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

Tag: melania trump (Page 1 of 2)

New Features Of Melania’s Rose Garden

  • Each blade of grass individually gold-plated.
  • Patch of quicksand that eats around a dozen kids each Easter Egg Hunt.
  • One of those poisonous gympie trees from Australia without, like, a fence around it or anything.
  • Morlocks.
  • Bunch of worn-out couches from Mar-a-Lago that Basketball Head charged the government $8,000,000 apiece for.
  • Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell.
  • Eternal flame dedicated to Piščanca, Chicken God of Slovenia, who will one day return to peck out the souls of the unworthy.
  • A 50′ statue of Robert E. Lee on a horse, and he’s wearing a tee-shirt that reads SUCK IT, DARKIES and so is the horse.
  • More dog corpses than you’d prefer, but not as many as you’d expect.
  • Stephen Miller masturbating on the hyacinths.
  • Pile of baby doll heads, and when you ask about it, everyone flat-out denies that it’s there; you could be standing right in front of it, and Kayleigh MacEnany would be like “What pile of baby doll heads?”
  • Daily Trapt concerts.
  • Vastibule roses, which have the highest thorn density of any rose breed, and also aren’t that nice to look at.
  • A giant topiary sculpted in the shape of Dr. Fauci getting rogered by a grizzly bear.
  • Bunch of semi-military goons with no identifying badges beating the living shit out of the forsythia.
  • Merch table.

Like A Dog

Hey, Conan the US Army dog. Whatcha doing?

“I have no idea.”

You’re a dog.

“Yeah. I’m relatively whip-smart, though. Compared to a dachshund, I’m Einstein. But I’m still a dog, and I got no idea what’s happening. This is a new place. Never been here before.”

It’s called the White House.

“There are odors you wouldn’t believe in here. Little tip from me to you? Someone has been doing black magick in this building.”

You can’t possibly know that.

“Trust my nose. I’m good at two things: smelling shit, and biting dicks off.”

You bite a lot of dicks off?

“Yeah. It’s classified, so don’t tell anyone. But, yeah. I get their balls, too. Usually.”

You okay with that?

“I am okay with being a good boy, and I am told I am a good boy when I bite off dicks. But not, you know, random dicks. Unauthorized dick-biting makes me a VERY BAD BOY, and I cannot do that again.”

You went freelancing?

“We all make mistakes when we’re young.”

Hey, man. No judgments here.

“Who are these people? This guy I am with is not The Guy, but I know him. He’s good people. Generous with the scratches. Got a lot of fetch in him. Good people, but not The Guy.”

Your handler’s identity is classified.

“Love him. This guy’s good, but not The Guy. What’s with Milkbone here?”

That’s Mike Pence. He’s the Vice-President.

“Look how close I am to his bacon and eggs. One shouted German word and breakfast would be over.”

Don’t eat Mike Pence’s dick. Wait.

No. Don’t eat his dick. Hey, how does that work with attack dogs? What if, like, I knew the secret German words?

“What about it?”

Could I shout them at you and get you to do stuff?

“No. What are you, an idiot? You’re not The Guy. I only listen to The Guy. The commands are in German to keep people from knowing what he’s telling me, not because I’m some sort of Manchurian Candidate that goes insane and starts murdering at the sound of German.”

I think it’s also in German because German is a scary-sounding language.

“One would assume. What is this thing? It’s shaped like a person, but doesn’t smell like one.”

That’s a person. He’s the President.

“What does that mean?”


“Oh, God, you’re shitting me. You made this your alpha? I can smell him decaying. And he’s petrified of me.”

The man does not like animals.

“I need you to listen to me: I know what humans smell like. He doesn’t smell like that. Call the authorities.”

He is the authorities.

“I could…you know.”

Eat his genitals?



“Took you a while.”

I’m still mulling it over.

A Nation Mourns

“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?”


“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.”


“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?”


“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.”


“Maybe he die in sleep. Ve can throw him in coffin vith other body.”


“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.”


Fun Facts Featuring The First Ladies

[R]emember the ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice, or Representation.

That was Abigail Adams in March of 1776. She wrote those lines in a letter to her husband, John, while he and the Founding Fellows were drafting the Declaration of Independence. Him and his drinking buddies ignored her, of course, but she tried. She was the first First Lady to live in the White House, and she hated the place. Most First Ladies did, but Abigail had good reason to: it was only half-done and understaffed; she had to hang the laundry in the East Room to dry.

Dolley Madison invented the role of First Lady as we know it, along with ice cream. She was living in the White House when the British (not the Canadians) burned the city down in 1814, and she saved the Lansdowne portrait of George Washington. You know the one: where he looks like he’s watching a dog taking a shit. Pursed lips and all. Dolley saved it! She could hear the troops outside. The carriage was waiting–this was a “time is of the essence” situation–but she wouldn’t hop in unless she brought George with her.

Angelica Van Buren wasn’t Martin Van Buren’s wife, but she acted as First Lady. Marty’s wife, Hannah, had died 17 years prior and he never remarried. Angelica was his daughter-in-law. She was 20 years old when she took up the post. What were you doing when you were 20? I couldn’t figure out how to put my dick in my pants when I was 20, but Angelica Van Buren ran the White House.

Abigail Fillmore gave the White House its first library. Did you know that? I didn’t. Until 1850, there was no library in the White House. You think that says something about America? Me, neither.

Harriet Lane was James Buchanan’s First Lady. She was his niece. Bucky was a Confirmed Bachelor, but there’s gotta be a First Lady, so Harriet took the job. Country loved her, too. She was a fashion icon, and the subject of popular songs, and the namesake of the first Presidential yacht. There’s still a Coast Guard cutter in service called the USS Harriet Lane. Buchanan is not remembered quite as fondly.

Mary Todd had a rough go of it. When you say your prayers tonight, throw one in for Mary Todd.

Lucy Hayes was the first First Lady with a college degree: she went to Wesleyan, just like John Perry Barlow. Unlike JPB, she was a staunch teetotaler and outspoken abolitionist. She was also, along with Rutherford, an advocate for civil rights and in fact argued for the advancement of African-Americans so consistently that someone left a black kid on their doorstep after they’d left the White House. An orphan in a basket. It was the old days, so they still had orphans in baskets. Not a ton of white porches you’d leave a black kid on back then.

Lucretia Garfield didn’t do too much, but her name was Lucretia and I think that’s groovy.

Ida McKinley had two daughters: Ida and Katie. Neither made it out of childhood, and it broke her.

Helen Taft was called Nellie, and none of those tourists who flock to DC every spring to watch the cherry blossoms bloom ever thank her; she had them planted. Nellie was also the first First Lady to own a car. It was a powder-blue Datsun 280Z that she called Mr. Fucktastic.

Edith Wilson was the President of the United States, kinda. Woodrow had a massive stroke in 1919, and she ran the country for the next three years. She had a desk outside the Oval Office, and you’d bring her legislation. She’d say, “Woody’s napping,” or whatever, and go into the Oval and come back out with a signature or a veto. Now, it’s not like she was fooling anyone, but there was no 25th Amendment at the time, so there was nothing anybody could do but, you know, pass the 25th Amendment so that next time this problem arose, there would be a solution. In that way, Edith Wilson left more of a direct mark on the American body politic than any other First Lady.

Lou Hoover spoke Mandarin, along with German, and all the Romance languages. Latin, too: she and Herbert translated a book on metallurgy, and their version is still in print. They translated a book on metallurgy because they were both geologists.

You know about Eleanor. I don’t need to tell you about Eleanor.

Jackie, too.

Lady Bird Johnson put up with Lyndon’s bullshit for 41 years, and if that doesn’t make her a saint, then there ain’t no such thing as saints.

Betty Ford went on teevee and said “I drink too fucking much, and I can’t stop myself from drinking too fucking much, and I wish I didn’t drink so fucking much, and I need some help,” and then she looked right in the camera and said, “I bet a whole bunch of you motherfuckers are just like me.” People didn’t do that at the time, especially respectable ladies. Drunks lived on street corners, not in the White House. But, you know, drunks live everywhere. She was a brave lady.

There were two First Ladies named Bush: Barbara and Laura, and both of those women promoted literacy.

Michelle Obama never took off her earrings and started slapping the shit out of fools, no matter how badly they deserved it. Just tried to get kids to eat vegetables, and oh the names she got called.

And then there’s this piece of shit:

Raiders Of The Lost Wife


“Is-a not what-a you think.”

You gotta make sure the staff is the right length.

“I’m-a not looking for-a da Well of Souls.”

You totally are. The sun shines through the jewel in the middle of the doohickey and illuminates the location of the Ark of the Covenant.

“Did-a you get all your history from-a da 80’s action movies?”


“You should-a read more.”

The Bible?

“Anything. Any book you can-a find.”

You always have good advice. Um, Your Holiness, can I ask a question and you have to promise not to get mad?

“You can-a no ask me about-a da Papal Underwear no more. Is-a getting creepy.”

Not about that.


Your staff.

“Is-a called ferula. Means-a ‘rod’ in Latin.”

“Stop-a giggling.”


“Is-a like talking to-a da six-year-old.”

I really apologize.

“I-a forgive you.”

Thank you. So, the ferula…well…it just looks kinda…

“Pagan as-a all getout?”

That’s what I was trying to say, yes.

“Si, si. Is-a…how you say…syncretic as fuck.”

Language, Your Holiness.

“I-a forgive me. Catholic Church ain’t-a da separate thing. Evolved from-a what came-a before. And what-a came after? That evolved from-a da Church.”

Christ, iterated.

“Si, si. Is all-a da same thing.”

“Your Fanciness.”

“Ah, basta.”

Who’s that, Your Holiness? Is it Benedict?

“No, no. Is-a so much worse than-a Benedict.”


“I vant to redecorate my apartments. There is not enough gold.”

“She just-a showed up.”

Oh, no, Pope Francis. This is no good. You gotta get rid of her.

“I can no throw her out! Would cause-a da international incident!”

I guess.

“Plus, somebody done taught her ‘Sanctuary.’ She been-a yelling it real loud for two-a days.”

Probably Benedict.

“Si, si. He-a been right by her creepy side. They-a sit inna da cafeteria and-a make fun of da nuns. They make-a Sister Loretta cry! Is-a not her fault she’s a big girl! Is-a no nice!”

No. Melania is not nice at all.

“I gotta get rid of her.”

Yes, you do, but don’t send her back to the Dead.

“Don’t give-a da Pope orders.”

Sorry. Please don’t send her back to the Dead.

“That’s-a better.”

Love, Elevator

Hey, Josh. Look at you and your buddy, the Andyman.

“I can hear you.”

Quiet, Andy. Josh–

“Why does he call you Josh?”

–you can’t take Melania on tour with you. It’ll get out of hand immediately.

“Melania Trump? John, why is the booming voice that originates from outside reality talking about Melania Trump being on tour? Dead & Company tour?”

She stowed away in a road case, Andy Cohen.

“Is this true, John?’

It is, Andy. Very observant of you.

“I’m not gonna hire you or anything.”


“Did you just send Andy Cohen to the Castle of All Tears?”


“Dude, stop being a dick to my friends.”

I’ll bring him back if you get rid of Melania. She absolutely cannot be hanging around Dead & Company Summer Tour 2018. I don’t want you guys to be in play. Like, in a media sense. The less people examine Billy’s background, the better it is for the Dead’s legacy.

“I’m handling it.”

If the Dead wind up in the Problem Attic because of you, so help me God I’ll strangle you with your own enormously-crotched pants.

“I’m handling it!”


“Ah, shit. How did you get into my hotel room?”

“Vith my charm, Lover Man.”

“And you redecorated.”

“Melania makes vherever she is home.”

“It looks like Staten Island threw up.”

“I do not know vhat is this Staten Island. Now come to Melania. Let me lay under you vhile you thrust.”

“You are the single least sexy human on the planet.”

“Sveat on me, Lover Man.”

Dude, this is not handling it.

“I’m handling it!”

So That’s Where She’s Been…

I’m gonna tell you right now: if you pull that “disappearing without a trace because it’s drizzling” shit on me, I’ll have the North Korean army track you down.

“Only Korean.”

You know what I mean. Who are these people?

“Oh, let me introduce the room. This is–”

Wait. I just remembered that I don’t care.

“You’re rude.”

I’m not. Tell Princess Doofus that her haircut makes her look like a doofus.

“I won’t tell her that.”

C’mon. If you say it, she’ll like it.

“She won’t.”


“Was that you?”



“It’s coming from a road case.”

Open it.

“Oh, shit. Um, everyone out. Nice hanging with you, but you gotta go. Let’s go.”


“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Hide me, Josh Meyers. I cannot go back there.”

“I understand you not wanting to live with him–”

“Soggy Man. I call him Soggy Man.”

“–with the Soggy Man, but you can’t stay here.”

“Is last place they vould look.”

“Yeah, okay, you have a good point there, but still.”

“I vill tour vith Grateful Dead. Get head straight. Also, I vill collect $300 that Matt Busch owes me.”

“How do you know Matt Busch?”

“Is long story. You vill hide me, Josh!”


“Maybe I vill vork for tour.”

“Doing what?”

“Do you need trophy vife?”


“First Lady?”

“Dead & Company does not need a First Lady. Listen, Melania, just leave him if you’re so unhappy.”

“I cannot! He vill send Rudy Giuliani after me vith his clawfingers and veird eyeballs! Or Sarah Sanders vith her fat arms and veird eyeballs. Josh?”


“Vhy he have so many people vith veird eyeballs vorking for him?”

“Just a coincidence, I guess.”

“See! You understand me, Josh Meyers. Now come help Melania out of trenchcoat.”


“Is easy. Just a button or two.”

“Um, Mrs. Trump, are you trying to seduce me?”

“Shh. Come to First Lady.”

“Oh, this won’t end well.”

A Partial Transcript Of Melania Trump’s Statement, 5/7/18

“Is to say ‘Hello,’ even to faker news. So bad, faker news.

“We say to be best. How be best? Yes. Always make with never pills. With never bully. Can no bully! Is bad. Mommy’s little Barronichka, he get bully. Come home to cry. Wah wah wah, he cry. So sad. I am mother! What can do? Maybe take pills, but no take pills. Is no be best with drugs. Nancy Reagan say this! She such good fashion. Dead now.

“Bully say bad thing? Boom boom boom. Punch. This is what happen in Slovenia. Not in Slovenia no more. Am Lady Number One. Yay for me, for you, is good. No wall between America and Slovenia. Is very far.

“Is dress leather? Is cotton? No one know. Is best. Everyone know this. Is best dress. Last Lady Number One no good dress. Was monkey lady. I say right? ‘Monkey lady?’ Is no best! How can be best when only rapping and welfare? Is no best.

“Is drugs no take. Opensesames? Is right I say? Make so sleepy, shoot in arm, rob nice people. Is this best? No. Is no best. Ivanka maybe shoot drugs. I hear things. No know if true, but hear. No take drug. Learn European Handball. Is better. Get gold medal. No gold medal for drugs!

“Barbara Bush so sad. Not pretty, but still sad she died. Okay. America is good, but could be best. Is to say ‘Goodbye.”

Doing Lafayette Proud

“This is probably the best shoveling job anyone’s ever done, and I am so proud to be burying Barbara Bush. She was such a classy, classy lady even though she looked like a grandma and was a 3 in her prime. In her prime!”

“Oui are not burying ze First Lady, Monsieur President.”

“Maybe a 2. Not hot. All of my wives were hotter, so I win. Very sad, though, but she’s being buried on the lawn of the White House. That’s tradition. All the first ladies are here. Nancy, Lady Bird. Hillary will be here one day, and she deserves that. For the crimes she committed, Hillary Clinton should probably be buried alive, but we have to be nice. They told me to be nice. Michelle Obama will also be here, but in a different section of the lawn. You know. Over there. Those people go over there.”

“Zis izz not what izz ‘appening, Donald.”

“Melania? Where’s my Melania? Melania?”



“Melania? I guess she’s not here. Very busy, King Macaroni.”

“I am not ze king, and zat izz not my name.”

“Never in the history of first ladies has there been one who did so much. All day. This, that, bing bang, she’s all over the place. She talks to the children, and their faces light up. Great, great first lady. And she doesn’t tell people what to eat, like Michelle who was a man and a Nazi. Many people don’t know this, but Larry Kudlow told me. You know Larry Kudlow?”


“Real winner. When he’s on teevee, I’m watching. That’s why I hired him. He brought his own makeup girl, and you should see the tits on her. Real yabbos. You say ‘yabbos’ in France?”


“And not fat! Some girls, they got the tits because they’re hogs, but this one got a little waist, tush, nice. Then: bing bong boobs. There they are. You got fat chicks in France?”


“Lucky, very lucky. That’s what they say: Lucky Pierre. Very lucky. You should see all the fatties around here. I got one. Something wrong with her eyes. Great on teevee, though. Send her out, she yells at the lying, failing, Jewish media. They work hard.”

“The Jews?”

“No, fat chicks. Over-achievers, fat chicks. Everywhere except in the gym. Frenchy, you are gonna love this State Dinner. No one in maybe the history of State Dinners has done a better job than Melania has setting this up. She is just super. Melania?”


“Where is she? Melania?”



“Monsieur President, perhaps we should talk about ze Iran deal.”

“At dinner, at dinner. You are not gonna believe it. Do you have Chick-Fil-A in France?”

“I do not know what zis is.”

“It’s the pickle! I’ve had chicken sandwiches from everyplace, the most beautiful chicken sandwiches, and no one else does the pickle. Adds so much to the flavor. And, you know, you walk into Chick-Fil-A and the kid behind the counter is a real American. He doesn’t rap at you, nothing. It’s not Burger King. Let’s just say that. Anyway, we got Chick-Fil-A piled to the ceiling. All you can eat, which is an idea I came up with for the Trump Shuttle. All the peanuts you could eat, and people called me up, ‘Mr. Trump, thank you for the peanuts. Everyone else skimps, but you showed real class and brains with the peanut thing.’ People gave me such spectacular compliments.”

“What ze fuck are you talking about?”


“President speaking.”

“Vous just answer your mobile? Is zat a Blackberry?”

“Shh. Important call. Hey, big guy!”

“Hello, The Donald.”

“Are you shoveling, too? Great, wonderful, what luck. I’m here with King Macaroni–”

“Zis is not my name..”

“–and we’re shoveling. The best shoveling, but now that I see you’re shoveling, I think you might have an edge. Just a little one, but you are truly a hell of a shoveler. Are you planting a tree, Mr. President?”

“Da. Is tree asked too many qvestions.”

“Beautiful, great, burying. Hey, listen: we’re having a little get-together here tomorrow night. We would be so honored, probably the most honored people that have ever lived, if you would stop by.”

“Zoot alors, do not invite Putin to ze dinner!”

“I vould love to, The Donald. Vhat is menu?”


“Vonderful. Putin love pickle.”

“Sacre fucking bleu.”

Fox News Presents: A Donald Trump Christmas Special


“Great, yes, okay. Christmas. Beautiful. The best holiday, hands down. People give you things, and that’s the best you can ask. Receiving is very important. People like to talk about giving, and giving is nice and no one gives more than me–I might be the most generous man on earth, all of earth–but receiving something valuable is a big part of it. Don’t downgrade receiving.

“White House looks just magnificent. Melania did everything, not like some First Ladies who were born in Kenya just like their husbands. I’ve decided I believe that again. Going back to the Kenya thing. Many of my investigators have told me that Obama’s birth certificate was fake news. Several have told me that he was an illegal alien. Maybe Obama was a Mexican Kenyan? I don’t know, but I do know that we finally got the black-person-smell out of the White House.”

“Jesus, Donald.”

“Melania. My beautiful wife, most beautiful First Lady ever. Makes Pat Nixon look like a real dog. By far, the hottest. Who else? Hillary’s the ugliest, obviously. People think Jackie Kennedy was hot, but no tits. Gotta have the tits, I’m a tit man. Can you even imagine Hillary’s tits? Bad tits, terrible tits. Not like Melania, so beautiful, my wife, look at her.”


“Melania, tell us what you’ve done to make the White House so glamorous and luxurious. It’s maybe the third or fourth best property I own, gotta be honest, Mar-A-Lago’s better, but this is very nice.”

“As you can see, Donald, I’ve filled the halls with dying trees covered in lamé. And on the walls, I have placed cursed mirrors. They hold the souls of poor children.”

“Great, children, wonderful. Christmas is all about the children, who are currently being molested by Democrats and Hollywood, two groups I was never a part of. Tough Christmas at Matt Lauer’s house because the children now know that daddy is a pervert. If Franken celebrated Christmas, his would be tough, too. I wonder who’s next. Jeff Zucker? Maybe Jeff Zucker pulls out his pecker. I’m gonna call him Jeff Pecker from now on. Another nickname, bing bing bing. Is Rosie O’Donnell a fat lesbian sex pervert? I hear she is, many people say she is, maybe she pulls out her fat lesbian penis, too. People are talking about that, many people, terrible penis on Rosie.


“All of Hollywood, very unfair to me and also full of child molestors. That’s why you can’t trust that tape, that fake tape. I said it was me just so I could get past it and get to making America great, but it’s not me. Melania knows that wasn’t me. Melania? Where’s my wife, who is acknowledged as one of the great beauties? Melania? I’m thinking about making her the new Secretary of State. Melania? Okay, she’s around here, great.

“This tax bill I have coming out is so wonderful, so great. Everybody loves it, believe me. According to this bill, which is so beautiful, no one who voted for me is going to have to pay taxes anymore. No more! We’re gonna get Mexico to pay our taxes. They already told me, I spoke to Mexico, they said they would.


“Oh, look. It’s Santa. Santa, where are you? Santa?”

“Right here, Mr. President.”

“Santa? Santa Claus?”

“Right next to you, sir.”

“Santa, there you are, wonderful, beard, great. What a Santa! Not an ethnic Santa. I have brought back Christmas. Obama didn’t love Christmas because it reminded him of America, which he hated and tried to destroy with his crack and rap and bushy hair. Obama didn’t have American hair! Maybe that’s not presidential to say, but someone had to say it. Not American hair. Santa, who is that under that beard?”

“It’s me, Roy Moore.”

“The great Roy Moore, who the lying and failing media have tried to crucify. Just like Jesus! But just like Jesus, Roy is gonna break free from the cross and get elected to the Senate. What a great Senator you’ll be.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. President.”

“I saw you over there with all the children on your lap.”

“Oh, you saw that?”

“Yes, playing Santa. Long line to get up there. Very nice.”

“Oh! Right! Playing Santa, sure. That’s what I was doing.”

“I didn’t see any little boys in the line.”

“Hey, look over there.”

“What? Where? Is it Hillary?”


“Where am I looking? Hillary? Who’s there? Deep State? Globalist? What? Okay, whatever, I’ll look later because I’m the best at looking. Most men my age need glasses, not me. Perfect eyes. I could probably be a great sniper, one of the best ever. I see so well. Okay, now it’s time for a new tradition at the White House: Christmas Calls. One very, very, very lucky young American is going to get a phone call from his favorite president, which is me. Lemme just get out of Twitter and call.”



“It’s ringing.”



“Hello, this is the best president of America, Donald Trump. Is this Dicky?”

“This is Senator Richard Burr.”

“Dicky! Have you been a good boy this year? Have you dropped the Russia case so Santa will bring you a new toy?”

“You have to be kidding me.”

“Do you want a toy truck, Dicky? Or maybe a corner apartment in Trump Tower? Santa can make both of those things happen, but you have to be a good boy, Dicky. Good boys get past this Russia thing.”


“No Russia, no Russia.”

“I’m hanging up the phone.”

“Hey, you could get coal. Especially since I have reopened dozens of new coal plants in the past year. Dozens, everyone’s talking about it, everyone’s back to work who hasn’t been killed by illegal immigrants.”


“Great, Santa, wonderful, coal. Oh, it’s time for Hannity. Okay, Christmas, great, Trump, Christmas.”

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