Month: March 2017


When Sean Spicer was a child, he cut down the family cherry tree. His father asked him if he’d done it. Sean, his face covered in cherry juice, said, “I cannot tell a lie, mom did it.” His father replied, “Mon died last month.”

Upset with his son, Mr. Spicer lectured the boy, who at the time was rocking a bright red thigh rash, saying, “Sean, lying is wrong and there’s no place for it in America. What kind of job do you think lying could ever qualify you for?”

Young Sean was unfazed and kept right on lying. He loved it and he also loved his rash. He’s kept it to this day and often switches it between thighs.

When Spicer was twelve he volunteered to work for a Republican congressional headquarters. His main function was licking envelopes. Unfortunately, they had to let him go because he was also  licking other things.

Sean put himself through college by playing Liars Poker.  His distaste for the press began in 1993 when he was at Connecticut College. He wrote to the school newspaper asking that the college not enforce the its new anti-smoking rules during finals week.

Not the most popular kid on campus, the paper published his letter, but changed his byline to “Sean Sphincter.” That slight aside, his senior year was a very good one, especially when he won the the prestigious North American Fibber Competition. He proudly accepted first prize which was a year’s supply of empty promises.

He spent years working in communications for many Republican causes. His experience, and the fact that he was the only person who could occasionally make sense of what Kellyanne Conway said, earned him his job as White House Press Secretary.

He is already considered the second  best press secretary in history, and is ranked second only to Melissa McCarthy.


Ken Hecht




On September 25, 2015, House Speaker John Boehner walked into his press conference singing, “Zippity doo-dah Zippity-ay –My, oh, my what a wonderful day.”

He then shocked everybody by announcing that he’d had enough and was retiring.  What he’d had enough of was trying to talk sense to radical-right-wing Tea Partiers whose minds were as tightly closed as their asses.

Last week, Boehner, wearing loose boxers and with a bag of Fritos resting on his stomach, watched Paul Ryan’s vicious health plan go down to defeat because it wasn’t cruel enough for the Tea Party, now called The Freedom Caucus.

Boehner began to laugh hysterically. After several minutes his sides were splitting and he began to gasp for air. He tried to stop, but his joy was too powerful and his laughter continued to build.

Panicked, he dialed 9-1-1. Paramedics arrived quickly and began to mull over the best place to take Boehner in order to stop his paroxysms of mirth. They asked themselves, “Who can put an end to happiness faster than anyone else?” That’s easy, far-right-wing Republicans. They rushed him to the Sisters of Perpetual Torment Medical Center, which is known to be manned by extremist-right-wing doctors, each of whom had had their senses of humor removed rectally.

Boehner was wheeled into the E.R. past the “No cell phones,”  “No smoking” and “No smiling” signs.

The doctors, realizing that Boehner could die if the laughing didn’t stop, decided to go with the nuclear option. This option was known to spread a toxic darkness over all parts of the earth, but they felt they had no choice.

Hours later, with Boehner still hopelessly out of control, the lights began to flicker and ice appeared in the halls of the hospital as they darkened ominously.

People became frightened. An orderly shrieked, “It’s Keyser Soze. He’s here.” Someone else screamed, “No, It’s Satan.”

But it was something far worse, and Boehner’s laughter stopped abruptly when Dick Cheney appeared in the doorway.

His work done, Cheney spun around on his cloven hooves and headed back to the airport where he boarded a private jet and laid down to rest in his travel coffin.

Ken Hecht






It was recently made public that Trump Senior Delusion Advisor Kellyanne Conway was now receiving Secret Service protection.

Conway had been receiving threats by email and on Twitter. The FBI has determined that most of them came from people who know her.

The Secret Service told her to pick a code name that they could use for her. She considered “Grinning Idiot Who Lies,” but the agents told her that everyone would know they were talking about her, and besides, the name had to start with a “B.”

Unsure of what name to pick, she called her dear friend Ann Coulter for advice. Coulter had just returned home from the hospital where she volunteers her time as a testosterone donor.

Before discussing a code name, they commiserated with each other about how long it’s taking Donald Trump to totally ruin the country.

They didn’t come up with a name, but did trash every minority they could think of. After hanging up, Coulter sat down to a sumptuous lunch that included a six-bean salad and the entrails of former circus elephants.

Conway was racking her brain when two Secret Service agents entered her office needing to know what name she wanted to use.

In 1982 she had been chosen as New Jersey’s Blueberry Princess, just edging out Chris Christie. It is believed Christie’s chances of winning tanked after appearing in the swimsuit competition.

Conway decided to use “Blueberry” for her code name.

Back then, Conway’s star was just beginning to rise in the cutthroat world of fruit. She eventually became World Champion Blueberry Packer by cramming more of them into a small container than anyone else.

She reminisced about the good old days, feeling gratitude for being a great blueberry packer and just how much it has it has helped her political career. Swelling with pride, she told herself that absolutely no one can cram more lies in an interview than she can.



Ken Hecht