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John Bolton, who until recently served as America’s National Security Advisor, and a man who never visited a country he didn’t want to bomb, has recently confirmed the nation’s long-held belief that Rudy Giuliani is a hand grenade in the underpants of America.

Giuliani was an easy hire for Donald Trump, as he ticked all the boxes Trump believes matter: excellent liar, devoid of morals, and lacking the class of two dead flies.

It’s easy to see how Rudy came by the grace, charm and wit he’s known for, as his father served time in Sing Sing for armed robbery and assault and then went on to become an enforcer for a loan shark.

Rudy’s favorite Christmas gifts were brass knuckles, lead pipes and poisoned-tipped candy canes.

He considered becoming a priest and asked God if that was the right path for him, but God responded, “Blow me, you dickwad.”

Giuliani decided to go a different way and has been married three times. Stanford University has received a grant from the Institute for Salamander Advancement to study how it was possible for him to marry out of his species that many times.

Rudy was a life-long Democrat until he switched to Independent in 1975 and Republican in 1980. His mother, after her son was born, was adamant that his father Harold have his tubes tied. Harold agreed, but since that procedure wasn’t available back then, he tied them with his shoelaces.

His mother always maintained that Rudy only became a Republican after they started giving him prestigious jobs. She’s quoted as saying, “He’s definitely not a conservative Republican. He thinks he is, but he isn’t. He stills feels very sorry for the poor.”

Clearly, being a conservative Republican has helped Rudy overcome the afflictions of caring and empathy.

Giuliani keeps his head held high as one of Donald Trump’s personal attorneys yet to be imprisoned.




After months out of the public view, Rudy Giuliani has re-emerged from the Everglades where he was relaxing at the Trump Swamp and Spa for Reptiles. He’d again answered the call to make a fool of himself as well as defend Donald Trump’s most recent act of treason.

His first night back in New York, the former Mayor awoke in the middle of the night needing to urinate. After returning from the window, he stepped over the broken security glass he places around his bed. Unfortunately, he cut himself on a piece of it.

Bleeding badly, Giuliani screamed out in pain, waking Trixie LaTushie, the dominatrix he was spending the night with. Trixie wore an eye patch and also had a stuffed parrot on her shoulder. Giuliani has pirate fantasies that include Amy Klobuchar making him walk the plank.

Trixie had charged Rudy her normal “sex with a psycho” fee. It was her tenth visit to “His Honor,” and he would receive his next collection of abrasions for free.

Giuliani said, “Aye girlie, would ye get a towel for me foot?”  Ms. LaTushie told him that her towel service would cost an extra $500. Not wanting to bleed on his new rug with Pol Pot’s face on it, the ex-mayor agreed and pointed to his wallet.

Trixie took five hundred dollars and taped it to her wooden leg.

Just then, Giuliani began having difficulty breathing and clutched at his chest. He managed to say, “CPR,” finally spelling it right on his third try.

She immediately held her hand out. He nodded towards his wallet. She took his last $500 and taped it to her other wooden leg.

Trixie wrapped a towel around Rudy’s foot and then made Giuliani gargle with Scope before administering CPR. His breathing returned to normal, but he continued to bleed. She waived her emergency services dialing fee and called 911.

Giuliani thanked her and said, “Same time Saturday?”

Trixie: See you then, Sugar.





Wayne Lapierre is the current head of the troubled (not by morals) NRA.

His family, originally from France, moved to Canada but left for America when they realized Canadians weren’t violent enough for them.

LaPierre’s parents were devout Catholics and sent him to a parochial school where he was repeatedly traumatized by the girls consistently telling him, “No way. I don’t date out of my species.” He was further traumatized by the priests telling him, “No way. I don’t molest out of my species.”

That experience caused him to lose touch with reality. One day after having lunch with the family of unicorns living in his head, he heard God tell him that his calling was to get guns into the hands of as many violent and mentally unstable people as possible, never take responsibility for it and amass a fortune from his efforts.

After hearing Trump talk about gun control after our two latest bloodbaths, he summoned Trump to a meeting at LaPierre’s happiest place on earth, Abattoir-land. LaPierre wasted no time warning Trump.

LaPierre: Mr. President, if you back any commonsense gun control legislation, you can kiss the NRA’s support goodbye. And you can’t afford to lose it… I just saw several polls saying that suburban housewives who voted for you last time are so anxious about sending their kids to school that they’re going to vote Democratic.

Trump: Really. Crap… Damn, I’d better issue an executive order prohibiting anxiety in suburban women. Except for the Jews because they can’t help it.

LaPierre: They can’t?

Trump: Listen, Ivanka never had anxiety before she married that dainty Hebraic.

LaPierre: Dainty? Jared?

Trump: I have pictures of him menstruating.

LaPierre: Okay, enough warm-family shit… Now you’re going to do like you’re told, right?

Trump: Yeah, I guess.

LaPierre: Good. Now bend over like you always do.

Trump obeyed orders, bent over and blocked out the sun.