Category: Special Report



This past Friday, Donald Trump received his second annual physical. It was performed by Dr. Sean Conley who met the President in the military’s Bethesda Naval Hospital’s William Howard Taft examination room.

Conley’s nurse, Stella Baker, was chosen because she’s the leader of the “Society for Baboons in Politics” movement, and said she’d be glad to help Trump pick ticks off himself.

Conley sent Trump for an MRI. The results of which revealed everything to be in fairly good order except for his heart which the machine couldn’t locate.

The Presidential brain was scanned and showed that the inside of Trump’s skull looked like nuclear winter, only less lush.

Back in the examining room, the doctor told Trump to “bend over and cough.” The President bent over. “Now cough,” said Conley. Trump stood back up and coughed.

Conley: Sir, bend over and cough… at the same time.

Trump: Sorry. I can’t multi-task.

Conley: Hmm… Okay, I need to check your prostate. Drop your pants and bend over.

When Trump did, Nurse Baker exclaimed, “Wow that’s the biggest baboon tush I’ve ever seen.”

Trump: Thanks.

When Conley reached up in there, he thought for a moment that he was in Wyoming. Next, the doctor grabbed a pen-light, shined it up there and exclaimed, ” Oh my God.”

Trump: What is it? What do you see?

Conley: Your tax returns.

Trump rose back up.

Trump: Listen, pal, what happens in my ass stays in my ass…  Now, how’s my prostate?”

Conley: Quite interesting actually. I’ve never seen a swastika on one before.

Trump: It was a gift from Kellyanne Conway.

Conley: Of course… Did you bring a stool sample like requested?

Trump called out to the Secret Service. Four agents entered, each carrying two filled, gallon paint cans.

Conley: We didn’t need that much, sir.

Trump: That’s okay, I produce that much every twenty minutes, and it’s only about a tenth of what I dump on America every day.





Donald Trump asked Mike Pence to join him for a secret meeting with Nancy Pelosi the following day. Pence balked at the idea, saying, “I really don’t want to, sir. She’s scary. Did you know her footprint’s still on your rear-end?”

Trump ignored the remark, instead responding, “Don’t be scared. I’ll have six Secret Service agents outside if she starts trouble. I’m sure they can take her… or at least fight her to a draw.”

Pence: Make it eight and I’m in.

The next day, Nancy Pelosi entered the Oval Office to find Trump behind his desk. She extended her hand as she approached, but Trump stopped her with, “Hold it right there, Dragon Lady. There’s now a six foot demilitarized zone around my desk.”

The Speaker mumbled, “Batshit crazy” under her breath before noticing Mike Pence, his legs closed tightly, fidgeting on a couch. “Are you okay, Mr. Pence?”

Pence: Yes, it just that these chastity belts can be so uncomfortable.

Pelosi: Why would you wear a chastity belt? You don’t have anything down there, worth protecting.

Trump chuckled.

Pelosi: Why don’t you ask Mr. Trump to loan you his? Oh, wait. I forgot. I have his at home. On the pool table.

Trump: Bitch… Now let’s cut to the chase. I want my wall. There’s a crisis at our border.

Pelosi: No there’s not, you delusional twit. But I may have an idea to break the impasse.

Trump: Oh, this ought to be good.

Pelosi: I propose putting up an eight-hundred mile shower curtain.

Trump was caught off guard and pondered this for a moment.

Trump: Can it be black?

Pelosi: Sure, but why?

Trump: Are you stupid? If it’s black, then no one can see into America. They won’t know where we are. No more illegals.

He reached for the phone.

Pelosi: What are you doing?

Trump: I’m calling Amazon and ordering the curtain rods right now.

She gave him a thumbs up.




Cornered like a rat, Donald Trump needed to vent, so he speed-dialed his BFF, Satan. The devil actually despises him, but treats him well because Trump’s one of his best producers.

When Trump called, he was put on hold for fifteen minutes by Satan’s secretary, Strom Thurmond.

The Devil finally got on the line:

Trump: I need to talk, sir. I’m really worried.

Devil: “Worried?” Don’t be. I’ve got your back.

Trump: I appreciate-

Devil: But I can’t cover your ass. Do you have tarp?

Trump: Don’t kibitz, sir. I’m very concerned. My poll numbers are tanking. Maybe I’m selling out my country too fast.

Devil: Just relax. You’re doing a splendid job. Shutting down your government to crush those federal workers and everyone they do business with, great. And I figure about a year before you destroy the healthy economy Obama left you.

Trump: I’m counting the days.

Devil: And don’t think that separating Hispanic children from their parents at the border and f**ki*g the Kurds has gone unnoticed down here.

Trump: Well, Vladimir has some great ideas… You know, he’s very popular in Russia. Maybe I should take my shirt off and sit on a horse.

Devil: Please don’t… Look, just think of your future here in Hell. When you arrive you’ll have the best accommodations and cable, but you’ll have to carry your own bags.

Trump: Pence will do that.

Devil: He won’t. Vice President Wonder Bread will be going to a newly- opened rung where he’ll wait tables in a gay bar.

Trump: You are real pisser, S-Man.

Devil: You haven’t heard the best part — his wife’s the bartender.

Trump: I love it… But can we talk about my numbers? I’m thinking of taking a new approach and showing some compassion.


Trump: Satan… Satan?… Shit.