh front, Bill. Barack?”
“Fine, fine. Melania?”
“Da?”
“Can you nudge the President, please? I think he’s resting his eyes a bit loudly.”
“He is sleep, da. Let him. He no say stupid thing vhen he sleep.”
“Melania–”
“Maybe he die in sleep. Ve can throw him in coffin vith other body.”
“Melania–”
“You kill him for me, Svarte Piet.”
“Do not call me Black Pete.”
“Is Christmas. You are Black Pete.”
“An’ then Daddy said, ’43, don’t tell Jeb, but you’re mah favorite. Tell Neil, though.’ Daddy made me promise to tell everyone that Neil was his worst son. An’, you know, I agree. Neil ain’t even smart enough to be the Fredo. More like a family pet or beloved servant, one who was mistakenly granted access to banks and their workins’.
“An’ then he said, ‘I won my war, you pussy,’ an’ I said, ‘Yeah, but I won my reelection,’ an’ I called him a word that means ‘homo’ but not ‘homo.’ The stronger variation. He tried to karate chop me, but he was very weak at this point an’ I was able to get him in a naked rear choke.
“It should be noted that sev’ral generations of Bushes were in the hospital room while this was goin’ on.”
“Oh, thank God. He’s awake.”
“Michelle, no one has ever before thanked God that that man was awake.”
“Weird year. Is someone doing Darth Vader impression?”
“That’s Cheney.”
“Ah.”
“Bobby Ace! How yew doin’, hoss?”
“Doing well, Mr. President.”
“Lemme ask yew a question, Bob.”
“All right.”
“Where’s the puss?”
“Uh, sir, your wife is right there.”
“Oh, man, it’s okay. Me an’ Hill got an arrangement.”
“Yeah? What’s that, sir?”
“I do whatever the hell I want all the time, and she faces the consequences.”
“Ah.”
“Billy here?”
“You know our drummer?”
“Shit, yeah. Me an’ Big Bad Bill got a common interest.”
“Skank?”
“Skank, yeah. That boy is a hound. Love Billy the K. Good people. You know that whole ‘triangulating’ bullshit we was all on about?”
“Sure.”
“Billy came up with that. ‘Cept it wasn’t ’bout no politics.”
“Was it about skank?”
“It was, it was. Skank got three usable holes, y’know.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Hey, Bill. Bobby! So nice to see you again.”
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Clinton.”
“Can I trouble you for a quick favor?”
“I already donated to your foundation.”
“Not that. You got the Time Sheath?”
“Maybe. Why?”
“I just want to peek ahead a couple decades. See how it all turns out.”
“You don’t want that.”
“Do you have the Time Sheath or not?”
“Nope.”
WHITE HOUSE – MIDNIGHT, CHRISTMAS EVE
“What should I call Jake Tapper, who is such a liar and probably a fruit and tells lies about me and Russia, which doesn’t exist and I didn’t do? I got it, I got it. Let’s go simple. Jake Tapper: Impotent? Many people are saying Floppy Jake can’t get it Up. Great tweet, the best tweet. Now I hit send and I’ll go to sleep the greatest president America has ever seen.
SHWAZOOM!
“What was that? General Kelly? Where’s my general? General? Melania? Donald, Jr.? Mooch? Anyone?”
CLINK CLINK CLINK
“Donald Trump!”
“That’s Mr. President to you.”
“Donald! You know me, Donald! I was once like you! Venal, vain, and vengeful! I lied, cheated, and stole! I was cruel and selfish and evil, and now I wear these chains I forged in life!”
CLINK CLINK
“Who are you? I can’t see you, even though I have probably the best vision of anyone you know. Great, great vision. Step forward so I can see you.”
“It is I, Roy Cohn!”
“Step back!”
“Donald, I don’t–”
“Keep your Ghost AIDS on that side of the room.”
“Jesus, really?”
“President can’t have Ghost AIDS. People look up to me–children, mostly, but also all the adults–and I can’t have Ghost AIDS on teevee. Looks terrible. Ghost AIDS does not make America great again.”
“You’re just as shitty as I remember.”
“Point to all the things in the room you’ve touched.”
“Fuck you, Don.”
“Mr. President.”
“Listen: you’re in for a long night. I was gonna warn you more specifically, but fuck you.”
SHWAZOOM!
“That was fake news. Didn’t happen. Complete fiction and a witch hunt. Okay, sleepy-time. Need to rest up. Big day tomorrow. Fox and Friends is talking about me, which is why their ratings are so high. Trump gets the best ratings. No ghosts, no ghosts.”
OLD-TIMEY MUSIC NOISE
“What is that? This shithole makes so many noises at night. I wish I was back at Trump Tower in my luxurious penthouse apartment on the 213th floor.”
“Trump!”
“Who’s there? Do you have Ghost AIDS, too?”
“No, I…what the hell are Ghost AIDS?”
“Terrible, terrible disease. Possibly invented by Obama, people are saying Obama made Ghost Aids in between basketball games and rap concerts. He made it in his hut.”
“Wow.”
“You look like Abraham Lincoln.”
“I am Abraham Lincoln. I’m the Ghost of Presidents Past.”
“Many, many people have said I’m a better president than you, Abe. I gotta be honest. Lots of people are saying it. Not the media, which is very unfair to me and never reports on how much better than you I am. Civil War. That’s on you, Abe. The entire Trump presidency: no Civil Wars, not at all. That’s winning. Someone’s gotta win and someone’s gotta lose, and Trump’s a winner.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“And I don’t like your hat. Not a great hat. Why didn’t you put a motto on it?”
“Huh?”
“I believe Hillary Clinton had you assassinated. Maybe that’s why she had those 33,000 e-mails deleted, because they had proof of her evil time traveling.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Also, Abe, gotta say: Melania is much better-looking than Mary Todd. Not a looker, Mary Todd.”
“I’m outta here.”
SHWAZOOM!
“Weak president. Only on the five! No one uses fives anymore, a very weak bill. Maybe I should be on the money. Gary? Gary Cohn? Where’s my Money Jew? Gary?”
WHITE HOUSE – RESIDENCE BATHROOM (SPECTRAL PLANE)
“Okay, your turn.”
“Nope. Fuck this.”
“Hillary, get in there.”
“Not a shot, Abe.”
“You’re supposed to be representing what could have been.”
“I offered the world myself, and it chose Darth Diarrhea. Hilly is dunzo.”
“There’s three ghosts. That’s how this bit works.”
“Abe, suck my popular-vote-winning dick.”
“Oh, fine. Ghost of Presidents Future?”
UNHOLY SCREAM OF THE ABYSS
“What do you mean, ‘Fuck him?’ Get in there and show him he can mend his ways!”
TERRIBLE CRY OF THE DAMNED
“It is a cool hat, and I don’t know why everyone is ganging up on me.”
“It’s a stupid hat, Abe.”
“Oh, fuck you, Hillary.”
WHITE HOUSE – CHRISTMAS MORNING
“I’m awake! I’m awake and the greatest president that’s ever lived. Those must have been the worst dreams in the history of Christmas, which I allowed America to celebrate again.”
WINDOW BEING THROWN OPEN NOISE
“You! Little boy! Little boy who is somehow wandering around the White House grounds!”
“It’s me, dad. Donald, Jr.”
“Little boy! Is the Burger King still doing breakfast?”
“I think so.”
“Then go buy me the biggest french toast stick in the store, and if you’re back in a half-hour, I’ll give you a pardon.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Okay, great, wonderful. French toast sticks. And God bless us, but only the Christian God, who is Jesus and the best and only God, everyone. Great, okay, whatever.”
- The reason Debbie Wasserman-Schultz’ hair looks like that is because she gets hit, on average, by six bolts of lightning a week.
- The pantsuits are sentient.
- Entire chapter about different foods James Carville can fit into his mouth whole, such as personal pizzas, and medium-sized game bird; Carville can also wrap his lips around the bottom of a two-liter bottle of Dr. Pepper. (He will only do the trick with Dr. Pepper.)
- Brazile paid for law school mud-wrestling under the name Jerri Mander.
- Hillary more than occasionally farts with enough force to blow out her pantyhose.
- The DNC employs around a dozen consultants whose sole portfolio is becoming outraged at what the cafeteria is serving for lunch.
- Clinton campaign spent almost $2 million on Bill’s fuckmobiles. (Fuckplane, fuckboat, fuckdirigible, etc.)
- Bernie Sanders briefly employed The Mooch in 2015.
- To say the DNC has their dicks in their hands would be a compliment, as it would imply they had a grasp of something.
- Donna Brazile saw the corruption, the cancer at the heart of the Democratic Party, and railed against it as hard as she could without actually doing anything and then helped Hillary cheat at the debates.
The Heel Turn
- Terrible (who is either retired or retiring) person assesses the current situation with honesty and sanity.
- Liberals and journalists over-praise terrible person.
- Other liberals and journalists attack first group with tweets that begin “Let’s not forget…”
- Terrible person is called a cuck.
- President quietly signs Executive Order allowing lead manufacturers to directly inject children with their products.
The Masque of Red Death
- Person respected and/or feared man is revealed to be a pussy and/or dickgrabber.
- Hundreds come forward to affirm the grabbing of pussy/dick.
- Business ties are severed.
- Businesses that are slow to sever ties get denounced.
- Hillary Clinton is blamed.
The Silent But Deadly
- Mother Jones or ProPublica publish an extensively reported and sourced article detailing horrible allegations.
- Absolutely nothing happens.
The Time To Make The Donuts
- President fires off seven or eight idiot tweets containing nine or ten wild accusations and at least one spelling error.
- Politico, the Daily Beast, the Times, the Post, and Vanity Fair all publish detailed accounts of the tweets and how they were accompanied by a temper tantrum.
- New York magazine publishes an oral history of the tweets.
- Everyone drinks themselves to sleep.
- Get up and do it again.
Hillary Clinton was sworn in as the 45th President of the United States on January 20th, 2017. Her inauguration ceremony was attended by a sizable amount of people; neither Clinton nor her press secretary made any comment on the size of the crowd whatsoever except general positive pleasantries. The new president gave a speech that did not include the word “carnage,” and then a black guy talked about Jesus and then a white guy talked about Jesus and then Stevie Wonder sang. POTUS and Bill attended several parties that evening, and everyone forgot about the whole affair the next day.
The House Oversight Committee opened an investigation into President Clinton on January 21st, but the largest world-wide protest in history did not take place.
President Clinton began her work the next day; there were still many positions to fill in the White House, but a smooth and professional transition had eased her way into the job, as did her three decades of experience. She had the option of taking several days to accuse photographs of lying through misspelled tweets in the middle of the night, but chose not to do so.
The first week of any presidency is a trying one. President Clinton spoke on the phone with all of America’s allies without telling any of them to go fuck themselves, or hanging up on them. POTUS made plans to visit several foreign nations, and not one of those nations’ legislative bodies took a vote to say that she couldn’t come. On each day, the president worked well past 6:30 pm.
Another important task of any incoming president is choosing a cabinet. Mrs. Clinton chose several responsible and serious people to helm the executive agencies, plus a few party bigwigs getting their payoff, and a couple of the usual Wall Street assholes. She did not pick a woman who doesn’t believe in public schools, a man who thinks the Energy Department should be abolished, and a man too racist for the Republicans in the 80’s to lead the Departments of Education, Energy, and Justice. (Respectively.)
President Clinton did not go to the Hill and, in a private meeting with lawmakers, repeatedly use an ethnic slur to describe a sitting United States Senator. Nor did she tweet that another sitting Senator was a crybaby. Nor did she taunt movie stars who happen to be former governors, also by tweet. President Clinton’s Twitter feed has, if we’re being honest, been exceedingly boring.
On the 22nd day of her presidency, North Korea tested a new generation of ballistic missile. President Clinton did not receive the news at her country club, nor did she receive the news at a table in the middle of a ballroom filled with unvetted foreigners at her country club, nor did she receive the news with a Russian spy standing over her shoulder pointing an unsecured cell phone at the documents at a table in the middle of a ballroom filled with unvetted foreigners at her country club.
An unremarkable 24 days, filled with the usual squabbling and gridlock: life as usual, and no one walked around all day with his stomach on fire, terrified of what some maniac and his monsters will do next.
CELL PHONE NOISE
CELL PHONE NOISE
“What?”
“Please hold for the President.”
“Oh, what now? An hour, please. Just an hour. Give me one hour without your hectoring, haranguing, holier-than thou tone.”
“You forgot ‘haughty.’Where are ya, Hillary?
“Plane back to New York with Bill.”
“Philly, huh?”
“It was great. Thank you, Mr. President. Such a high note to end the campaign on.”
“Ah! Funny you should use those words. You got the teevee on, Hill?”
“My eyes hurt.”
“My head hurts. Turn on CNN.”
“You gotta be shitting me.”
“What the fuck, Hillary? Just, just: what the fuck? I am an educated and eloquent man, dammit, and all I have left for you is ‘what the fuck?’ You have reduced me, Hillary, you decade-long albatross around my neck.”
“Why is she a Nazi?”
“Good question! That is a good fucking question, Hill! Why is Lady Gaga dressed as a Nazi?”
“Hail Mary appeal to Trump voters?”
“Yeah, jokes. Tell jokes right now. Look at the screen again.”
“Still laughing, Hillary?”
“Goddammit. ”
“The only way this could be worse is if ‘stronger’ were in German. And who chose that shade of blue? Jesus, I have to do everything.”
“Hill, why is Madonna dressed like a Nazi?”
“Read your book, Bill. Mr President, I’ll make a call.”
“No, no. I’ll do it. If you handle it, she’s liable to wind up wearing something worse.”
“What’s worse than a Nazi uniform?”
“If anyone could figure it out, it’s you. I’ll take care of–”
A BALALAIKA RINGING OUT
…
“Hill, I’ll call you back. Y’know what? I’ll won’t return this call, but we’ll pick it up when I call you for the next disaster in an hour.”
“Looking forward to it, Mr. Presi–”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES DO NOT DO THAT ANY MORE
“How’d you get in here?”
“I am Russian bear. Bear is very sneaky.”
“No, it’s not. Bears make a ton of noise.”
“Maybe obnoxious Yankee bear. Russian bear silent.”
“Nonsense. Wanna know what’s silent? Eagle. No sound at all.”
“No. You are thinking of owl.”
“Vladimir, I don’t have time to argue about the relative volume of woodland creatures. I’ve got an election to take care of.”
“Da. Me, too.”
“I’m gonna quote from a great American right now, and say that if I see you peek your little head up over there in the fucking slightest today, then we’re gonna have a problem.”
“Maybe we already have problem.”
“You’re the one with the problem.”
“No problem. You are problem.”
“Everyone needs to stop it with that bit. Listen, gulag-face: keep your greasy Cossack mitts out of the election. Last warning.”
“What in it for me?”
…
“What?”
“Make me offer.”
“The United States does not negotiate with terrorists.”
“Hamilton tickets.”
“Done.”
“Wow, I didn’t even know that Nigeria had a royal family.”
INCOMING FACETIME REQUEST
“Oh, can’t I just play Candy Crush in peace like all the other ladies my age?”
“Please hold for the President.”
“It’s FaceTime. There’s no holding.”
“Hillary, look at me.”
“Look at me, Hillary. Look at this face, damn you. If you were able to pick up on human social cues and facial expressions, you would recognize this face.”
“Hungry?”
“You’re guessing.”
“Melancholy?”
“Stop it.”
“Jejune?”
…
“Why are you like this?”
“If I had received a memo on your facial expression, then I would have had time to digest it and test out a number of reactions.”
“Why would I send you a memo? I’ll just send it straight to Putin and cut out the middleman.”
“I’m doing much better with the computer.”
“The fact that you call it ‘the computer’ detracts from your assertion.”
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
“Is that AOL? MotherFUCKER!”
“That’s where my e-mails are!”
“Your e-mails are in the Kremlin, woman. Stick to pad and paper. Oh: what the hell did you to Bon Jovi? He called me crying.”
“Mama like.”
“Jesus. Try to keep your hands off Bruce.”
“No promises. We got anyone else in the tank? Gotta keep the momentum going.”
“Maybe. I’ll call you back.”
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
“Oh, the IRS sent me something.”
“No, they didn’t! Don’t open that!”
…
“Mr. President, let me call you back.”
“Computer being held hostage again?”
“This keeps happening!”
“We know.”
“You got somebody?”
“Maybe. I’ll call you back. Try not to set anything on fire.”
…
“Couple songs, c’mon.”
“No.”
“One song.”
“No.”
“Speech?”
“No.”
“Hold me, Bon Jovi.”
“You can call me Jon, Secretary Clinton.”
“And you can call me anything you want, Bon Jovi.”
“Where’s your left hand?”
“Where mama wants it to be.”
“Ma’am, I’m a married man.”
“Marriage means so many things to so many people. Just ask Bill. You still have those leather pants you used to wear?”
“Mrs. Clinton.”
“I’m a COWboy…”
“Oh, please don’t do this.”
“–on a STEE-uhl horse I ride.”
“I’m begging you.”
“And I’m wanted–”
…
“And I’m wanted–”
…
“If you don’t sing with me, I’ll have you buried next to Vince Foster.”
“Waaanted.”
“Dead or aliiiiive. I love you, Bon Jovi.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
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