Month: August 2018



A forty-seven page indictment was handed down last week accusing California Congressman Duncan Hunter and his wife of misappropriating campaign funds. Hunter was the second Republican Congressman to be indicted this month.

Learning that the Hunters had stolen two-hundred-fifty–thousand dollars over seven years, Donald Trump stopped tweeting a lot of misspelled words and became furious, stating, “No self-respecting Republican with that much time to do it would steal so little money. He’s a disgrace. Now Paul Manafort, that’s a crook our party can be proud of.”

Hunter, a former Marine, acted like anything but one when he blamed his spouse, Margaret, for stealing the campaign funds. He tried to underscore his point by adding, “My wife also ate my homework.”

Hunter represents a district in San Diego that is redder then a baboon’s ass. Also representing an equally baboon assed district of California is practicing fascist, Congressman Dana Rohrabacher. A longtime friend of the Hunters, Rohrabacher raced to their defense, saying, “Duncan’s a good man and so is his wife.”

Hunter appeared to be squeaky-clean to his constituents, but was known in Washington for his partying and frequenting bars where he’d become abusive and pick fights. Sometime with other patrons, sometimes with coat racks.

It got so bad that in 2016, John Boehner called him in and told him to “Cut the crap.”

Hunter didn’t. The excessive drinking continued as did his stealing of campaign funds. One charge in the indictment states that some of that money was used to buy a plane ticket for his service dog. This ended in tragedy when he and his wife were seated across the aisle from a man traveling with his service crocodile.

Hunter recently joined all other Republican Congressmen who’ve developed back trouble and hired the Joe Friday Detective Agency to locate their spines. Unfortunately the detectives have yet to turn up any spines, but while searching in hell they did come across the Congressmen’s souls.





Many of us wonder what kind of upbringing Fred and Mary Anne Trump provided their son Donald with. To gain insight into what shaped our presidential thug, I interviewed people who knew Trump’s family when he was a teenager. Their opinions of him ranged from baboon to the devil’s spawn. There were also people who didn’t like him.

After singing “Deutschland Uber Alles,” the family would sit down to dinner.

Donald: What’re we having, mother?

Mary Anne: Spatzle.

Donald: I love spatzle.

Mary Anne: No you don’t. You hate spatzle. That’s why I made it.

Donald: I know I hate it. I’m just honing my lying skills so that one day, everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie.

Fred: Well, son, if anyone lacks enough character to do that, it’s you.

Donald: Thanks, dad.

Fred: Donald, I’ve been getting big bills from something called “Health Services of Wall Street.” What is that?

Donald: It’s an abortion clinic. I’m running a tab.

Mary Anne: That’s terrible, Donald. I worry that one day you might marry a whore.

Fred: Well if you do, boy, remember that whores are to Slovenia as sea bass is to Chile.

Donald: Got you, dad. You know, ever since we met at my ninth birthday party, you given me nothing but great advice.

Fred: I would like to have met you sooner, Don, being a slumlord is very time consuming. It’s the stepping over your tenants while they’re begging for food that really slows you down.

Donald: Can I go with you to your worst building on “Take Your Sociopathic Son to Work Day?”

Fred: Absolutely.  It’s about time you learned how to pry loose change from the hands of starving people and then draw a mustache and glasses on them.

Donald: Could I black out some of their teeth?

Fred: Sure, if we can find one with teeth.

Mary Anne: Can we talk about something more pleasant, please?

Donald: Sure mom… Dad, can I have all your money when you die?




Vice President Pence, recently charged by Robert Mueller for being excessively white, and a dozen swamp dwellers from Trump’s administration and family waited in the Oval Office for him to arrive to discuss his Space Force. Trump entered the room and said, “Brfojuge hbant cleedberf.”

Ivanka: Daddy, we can’t understand you. Maybe you should take your helmet off.

Trump removed it grudgingly and replied defensively:

Trump: Okay, but I’m not giving up my Space Force secret decoder ring.

Ivanka: Nobody’s asking you to do that. Just give me the helmet and I’ll put it right next to your Yo-Yo, your Slinky and your Whack a Whore.

Trump: Melania chose black for my space suit. She said it was slimming.

Pence: She was right, sir. You look very dashing, and more like Cheeto than ever.

Trump: Thanks Mike. You’re my favorite ass-kisser.

Pence beamed with pride.

Giuliani: Mr. President… I don’t think your air-hose is supposed to be inserted into your ass.

Trump: The air-hose stays, Rudy. It works better than fiber… Now about the Force… I’ll need a commander who understands aerospace stuff and especially the grave danger gravity poses to Americans.

Sarah Sanders: “Grave danger,” Mr. President?

Trump: Yes. Believe me, I speak from experience when I tell you that I know the damage gravity does to people. Remember, I’ve seen Stormy Daniels naked.

Ben Carson: Mr. President, every time I call the number you gave me for her, she hangs up.

Jeff Sessions: Maybe she doesn’t like colored people.

Carson: Who does? But what’s that got to do with me?

Trump: My Space Force, focus everyone… I’ve made a decision. I want either Flash Gordon or Luke Skywalker to run my program… Of course, Darth Vader would be more like me. Does anyone know if he ever got his asthma under control?

The group looked at each other. No one had the heart to tell him.