Why There Are No Black Rugby Players

Despite advice to the contrary, Trump could not help himself and finally held a news conference to answer questions about the murder of George Floyd. It proved to be a most fateful day.

Yamiche Alcindor, White House correspondent for the PBS News Hour and the bane of Trump’s news conference existence, questioned the Incredible Hoax President.

Alcindor: “Mr. President, how do you feel about the murder of George Floyd?”

Trump: “Look, the MAGA people love the Blacks. I love the Blacks. No one has done more for the Blacks than me. Have you noticed all the Black lawn jockeys on the White House lawn? No one is writing about that. I have the highest number of Black lawn Jockeys on the White House lawn since Woodrow Wilson.”

Alcindor: “But, specifically, sir, what about the murder of George Floyd by that Minneapolis police officer? Can you speak directly to my question?”

Trump: “MY administration has also strongly condemned minstrels shows. No one hates banjo music more than me. Meanwhile, watermelon sales are at a record high and I consume more fried chicken than the entire NBA.”

Alcindor: “Please, sir, what about George Floyd?”

Trump: “Look, nobody cared when Lloyd George was killed as far as I know, George Floyd was not a member of the House of Lords, neither the Lord Jesus nor Traci Lords. But I love me some Black folks. Yeowzer, yeowzerr, brother. I love black singers, like Smokin’ Joe Robin Hood and, of course, I eat fried chicken by the lovin’ shovelful. I hear the darker the beery, the sweeter the juice. I get tested for Jungle Fever every day, but I am looking very strongly at Halle Berry. Who would have thought Wallace Berry would have produced such a hot hunk of brown sugar.”

Alcindor: “Mr. President, that’s Wallace Beery, not Berry. But again, what about police brutality? What about excessive force by the police in black communities?  What about the murder of George…”?

Trump (interrupts): “Okay, that’s enough. You’re a very rude, horrible, unattractive person, who should be taking Halle Berry Pills.”

Alcindor: “There’s no such thing as Halle Berry Pills. Believe me, if there were, I’d be taking them by the lovin’ spoonful.”

Trump: “I’ve got Jared forming a pharmaceutical commission to look into it.”

Alcindor: “when can we expect a report?”

Trump: “As soon as he gets peace in the Middle East, streamlines the government and finds a cure for the Yellow Slopehead Virus.”

Alcindor: “In other words…never.”

Trump: “You are a failure as a reporter.”

Alcindor: “What about police brutality in the black community?”

Trump: “Okay, missy. You want to talk about brutality. Rugby! Now that is brutal. But rugby players never complain about brutality. You know why?”

Alcindor: “I’m holding my breath.”

Trump: “Because there are no black rugby players. Maybe if that stone-cold loser QB, Colin Kopperhead, took a knee on your neck, you’d understand.”

Trump makes a face and begins to pass gas.

Press Secretary: “OK, EVERBODY, CLEAR THE ROOM!”

Several white House staffers take out cans of Air Freshener and begin to spray the room. A departing reporter is seen by a staffer beginning to strike a match to light his cigarette.

Staffer: “DO NOT LIGHT THAT MATCH!”

FLASH! KA-BOOM!

A huge flaming fireball explodes out of Trump’s ass. A firestorm engulfs the White House and it burns down into a smoldering pile of ashes.

That night on HBO’s “Real Time” with Bill Maher.

Bill Maher: “well, someone finally figured out a way to get Trump out of the White House…. turn him into a charcoal briquette.”

Trump’s favorite Smokin’ Joe robin Hood tune…and mine.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0P2a6aLDkkM

 

Thus Spake the Prophet Billy

Our traditional allies no longer trust us. We cozy up to dictators and despots.  We have backed out of every major treaty. We are the laughingstock of the whole world. We have a gulag for immigrants along our southern border. We are in the grasp of a global pandemic that is decimating our population. We are turning a blind eye to climate change. We have 40 million unemployed. We are on the verge of another Great Depression. We have riots breaking out all over the country because of yet another police killing of a black man. We have a low IQ, psychopath, pathological liar, racist, Russian asset president who wears a girdle, lifts, and shits in his pants and has fathered three children (Don Jr., Eric, Ivanka), who appear to have come from the Village of the Damned.

How is all this Making America Great Again?

I am hearing that this election could be like Reagan upsetting incumbent Jimmy Carter in the huge landslide of 1980.

The difference this time though is Jimmy Carter was an honorable man. He accepted defeat graciously, went back to his peanut farm and became the greatest ex-president in US history.

Trump is none of those things and will never become any of those things. He will be screaming “voter fraud” on Trump TV, live and direct from Mar-a-Lago until dysentery finally does him in.

When he loses the election, how this philandering, tax cheat, business failure, con artist, grifter, physically and morally repugnant and odious human being rose to the level of prominence, where his name begins and ends every sentence in our national dialog, will be a tattoo on our collective soul, we will never be able to erase.

Donald Trump is what the Book of Revelations was all about. He is the Devil Incarnate.

As Billy, the Native American in Predator, ominously observes, as he stares up into the trees, realizing he and his comrades are being hunted by an invisible monster:

“We’re all gonna die.”

 

Next Question

Where to you think Trump will come down on this cop who murdered George Floyd?

Black Female Reporter: “Mr. President, the video clearly shows the policeman had his knee on the back of Mr. Floyd’s neck with his full weight behind it. What does that indicate to you?”

Trump: “Why don’t you go back to Africa and ask someone there?”

BFR: “I was born in Mississippi!”

Trump: “Yeah, go back to your shithole country of Mississippi.”

BFR: “This cop obviously murdered Mr. Floyd. Don’t you agree?”

Trump: “No. Lots of people are saying this Floyd person was an avid fisherman and this nice police officer was just helping him find earthworms.”

BFR: “By kneeing his face into the dirt?”

Trump: “well, earthworms don’t grow on trees. You gotta get down, put your face on the ground and look hard.”

BFR: “Mr. Floyd said several times he could not breathe.”

Trump: “Listen, Brown Sugar, you are very rude. Everyone knows you must take a deep breath before you put your face in the ground to look for earthworms. This Floyd guy was just careless.”

BFR: “That’s the most ridiculous…”

Trump: “Enough, enough. Next question.”

The Diaper Don's Post Space X News Conference

News conference after Space X rocket launch gets scrubbed. Trump steps up to the microphones and points to a reporter.

Reporter: “Mr. President, another defeat for your administration. The Space X launch was cancelled due to bad weather. Do you bear any responsibility for the failure?”

Trump: “You’re such a rude black female reporter.”

Reporter: “Sir, it’s me, Jim Acosta, CNN. I am a White male, just like you.”

Trump: “I blame Obamagate for this disaster.”

Reporter: “Why?”

Trump: “It’s been in the papers, Jim. Well, not yours. But you know what I’m talking about and so does everyone else.”

Reporter: “I don’t. Please explain.”

Trump: “When you look at the bad weather, when you look at where it all comes from, lots of people say it comes from Africa. Where is Barack Hussein Obama from?”

Reporter: “Hawaii?”

Trump: “No! Africa. All those bad storms originated in Africa. I wanted to drop atom bombs on those storms and destroy them, but I inherited an empty cupboard from Obama. No bullets. No nuclear bombs. No Doritos. Nothing. It was in all the papers, except yours…”

He points to Jim Acosta.

“…you lying, black bitch.”

Reporter: “Sir, is it true you wear a girdle, a diaper and shit continually in your pants?”

Trump grimaces, grunts, leans over, turns to one side, and violently shakes his right leg.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H03I1Ip4PJQ

Trump: “Ah-h-h-h-! Ivan-ka-ka-ka! Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Trump turns to leave. Pence drapes a huge, plastic shower curtain over Trump and hustles him off stage. Pence returns to the podium.

Pence: “Thank you, Mr. President for your tremendous leadership…ah, fuck, I got it on my shoes! These are my best pair of Florsheim Wing Tips.”

The Last Garden Party Supper

Trump, our Incredible Hoax President, ordered his version of a Papal Bull, a Papal Bullshit Decree, by commanding the churches open up for services this weekend. He is appealing to his evangelical supporters by allowing the suckers to become unwitting martyrs in his psychotic crusade to kill all of us.

We can only imagine how the trumpvirus pendejodemic would have been handled during the time of the New Testament and how our concept of Christianity, and the iconic stories that are the foundation of that belief system would have to be adjusted.

The Last Grub Hub Last Supper Delivery

A Grub Hub guy arrives at the gate to the Garden in Gethsemane.

Grub Hub: “Okay, I got an order for a Jesus of Nazareth, party of thirteen.”

Jesus approaches the Grub Hub guy.

Jesus: “Yes, my son. That’s me.”

Grub Hub: “Hey, buddy, you’re not wearing a mask.”

Jesus wipes his hand across his face and a mask magically appears on his face.

Grub Hub: “Wow! How did you do that?”

Jesus: “You should have been here yesterday when I turned a 12-ounce can of Lucky Lager into a huge keg of beer.”

Grub Hub: “What the fuck is an ounce? Okay, so I got unleavened bread, bitter herbs, and a case of Diet coke.”

Jesus opens the box of food and looks in it.

Jesus: “I specifically ordered chips and salsa for thirteen. Where’s the chips and salsa?”

Grub Hub: “Excuse me. In case you have lost track of time, this is only 34 A.D., so tomatoes, potatoes and corn won’t make it to this side of the world until the 15^th century.”

Jesus: “What the fuck is a century?”

Grub Hub: “Look, I’m sorry I could not get the chips and salsa, but I threw in an extra-large order of turnip chips and gefilte fish dip.”

Jesus: “Okay, I forgive you, my son, in the name of The Father, Me, and The Holy Ghost. How much do I owe you?”

Grub Hub: “That will be 45 shekels, plus the tip. Uh, no checks or plastic, either.”

Jesus: “What the fuck is plastic?”

Grub Hub: “Plastics. The Graduate…uh, never mind.”

Jesus swipes his hand behind the Grub Hub’s ear and produces a fresh, crisp, 100-shekel bill, out of thin air, and gives it to him.

Jesus: “Here you go, kiddo. Keep the change. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Grub Hub: “There is only one place, right? This is it, right? Is there another place? The whole world is right here, I’ve seen the maps.”

Jesus: “It’s just a figure of speech, dude. Take the money.”

Grub Hub: “Gee, thanks, Jesus.”

Grub Hub looks closely at the bill.

Grub Hub: “Wait a minute.  Who is this guy, with the weird haircut, pictured on my 100-shekel bill?”

Jesus takes the shekel bill. Looks at it and realizes it is Ben Franklin pictured on the bill.

Jesus: “Whoops! My bad. Hang on.”

Jesus swipes his hand, once again, behind Grub Hub’s ear, miraculously produces another 100-shekel bill, then hands it to Grub Hub. He inspects the 100-shekel bill closely to see who is pictured on it.

Grub Hub: “Awright! Julius Caesar! Big Julie. I love this guy. That’s better. Thanks.”

Jesus: “No problem. Now, go with Dad.”

Grub Hub: “Can I ask you a question?”

Jesus: “Of course, my son.”

Grub Hub: “How come you have a Puerto Rican first name. There are no Jews named Jesus.”

Jesus: “Dad saw the original stage production of West Side Story and named me after one of the Jets. Besides, Sheldon Christ, is not going to inspire a whole new, world-wide religion.”

Grub Hub: “Makes sense. Will you need anything tomorrow?”

Jesus: “No, but maybe this coming Sunday.”

Grub Hub: “This coming Sunday? That’s Easter Sunday. I don’t work holidays.”

 

 

 

Presidency of the Traveling Poopy Pants

It has been rumored due to Trump’s abuse of stimulants, Adderall, and massive consumption of junk food, that he is incontinent and has been wearing a huge Adult Diaper for years.

In the book and movie, “Citizen Cohn”, Roy Cohn, Trump’s mentor, and role model, is in a hospital bed dying of AIDS. Cohn, of course, denied he was gay up to his dying breath.

During the film, Cohn is “visited” by the spirits of the people he fucked over in his long career as a pit bull, ruthless, shyster lawyer.

Maybe Trump will end up the same way; dying of the virus named after him (trumpvirus), alternating suffocating and shitting in his pants:

INT. – Hospital ICU – DAY

Trump is on a ventilator. He is hallucinating. He sees Putin enter his room, walk over to his bedside, and stand over him.

Putin: “Donald, you don’t look so good. How do you feel?”

Trump gasps for air and can barely manage a hoarse whisper.

Trump (weakly): “My numbers are the highest in…”

Putin (interrupting): “You owe me money, Donald. You got my money, Donald?”

Trump (faintly): “Of course, Vlad…”

Putin pulls the ventilator away from Trump’s mouth.

Putin: “I can’t hear you, Donald. Speak up.”

Trump hits the call button. A nurse appears at the door. Putin has vanished.

Nurse: “Oh, Mr. Trump, your ventilator fell off again.”

She puts it back on his mouth. She leaves the room. Trump looks toward the foot of the bed and sees Hillary Clinton.

Hillary: “Hello, Donald.”

Trump (surprised): “Holy shit, who let you out of jail. You’re supposed to be locked up.”

Hillary (sweetly): “Oh, Donald. I was never locked up. I beat you in the popular vote, remember? I’ve been the de facto president all these years.”

Trump shakes his head “no” violently and his ventilator flies off his mouth. Hillary sees the ventilator laying on the floor. She picks it up and puts it awkwardly over Trump’s ear.

Hillary: “There you go. Keep listening to your favorite music.”

She disappears. A nurse comes in to check in on Trump and finds him choking and gasping for air.

Nurse (shocked): “How the hell did that ventilator get awkwardly over your ear, sweetie?”

Trump (barely audible): “Hillary. Hillary did it. She was here. She did it.”

Nurse: “Now, now, Mr. Trump. You know you are not allowed any visitors.”

A disgusting, wet, long, slow, slide trombone, fart sound bubbles up from underneath the sheets. The nurse sniffs the air and makes a face.

Nurse: “Oh, oh. Somebody made a poopy pants.”

Nurse goes to the intercom and presses the button.

Nurse: “Yes, this is Nurse Ratchet. Mr. Kushner, you are needed in here, stat.”

Kushner: “No problem. OK, Rudy, you’re up.”

Rudy: “Ah, man. Not me. Get Bill Barr to do it.”

Barr: “Fuck that! Lady Lindsay, this is woman’s work. Sashay your fat ass in there”

Lady Lindsay: “Fiddley-dee. As God is my witness, I will never change another shitty diaper, as long as I live. Butterfly McQueen! Get over there!’

Butterfly (shrieking hysterically): “Me? Lordy, I don’t know nothing about changing no diaper on a honky man baby.”

Nurse: “Uh, anybody! He’s had another bigly bowel movement.”

Nurse calls the police department.

Nurse: “This is Nurse Ratchet. Connect me with Riot Control.”

A long pause, then a voice comes on the phone.

Riot Control: “Hello, this is Riot Control. What can I do for you?”

Nurse: “Do you still have those water cannons you use to break up unruly crowds of hippie protestors.?”

Riot Control: “You bet. Whatcha need?”

Nurse: “I’m taking care of Donald Trump and he has…”

Riot Control (laughing): “Let me guess, he’s shit in his pants, right?”

Nurse: “Yes, how did you know?”

Riot Control: “I used to work on The Apprentice on Shit Control. Had to hose him down three, four times a day. Be right there.”

Nurse: “Oh, good…”

Another huge, gag inducing, wet flatulent bomb erupts from under the sheets.

Nurse: “Oh, Jesus God, NO!”

Nurse leaves the room screaming in horror.

FADE OUT

CUE THEME SONG

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4j7ggZqbiU

 

 

Operation: Stable Genius Warped on Speed

I am imagining Trump as Cadet Bone Spurs at the helm of the Starship Aspiration. Its four-year mission is to toss out every mind-numbing idea for a Coronavirus cure that slides out of his fecal-packed colon.

Cadet Bone Spurs: “Mr. Kushner, chart course for Planet Vaccine. We need to get there before November. Warp Speed 5. Make it so, Number Two.”

Mr. Kushner: “Dad, you said you wouldn’t call me that anymore. I want to be Number One.”

Cadet Born Spurs: “Oh, alright, Number One. Warp Speed 5. Make it so.”

Mr. Kushner: “I can’t, sir.”

Cadet Bone Spurs: “What? Why the fuck not.”

Mr. Kushner: “The Aspiration is the Hyundai, stripped-down version of a starship. Top speed is only 75 MPH.”

Cadet Bone Spurs sees Lt. Ivanka walk by in her mini-skirt Starship uniform.

Cadet Bone Spurs. “Lt. Ivanka, bend over and pick up that clipboard you dropped on the floor.”

Lt. Ivanka: “I didn’t drop my clipboard. I’m holding it right here in my hands.”

Cadet Bone Spurs flings his clipboard on the floor in front of Lt. Ivanka.

Cadet Bone spurs: “Pick up that one.”

Lt. Ivanka bends over to pick up the clipboard exposing her tight little ass. The crew swoons in unison. The starship veers sharply off course.

Cadet Bones Spurs: Goddammit, that booty shot was for me. Get back to your stations. Scotty, this is the Cadet. Scotty can you hear me? Scotty.”

A bark comes over the speaker.

Lt. Kushner: “that’s the Scottish Terrier dog, Scotty, sir. You want the ship’s engineer, Scrotum.”

Cadet Bone Spurs: “Scrotum, come in.”

Scrotum: “Engineer Scrotum here, sir.”

Cadet bone Spurs: “Scrotum, we need more power. We need Warp Speed 5, now.”

Scrotum: “I can’t do it, sir. If I try and install one more rubber band to our propellers, she’s gonna blow.”

Cadet Bone spurs: “Well fine. I’ll have to give another news conference.”

Starship Aspiration returns to Earth and lands on white House Lawn. Cadet Bone Spurs exits starship and steps up to the microphones.

Cadet Bone spurs: “We came tremendously close to Planet Vaccine. But as you all know, Obama left us with empty cupboards.   He took all the office supplies too, so we didn’t have enough rubber bands to complete our mission.”

Black Female Reporter: “sir, African Americans want to know what you are going to do for the Black Community.”

Cadet Bone Spurs: “Well as you know, all African Americans love Trump. Even the cannibals in the Congo call me and say: Sir, please come to the Congo and sit in our royal hot tub with the carrots, onions celery, and bay leaves floating in it.”

Black Female Reporter: “The new program for African Americans, sir?”

Cadet Bone spurs: “Oh yeah, I’ve been working tremendously closely with Jesse Jackson. In the next couple of weeks, maybe sooner, maybe never, in partnership with Jackson’s Rainbow Coalition, I am furnishing every colored male his own personal rainbow to follow him around when he is jogging somewhere, he doesn’t belong.”

Black Female Reporter: “What good will that do?”

Cadet Bone Spurs: “It’s for protection.”

Black Female Reporter: “Protection?”

Cadet Bone spurs: “Yeah, protection. No Irish cop worth his weight in whiskey would ever shoot a colored kid with a rainbow around him.”

Black Female Reporter: “Why not?”

Cadet Bone Spurs: “Bad luck. Pisses off the Leprechaun’s when there’s Negro blood in their bowl of Lucky Charms.”

Black Female Reporter: “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

She takes off her shoes, throws them at Cadet bone Spurs, gives him the finger, turns and leaves.