Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

At This Point, Maggie Haberman Should Be Expecting These Late-Night Calls


“C’mon, man. Just…just…c’mon, man. Yes, hello?”

“Ms. Haberman, are you a ninja? I know the law, which is why I don’t need a lawyer to make this phone call, and I know that you have to tell me you’re a ninja if you’re a ninja. There have been several attempts on the lives of me and my dog Laika, and most of those attempts were perpetrated by ninjae. The plural of ninja is ninjae.”

“Carter Page. Was wondering when you’d call.”

“I did not identify myself. How did you know it was me?”

“Just a guess.”

“I spoke with the Senate the other day. They were lovely people, but some of them believe the filthy lies that the media shits out of their face-assholes.”


“Journalists don’t have mouths. Below their oversized noses are recta. The plural of rectum is recta. They spew the night soil of falsehood, and the whores lap it up from the dirt. Society debases itself for your lies, Ms. Haberman.”

“Okee-dokee. Carter, have you been drinking?”

“My tap water has been poisoned with tiny robots.”


“What do you see when you look at Mr. Trump? Can you see the gold shining in his eyes, too?”

“I don’t see that, no.”

“He is a great man! I am a little man, but he’s a great man. His hair is the size of Orion’s Belt, but shinier. I’m a little man and he’s a great man. I’m a pair of claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas. How many times do you wear socks? I wear socks once and then burn them. It’s a worthwhile expense to keep the ninjae from getting your DNA.”

“Uh-huh. You want to tell me about the testimony?”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“This is a phone call, Carter. You don’t need to plead the Fifth.”

“I still do, though. The plural of Fifth is Sixth.”

“It’s not. Carter, did you really suggest that Trump visit Moscow during the campaign?”

“Yes, of course. It’s the City of Lights.”

“It’s not.”

“I was working very hard on that project. I was getting my ducks in a row until I realized that the ducks were all secretly plotting against me, and I killed the ducks and ate the evidence. I don’t even like duck. I’m a turkey man.”

“Go on.”

“If Mr. Trump went to Moscow, then everything would fit. All the keys would turn purple. Do you understand? The keys would turn purple. I’m excited just thinking about it.”

“Me, too.”

“I told Mr. Sessions and Ms. Hope about everything I was doing. We Skyped a bunch of times, but the CIA kept stealing the internet.”

“And who was your contact in Russia?”

“I didn’t meet any Russians.”


“I met all the Russians.”


“I also met the FBI. I met with them several times this year.”

“How many times?”

“I don’t remember. The FBI men were always wearing the same suits, so they blurred together. They asked so many questions, and none of the questions were purple at all. I think the FBI men may have been with the CIA. Or ninjae. There is also the possibility that they were ninjae working for the CIA. Which is, of course, the worst of all worlds.”

“Carter, are you seeing a psychiatrist?”

“I need a psychiatrist about as much as I need a lawyer.”

“Yes! Exactly! You need a psychiatrist and a lawyer.”

“I’m a turkey man.”

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up now.”

“I knew you were a ninja.”



  1. I now conflate Fat Marlon Brando, with Fat Trump, The white house with the Island of Dr Moreau.

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