Last Man Standing: Rick Perry

Don’t laugh, but Rick Perry is going to be our next president. Okay, after you clean up after doing a spit take that would make Danny Thomas reciprocate with his own classic spit take, consider that the presidential line of succession favors the former Texas governor and current Secretary of Commerce…oops. uh, I mean…Education…no, no, it’s Energy…yeah, Energy.

What about VP Pence, you ask. Pence is dirty He knew about Flynn’s hanky-panky foreign dealings from the beginning. He was head of the transition team. When the shit from Mueller’s investigation hits the fan, Pence will have more crap on him than a chicken coop floor.

Next up, Speaker of the House. Eddie Munster aka Paul Ryan. He’s only 13-years old. Ryan is still going through puberty; doesn’t shave, voice cracks, still in short pants. Nope.

After that is Orrin Hatch, President Pro Tem of the Senate. First of all, WTF is president pro tem of the senate? Second, Orrin Hatch sounds like the name of a valve in the lower colon:

Surgeon: “Mrs. Jones, your husband’s Orrin Hatch had to be removed. It was enGeorged with an infectious Stephanopoulos.”

Mrs. Jones: “Oh sweet Jesus! No!”

Secretary of State Rex Tillerson is next in line. But the guy never speaks in public. What would a Tillerson inauguration address look like or sound like?

Tillerson’s Press Secretary: “Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, President Tillerson does not speak in public. Underneath your seat you will find a printed copy of President Tillerson’s speech. Please go to your nearest Christian Science Reading Room and peruse it quietly to yourselves. And now, the Presidential Mime Troupe will act out the National Anthem.”

Okay, granted, Perry does not possess the greatest oratory skills. So, I wrote a rough draft, monosyllabic inauguration speech and submitted it to Perry for consideration:

“Hi, me Rick. Me good. Good for you. Now we friends? You want jobs? Jobs good. Have jobs for you now. No walls. Mexicans good. Come here for you.  Take jobs from you. Tex-Mex food good. Rick likes beans. Make farts. Farts not good.”

Yeah, sounds too much like Tonto, Tarzan or Frankenstein. It still needs some work.

But no one else wants the job or is qualified.

·         Betsy DeVos – Too busy getting her AA in Black Studies at Bethune-Cookman.

·         Alex Acosta, Labor Secretary, is a Mexican. That ain’t gonna happen in this galaxy. Maybe after the next Big Bang.

·         Jeff Sessions – Doesn’t meet the minimum height requirement. Also, possible conflict of interest. Sessions is Legal Counsel for the Lollipop Guild.

·         Treasury Secretary, Steve Mnuchin is a closet Munchkin---nice try with the anagram spelling of your last name to fool us, Steve---and a card-carrying member of the Lollipop Guild.

·         Ben Carson? C’mon. Seriously?

·         Sonny Perdue, Secretary of Agriculture, is actually a Country and Western singer and will be touring with Ferlin Husky and Conway Twitty.

·         James “Mad Dog” Mattus? Bad enough we have a president who bad mouths everyone. We don’t need a president biting foreign dignitaries on the ankles. “Down boy! That’s a goo’ boy, goo’ boy.”

Last man standing; Rick Perry., proud Texan. good hair, Clark Kent-like horn rim glasses giving him the gravitas and stature of a pharmacist in your local Walgreen’s. And in a grand gesture to heal the wounds of the 2016 campaign, President Perry will appoint Jeb Bush to fill the vacancy at the Department of Energy.

Perry: “He may have been Low Energy Jeb during the campaign, but now he’ll have access to all the energy needs. My main man, JEB!

Bush: “Thank you, Mr. President. It’s an honor, a privilege, a blessing and a holy sacrament to serve you. Jeez, look at me. I’m all damp and weak-kneed. But what I really admire about you, sir, is during you term as Texas governor, you made my brother, George, look like an Ivy League, East Coast, Big City, elitist intellectual.”

Perry: “Well, somebody had to do it.”

RICK!

Comey Meets the @realDonaldTrump #heebie-jeebies

Nobody wants to be near this guy. Nobody wants to be alone in a room with him.  Hell, even Melania doesn’t want to hold his hand, much less be left in a room with him. Hard to believe someone would not want a private meeting with the third most powerful person in the world behind Angela Merkel and Oprah Winfrey.

Here’s what really happened in that one-on-one meeting between Donald and Comey that led him to tell Sessions, “Don’t ever leave me alone with him again.”

Fade in. A meeting is breaking up in the White House. Close-up of president.

Trump: “Okay, everybody out. I want to talk to Jimbo alone.

Sessions: “But, Mr. President, that’s highly…”

Trump: “Don’t give me any shit Jeff or I’ll banish you back to Middle Earth where I found your Hobbit ass.”

Bannon: “Me too, chief?”

Trump: “Yeah, you too. Don’t forget to take your cape, hood and scythe. You leave that thing on the floor all the time and I keep stubbing my toes on it. I don’t need any more bone spurs in my feet.”

Bannon: “Aw, not fair. Does Steve Miller get to stay?”

Trump: “Nope, him too. C’mon Steve Miller, Fly Like an Eagle right on out of here. That’s an order.”

Miller: “Yes my Covfefe.”

Trump: “Where’s Flynn? Mike is that you hiding behind the curtains? I see your shoes sticking out from the bottom of the curtain. Nice try. Let’s go!”

Flynn: “Of course, my Covfefe. As you say.”

Trump: “Mike, push the Kush out with you.”

Kushner opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out.

Trump: “Sorry son, I don’t read lips.”

Finally, the room is cleared, except for Comey, who stands stunned, looking at Trump.

Comey: “Now what?”

Trump: “Now we go into the War Room. Well, it was going to be a War Room, but no one showed up for the war. So, I had it converted into a spa. C’mon, let’s jump in the hot tub.”

Comey: “I don’t know…”

Trump: “Oh, c’mon. It’ll be fun and very relaxing.”

They enter the converted War Room where a large, circular hot tub is full of swirling hot water and steam rising off the surface of the bubbly brew. The two men disrobe and gently slip into the hot tub, sitting at opposite ends, facing each other.

Trump: “Ah-h-h-h, this is the life isn’t it Jimbo. May I call you Jimbo?”

Comey: “No…”

Trump: “Jimbo, I need to ask you some very, very important questions.”

Comey: “Okay.”

Trump: “Do you like being FBI Director? Pretty cool being the top cop in the US. Walking in J. Edgar’s shoes. You like that?”

Comey: “Of course.”

Trump: “Of course you do. J. Edgar was a loyal man. Are you a loyal man, Jimbo?”

Comey: “It’s James…

”Trump: “He was loyal to the FBI, the United States, to Clyde Tolson, but especially to the president. I’d like you to be as loyal to me as J. Edgar was to Clyde Toolson. Can you do that?”

Comey: “I don’t know…”

Trump: “You know Hoover and Tolson used to dress up as women, put on high heels, make-up, listen to jazz, slow dance and bitch slap each other over cocktails.”

Comey: “That's just a vicious rumor.”

Trump: “Not a rumor. Alex Jones reported it on his radio program. Not a rumor. So, let me ask you this, do you prefer snails or clams?”

Comey: “Huh?”

Trump: “Simple question. Snails or clams. Which do you prefer?”

Comey: “Sir, I’m from Yonkers. We don’t get much seafood there.”

Trump: “Don’t worry about that Jimbo. I got us out of that stupid Paris climate change deal. In a few years, Yonkers will be fucking prime beachfront property. I’ll probably build a hotel there.”

Comey: “Mr. President…”

Trump: “Please, call me El Covfefe. All my underlings do”

Comey: “Okay. El Covfefe, I’m very uncomfortable with this conversation.”

Trump: “Sure. You’re worried you will be unable to walk in Hoover’s shoes, or fit in them and his dresses as well. No problem. Ivanka has designed some custom dresses for your tall frame and shoes for those gun boats hanging off your ankles.”

Comey: “No, I really…”

Trump claps his hands and beckons for Manuel, his personal valet, to bring in the clothes Ivanka has made for Comey.

Trump: “Manuel. Yo, ¡Manny! La ropa para Jimbo por favor!”

Manuel: “Si, mi Covfefe.”

Trump: “They are gorge clothes. All the rage in Jina and Moscow.”

Comey: “I’ll try them on when I get home. But I really think I should be leaving.”

Trump: “Fine. Fine. If I have your loyalty and you promise to tell everyone I had nothing to do with the Russians---although, between you and me, I’m in Putin’s pocket like a cheap handkerchief---and you lay off Flynn.’’

Comey: “There’s no way I could…”

Trump: “Good. Good. Let me ask you this. I’m thinking of unloading Sessions and replacing him with either Richard Simmons, Rue Paul or Harvey Fierstein. Wanna get some outsider, non-political, LGBT-type to be my Attorney General. Who do you like?”

Comey: “I hear good things about Fierstein. He’s loyal.”

Trump: “Done! Harvey Fierstein it is. You know, Jeff was a total failure as Attorney General. Every time he got in the hot tub with me, he’d lay bubble farts. Still thought he was swimming in some Alabama creak, I guess.”

Suddenly, Comey’s face grows tight with unease and he sits upright.

Comey: “Uh, Mr. President…I mean…El Covfefe. Are you tickling the bottom of my feet with your toes?”

Trump: “Maybe.”

My Lost Weekend In A Brussels Bar

Donald Trump has become the Rodney Dangerfield of world leaders. No one respects him or takes him seriously anymore. His Laughing Stock numbers soared during his recent overseas comedy tour.

The world isn’t laughing at us, Mr. Fake Prez. The world is laughing at you!

 I just happened to be getting very drunk in a bar in Brussels right after Trump managed to piss off every single European leader, NATO and the British Prime Minister. And we should not be surprised by his behavior because Trump University’s basketball team is the Golden Boors. Sean Spicer and Kellyanne Conway were varsity head cheerleaders at Trump University where they both earned BA’s in BS.

So, there I was knocking down one tequila shot after another, followed with a Modelo Especial chaser trying to drink up the courage to get up on the stage and do a little karaoke singing.

Then, through rapidly blurring eyes, I saw Justin Trudeau, Emmanuel Macron, Teresa May and Angela Merkel weaving in the bar, arm in arm, and sit in a booth right behind me.  They were already four parts pissed, as British PM Teresa May would say. They were giggling and laughing their collective European asses off.

After a few more rounds of drinks, they really loosened up and started laughing harder, making fun of The Donald.

Trudeau: “Boy, that Donald Trump is a real piece of work, eh?”

May: “That’s for sure. You know, I heard he’s the only president who doesn’t have a White House pet of any kind.”

Merkel: “Not true. He has a pet werewolf.”

Trudeau: “Don’t talk about Steve Bannon that way, Merky.”

Merkel: “Don’t call me Merky, Trudy.,”

May: “Trump has a pet werewolf. Bannon, a pet condor. Kellyanne has been seen walking her pet cobra on a leash in the Rose Garden.”

Macron: “Didn’t you just love the way I walked straight toward him to shake hands and then made a sharp right turn and headed toward you, Angela?”

Merkel: “That was so fucking funny!”

Trudeau: “Yeah, there was the president of Pittsburgh holding out his little, wet, clammy hand as if he were walking an invisible werewolf.”

May: “He held my hand. It was like holding a dead fish. A small dead fish. A guppy.”

Macron: “Hey, is it true Donald is so fat…”

May: “How fat is he?’

Macron: “His feet are so fat, when he stands flat-footed, his toes don’t touch the floor.

Trudeau: “He hasn’t seen his dick in twenty years. But, neither has Melania.”

Merkel: “Fucking funny! Speaking of fucking, which one of you Frenchy lover boys is doing Melania tonight. She’s traveling without her masseur on this trip.”

May: “Can’t think of anyone in more dire need of a happy ending than that poor, sad trophy wife. Are you porking her, Trudy?”

Trudeau: “Ah, you got me, Teresa. I told Melania I had a unique collection of French Ticklers. That sealed the deal.”

Macron: “Hold on there, Trudy. You stole those from me. Give ‘em back”

Merkel: “Ticklers? French Ticklers? Manny, you don’t need no stinking French Ticklers. Not with that sandpaper, cat-like tongue of yours.”

May: “Careful, watch what you say. There’s a drunk Mexican in the next booth. He might hear you.”

After that, Trudeau and Macron took the karaoke stage and sang a very boozy, woozy version of La Marseillaise. Afterwards, they staggered back to the booth. Teresa May, her head on the table, passed out, snoring like a hibernating bear.

Trudeau: “You don’t sing too good, Manny.”

Macron: “Well, frankly, Trudy, your French is pure merde.

They were so wasted, they hadn’t noticed Merkel had crawled over to my booth and was all over me, whispering breathlessly in my ear.

Merkel: “Achtung my little Mexican amigo. Mama Merk needs some achtonge action tonight. You comprende?”

I barely managed to slur, “Sorry, ma’am, I’m a married man.”

Merkel: “Okay, I’ll settle for a foot massage.”

A Tale of Two Jareds

Why do the TV talking heads, like MSNBC’s Chris Matthews, keep asking if Jared Kushner is naïve, misguided, inexperienced or just didn’t know what he was doing when he planned to open a secret, direct line to Moscow in the Russian embassy before Trump’s inauguration? Jared is none of those things.

Like his daddy-in-law, Kushner is a rich, spoiled, privileged, preppy boy who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and above and beyond the law.

Recall that Trump believes he can shoot someone on 5^th Avenue and no one, including the victim, would hold it against him.

Bystander: “Sir, you’ve been shot in broad daylight here on 5^th Avenue, in cold blood, by Donald Trump. Aren’t you upset?”

Victim: “No, no. It’s okay. He’s a rich guy. Gonna make America great again. Besides, that’s probably a very expensive pistol and it’s my fault I got in the way. He was aiming for that Mexican guy operating that taco truck on the corner. No, it’s okay. Just tell my wife I’ll be a little late for dinner. Maybe I can get some takeout from the taco truck.”

Jared isn’t naïve. He’s one of those richy-rich, smarty pants preppy boys who’s so arrogantly, supremely self-confident, his hubris encompasses four time zones. Precisely like Leopold and Loeb back in the Twenties.

Leopold and Loeb kidnapped and murdered a young boy just to prove they could outfox, outsmart, outwit the cops and not get caught. They got caught.

Jared was going to make a super clandestine connection with a Russian bank to cut business deals through the Russian embassy under the guise of having talks with Putin about Syria. Right! Even the Russian ambassador thought that was exceedingly ballsey of Kushner. So, his plan was to just walk into the Russian embassy and not get noticed?

FGI Agent: “Mr. Kushner, I’m an FBI agent. Why are you going into the Russian embassy? By the way, that’s quite a pair you’re packing in those Dockers.”

Kushner: “Oh thanks, but I’m not Jared Kushner. I’m a Jedi knight. You don’t see me. Direct you gaze to the Mexican taco truck vendor across the street. He’s selling tacos filled with tainted meat.”

FBI Agent: “Tainted meat. Tainted meat. Must stop taco truck vendor.”

Oddly enough though, no one has heard Jared speak. He never gives interviews. There’s a very tragic reason for this situation. Jared suffered a terrible sword swallowing accident when he inadvertently hiccupped severing his vocal chords. He received the vocal chords of a dolphin in an experimental transplant operation. But now, he only rarely communicates in chirps, squeaks, clicks and whistles.

There were side effects. I have it from a reliable, unnamed White House source that Jared sleeps in the moat surrounding Trump’s Florida Forbidden Fortress, Mar-A-Lago.

However, if things keep going sour for Kushner he may be sleeping with the fishes or doing hard time with that other notorious, discredited Jared of Subway sandwich fame. Maybe they’ll work in the prison kitchen together.

Subway Jared: “Hey Kushner, you’re putting too much mayo on that turkey club.”

Kushner: “Click, click, click, chirp, squeak, squeak, whistle, click, chirp.”

Subway Jared: “Okay, that’s better. Don’t let it happen again.”

Invasion of the Party Snatchers

 During the height of the Red Scare, as the Cold War sizzled and paranoia had everyone looking under their beds for the commie boogie man, Don Siegel’s classic 1956 horror film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, was a brilliant allegorical, cautionary tale of the Red Menace infiltrating and taking over the country.

At the time of its release, film theorists debated about the true underlying message of Siegel’s film. Maybe, some argued, it was (A) all about the UFO hysteria that had gripped the country following the infamous Roswell, New Mexico UFO incident in 1947.

Or, others said, it’s (B) about the Atomic Bomb. Those mad scientists, dressed in starched, white lab coasts, with weird sounding last names, had unleased some demonic force and aliens from outer space were coming to control us so we couldn’t harm other planets.

The correct answer is(C).

 Invasion of the Body Snatchers was Siegel’s warning of a Kremlin-led, communist infiltration and takeover. Sixty years later, we are now confronted with the sequel to Siegel’s masterpiece; Invasion of the Party Snatchers.

Ever since The Orange Menace (Donald J. Trump) descended from the nether regions of his Evil Dark Tower on that escalator and announced his candidacy for president, we have been inundated with more and more evidence that Trump is indeed “The Manchurian Candidate” in Jabba the Hut’s body, posing as a New York City real estate wheeler dealer.

This time though, the Russians were more focused; they only left pods in the basements of Republicans. They’ve “snatched” the whole party. Apparently, the whole Republican party has been reborn as Russian agents and have hammer and sickle tattoos on their asses.

Every time you turn around, another Republican politician is found to have financial ties, in one way or another, to Moscow. The latest one being the newly elected Greg “The Body Slammer” Gianforte of Montana.

President Trump is trying to turn the congress into an off-shore politburo for his Puppet Master, Putin. And the Republicans are going along with it. Soon, they’ll all be wearing ill-fitting, badly tailored, shabby, gray suits, smoke and drink too much and sport cheap haircuts like their Russian counterparts.

The metamorphosis of the Republicans into commie comrades is amazing to behold, but can’t be denied.

If a Hillary administration was blatantly playing footsie with the Russians like Trump, Flynn, Kushner, et al, she would have already have been burned at the stake and it would have been carried live on Fox News.

“Tonight, on Fox News, a special Friar’s Roast of President Hillary Clinton. She’ll be fried and roasted for getting too cozy with the Kremlin. Don’t touch that dial, it could be very, very hot!”

Our only hope to rid ourselves of The Orange Menace and the Invasion of the Party Snatchers, is former G-Man, Robert Mueller and the FBI investigation into all Russian things that go Trump in the night. J. Edgar’s boys have been tracking down fellow travelers since before World War I. But this time, like Pogo famously observed: “I have seen the enemy and he is us.”

Somewhere down in Hell, Senator Joseph McCarthy is looking up, smiling and saying to himself, “I told you so.”

Sanctuary for Melania?

Following the revealing video of Melania swatting away Donald’s hand as they walked off the plane in Tel Aviv, the rumors are flying around the world that all is not so hunky-dory in the Trump household.

And who can blame her? After the release of that Access Hollywood tape, I can say with absolute “surety” that tape had an extremely negative effect on Melania’s perception of Trump. Her citizenship in doubt and marriage in shambles, it won’t be long before Melania leaves the Trump Tower and seeks sanctuary.

Establish shot: A small Catholic church somewhere in East LA.

Melania: “Hello, is anyone here? I’m seeking sanctuary.”

Father Tomas: “Of course, my child. We welcome all undocumented immigrants.”

Melania: “Perfect. Gosh, this is just like that movie, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Sanctuary at last. I feel like Esmeralda. Do you have a hunchback bell ringer here?”

Father Tomas: “Well, no. But, Gomez, our undocumented altar boy has very bad posture.”

Melania: “Pity. I thought the hunchback was kinda cute.”

Father Tomas: “Why do you seek sanctuary, my child?”

Melania: “From the president. My husband. I just can’t stand him touch me anymore.”

Father Tomas: “Oh, you’re the First Lady! I didn’t recognize you with all your clothes on.”

Melania: “That was a long time ago, father.”

Father Tomas: “Of course, of course. I need to burn all those old magazines.”

Melania: “I just can’t stand Donald touching me with those nasty, little orange hands. I don’t know where they’ve been or what he’s been grabbing.”

Father Tomas: “He deflowered you, soiled you with his vulgar shame. Tell me though, that long, apron-like neck tie he wears, does it double as a hand towel.”

Melania: “Yes, it does. I just wanted to be a wealthy socialite, trophy wife and wear expensive, designer clothes and look good.”

Father Tomas: “You’re safe here, my child.”

The next day, a platoon of ICE agent goons led by Jeff Sessions show up at the little Catholic church.

Sessions: “Open up preacher man. We know Melania is in there!”

Father Tomas: “This is a holy, sacred place of sanctuary.”

Sessions: “Horseshit! This ain’t The Hunchback of Notre Dame and she ain’t Esmeralda. There is no more sanctuary in America.”

Father Tomas: “May God forgive me for saying this, but you go straight to Hell, Jeff Sessions!”

Sessions: “I’m from goddam Alabama, padre. I’d feel right at home in Hell.”

Meanwhile, Gomez puts Melania in his VW Bug and roars off down south towards Mexico.

Melania: “Where are we going, Gomez?”

Gomez: “Mexico. To Puerto Escondido. Beautiful beaches there.”

Melania: “Sounds lovely. You know, Gomez, I look really hot in a bikini.”

Gomez: “I know. I’ve seen Father Tomas’s magazines.”

Melania notices that Gomez is slouched over the steering wheel.

Melania: “Gomez, straighten up and roll back your shoulders. Do you want to turn into a hunchback?”

Gomez: “Whatever rings your bell, Esmeralda.”

Jared Kushner: On A Short List of One

The FBI announced a high-ranking White House official, close to the president, is a “significant person of interest” in their investigation of Russiagate. C’mon, we all know who it is: Jared Kushner. Who else? It’s already well-known Kushner has had some questionable financial dealings with the Russians. Question is, what is Trump going to do about it?

Given his admiration for North Korean strong boy, President Egg Foo Yung, Trump will take a page out of Yung’s playbook based on his Dale Carnegie-inspired autobiography, How to Make Friends and Influence People to Kill Your Relatives, and throw Kushner under the bus.

The process has already started…

Bannon: “Hey boss, want me to start up the bus? This Kushner kid is becoming a real liability. We need to get rid of him.”

Trump: “You’re right Steve. You’re always right. You’re Alt Right. Hey, I made a joke. The fake media never reports my jokes. Bastards.”

Bannon: “You got it boss. I’m on it.”

Trump: “You’ll need some muscle. Get Rudy and Christie to help you toss him under the bus.”

Ivanka: “No Daddy! No! Not Jared. Why Jared? Why not that Johnny Reb Hobbit, Jeff Sessions?”

Trump: “Sweetie, I need Jeff to kick out all the Mexican filth that has crossed the border illegally and voted for Hillary robbing me of a popular vote victory. He’ll be doing the ribbon-cutting ceremony at The Wall, when it’s built.”

Ivanka: “OK, but what has Jared done? He’s been loyal. That’s all that matters, right?”

Trump: “He’s a nut case, a hot dogger, a kosher hot dog to be sure, but a hot dogger and worst of all, a showboat. I don’t like showboats.”

Ivanka: “Daddy, Jared was in the musical production of Show Boat in college.”

Trump: “So, he’s gay too. Well, he’s done a terrible job of overhauling the government or rethinking the VA. He’s had a hundred days and still no peace in the Middle East.”

Bannon: “We can’t use the bus. Too many bodies piled up there. Might have to use the big backhoe…”

Trump: “Hey, hey, don’t talk about Melania that way, Steve. She’s a world-class trophy wife and a tremendous wet nurse to little Barron.”

Ivanka: “Daddy, Barron is ten years old for God’s sake.”

Trump: “Whatever, Anyway, I’m making a speech to a bunch of Moslems. I love the Moslems, especially their prophet, Muhammad. Great, great guy. Knew him when he was heavyweight champ. He’s a draft-dodger like me, you know; bone spurs in his hands, I think. But Jared let me down by not getting this Middle East crisis fixed before this trip.”

Bannon: “Boss, we got no bus. What do you want to do with Kushner”?

Trump: “Oh, you, Rudy and Christie just rough him up a bit.”

Bannon: “How so?”

Trump: “I don’t know. Strip him and make him wear off-the-rack clothes.”

Ivanka: “No Daddy! No! Not off-the-rack clothes!”