Happy Friday, America.
I just want to duck in here real quick and personally thank Donald J. Trump for making it nearly impossible to write satire anymore. (That was sarcasm, by the way.)
I actually hate his guts and would never thank him for anything, but writing it that way seems so dry … so boring … so unoriginal.
So let’s return to some satire while we still can, shall we?
Does this bastard’s dirty deeds have no end?!
What, it wasn’t enough that he has repeatedly stood at the creaky podium of America’s highest office destroying truth and decency? … he had to batter satire into submission, too???
All I have to say is, Mark Twain, I am glad you are not around to see this. It would have positively curled your mustache.
“Patriot: The person who can holler the loudest without knowing what he is hollering about.”
Try as we might to skewer this anti-patriotic sewage pipe with sarcasm around here, he always manages to outdo us.
He was never better (completely fucking worse) than the other day when he threw a scripted tantrum over Nancy Pelosi being oh-so-mean to him during the course of 12, terrifying and gut-wrenching hours.
As we have now fully gathered since Trump successfully shut the government down and got absolutely nothing for his trouble except white-hot ridicule, Pelosi is the mother he never had. Had he been told “NO!” even once while growing up in his Golden Kingdom of “Whatever Your Want, Donny,” the world might be a very different place today. Instead, it quakes by the hour as the fully grown, 336-lb. man-baby shakes his nuclear-powered rattle with spit and rage.
Apparently, Trump prepared for the 617th Infrastructure Day of his warped, swamp-soaked administration by sitting up all night fondling his precious cell phone and battering it into submission with his tiny fingers.
Presumably dragging Stephen Miller from his shoe closet to play the fawning audience of one, Trump plotted the script for Wednesday’s edition of “Literally and Completely The Biggest Loser Ever.”
In this terrific episode our woebegone, wrinkled hero plays the victimized, snot-nosed 4-year-old who has just been told he can’t stuff his penny-loafers with his father’s Nazi regalia and then storms outside to pitch a fit for his adoring neighbors.
Trump’s performance in the Rose Garden was so pathetic, so unhinged and so completely over the top, a 100-year wilt began and the poor, poor roses needed to immediately be replanted someplace warmer, like Helsinki.
Armed with notes scribbled in electric, black ink to stay on topic, the man-baby went on an eight-plus minute rant that reached such a fever pitch it had Lindsey Graham screaming about rectal exams the very next day on Fox News.
And let’s have a good cry for poor, poor Linds, who try as he might, will never replace Ted Cruz as the Most Revolting Person on Earth. A round of applause is in order for his stellar efforts, though.
Among my favorites from Trump’s latest foray into destroying satire for good was this beauty that oozed out of those pink, puckered lips of his:
“And I just saw that [House Speaker] Nancy Pelosi, just before our meeting, made a statement that ‘We believe that the president of the United States is engaged in a coverup.’ ”
Now the money shot …
“I don’t do coverups,” he said. “You people” — the media — “know that probably better than anybody.”
Sorry … What can a person possibly type to do any kind of justice to that beauty?
I’m told that upon hearing those words from his prison cell, Michael Cohen immediately asked for the death penalty. I mean, what’s the sense of going on …?
Stormy Daniels actually slid off her poll into a crumpled, defeated heap and returned the $130,000 check she received from Trump, with a note telling him to “buy the next porn star he bangs repeatedly something nice …”
Vladmir Putin had his first belly-laugh since the 2016 election, tore off his shirt, got on his horse and rode off to inspect the future location of Trump Tower — Moscow …
Of the above three paragraphs, two of them used to be known as something called satire.