Month: July 2019



Donald Trump hosted a “social media summit” at the White House last Thursday. Dozens of right-wing conspiracy theorists and internet bottom feeders, many off their meds, attended.

When the right-wingers entered they were given complimentary Donald Trump autographed brooms to add to the ones already occupying their tight Republican asses. They were appreciative, but many complained that the brooms didn’t have enough splinters. They immediately blamed Obama.

The throng was delighted to discover entertainment had been planned for them in the form of a swimsuit competition. When their votes were in, the winner was Sarah Sanders. She’d gotten just one vote more than Mitch McConnell. Some believed McConnell would have won if he hadn’t tripped over his chins. Sanders, always her gracious self, accepted her award and thanked the makers of Spandex.

When the attendees were all settled on or under their seats, Kellyanne Conway demonstrated the correct way to pucker before kissing Trump’s rear end. “Rear end” is, of course, a misnomer because his rear doesn’t ever actually end.

Trump entered to thunderous applause and immediately bragged to the gathered that he’d just come up with his 2020 campaign slogan: “Slavery, what is it good for? Lots.”

He then began to whine about the many “fake news” plots against him and told the twisted bloggers and podcasters that they were his mainline of defense against the truth. When he added, “The crap you think of is unbelievable,” they stood and cheered. One even called back, “The crap you marry is unbelievable, too.” Trump responded, “Thank you for noticing.”

Trump acknowledged well-known bigot Sebastian Gorka. He stood and bemoaned the fact that the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team is out to destroy all the goodness and decency in America.

Trump piped up, “I don’t need those broads’ help. I’m just one election away from doing that myself.”






Donald Trump has been concerned about the pictures coming from his migrant detention hellholes at the border making him look as cruel as he actually is.

He had asked the G20’s laughingstock, daughter Ivanka, if she had any ideas about what to do with the refugees. She did, telling him, “I could offer them a 10% discount on my entire cosmetics line. And to make them feel special, I’ll rename my line “Refried Beans Cream.” Her father remarked that the Bull Conner Sensitivity Course she’d taken had really paid off.

Not sure her idea would do the trick, Trump summoned all his high- ranking swamp dwellers to a meeting in the Oval Office. Many were out of town but flew back to Reagan International Airport, which was the first airport to be liberated from the British in 1775.

Stephen Miller texted his regrets for not attending but said he was busy reading the resumes of snipers he plans to put on the border. “Fifty kills or more required.”

Trump’s minions entered the Oval Office with a spring in their step and malice in their hearts.

The President began to rage about how the Democratic members of both houses traveled to the border and reported on the squalid living conditions. He wondered, “Why can’t they be like every right-wing Republican, stick their heads up their asses and pretend nothing’s wrong?”

Wilbur Ross spoke up, sheepishly, “I have arthritis and can’t get my head up there anymore.” Trump responded, “Not to worry, you can stick it up my ass. There’s room in there for a Camry.”

Trump paused to think for a moment but stopped when drool began to leak from the corners of his mouth. Kellyanne Conway leapt to her feet and rushed to her boss, drying his drool with her handkerchief and then putting it away in her bra. She smiled inwardly knowing that she now had one-hundred Presidential droolkerchiefs.

The phone rang and Trump answered, “Hello… bullshit, Jeffrey, I never had sex with underage girls. They were all at least fourteen.”



Donald Trump returned from his overseas trip, basking in the glow of his latest accomplishment, managing to get his tongue so far up Vladimir Putin’s rear end that he was able to tickle the Russian’s tonsils.

Trump traveled on to North Korea where he and Kim Jong-Un met at the North/South Korean demarcation line and walked together into the communist nation in what can only be described as a waddle-fest. Instant replay showed that Trump’s ass never quite made it all the way into North Korea.

When he returned to the White House, Trump became nostalgic and stopped by Sarah Sanders’ old office. Trump eventually had to move out of the way and allow the hazmat team to enter. The team immediately began spraying her office with industrial strength lie-killer. Shortly thereafter, they discovered the office contained two casualties, truth and decency.

When Trump entered the Oval Office, he found his distraught and tearful daughter there.

Ivanka: Daddy, I’m very upset.

Trump: Your ass looks great in that skirt.

Ivanka: Daddy, I’m talking about how the adults who were actually qualified to be at the G20 Summit treated me. No matter how many times I tried to wheedle my way into conversations that I didn’t understand, they just ignored me.

Trump: Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad, honey.

Ivanka: When I walked up to that Macron guy, he said, “I told the service to have you go to my room.”… Don’t they know I’m a very important person who could fix all of the G20’s problems if they’d just let me? I know I would do as good a job as Jared did bringing peace to the Middle East.

Trump: Relax, sweetie. They’re just Western leaders, so they don’t count.

Ivanka: I don’t care, they should respect me. I was once on the cover of “Seventeen,” remember?

Trump: Of course I do. Hubba, hubba… Listen, I’ll give that Macron guy hell for insulting you.

Ivanka: Daddy, don’t. You can’t believe the things he can do in bed with a baguette. It’s much better than matzoh.