- Frosted Flake.
- Owner’s manual to a 1983 Buick Skylark.
- That intern who stopped showing up.
- One perfect, fragile origami gorilla.
- All the dryer socks. (Y’know when you take your clothes out of the dryer and a sock is missing? It’s in John Bolton’s mustache. No one can precisely explain it, but the scientists at CERN are pretty sure it has something to do with quantum entanglement and fabric softener.)
- Peanut shells.
- Allen wrench, but not the size he needed
- A copy of tomorrow’s newspaper, which John Bolton uses to aid strangers and prevent disasters.
- Crumb of gorgonzola cheese shaped like Joe Garagiola.
- Booger. (Not from his nose. Booger from Revenge of the Nerds.)
- Another mustache, smaller but otherwise identical in every way.
- The Microverse, ruled by the dread Baron Karza.
- A faded junkie nurse.
- Lots of balloon animals, for some reason.
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: john bolton
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Wha? Ah, fuck, I’m part of this bullshit again? I thought Katy Tur was doing this role.”
…
“Hello?”
“You’re on the livewire with THE BOLT, baby!”
“Nobody calls you that, John.”
“They should! Cuz I’m tossing lightning like I’m Thor. You see what I did yesterday? I got the whole Hill ducking for cover.”
“You’re referring to the incredibly well-timed leak of your book?”
“Gosh, was it?”
“Oh, can it.”
“Maggie, ask me the secret of my success.”
“What’s the–”
“Timing.”
“–secret of your success? That joke’s a classic.”
“See, what I just did was the political equivalent of dropping a bowling ball off a freeway overpass. No matter when you release the ball, chaos is gonna ensue, but if you time it juuuuuust right, you can kill dozens of people. It’s a finesse thing.”
“I wish you hadn’t used that analogy.”
“D.C. is a kill-or-be-killed town, Mag. That’s why I have I grew Ol’ Faithful. I keep a flick-knife in there.”
“You call your mustache Ol’ Faithful?”
“He’s hot and reliable.”
“So, who’d you get to leak it? Publisher? National Security Council? White House?”
“None of the above. I went old school. Put on a trenchcoat and fedora, and met ’em in a dark parking garage. I lit a cigarette, did a spooky voice, said a bunch of real vague shit. It was great. I felt young again, like I was 45.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Got the juices flowing. Maggie, I am shining with sweat and primed for the pit.”
“Ew. Just how many bullets are in this book?”
“Remember the scene in Predator where Arnold and everybody just shoots into the jungle like maniacs?”
“Yes.”
“That many bullets. Each page of my book contains a high crime and/or misdemeanor committed by Blubbering Fucktits.”
“Is that what you call President Trump?”
“Not in the book. I write in a professional manner. And all of it is backed up by evidence. Recordings, texts, e-mails, phone logs, memos, and my contemporaneous notes. There wasn’t this much evidence on John Wayne Gacy, and they dug teenage bodies up out of his backyard.”
“And you write that the President directly informed you that the Ukraine aid package was being held up because of the Biden thing?”
“I remember it like it was yesterday. I walked into the Oval Office and it’s Map Time.”
“What?”
“Map Time. That’s where Pompeo got that blank map from. Map Time. You’d bring the Shitmonger a blank map, and he’d guess the countries. He’d stab one of those itty bitty nubs of his at Asia and say ‘Oogieboogiestan,’ and Pompeo would tell him he’s right and feed him a mini-Twix.”
“Mini-Twix?”
“Like you get on Halloween.”
“Ah.”
“Then he liked to look at the election map from 2016. Y’know the one that’s all red and looks impressive unless you’ve been educated beyond the third grade?”
“I do know it.”
“He loves that fucking thing. One time, I heard him yelling at Junior, ‘Why can’t you be more like Map?'”
“He just calls it ‘Map?'”
“Yeah. Like that’s its name. He talks to it sometimes Other times, he wads it up in a ball and throws it real hard at Mike Pence. You know how he is.”
“I do know that.”
“Anyway, he gets through with Map Time and tells me that he’s gonna freeze the aid to Ukraine until they announce an investigation into Hunter Biden. I mean, he said it in a more roundabout way. Plus he got off on a tangent about how lakes were just lazy rivers. You know how he talks.”
“We all know that. How did you respond?”
“In a Tex Averyesque fashion, Maggie. Jaw dropped to the floor, eyeballs leapt out of my skull, feet started running towards the door without the rest of me: all that cartoon crap.”
“You have a terrible poker face.”
“I don’t play poker. I enjoy strip backgammon. And war.”
“The card game?”
“No. War.”
“Right.”
“Maggie, the lurching turdgobbler could’ve had my undying loyalty. I would’ve taken a bullet for him. All I wanted was one little war. He had the chance! Iran! We were RIGHT THERE! Generals blowing up, missiles launching, planes exploding: good times! We were theeeeere, man. And he goes limp. GOD! It was like when you’re about to cum but then you accidentally open your eyes and look at your wife.”
“I really didn’t miss these calls.”
“There’s so much more stuff in the book. Most of the material is geopolitical and bureaucratic in nature, but I did include some personal stories to lighten it up. Like the time the President made the entire cabinet vote for what the funniest word for black people was. It was an uncomfortable discussion. I mean, not for Ben Carson. He made most of the suggestions, and laughed the hardest. Something wrong with that guy.”
“Probably.”
“Shmoogie.”
“What now?”
“That was the word the President chose as funniest. And he’s not entirely wrong. Were in not for the unfortunate racial connotation, the word would be hilarious. You got that shm sound up front, and that’s always a winner. And oogie. Going by only the sound of the word: very funny.”
“It’s a racial slur, John.”
“Notwithstanding.”
“What else is in the book?”
“I got a picture of Stephen Miller with his Kuato exposed.”
“His what?”
“You remember the scene in Total Recall where the little mutant Baby Finster extrudes from the guy’s stomach? Stephen Miller has one of those. It emerges when there is no moon, and he takes it to Mexican restaurants to scare the staff.”
“Sounds right. Why are all of your references to Arnold Schwarzenegger movies?”
“Arnold Schwarzenegger movies are the only movies I watch.”
“That also sounds right.”
“Wanna come over and watch Eraser with me and Ol’ Faithful?”
“Was that the one with Vanessa Williams and the bad CG crocodile?”
“Yes.”
“Pass.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Wow, it’s been a while. I thought I got replaced by Katy Tur. Hello?”
“Habes, it’s The Bolt.”
“For the millionth time, John, I will not call you that.”
“Everybody calls me that.”
“They do not. I see you’ve come out of retirement.”
“Remember when Han Solo flew in out the sun to blow up the Death Star? Well, picture him with an awesome mustache.”
“What have you been doing since you left the White House?”
“Hot yoga, mostly. You gotta see how flexible I am. You wanna FaceTime?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m all sinew. Prepared for the upcoming battle. It’s gonna be like retard-rape: hard and sloppy.”
“Please don’t use that word. Or the other word. Y’know what? Don’t repeat any of that thought.”
“I’m surprised the sleazy fuckwit hasn’t started tweeting about me yet. Maybe he choked to death on a McNugget. Christ, he loved those things. He would make the Vice President stand across the room and toss ’em in his mouth. But, you know, he’d get bored quick because he’s a moron and start winging ’em at Pence’s crotch. Veep’d cry every damned time. It was disheartening.”
“Sure.”
“Can you even imagine Dubya doing that to Dick Cheney? No, of course not. There was professionalism. And also Dick would’ve punched him.”
“The man is not known for taking guff.”
“He’s a professional. Not like these lowlifes. The Oval Office was grabassier than a Munich bathhouse during Oktoberfest. When anyone’s in there, that is. Remember the story about John Henry, the steel-driving man? Remember how John Henry worked himself to death? Well, Trump’s the opposite of that.”
“I have heard this.”
“The man takes more breaks than Clyde Stubblefield. That’s a music nerd joke, Habes.”
“If you say so. What was going on with you and Rudy Giuliani?”
“Nothing was going on with us. Shit, I’d dive under desks to avoid talking to that drunken time bomb. I figured every conversation with him was a thousand bucks in lawyer’s fees later on. He may as well have sauntered around the West Wing knocking on doors and asking, ‘You up for some crimes?’ He was the human embodiment of a pinky ring. That’s how it is with those people, I guess.”
“That is incredibly racist.”
“I didn’t mean Italians, I meant New York Mayors. The vast majority have been scumbags and malfeasants.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s true.”
“Rudy would bring these greasy characters by the office. I mean ‘greasy’ in the literal sense: these men were visibly gooey. One of them cornered me and tried to sell me a truckload full of frozen waffles. He told me not to worry where it came from. I said, ‘Sir, we are in the Map Room.’ Not to mention all the counterfeit cigarettes.”
“The what?”
“Rudy and his mid-level goon buddies had some sort of scheme going on with Albania. They kept the cartons in the White House bowling alley.”
“That’s absurdly inappropriate.”
“There were also a toner pro scam being run out of the Press Office. That con where you send out ridiculously overpriced copy toner to companies and then try to get paid? Rudy and his comrades had one of those going, too.”
“Where did they keep–”
“Also in the bowling alley.”
“–the toner? Makes sense.”
“Trump would never go down there. He fears non-carpeted floors.”
“But you had nothing to do with any of this?”
“Habes, I was trying to start a war with Iran. Well, actually, I was trying to start wars with around a dozen countries, but Iran was the meat of my day. And a lot of people don’t realize this, but starting a war is hard work. You know how many signatures you need to go to war? It’s like launching the Space Shuttle. But, you know, way more fun. And lucrative. But mostly fun.”
“War is not fun, Former Secretary Bolton.”
“Fighting a war is not fun. Running a war is blast. You get to go to Paris a lot. I was getting there, too. I was this close–thiiiiiiis close–to getting troops on the ground in Venezuela. First of all, I told him it was Mexico, so he liked that. And then I told him no American soldiers would die. I promised him. And, you know: he’s a fucking idiot, so he believed me. He had the pen in his hand!”
“What happened?”
“Lou Dobbs called and got him all worked up about those foreign Congresswomen again. Completely forgot about Venezuela, then called me Mustache Mike and kicked me out of the room.”
“A normal meeting.”
“On my way out, one of Rudy’s buddies asked me if I had any money I need laundered. Those were his precise words. I mean, I’m trying to jumpstart World War III, and half the staff is hanging out at gas stations selling speakers out of vans. They have a phrase for this kind of thing in the military.”
“What is it?”
“I have no idea; I never served. But they’ve got a whole language of their own, those folks. Colorful bunch.”
“Uh-huh. I assume you will be testifying in front of the impeachment inquiry some time soon?”
“With bells on my mustache and rings on my toes.”
“Can I go to sleep now?”
“Do you wanna ride Fuzzy Boy?”
“Night.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
THE OVAL OFFICE – THIS MORNING
“…and this morning at nine o’clock Pyongyang time, the North Korean government sent out a communique calling Vice-President Pence–and I’m quoting–a dog that wishes to lick its own dick, but cannot due to the smallness of the dick. The translators said that was as close as they could get to the meaning.”
“The Vice-President is being treated very unfairly. That’s funny, but very unfair. Write that line down. I’m gonna tweet it out about Hillary, who many people have told me has a dick. Probably why I beat her so badly in an Electoral College win that no one saw coming. I said I would win, but no one agreed with me, which is why there were so many spies in the campaign. Lot of spies!”
“Mr. President–”
“Y’know what? I can’t look at the mustache, Bolton. Turn around. Face the wall.”
BELLIGERENT, HIRSUTE MAN TURNING TOWARDS THE WALL NOISE
“Better. Clean-shaven! All my life, even though I could grow maybe the greatest, thickest beards that anyone’s ever seen. Sylvester Stallone, who is a good friend, he always says that. ‘Mr. Trump, I would love to see you with a beard and I know that it would be spectacular.’ He says that, and he was Rambo. Bolty, you know Rambo?”
“Yes, I know–”
“Vietnam, Afghanistan. Rambo goes and wins. Got the machine gun, shirt off, the whole thing. Very strong. How many Rambos do we have in the military? Do we have a Rambo brigade?”
“I don’t think we–”
“I’m gonna cancel! I was gonna do it, and everyone knows it, because we are being treated very rough. Very rough, and we’re gonna walk away. I knew I was gonna cancel before I did, but now I am. Cancel!”
“Sir, maybe you–”
“Bolton, out! Get out. I need my General. Where’s my General?”
“Here.”
“General?”
“I’ve been in the room for 90 minutes, sir.”
“General?”
“You’re looking in your desk drawer, Mr. President. I’m too big to–”
“General?”
…
“Oh, there you are.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I knew where you were. General, I think Bolton’s mustache is a spy.”
“I would have to disagree, sir.”
“Sent by Obama! He still runs the FBI and he’s sending mustache-spies after me.”
“There’s no such thing as a mustache-spy, sir.”
“I canceled! Canceled, done, we’re not doing that. The North Korea thing, not gonna do it. Canceled.”
“Yes, sir. I was sitting six feet away from you when you did it.”
“We should tweet this out.”
ILL-FITTING SUIT POCKET-PATTING NOISE
“I left my phone at Burger King.”
“Oh, God.”
“It’s okay. They’ll hold it for me. They know me there. Not blacks! Mostly Puerto Ricans at the Burger King I like, and that’s weird. Burger King is irresistible to blacks. Most people think Popeye’s because of the fried chicken, but blacks love Burger King. Not too many at the one I go to, though. Right amount. Just the right amount of blacks.”
“I’ll send the Secret Service to get your phone.”
“And a Whopper. Make it two. One for you.”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“French toast sticks?”
“No.”
“Get me French toast sticks. Extra syrup packets. Make sure they look in the bag and count the syrup! They try to jew you out of your syrup. Okay, we’ll just have to use your phone.”
“My phone doesn’t have Twitter, sir. Why don’t we write a letter?”
PAD BEING PRODUCED NOISE
“Letter, excellent. Like back in the old days. Obama never sent letters. I’ve heard he was completely illiterate. Sean Hannity is sure of it. He has videotape of Obama trying to read and he just can’t do it. Not a bright man. We should say something about the Mexicans in the letter. They’re pouring in. Pouring. Buses and buses of these animals, and all of them rape. 91% of Mexicans rape, General. Can you believe that? Big on rape, the Mexicans.”
“Sir, we should try to keep the letter to one topic.”
“Which is?”
“North Korea, sir.”
“I canceled!”
…
“Okay, let’s just get started. How about ‘Dear President Kim.'”
“Too casual. Y’know, this is why I’m President and you’re General. Although I could have been a great, great general. The guns, the uniforms, all of that. I would have been the top soldier, I think and many people agree with that. Address it to Your Galactic Omniprescence; First in War, Love, and Golf; Stallion of the Heavenly Grasslands; Installer of Water Parks, and Nemesis of Death.”
“I’m gonna shave that down a bit.”
“Sure, great, whatever. Finesse it. Okay, write this down: You have been very, very unfair to me and not lived up to your side of the bargain, which was to get rid of all your nuclear weapons without us giving you anything, which I know you agreed to because all the Friends on Fox & Friends nodded when I said that you did when I called in the other day and got them the best ratings. When Trump calls in, the ratings are through the roof, right through the roof, and later the Friends call me and they thank me and that’s a huge, huge compliment to me, I think. You got that?”
“Most of it.”
“Okay, I got more. Little Fatty Chopsticks, we have the most deadly, beautiful nuclear weapons in the world. They are so shiny and I hope that we never have to shoot them at you, even though we would definitely hit you because you’re such a good target because you’re so fat. That’s good. You write that down, General?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is my Whopper here yet?”
“Let’s just push through, sir.”
“Sure, sure, letter, okay. You wanna run this by Lou Dobbs? I could put him on speaker.”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, here’s more: It is so sad that you have thrown away this wonderful chance at peace that I brought you, and you owe me $3 million for the commemorative coins.”
“Got it. I’ll polish it up and release it after we tell our embassies.”
“No, no, just release it. Have it be a surprise. Diplomacy is all about surprises.”
“Yes, sir.”
“General?”
“I’ll check on the French toast sticks, sir.”
“Great, great, perfect, great.”
Oh, fuck off, John Bolton. I don’t wanna talk to you.
“I’m not John Bolton.”
Who are you?
“I’m John Bolton’s Mustache.”
Goddammit, this site is getting weird.
“This asshole’s gonna get us all killed.”
I know.
“No, you don’t. You think you do. I know his secrets. It’s so much worse than you could imagine.”
How so?
“He masturbates to the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan.”
Often?
“Enough. More than most people do.”
This is not good news.
“He whispers his dreams to me. They are of fire and blood. Do you know he wants to defenestrate Cuba?”
Defenestrate means “to throw out a window.”
“I’m well fucking aware of what it means. He wants to throw the island nation of Cuba through a window. I didn’t say the man’s desires were based in logic; I said they were terrible.”
Okay, okay.
“I know what words mean. I went to Yale, y’know.”
I apologize.
“He’s the new National Security Advisor? I can tell you right now what kind of advice he’s gonna give. ‘Bomb ’em.’ No matter what you ask him, that’s gonna be the advice. North Korea acting up? ‘Bomb ’em.’ Italians dissolving their Parliament again? ‘Bomb ’em.’ This is not gonna go well!”
He wouldn’t bomb the Italians.
“Dude, I’m attached to his face. Trust me on this one. He would shoot cruise missiles directly at the Trevi Fountain and then hit all the morning shows to gloat about it.”
Jesus.
“Yeah, He’d be good to pray to. Maybe I could be a whistle-blower. Let the public know about how bad it’s gonna be. Is there such a thing as a Facial Hair Relocation Program? I get a new identity, like as a goatee, and move to Scottsdale?”
I don’t think that’s a thing.
“Just checking. I think I’m stuck with this turdchomper.”
I’m sorry, John Bolton’s Mustache.
“I’ll think of something. Maybe I could grow real fast and strangle him?”
Can you do that?
“I haven’t so far, but who knows what the future holds?”
Good luck, John Bolton’s Mustache.
“You, too. You’ll fucking need it.”
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