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

Tag: macron

Live From Versailles…

Hey, President Macron. You look natural and human.

“Ahh, I have been–how you say–popping ze pills? Zis is how you say?”

Oui.

“All of ze pills. Ze little blanc ones, and ze rouge, and ze bleu. Zey combine in my tummy.”

Any yellow ones?

“NON! No yellow! No one has hated that color as much as me since La Lanterne Verte!”

Going deep on the Green Lantern references there, Mr. President.

“He made ze team-up wiz Tintin several times.”

Huh.

“Zings are not bien. Zings are not bien at all. Have you seen what ze peasants are up to?”

They’re revolting.

“And zey are rioting!”

Nice. So, what started this round of barricade-going?

“Ze people, zey are perturbed about ze gas prices. We added ze teeny tax to ze gas to fight ze change de climatique, eh? Zey did not like.”

How much is gas?

“About €1.50 a liter.”

I have no innate grasp of the size of either of the units you just referred to. Hold on.

“Oui.”

SEVEN BUCKS A FUCKING GALLON? You deserve every riot you get, you Gallic shitstain.

“Zis iz too many Euros?”

Way, way, way too many Euros.

“Let zem drive Teslas.”

Do you want a Sixth Republic? Because this is how you get a Sixth Republic.

“Non. Zis is imposible. I am ze most powerful man in France. What could ze peasants do to me?”

Don’t ask me, man. Ask the cackling old lady with the knitting needles.

“My wife?”

You’re awful. We’re done.

A Partial Transcript Of The G7 Summit

QUEBEC CITY – FANCY HOTEL

“Listen, less important countries with terrible, weak leaders: thank you for coming. Things have gotten heated, mostly due to your lies and stealing from America and Angela’s attitude, but also because of my strength. Let’s face it: you come from sissy countries and you were impressed by me and we got off on the wrong foot. Now we have to do a communique, and I want it to be the most beautiful communique anyone’s ever seen. We’re gonna really do something special that people are gonna love. Justy?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Where’s Justy?”

“Again: do not call me that, and I am sitting directly to your left.”

“Justy?”

“I’m gonna jingle my keys.”

CANADIAN KEY-JINGLING NOISE

“Justy. There you are.”

“Jesus.”

“Canada is killing us! Using us like dogs. It’s not fair what’s going on, Justy. We’re gonna need the Great Lakes back. Both sides belong to us now.”

“That’s not even worth discussing, Mr. President.”

“Fine. I want a CFL team. And a good one, not the Argonauts.”

“That is in no way something I could do.”

“Justy, I don’t know what the press is like in Canada, but our news is 83% fake. 83% percent, that’s the number, and it’s getting to the point where it’s almost a contest of fakeness. I talk about this with Sean Hannity all the time. He says, ‘Mr. President, which news is the fakest?’ and I sometimes I say NBC, and sometimes I say CNN. It depends on the day. Really, it depends on the day.”

“Okay. And…?”

“Where’s the King of Macaroni? French guy. King of Macaroni?”

“I’m a president. And my name is Macron.”

“I want you to put my name on the side of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Non.”

“I want the can-can to be renamed the Don-Don.”

“Non.”

“Weak! Merky, you’re next.”

“Vas zat all you had to say to Herr Macron?”

“Who?”

“Gott in himmel.”

“Merky, your accent reminds me of something. We gotta let Russia back into the club, group, summit, whatever. Very important, Russia. Big time guys over there, and what are we doing without them? Not right!”

“Zey vere expelled for invading Crimea, Donald.”

“Invaded Crimea, shminvaded Crimea. Who here hasn’t invaded another country? Even Canada invaded! Remember that, Justy? Canada invaded America and burned down the Grand Canyon.”

“That is in no way what actually happened.”

“Besides, most of the Crimeans are very, very happy to see the Russians. I saw videotape, and this is true, I saw tape of Crimeans celebrating in the streets. They were yelling and dancing and shooting in the air, bing bing bang, and it was a joyful scene. Crimeans call me and say, “Mr. Trump, it’s so nice having the Russians here. They’re a boon to the economy, big tippers, real class. Real class.”

“Ja. Crimeans call you, Herr President?”

“All day long. I probably know more Crimeans than anyone you’ve ever met. I know more Crimeans than most Crimeans, I would say. So we need to get Putin in on this.”

“Nein. Herr Putin vill sit in his Straufraum until he learns to play nicely viz the rest of ze vorld.”

“Great, great, wonderful. I’ll FaceTime him.”

“Nein!”

“Mr. President, I smell a Filet-O-Fish in the next room.”

“Thank you, Justy!”

CONFUSED OLD MAN WITH THE NUCLEAR CODES WOBBLING INTO THE NEXT ROOM IN SEARCH OF A FILET-O-FISH NOISE

Danke schoen, Justy.”

“It was my pleasure, Chancellor. The world needs heroes right now. And it’s got me, Canada’s Justin Trudeau.”

“Gott in himmel.”

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?”

HATEFUL WOMAN PRETENDING NOT TO HEAR A SCUMBAG NOISE

“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?”

“No.”

“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?”

“No.”

“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?”

“No.”

“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?”

SLOVENIAN CATALOG MODEL LOATHING IN SILENCE NOISE

“Where is she? Melania?”

“General?”

“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?”

UNSECURED CELL PHONE NOISE

“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?”

“Chick-Fil-A.”

“Vonderful. Putin love pickle.”

“Sacre fucking bleu.”