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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.





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.



Prior to departing for Orlando to kick off his 2020 campaign, America’s fake President sat down with The Left Wing Gazette, America’s most honored fake newspaper.

Us: Mr. Trump, would you care to comment on having to withdraw acting Secretary of Defense Patrick Shanahan’s nomination?

Trump: Well, it’s the nation’s loss, really. I know Patrick and he was somewhat qualified for the job and would have served America adequately.

Us: What about his family’s domestic violence problem?

Trump: It’s not clear what happened there, but I want every American to know that I’m against domestic violence and that men must learn not to beat their wives any more than necessary.

Us: Great advice, sir… How do you feel about Sarah Sanders stepping down as your press secretary?

Trump: Well, of course, I’ll really miss her.

Us: Perhaps you’ll be reunited in Hell.

Trump: I’ll have to talk to Satan about that when we have lunch next week.… Lips, the only ones softer on my ass than Sarah’s were those of fake Christians like Franklin Graham and Pat Robertson… My re-election hinges on my Bible buds continuing to spread hate as the word of God.

Us: Have you ever actually read the Bible, sir?

Trump: I don’t need to. Charlton Heston’s a great friend of mine. I’m even thinking of nominating him to be our new Secretary of Defense.

Us: He’s been dead for over ten years, sir.

Trump: Too bad. He’d have closed the chariot gap with our enemies, England and France.

Us: Forgetting politics for a moment, we were wondering why the Trumps don’t have a dog.

Trump: What a dumb question. A dog would take attention away from me. And dogs are shit machines. They’re stupid and they crap all over everything. I’ve got Don Jr. for that.

Us: Is that why you have plastic slipcovers on the White House couches?

Trump: That and the fact that he sheds, too… And just for the record, I once had a dog.

Us: What happened?

Trump: It coughed.