White House in Crisis: Fresh Outta Crises

Last week, on a steamy morning deep in the bowels of our nation’s capital, CNN reporters gathered in the press room prepared to hear the latest news from the White House.

After patiently waiting for several hours, the reporters grew concerned. Not because they noticed anything amiss — I mean, let’s get real, these guys wouldn’t recognize a news story if it bit them on the tuchus — but because the vending machine supply of Skittles was in danger of running out.

Suddenly, an intern burst through the door and yelled, “Hey guys! This isn’t even the press room! It’s the janitor’s closet!”

“Well, that explains the overpowering stench of bleach and vomit,” said one reporter as the others nodded in agreement.

“Besides,” said the intern, “there is no crisis today. You heard me — none! No news to report!  Go home!”

A collective gasp filled the room. The reporters were all atwitter.

No crisis?”

“Nothing bad happened?”

“I can go home? But I hate my wife!”

Yes, the impossible happened. The breaking news?

There was no breaking news.

No insane tweets. No willy-nilly firings. Not even a potent fart stealthily released on a crowded elevator.

The next day at a press conference — curiously held in the janitor’s closet for realsies — Trump attempted to explain his lack of breaking news and wind.

“Listen up, nimrods! Look, here’s the thing. It turns out I’ve already met my firing quota this week. That’s right. Yesterday, I fired 25 people by the time my nap rolled around. Melania says I’m only allowed 10 a week, tops. Sad!”

“But Mr. President,” a reporter asked, “Why do you even have a firing quo–”

“You’re fired.”

“But I…”

“But I….” Trump mocked. “But you are so fired.”

“But I’ve got 10 kids! And 3 wives!”

In response, Trump held up his itty-bitty finger and rubbed it together with his teeny thumb.

“Good one,” smirked the fired reporter. “Tiny violins?”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I do this whenever I have a brain fart. Calms me down. And the loser behind you with the stupid grin,” Trump pointed.

“You’re fired.”

“No, sir, I am not fired.”

“Fired.”

“No…”

“Fired.”

“This is ridic–”

“Fired fired fired fired fired fired fired fired fired fired fired fired–”

An awkward silence fell over the room. President Trump’s barrage of firing and pointing, and pointing and firing this man went on for five solid minutes before someone finally screwed up enough courage to interrupt.

“Psst! Mr. President!” whispered the janitor standing in the corner holding a mop.

“What do you want now, you unbelievable jackhole?”

“Um…the person you’re firing….ahem… is your reflection in the window.”

“OK, OK, OK. Amazing stuff. Seriously, amazing. Peace out.”

And that is how Donald J. Trump, the 45th President of these United States, left office. Not due to a long agonizing process of impeachment, or a respectul resignation, or the discovery of naked photos of Putin on his cell.

He fired himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coming to prime time TV this fall:  Apprentice: The Washed-Up Celebs/Ex-Presidents Edition!

 

 

 

Advertisements

Top Eleven Things I Hate About Being President

Hey, losers! It’s me, the President of the United States.

Image result for Trump

Yes, I am still here.

No, I don’t want to be here anymore.

So please enjoy my top 11 Reasons Why Being Prez Sucks Bigly Time:

11) Thought it would be more like that movie where the bratty kid gets all the ice cream in the world served to him in a king-sized bed.

Image result for home alone ice cream

10) No hookers.

9) No p*****s worth grabbing anywhere, let me tell you.

8) White House staff didn’t like my idea of putting Sean Spicer and James Comey inside a massive hedge maze with one bag of Doritos, an ax, and no way out.

Image result for the shining maze

7) All these meetings with all the talk-talk-talk and blah-blah-blah and this-n-that and poopie-doopie-doo. Just shut the hell up and let me nap.

6) Me no likey thinking! Thinking hard!

5) I miss my spectacular view of all the numbnuts protesting outside Trump Tower. White House is not high enough! How am I supposed to look down on people? SAD!

4) No gold-plated anything.

3) NO SPRINKLES FOR MY ICE CREAM!

2) NO SPRINKLES FOR MY ICE CREAM!

1) I ask you–how am I supposed to live without sprinkles? OUTRAGEOUS!

So that’s my list and it’s amazing.

Stay tuned for more hijinks and mayhem as I continue my spectacular quest to get impeached — including hiring a skywriter to fly over the White House every hour with the words: GET ME OUT OF HERE! I WANT MY MOMMY! and a photo op of me having a “Bed-In” with Putin and Kim Jong-Un I like to call, “Give Dictators a Chance”.

Mom for President 2020

 

 

slide1

My 82-year-old mother is running for POTUS. She figured she’d kick off her campaign immediately because, as she put it, “I might die in my sleep tonight.”

Also, The View is on at 2 pm.

I think she’ll win in a landslide. After all, she came up with a pretty sweet slogan:

Nagging We Can Believe In!

(It was either that or Well, I Guess The World Is Pumping A Handcart To Hell, Now Eat Your Damned Veggies Or You’ll Get Buttlogged)

Some of the things she promises to do once in office (and only if I take her shopping at the Christmas Tree Shop later this week):

  • Redecorate. The more doilies, cat knickknacks, and miniature Elvis figurines the better.
  • Require all thermostats to be set at 80 degrees. If the temperature falls to 79 degrees — Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock get blown up.
  • All state dinners will be gluten-free and served at 3:30 sharp.
  • Deport all of the “Karbuncles” unless they “for god’s sake, cover up!” Same goes for anyone else showing even a hint of “chest crack” in public.

    slide1
    Kim doing her part for a kinder, gentler, less chest-cracky nation.
  • Make sure every vending machine in the nation carries rice cakes, prune juice and Sanka.
  • Vice President: Oprah.
  • Surgeon General: Dr. Oz
  • Secretary of State: Tony Bennett
  • Supreme Court justice: Betty White
  • Foreign policy: Sit up straight.
  • Domestic policy: Get a real job.
  • New national holiday celebrated from January 1st through December 31st: Happy Call Your Mother, Because You Never Know She Might Be Choking On A Rice Cake And Lying On The Floor Unable To Turn Up The Heat And You Don’t Want That On Your Conscience, Now Do You? Day
  • At every meeting, all world leaders will be required to wear a cat sweater. Because how could you possibly argue about climate change with someone who is wearing a cat sweater?

slide1

So please, vote for my mom in four years. And would it kill you to eat some broccoli? Jeez.

My exclusive interview with Trump

 

Slide1

Last week, I sat down with the Republican Party nominee at the local Starbucks. After knocking back a couple Frappuccinos and ten scones, I was ready to hammer him with the tough questions.

Me: Mr. Trump — may I call you Mr. Trump? Or do you prefer just Trump or The Donald or…?

Trump: I prefer Supreme Ruler of the Universe.

Me: Mmkay. So…I think we’re all dying to know…what the frig? I mean, dude! Seriously?

Trump: I have no idea what you mean by that question.

Me: Really? No idea?

Trump: Look, let’s get down to brass tacks here. Obama is ISIS. He really is.

Me: (scoffs)

Trump: I’m tellin’ you, he created it.

Me: Uh….

Trump: There’s no doubt. My sources also tell me he’s the man responsible for Deflategate, Zima, and Carrot Top.

c266b596702e4bc6128a2b3407cd8b68

Me: You can’t really believe–

Trump: Okay, about what I just said. It’s called (enunciates slowly) SARCASM.

Me: Oh, so you were kidding? About which part?

Trump: No, I wasn’t kidding. It’s all true. When I said it was sarcasm, I was being sarcastic. Here’s the thing, and pay careful attention to what I’m about to say.

Me: Okay.

Trump: Obama’s a vegetarian.

Me: (blank stare)

Trump: Probably a vegan, for all we know.

Me: And how does that–

Trump: Obama’s an alien. Sent from the planet Floopzork to destroy all humanity. It’s true and I have solid proof, but anyway.

Me: Okay, I get the feeling you’re trying to sabotage your own campaign. Thoughts?

Trump: Look — this country is in crisis. We need to make it great again. Starting with banning all people who watch The Bachelor. They’re all despicable, they really are. And I’ll tell you something else, Michael Jackson is still alive and well and living in a bunker underground at Disney World. I think he’s also behind ISIS, I don’t know.

Me: So–

Trump: And by the way, Disney is the main recruiter of terrorists. I mean, did you ever really look into the eyes of Goofy? Really look? If you did, I’d think you’d see pure evil staring back at you, but whatever.

Me: Are you saying these things because you didn’t think you’d actually get this far? Did you wake up one night in a cold sweat and think, Holy shit, what the hell am I doing? So now you secretly want to lose in a landslide to Clinton?

Trump: Hillary should be put in a rocket and blasted to the moon. I mean, we have the technology. Let’s put Carrot Top in there with her.

Me: But…

Trump: Y’know, some of our top scientists say that the moon is really made of cheese. Camembert.

Me: ……

Trump: And we should ban all Canadians from entering the United States. I mean, can you really trust a country that gave the world Justin Bieber?

Me: Well….

Trump: Y’know…sometimes when I’m all alone and it’s quiet… I talk to my pet monkey, Mr. Pickles. He tells me the secrets of the universe. He also thinks the moon is made of cheese, but not Camembert — Colby-Jack.

Me: Clearly you’re panicking now at this stage. People are left to speculate if you’re brilliant, insane, or a jackass. Or a combination of all three, but mostly jackass. Is this your strategy to exit the race?

Trump: Lemme tell you something, okay? Aliens are already here on this planet, right now. Oprah’s one. And I’m pretty sure Hillary is too, I don’t know. Her eyes are all wonky. Lock her up before she starts zapping all our brains, know what I’m sayin’?

Me: No, I don’t.

Trump: (whispers) Shh! They’ll hear us! Here, put this on! (hands me a pair of underwear) Put it on your head! Their signals won’t be able to penetrate!

Me: Uh…

Trump: I’ll try giving them a subliminal message that we mean no harm.

Me: Okay, I think we’re done here!

Trump: (wearing underwear on head) Meep! Beep! Meep-borp-blarp!

___________________________________________________

There you have it, folks, my interview with Trump.

And I know what you’re thinking — he has an excellent chance of winning, doesn’t he?

A Special Message From Sarah Palin

 

palin-trump_custom-697f16e996de47cf407198db4b6adfce7359f69b-s900-c85

Yeehaw! It’s time to quit pussyfootin’ around, America! C’mon, all you ditch-diggin’, hash-slingin’, cow-tippin’ proud apple pie rockin’ mamas and papas!

Click on this here link-dee-loo down below to find out what happens when Darla goes undercover at Trump headquarters! Hint: It ain’t purty.

And after you’re done readin’ — LET’S KICK SOME ISIS ASS!

Go on! Clicky this linkie-dinkie-doo –> Investigative Report: The Trump Files, by The Nudge Wink reporter, She’s a Maineiac.

 

 

 

 

Maine politician makes stuff up. Stephen King gets pissed. What happens next will blow your mind.

As if the six month winter of Snowmageddon wasn’t enough, now us Mainers have something else to bitch about. Our resident prolific bullshit artist, Governor Paul LePage, made national headlines last week by waging a battle of wits with our resident prolific horror writer, Stephen King.

Slide1

When I say wits I’m only talking about one man. You guess which one.

Here’s how the brouhaha went down: Gov. LePage recently stated in his radio address something like, “Hey! Mainers don’t need no fricking income tax! Look at Stephen King!  He lives in Florida! Yeah, that’s right! He’s an asshole!”

To which Stephen King responded with, “Say whaaaaat?”

Apparently, not only does King pay his share of Maine taxes with a million and change every year, I could have sworn I saw him last week at his part time gig selling Bean boots and maple syrup.

Slide1

In typical political fashion, LePage immediately had his comments erased from the transcript and admitted to nothing on his part. Because clearly it was the news media’s fault for spinning their magic voodoo words to make him look bad. Oh, those pesky news reporters! Always inferring and assuming and hearing words come out of someone’s mouth and attaching meaning to those words.

The next day, Stephen King gazed out at the palm trees, took a long sip from his margarita, cranked up his a/c and responded with, “Be a man. Apologize.”

Instead LePage said in his standard “let’s make a lame joke and this will all fade away” way:

“Just make me the villain of your next book and I won’t charge you royalties.”

Oh! Oh ho ho ho! Oh man! You are such a riot, Paul! But I have news for you, I’m pretty sure all of Stephen King’s villains were based on you.

While we wait for King to unleash the homicidal sewer clown let’s have some fun. I love it when people make stuff up to fit their agenda.

Here, let me try… (keep in mind I am clearly not saying what I am saying. If you infer something, that’s your fault.)

**Local statisticians are stumped as to why Maine’s population is steadily declining. Governor Paul LePage lives here.

**In a recent poll, Maine ranked as the number one state full of idiots. Governor Paul LePage was elected. Twice.

Please, America, I’m begging you to realize these facts:

  1. We did not elect Paul LePage. Eliot Cutler did.
  2. 51.8 % of us would rather suffer through ten more winters than one more term with Paul.
  3. Next election? I’m writing in Stephen King.