Hey, what if Jamiroquai was good? And Swedish?
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Month: February 2019 (Page 1 of 7)
HOUSE CONFERENCE ROOM – MORNING
“Order. This hearing of the House Oversight Committee will come to order. Jordan, stop doing push-ups.”
“Getting my pump on, Representative Cummings!”
“Just sit down. Ms. Ocasio-Cortez, put your phone away.”
“But I’m dunking on a columnist from Reason magazine!”
“Put it away or I’ll take it! I am going to have order for this hearing. Also, the next person that confuses me with John Lewis is getting censured. I mean it. We are gathered here today in this august chamber for a serious matter. We will be hearing the testimony of Mr. Michael Cohen, former personal lawyer to President Trump, and I would like to personally extend a plea, to both Democrats and Republicans seated with me: Please let’s embarrass ourselves as little as possible. All right, let’s get this nightmare rolling. Good morning, Mr. Cohen.”
“Good morning, Chairman Cummings.”
“Son, you’re in about as much trouble as it’s possible for a rich white man to be in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve been disbarred and convicted of several felonies.
“Yes, sir.”
“Issued a sentence for committing some crime.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And bad mistakes?”
“I’ve made a few.”
“Mr. Cohen, would you say that you’ve had your share of sand kicked in your face?”
“OBJECTION! Mr. Chairman, you and this witness are merely reciting Queen lyrics.”
“They are relevant in this case, Mr. Jordan. This is my time. I won’t interrupt during your time. Mr. Cohen, when you last appeared before Congress, were you completely truthful?”
“No, sir. Not completely.”
“Mostly?”
“I cannot agree with that characterization, sir.”
“Partially truthful?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“How about ‘slightly?’ Please say that we can settle on ‘slightly.'”
“Sure, yeah, why not?”
“So. Your last testimony before this House was only slightly truthful, but this go-round you promise to tell the whole truth, etc. Why should we believe you?”
“I have receipts.”
“Spill the tea, child.”
“I have two checks from Mr. Trump, one made out from his charity, for $35,000 to reimburse me for paying off Stormy Daniels. I have a half-used tube of Why Orange You Tan? which is Mr. Trump’s preferred self-bronzing cream. I have a handful of Mr. Trump’s golf scoring cards that are nothing but fabrications. And, of course, I have ten years worth of boxes full of criminal activities.”
“And where are those boxes now, Mr. Cohen?”
“They are with the attorneys of the Southern District of New York.”
“So all you brought is the check and the tanning lotion?”
“Don’t forget the golf cards.”
“No, no. Very important. Mr. Cohen, I thank you for appearing here and warn you that Congress does not like being lied to. A second time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The Chair recognizes the Ranking Member, the distinguished gentleman from Ohio, Mr. Jordan.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr. Cohen, you’re a slimy little piece of anus grease, aren’t you? Just a worm of a slug of a snail of a creep of a Communist of a man. You’re not even a man, you’re a male mammal. That’s all the gender status I grant you, Mikey. I wanna get you on the mat. I wanna get you in a singlet and on the mat. I’ll cauliflower your lying ears right up, you Five Towns trash.”
“You leave the Five Towns out of it!”
“I’ll kick your assapequa!”
“That’s not one of the Five Towns!”
GAVEL NOISE!
“Knock it off, the two of you. I’m making a motion that Long Island not be mentioned for the rest of the day. Passed by unanimous consent. Mr. Jordan?”
“I just think it’s sad–sad!–that we are wasting the American people’s time like this when there are caravans–caravans!–full of Mexicans and Ecuadorians and CHUDs infiltrating our borders every day. We got doctors doing post-birth abortions and CHUDs in Texas, but this Committee is gonna sit around talking to a convicted liar who went to school at a Taco Bell.”
“Cooley Law School is upstairs from the Taco Bell, sir.”
“Same building, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I stand by my comments. Mr. Cohen, how long did you work at the White House?”
“I did not work at the White House, Congressman.”
“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t. You wanted to soooooooo bad, but you didn’t get your foot in the door.”
“I never wanted to work there, sir.”
“You totally did. You wanted to work there so hard.”
“No, sir.”
“You gonna cry?”
“I am not–”
“Cry, bitch. Cry about it.”
“–going to cry.”
GAVEL NOISE!
“Knock it off, Jordan. Your time’s up, anyway. The Chair recognizes Ms. Pressley from the great state of Massachusetts.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cummings. Mr, Cohen, I’d like to discuss Mr. Trump’s racism.”
“Have I already talked about his thing with Burger King and the blacks?”
“Yes. Let’s not rehash the Burger King thing. Mr. Cohen: scale of one to ten, how racist is Donald Trump?”
“Solid seven with occasional gusts to eight.”
“On a scale of Mr. Rogers to Hitler.”
“Mel Gibson.”
“Oh, did Mr. Trump also hate the Jews?”
“No, only Buddy Hackett, and that was for a personal reason. Mainly hated the blacks, but he had quite a bit of vitriol left over for the Mexicans.”
“Does Mr. Trump believe–”
“All Latinos are Mexican to Mr. Trump.”
“–that all Latinos…yeah, I figured.”
“Oh, and don’t forget the Muslims. Terrified of shabooboo law.”
“Does he mean sharia law, sir?”
“One would assume so, but it’s impossible to truly know.”
“Thank you, Mr Cohen, but just to be cruel…did Mr. Trump ever tell you which of his sons he loves the least.”
“He did, and often.”
“Was it Don Junior?”
“It was.”
“Thank you. I yield my time.”
“The Chair thanks the distinguished lady-gentleman for her questions and recognizes my friend from North Carolina, Mr. Meadows.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Cummings, my great friend. You’re one of the good ones.”
“What now?”
“Mr. Cohen, I would like to talk about your untrue, scurrilous, and fictitatious lies about President Trump and his love for all people of this earth who aren’t Mexicans or CHUDs.”
“What’s with you guys and CHUDs?”
“I’ll ask the questions, Lie-chael Cohen. See what I did there?”
“Not very clever, sir.”
“More clever than you. I’m not a disbarred, disgraced liar. I’m not going to the booty zone. That’s what prison is, Mr. Cohen. Booty zone. They coming for your booty, man.”
“Was there a question, sir?”
“Yes, there is. You lied on President Trump just before when you called him racist. You LIED on that beautiful man. Ain’t no sunrise without President Trump, and the sunset asks permission, too. Children grow taller because he wills it. His dreams are our Mondays, man. Over there in that White House? That’s the Alpha and Omega right there, bubba. And he ain’t no racist. I want you to look at something I got here.
SOUTHERN WHISTLING NOISE
“C’mon down here, sugar. This here is Lynne Patton. She works at HUD, real high up. Got a government driver and everything. That’s class, man. Would President Trump allow such a thing if he was a racialist? Nah. Twirl around, hon.
UNQUALIFIED POLITICAL APPOINTEE TWIRLING NOISE
“Look at that. Solid stock right there. Good hips. Sturdy, a worker. Hold still, sugar.
LIPS BEING PULLED APART NOISE
“Full set of teeth on the girl. Real good quality. Who’s got the first bid?”
GAVEL NOISE!
“Mr. Meadows, knock it off!”
“What’d I do?”
“Just quit it. We’ll talk later. Your time is up. Ms. Patton, thank you. That’ll be all. Let’s just keep moving. The Chair recognizes Miss Tlaib from Michigan.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Decorum, Miss Tlaib!”
“Congressman Meadows just tried to auction off a black woman during a hearing! That’s maybe the most racist thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, now you did it.”
“HOW DAAAAAAARE YOU!? Racist? RACIST? Mark Meadows doesn’t have a racist bone in in his body! Or a hateful organ! And none of my tendons or ligaments see color! How dare you, young lady? Calling me racist is worse than calling a black person the n-word.”
“It’s not.”
“Like, a million times worse!”
“Nope.”
“I call on the Chair to punch Miss Tlaib dead in her face.”
“The Chair will not do that.”
“Then I call on Jesus to smite the Musselman!”
“Mark, settle down or I’m gonna kick your ass. Miss Tlaib, I’m taking your time away. You know how they get when you call them that. It’s just not productive. I’m going to get all of North Carolina out of the way at once here. Miss Foxx, you have the floor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr. Cohen, can you promise this committee that you will not write a book about your experiences lying about the President?”
“No. I’ve had multiple offers for movie deals, actually.”
“And will you promise this committee that you will not accept those offers?”
“Oh, no. I almost certainly will.”
“Will you commit under oath not to appear on any television news channel?”
“Nope. I’ll do that if they hire me.”
“What about scripted? What if you were offered a part in a Dick Wolf show.”
“I would be an idiot to turn that down. Dick Wolf knows what he’s doing.”
“Promise us you won’t do Off-Broadway.”
“I cannot promise that.”
“Give me your commitment that you won’t wear a filthy Elmo suit and stand in Times Square pestering tourists.”
“Who knows what the future holds?”
“Okay, that’s enough, Miss Foxx. Your time is up. We have time for one more. The Chair recognizes the distinguished socialist from Queens, Ms. Ocasio-Cortez.”
CROWD GOING WILD NOISE
FLASHBULBS POPPING NOISE
DISCO BALL EMERGING FROM CEILING NOISE
“Hey! Hey! Knock all that shit off! I will bust some skulls! Ms. Ocasio-Cortez?”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr Cohen, I’ll be brief: can you name the piece of paper that would be most damaging to the President for us to possess?”
“Sure. 2010 tax returns.”
“And who would be the most helpful person to speak to?”
“Alan Weisselberg, obviously.”
“Okay.”
“Matthew Calamari.”
“Is that really a person?”
“Tony Scungilli.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Sally Fried Zucchini.”
“No. That’s not real.”
“And Mr. Trump’s personal physician, a Dr. Vincent Boombatz.”
GAVEL NOISE!
“Okay, you know what? We’re calling it a day. Mr. Cohen, I think you’re a hero. I do. Not many men choose to change. That’s bravery, choosing to change. And you did choose to change very soon after being indicted on multiple counts. You plunged right into your new life the instant federal and state authorities forced you to, and I admire the heck out of you for it, Mr. Cohen. Who wants Italian food? Let’s go to Mario’s.”
GAVEL NOISE!
Our favorite teacher, Professor Jenny Boylan, on our favorite songish piece of music, Dark Star. Today’s the 50th anniversary of the Live/Dead version, which some profess to be Best EVAR, and others merely know by heart.
Hey, here it is!
Heard this shit on the radio today, and I thought “Motherfuckers done forgot about this shit,” so here’s this shit.
Wow, a belt and drawstrings. You rocking some suspenders under the tee-shirt?
“Don’t hate. Celebrate.”
Ew.
“I’m kind of shocked you didn’t mention my toppermost in the last post.”
I was trying out a new thing where I pretend you dress like a human.
“Nah. This particular ‘most was created for me in the idyllic Japanese town of Yugopinao.”
Yugopinao?
“Say it out loud.”
…
Ah.
“By an incredible artisan named Detective Pikachu.”
No.
“It’s his masterpiece. You can fit an entire tea service and a 400-year-old bonsai up the sleeves. It’s called Snow Falls On A Frog’s Testicles; The Frog Goes ‘Yipes!’”
Very Japanese. Where did all your friends go?
“Bob Saget’s fucking them all.”
All of them?
“Saget fucks.”
Sure.
CELL PHONE NOISE
“What did I say?”
Nothing, but I gotta do my little parody of the Congressional hearing. I feel like people are waiting for it.
“They’re not.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Asshole.”
…
“You’re on with John.”
“Suicide.”
“What now?”
“Is Momo. You suicide.”
“Oh, go away.”
“You crazy now. See Momo, go crazy, suicide. You suicide now.”
“I hate being part of this.”
Hey, handsome. Look at that thigh gap.
“Don’t be gay towards me. I don’t care what you do on your own time, but don’t point your weird sex at me.”
Just saying you’re looking good, buddy.
“Only person’s opinion about my appearance I care about is Jill.”
What about the Busboys?
“I only care that the Busboys fear me.”
Do they?
“Oh, yeah. We’ve got a Spartan/Helot situation going.”
How do you mean?
“I send Grahame into their village to murder one of them every month.”
Jesus.
“Until you run a restaurant, shut your mouth.”
Are those Skecher Shape-ups?
“Why do you think I got the thigh gap?”
Nice.
TotD has eyes, ears, and genitals everywhere, Enthusiasts. From the sticky couches of Hollywood to the sun-dappled lanais of Palm Beach to a malfunctioning ice machine in Milwaukee, I know all. This is, of course thanks to the Haight Street Irregulars, a shadowy group of pranksters whose nipples harden as they sent classified documents, hidden receipts, and uncountable dick pics flying over my transom.
Today, I have the first draft of Michael Cohen’s opening statement to the House Oversight Committee. You can read the polished version here, but I think–as does Rod Stewart–that the first cut is the deepest.
And like Plato once said, “Rod Stewart. I don’t mind that guy’s early stuff.”
Chairman Cummings, Ranking Member Jordan, Mayor McCheese, the pigeons that have flown into the Capitol and cannot be gotten rid of, thank you for inviting me here today.
I ask the Committee to place my family into the Witness Protection Program, as there is strong evidence that Representative Gaetz will eat them. We have also, despite the gag order placed on him, been receiving threatening texts from Roger Stone. They are snapshots, also referred to as “selfies,” of his unwashed bunghole.
I am here under oath to tell the American people and their representatives in Congress what I know about President Trump. It’s a doozy. Some may question my credibility, seeing as how I have spent my entire life as a scumbag semi-criminal who married into a Russian mob family and later on took a job as the biggest liar in the world’s liar-in-residence.
I am ashamed of my actions, deeds, statements, and wardrobe. I have hurt my family and our good name, and sullied the reputation of that most honorable of businessman: the New York City taxicab medallion owner. My downfall stems from one place and one man: Donald Trump.
He is a putz.
He is a schmendrick.
He is a gonif.
I am providing the Committee with several documents that can corroborate my stories. These include, but are not limited to:
- A Polaroid of President Trump and I in Trump Tower. He is giving his signature “thumbs up” pose, and has written in his own personal hand on the back “This is the most trustworthy man I know.”
- At least a dozen legal pads upon which President Trump doodled Trump Tower Moscow and wrote in cursive “Mrs. Donald Putin” over and over again.
- A personal check from President Trump’s personal bank account as repayment for monies I had laid out to Miss Stormy Daniels. Remember her? You thought she went away, but I’m bringing Stormy back.
Allow me to comment specifically on the last of the documents I am presenting. The President of the United States wrote a personal check for the payment of hush money as part of a criminal scheme to violate campaign finance laws. Which is Game Over in a sane world, right? I know I went to the worst law school on the planet, but that’s a crime. If you were the mayor of, say, Pittsburgh and you got caught pulling that kind of crap, you would have to resign. But, hey, we’re apparently playing a whole new ball game here.
The entire time I knew President Trump, he never said one patriotic thing. In fact, the opposite sentiments often poured forth from him. “If I could, I would nuke everything in between Beverly Hills and Queens,” was something he said on occasion, in addition to “I like when American soldiers die.” After that bon mot, he would generally lift his foot and ask if anyone could see his bone spurs. On one trip to Washington in 2011, he attempted to urinate on the Vietnam Wall, with his son Junior and myself blocking on either side. He could not get his stream started, however, and we left to get hot dogs.
Questions have been raised about whether I have direct knowledge of a link between President Trump and the Russians. I do recall sitting with Mr, Trump in June of 2016, right before the controversial meeting between Junior and a Russian lawyer. This is the one involving e-mail about dirt on Hillary and so forth.
Mr. Trump and I were discussing the fact that black people love Burger King. We had discussed that fact many times before; it was one of Mr. Trump’s favorite topics. “You never go in a Burger King and don’t see blacks! And I have been in many Burger Kings, probably more than anyone else who’s not a black. They love the Whopper, the whole community. Can’t run a city or a country, the blacks, but they go nuts for a Whopper.”
Mr. Trump’s point was interrupted by a rattling at his office door, as if someone was trying to open the door but failing. It was Junior.
“You gotta turn the knob before you push the door, moron!” Mr, Trump yelled. Junior had been having trouble with doors his entire life, according to the President. Besides his various theories on race and fast food, Mr. Trump enjoyed expounding on how much of a loser Junior was.
Finally, Junior managed to open the door. He entered the office and went around the desk to whisper into Mr. Trump’s ear. This was highly unusual, as–much like a zebra–Mr. Trump reflexively bit those who came to close to his neck. When Junior was finished, Mr, Trump said, “Okay. Do it.” Then Junior attempted to kiss his father goodbye and was brutally rebuffed by a backhand, I am ashamed now that I laughed so hard and for so long.
What Junior whispered to him must have been regarding the Russia meeting. I say this based on Mr. Trump’s distrust of Junior, his knowledge of everything going on in his campaign, and the fact that Junior shouted “JARED! THE RUSSIA MEETING IS ON!” when he was halfway out the office door.
I know I have let everyone my country and my family down, and I hope only to tell the truth here in this room today. Someone please go check on my family, and I’m ready to answer your questions.
What is wrong with you, Matt Gaetz?
“I love America too much. Oh, wait: that’s what’s RIGHT with me. High five!”
No. You actually sent this tweet out the night before Michael Cohen’s testimony before Congress?
“Fuck, yeah. And you know why?”
Because you’re an oleaginous fool?
“Because I’m not a cuck!”
Wow, you really say that?
“I support the President. I love the President. We’re trying to make America great again after the black guy ruined it. Just President Trump and me. He calls me during Hannity sometimes. I mean: during Hannity! That’s an honor.”
Impressive.
“I call our talks ‘teevee dates’ but I don’t tell President Trump that. He’s a man’s man.”
So was Frankenstein.
“And when I see snakes and rats assemble to lie and fake news about President Trump, it just makes me so mad. Especially if I’ve been drinking.”
Have you been drinking?
“I have always been drinking.”
Sure.
“The President has the coolest nickname for me. He calls me ‘Mark.'”
Are you sure that’s a nickname and not that he doesn’t know you’re called ‘Matt?’
“No. Nickname.”
Okay. Let’s get back to the tweet. This is totally witness tampering.
“Dude, no. It’s witness teasing.”
That’s not a thing.
“Absolutely. Just some ball-busting between guys, even though one of the guys is a rat and a snake who should die in the gutter like a dog and who, maybe, ought to check the fire extinguishers in his house if he goes through with tomorrow’s testimony.”
Excuse me?
“He lives in a building that’s incredibly susceptible to electrical fires, or fires that seem like electrical fires. Him and his family live there.”
I know you’re not threatening a federal witness with arson.
“NO! Not threatening. Hoping. Hoping and praying that this man, who should be beaten to death in front of his children, doesn’t get beaten to death in front of his children. I hope that does not happen.”
Jesus, man.
“I am a caring person! That’s why I worry about Michael Cohen, say, having some polonium rubbed on him if he testifies. Maybe there’s a little bit in his water. I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here.”
Every lawyer in the country thinks you’ve committed a felony.
“Most likely they’re all being paid by George Soros.”
What state are you a Congressman from again?
“Florida.”
Ah.
What the fuck is this?
“Dude, we had the best Oscar night party ever! I recreated the Vanity Fair red carpet in my house and invited cool people over and I did an episode of my Instagram talk show.”
I’m literally begging you to start doing coke.
“Stop it.”
Just try shooting up one time. Just once. You’ll probably hate it.
“I thought you snorted coke. You can shoot it?”
You can shoot anything if you’re cool enough.
“IV drug use is not cool at all, man.”
Cooler than your lily-white party, colonizer.
“It is a diverse crowd. Dave Chapelle’s here.”
Did you just use the “Some of my best friends are Dave Chapelle” defense?
“Just stop it.”
Who are these people? Is that guy a gamer? Something about him screams “I have a Twitch account.”
“That’s Diplo.”
Inventor of the Lego-like blocks for toddlers?
“That’s Duplo.”
Ah. He’s got powerful thighs. Does he do a lot of cross-country skiing?
“I have no idea.”
Ask him. Ask your party guest about his thighs.
“I won’t.”
Fine. What’s with Manic Panic there?
“This is Halsey.”
Palsy?
“Halsey.”
Admiral Halsey? He acted stupidly.
“Did you just quote Red October at me?”
Yes.
“Nice.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“I complimented you!”
I guess it just felt like you were lying.
“Did you just quote my own new song, available on Apple iMusic, back to me?”
Did I? Oh, now I feel dirty. Answer the phone.
“Dick.”
…
“You’re on with John.”
“YEW WAIT JUS’ A MINNIT, BOY. AH’M SPEAKIN’ WITH SOMEONE MORE ‘PORTANT TH’N YEW!”
Ah, shit.
“ISSA HONOR T’ MEETCHU, YER SEATEDNESS!”
“Why, thank ya kindly, Elvis.”
“AH WANTED T’ GIVE YEW SEVERAL PISTOLS O’ FRIENDSHIP, BUT WAS ADVISED IT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY INAPPROPRIATE.”
“Ah done had some bad experiences with guns, son.”
“YEW EVER MEET JOSH MEYERS? HE’S A HOMOSEXUAL FROM TH’ FUTURE.”
“Is he a negroid?”
“NOSSIR.”
“Well, then, bring him round. I need some advice on a new set of drapes.”
“King? Governor Wallace? I have guests over and this isn’t the right time for–”
“AH DON’ SEE NO GUESTS, BOY, OTHER TH’N TITTYDROPS AN’ THAT ANEMIC FELLA!”
“I have many guests, Elvis.”
“See?”
“AHHH! HE GOT HISSELF A BAD SANTA!”
“An’ several o’ them negroids Ah was talkin’ about! Ah knew it! Ah can smell ’em!”
“WE GONNA RETURN FIRE WITH TH’ POWER O’ SOUTHERN HERITAGE!”
“Show them my children, Elvis! Show them what Ah have created!”
“LOOKY HERE, MAN! STARE INTO THEIR EYES, MAN!”
…
“Excuse me?”
John?
“Too weird.”
You’re not wrong.
Suffer along with me.
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