Personally, the mere THOUGHT of Kellyanne Conway makes me want to start taking opioids.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Monday, November 27, 2017
Dear Senator Paul,
I see you're planning to vote in favor of Mr. Trump's Personal Piggy Bank Tax Bill. I tried to read your gracious and stirring rationale for this today, but my eyes kept glazing over and I was haunted by an image of Steve Bannon sending you an email expressing his willingness to tell everybody in the world the real deal about your neighbor problems.
So I stopped reading. And decided to assume you're just another greedy shithead.
Get well soon,
Dear Mr. Trump,
What's this I hear? That the infamous Access Hollywood tape is "not authentic"?
Now I know the word "authentic" has three syllables, and may be hard for you to use correctly in a sentence, but if by "not authentic" you mean "fake" (one syllable - you know - like The News), then you may have (at last!) overreached your (considerable) ability to bamboozle morons.
What happened to, "I said it. I was wrong. And I apologize." Was that fake, too? And don't tell me you felt pressured and/or intimidated. If you do, nobody will let you play with your friend Kim anymore.
Tell me, maybe, that Melania is a double-agent and that every day she feeds you a quarter tab of LSD in your Diet Coke. I would not immediately dismiss the possibility. At least, it wouldn't insult my intelligence.
Dude. We have a VIDEO of you OWNING the Access Hollywood tape. I mean, even the dumbest, the ones who couldn't identify 1984 in a lineup, the most flat-lining, brain-dead, gun-totin', bible-thumpin' members of your "base", have got to be scratching their heads and going, "Huh?"
Think about it. Which one should we believe? If we believe that both the tape AND the video are fake, then how much else of you is fake? (Well, your hair and your tan, obviously.) But what if every single thing you've ever said and done is fake? How would we know? Because you tell us? How would we know that's not fake, too?
Fake News about a Fake President. It would explain your lack of significant accomplishments.
Along with all the goofy shit you do.
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Monday, November 20, 2017
Dear Speaker Ryan,
I don't get you.
True, I am a FIB ("fucking Illinois bitch") and you are a Cheesehead (Wisconsin idiot), so it's not surprising that we don't understand each other. And I hope my readers appreciate the lesson on Midwest culture wars here.
But as far as I can tell by the loopy, enthralled looks you plaster upon your puffy orange bromance, I think you must be:
- Simple-minded, or on some really heavy meds.
- Sincerely enamored of this guy.
- Afraid Steve Bannon is going to "out" your Hello Kitty collection.
I'm going to choose "All of the above".
Greetings from Illinois,
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Dear Pastor Raddish,
"More women are sexual predators are men." and "Women are chasing young boys up and down the road..."?
In your very kinky dreams, Pastor. And I'll bet candidate-for-Senator-from-Alabama Moore really appreciates your support.
Well. What can I say? Your name is Franklin Raddish.
Friday, November 17, 2017
Dear Mrs. Moore,
I hear you think Trump owes you and Roy-boy "...a thank you. Have you noticed you are not hearing too much about Russia?"
Well, no, I haven't noticed that. As fascinating as you are, you haven't quite occupied all the real estate in my brain yet. The "Women for Moore" rally today was a bold attempt, though. I read that literally dozens of women showed up. Besides your sisters, cousins, neighbors, bible study class, and manicurist, of course.
But as far as the Russia investigation goes, the latest developments are pretty riveting, especially with some testimony from Rob Goldstone (Russian colluder and Chris Christie clone extraordinaire, currently in an undisclosed location in Bangkok) on the horizon.
And far from thanking you and the love-of-your-life, I'm going to venture a guess that His Orangeness would pretty much like to forget that the two of you exist.
P.S. Don't wear sleeveless dresses.
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
Dear Mr. Hannity,
I hear that your fans are smashing their Keurigs. This worries me because, besides being stupid, they are now caffeine-deprived.
I also hear that Volvo has pulled their sponsorship of your show. Somehow, I don't think I need to worry about your fans smashing their Volvos.
Good luck with all that,
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Dear Mr. Trump,
I know I called you "old" (which is true), but I didn't call you "fat" (which is also true). But because you are an ignorant, ill-mannered barbarian, you had to go ahead and fat-shame me.
You could have left it at "short". But no.
I've got the high road on this one.
Your most bitter and long-suffering enemy,
Chairman of the Workers' Party of Korea
Party Central Committee
Dear Leader, who is a perfect incarnation of the appearance that a leader should have (my favorite!)
Commander in Chief
Father of the People
Sun of the Communist Future
Shining Star of Paektu Mountain
Guiding Sun Ray
Leader of the Revolutionary Armed Forces
Guarantee of the Fatherland's Unification
Symbol of the Fatherland's Unification
Fate of the Nation
Leader of the Party, the Country, and the Army
Great Leader of our Party and our Nation
Beloved and Respected Leader
Ever-Victorious, Iron-Willed Commander
Sun of Socialism
Sun of the Nation
The Great Sun of Life
Great Sun of the Nation
Father of the Nation
World Leader of the 21st Century
Bright Sun of the 21st Century
Great Sun of the 21st Century
Leader of the 21st Century
Amazing Politician (my 2nd favorite!)
Great Man, Who Descended from Heaven
Glorious General, Who Descended from Heaven
Supreme Leader of the Nation
Bright Sun of Juche (where's that?)
Leader of the Party and the People
Invincible and Triumphant General
Guiding Star of the 21st Century
Great Man, Who Is a Man of Deeds
Savior (I know. It's been done.)
Mastermind of the Revolution
Highest Incarnation of the Revolutionary Comradeship
Eternal General Secretary of the Party
Best Dancer Ever
P.S. You see all my titles, you pathetic little orange booger? Trust me, I do not need to lose weight.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
I woke up this morning to find that a journalist from the LA Times had come out and apologized for what he wrote about Sarah Huckabee Sanders in his column. "A slightly chunky soccer mom" was the offending description.
"Dressed for junior prom," I would have added.
And that's just what kind of bad person I am.
However, I have seen the light.
"Sexist trash!" cried one outraged comment to the article, and it cut me to the quick. I am guilty. Terribly, terribly guilty of cruel and disparaging discourse on the physical attributes - or lack thereof - (See? There I go again. Bad girl.) of the subjects of my writings.
And to show the sincerity of my atonement, I am going to confess to each and every one of my many crimes, so I might humbly beg the forgiveness of those I intended to wound:
I'm sorry, Kevin Brady, for thinking you look like Don Rickles, but without the funny.
I'm sorry, Steve Miller, for implying that you look remind me of Lurch.
I'm sorry, Donald Junior, for naming you Weasel McWeaselface (I haven't yet, but it's a good idea), and for suggesting that your head needs a chin.
I'm sorry, Kellyanne Conway, for mentioning your facelift, laughing at your inauguration dress, and pointing out your resemblance to Bill the Cat.
I'm sorry, Mike Pence, for noting the similarity between your head and a sugar cube skull from a Day of the Dead party, for mentioning your overall appearance of being made of PVC, and for relating the way you express yourself to an LSD flashback.
I'm sorry, Ivanka, for mistaking you for a blonde Kardashian, for insinuating that excessive exposure to bleach and blow dryers might cause brain damage, for bemoaning a future of mid-price designer, and for speculating that you and Melania are part of an attack of "fake fashion news". For the record, I think you're just stupid.
I'm sorry, Jeff Sessions, for calling you a "wonky-eared little toad" and wondering about your association with Keebler Elves.
I'm sorry, Kid Rock, for drawing attention to the fact that you look like everybody's creepy uncle.
I'm sorry, Eric, for writing that you (like your brother) look like a weasel. It was an unforgiveable lack of creativity on my part.
I'm sorry, Blake Farenthold, for talking about your largeness. Please understand, it was only in reference to your viability as a target for Susan Collins, Lisa Murkowski, and Shelley Moore Capito.
I'm sorry, Anthony Scaramucci, for saying you dress like an undertaker and talk like My Cousin Vinny.
I'm sorry, Steve Bannon for referring to you as a bloated, warty toad, and assuming you don't bathe very often.
I'm sorry, Theresa May, for making fun of your hair. Americans do not have the high ground on this.
I'm sorry, Chris Christie, for drawing the analogy between you and a jet-puffed marshmallow, chistening you "Governor Meatloaf", and waxing nostalgic about your resemblance to "Big Boy".
I'm sorry, Sarah Palin, for...well, I'm just sorry.
I'm sorry, Representative Steve King, for writing that your nose looks like somebody's butt.
I'm sorry, Mitch McConnell, for repeating a joke which hypothesized that your parentage involved Klingons and turkeys.
I'm sorry, Hillary, that I made fun of your wardrobe. On several occasions.
I'm sorry, Rand Paul, for reviling your man-perm.
I'm sorry, Scott Walker for speculating that some of your hair transplant had defected to Megyn Kelly's eyelids.
I'm sorry, Megyn Kelly, for theorizing that your eyelids were wearing bits of Scott Walker's hair transplant.
I'm sorry, Donald Trump, for every time I said orange, puffy, old, Circus Peanut, Circus Boy, orange, goofy hair, tiny hands, orange, cheese ball, yam man, gagootz, short and stubby, orange, Cheeto, and asshole, in reference to you.
And I apologize for calling people "dickheads". Which is certainly not a gender-neutral term.
Now I ask your absolution. I have been immature and undignified. I have been ignorant and petty. I have been vile and nasty. I freely admit to all of this.
But, at least I'm not lying.