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”.

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.