Month: July 2017


Donald Trump has turned 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue into “Animal House” with machetes. A number of employees have injured themselves slipping on the blood now pooling on the White House floor.

Fire fighters from the Southwest are being pulled off their fire lines and flown to D.C. with instructions to put out the conflagration that is the Trump Presidency.

These incredibly brave people who risk their lives to save people, pets and livestock have already said that they will not save anyone in the White House who has cloven hoofs. This means that only the cleaning crew has a chance of being rescued.

These heros’ attempt to put the fire out may be moot because the President has just brought in his buddy, Anthony Scaramucci, to be his new communications director. Scaramucci has the potential to become the world’s largest ever grease fire. If he goes up in flames, the planet doesn’t contain enough water to put him out.

Scaramucci is uniquely qualified for his job having earned his Masters from  New Hampshire’s prestigious University of Tourettes. The Mooch says he is committed to stopping all of the leaks coming from the White House, but it is not known if he plans to stop the leak that Trump is taking on the American people.

In discussing the problem, the new director told reporters that “The fish rots from the head down.” We assume the fish reference makes clear that the President is a blow-fish, that he, Scaramucci, is a remora fish that attaches itself to sharks and lives off their feces, and that Trump’s Presidency is a flounder.

As far as “rotting” goes, it’s become apparent that there is so much of it in the White House that a termite control company was brought in to find the cause of the decay. After a week-long inspection, it was determined that the structure was fine, but President Trump needed tenting.

Let’s hope.


Ken Hecht






Kelli Ward, Arizona’s most prolific political loser, is still furious over being routed by John McCain in last year’s Arizona Republican Senatorial primary.

Ward was sitting perched on a telephone pole when she received news that brought her great joy.  Her former opponent had just been diagnosed with brain cancer. She beamed brightly at the thought of feasting on the blood of someone else’s tragedy.

Flapping her wings as never before, she flew home, all the while thinking about replacing McCain. After turning on Fox News she began salivating so heavily that she slipped under a sea of her own drool.

After several hours, she managed to swim to the surface, saving herself. She immediately realized that her two cats were lost under three hundred gallons of her spittle. Not able to stop thinking about the kitties, her mood soured when she realized she’d have to find something else for dinner.

Ward couldn’t wait to attack the ailing Senator, demanding that he resign and that Arizona’s governor appoint her to the Senate.

The frequent political reject blasted the American war hero for not being able to think as quickly as he once could, telling reporters, “Arizona deserves a Senator who can hate on her feet.”

She went on to talk about McCain’s well-known temper and bragged that she was a true right-wing Republican who can keep her venom in check and remain calm while voting to ruin people’s lives.

The ferocity of her assault on McCain was frightening and usually only seen when Chris Christie is in proximity to a meatloaf.

Whether Arizona’s governor appoints her or not she may never get to the Senate, because Donald Trump is considering her for his new Cabinet position, “Secretary of Homeland Cruelty.”

As vile a person as she is, a mystique surrounds Kelli Ward, as she is considered to be quite alluring to men who crave sex with a teamster.

Her lowest moment came when speaking of Senator McCain, telling everyone, “These end-of-life decisions are never easy.” Classy.

What kind of a loveless and tormented childhood produces a creature like her? One similar to Trump’s, I assume.

Ken Hecht



President Trump, having realized that gaining control over his mouth is impossible, is now desperate to gain it over his Presidency. Toward that end, he asked Kellyanne Conway, once an ordained Voodoo priestess, to hold a spirit meeting so that he could seek the counsel of his heroes, Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Idi Amin, and Mao Zedong.

For the record, Kellyanne practiced Voodoo for ten years and was in a long relationship with the demon Mormo. Mormo ended the relationship because he couldn’t stand the rough sex.

Trump and his advisors sat quietly as Kellyanne contacted the spirit world. The Devil, the President’s close personal friend and bowling partner, granted permission for the ghosts of Trump’s idols to enter the “White House of the Damned.”

Trump began by telling his guests, “Both my Presidency and personality are disintegrating. These investigations… If I had any more people crawling up my ass, it could file for statehood.”

Hitler: That’s because you’re a crook.

Trump: Really, Adolph? Well, you couldn’t paint for shit. And do you think for once you could say something positive?

Hitler: The bagels are good.

Stalin: I poisoned yours, you Nazi jerk.

Hitler: I know, that’s why I switched mine with Steve Bannon’s.

Bannon handed his bagel back to Hitler, saying, “Give it to the tall guy taking notes. His name is Rosenberg.”

Trump looked at Mao, who was trying to figure out how to eat a blintz with chopsticks.

Trump: Hey, MSG boy. Any advice?

Mao: If you want to get rid of your troubles, just kill all your intelligent citizens. That way, all that will be left will be your cabinet and your supporters.

Idi Amin: Pass me those feet. I’m famished. Listen, Trump, nobody likes you because you look like a slob. Lose some weight.

Trump: You’re one to talk. You’re a fat tub.

Idi Amin: Yes, but I’m black. Black is slimming.

Trump: Not slimming enough, you blivet.

With the session going nowhere, Kellyanne tried contacting Mormo, hoping he’d take her back.


Ken Hecht