Month: November 2018



Desperate to keep people from knowing that he hears voices, Donald Trump had psychiatrist, Dr. Phillip Foster, smuggled into the White House disguised as Sarah Sanders. As Foster was going to the Oval Office, a tour passed by and someone commented, “She looks so much less masculine in person.” Another tour member said, “If we ask nicely, maybe she’ll tell us a lie.” The tour guide hurried the group along.

When arriving at the Oval Office, Dr. Foster found Trump finishing a bagel with cream cheese and a human finger on it.

Foster stared oddly at the finger.

Trump: I don’t like lox.

Foster: Right. Okay… How are you feeling, sir?

Trump: Great. And who wouldn’t be after tearing apart thousands of Hispanic families and putting their kids in detention camps?

Foster: That makes you happy?

Trump: Sure. Melania and I are using a photo of those kids staring through barbed wire for our Christmas cards this year. Ho-ho-ho.

Foster: Speaking of hoes, how is your and Melania’s sex life these days?

Trump: Awful. She just bought a four-hundred-thousand dollar chastity belt at Tiffany’s.

Foster: Four-hundred-thou-

Trump: It’s from the Ethel Merman collection.

Foster: I see… Is there anything in particular that you’d like to discuss?

Trump: Well, I’m under such stress from people who don’t want a dictator, that for the first time in my life, I’m having trouble getting an erection. My girlfriends, Edna and Sparkle, were getting so pissed I had to hire a fluffer.

Foster: A fluff- Why didn’t you try Viagra first?

Trump: I did. But they kept falling out of my ass.

Dr. Foster thought he was saying, “Moron” under his breath, but Trump heard it.

Trump: I hear that a lot. Especially from some of the people living in my head.

Foster: I see. Just how many people live in your head?

Trump: Including the marching band?

As a bewildered Dr. Foster just sat staring, Trump took something out of his desk, held it up and asked, “Finger?”






Donald Trump, who has never been able to sustain a relationship with reality, agreed to talk with us here at The Left Wing Gazette. He’s comfortable with us because, like his humanity, we don’t exist either.

When we first sat down, the truth bit Trump on the ass, but he didn’t know what it was.

We wondered about last week. “Mr. Trump, you couldn’t get along with anyone from the West on your European trip, but you were happy to see Vladimir Putin and even smiled at him like he was a Big Mac.”

Trump: Love the “V” Man.

Us: He also seemed happy to see you.”

Trump: He loves me. After we exchanged the secret dictator’s handshake, he told me if I brought along  more of our military secrets to give him, that he wouldn’t publish his book.

Us: Book?

Trump: Yes, “Donald Trump: The Urine Chronicles.”

Us: Uh-huh… When we got here just before, we saw many White House staffers wearing knee-high boots.

Trump: That’s to protect their clothes because they’ll be stepping in so much blood in a few days they won’t know what hit them.

Us: Is your hit list almost done?

Trump: Mine is and I just got Melania’s. Did you know that “pufa na prasica’s gurlo” is Slovenian for “Cut the bitch’s throat?”

Us: Didn’t know that… To get serious for a moment, you know about the fires we’ve had in California, right?

Trump: Serves you right.

Us:  Now we know you don’t care about those of us who live in Southern California because we mostly vote blue. But did you know that Paradise, California, where fifty-four people have died and as many six-hundred are missing, is a Republican stronghold that voted overwhelmingly for you?

Trump: What? “Dead?” “Missing?” So, I’m losing votes?… God Dammit, why does everything happen to me?




People in the movie business, when talking about action movies, will sometimes mention “The Popeye Moment.” It happens when the movie’s hero, after taking so much crap from the bad guys, has had enough and explodes. The term is derived from every Popeye cartoon ever made, when after getting kicked all over the yard by Bluto, Popeye blows his top and says, “That’s all I can stands.  I can’t stands no more.” This time the Popeye Moment belonged to millions of Americans who’d had enough lying, divisiveness and racism.

Congressional elections are held on level playing fields.  All four-hundred and thirty-five seats are up for grabs and either side can win. Senatorial races often play out on fields that tilt heavily one way or the other, so Trump can crow about those results all he wants, but the Republicans, as expected, won with deck stacked in their favor this time.

Trump watched the results with his family and the people he paid to pretend to be his friends, a practice he began in elementary school while suffering never-ending wedgie rashes, some given to him by his teachers.

Trump became furious over losing his morally-limited, ass-kissing House of Representatives. He ranted to his imaginary friends, Trixie and Sparkle, about having to deal with a House Representatives who had consciences and suffered with the dreaded afflictions of kindness and compassion.

He fumed that not enough people realized just how dangerous the immigrant caravan is to the country. He exclaimed, “I saw illegal immigrants in the White House only moments ago. And they had AK-47’s.” Trixie told him, “That was the cleaning crew and those were mops.”

He ignored her and screamed, “George Soros is trying to take over the country when everyone knows that America belongs to the banks and insurance companies.”

Sparkle calmed the President down by telling him, “Sir, focus. You still have important work to do.” He stopped foaming at the mouth and said, “You’re right. See you later girls, I have an election to steal in Florida.”