Thoughts On The Dead

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

Maggie Haberman Gets More Late-Night Phone Calls

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Wha? Aw, c’mon. I don’t deserve this. Hello?”

“Haberman. It’s Big Steve.”

“Am I the only journalist in town you haven’t called and talked shit to?”

“Nah. After you, I’m throwing a brick through April Ryan’s window.”

“Why?”

“She knows fuckin’ why. Where are you? You should come on down to the Banana Lounge.

“I’ve never heard of it. Is that a bar?”

“It’s more of a club. Y’see, I know this dealer named Banana, and–”

“I’m not coming down.”

“Free meth. On me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Maggie, I’m free. I’m back to my old self. The Bannon Cannon is locked and loaded, baby. All these globalist cucks? These Democrats and bankers and artists and New Yorkers and pork-haters–”

“Just say ‘Jews,’ Steve.”

“–they’re getting fucked in their assholes. And when their assholes can’t take it anymore, when they’ve stretched and weakened and fallen out of their bodies, I’m gonna carve ’em new assholes. And then I’m gonna fuck those assholes. Eventually, I’ll run out of flesh upon which to bore assholes to fuck. But not for a long time.”

“Wow.”

“They’re going down. I’m yelling ‘timber.'”

“Did you just quote Pitbull?”

“Mr. Worldwide is a personal friend. Lot of interesting ideas on trade.”

“Sure.”

“You know who I am? I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“You leave Obi-Wan out of this, damn you.”

“They struck me down, and now I will become more powerful than they can ever imagine.”

“Lemme get this straight. You think going from the White House to the 63rd most popular website in the country is a promotion? Are you drunk?”

“Yes, of course. Hey, listen: are you into PCP?”

“No.”

“Okay, but are you open to PCP?”

“I really wish all you idiots would stop treating me like your exit interview.”

“So you don’t wanna hear any of the audio tapes I made?”

“What now?”

“I wired my office the first day. You didn’t assume that?”

“I…no.”

“Wow. Did you not look into me? Taping my own conversations for blackmail purposes is, like, me to a T. There might be no act more Big Steve than that. Maybe puking on a hooker’s back during anal.”

“Can I hear them?”

“Ohhhh. Now we’re friends, huh?”

“No. We’re–ugh, I don’t want to say this–colleagues.”

“Wanna hear Shlomo talk about Russia?”

“Shlomo?”

“That’s what I call Jared.”

“Y’know? It could be worse.”

“It is. I was kidding: I call him Kikey the Cuck.”

“GodDAMN, man.”

“Kid completely fuckin’ implicates himself. He knew. They all knew. Wanna hear the tape?”

“Of course.”

“One condition.”

“I am not coming to a drug dealer named Banana’s house and doing PCP with you, Steve.”

“Fine. You wanna listen to this one, you have to listen to one other.”

“What’s it of?”

“Me sucking my own dick.”

“Wait, you can actually do that?”

“Fuck, yeah. It’s my party trick. Ron Jeremy taught me how.”

“Just an audio tape, though, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m really slobbery. And I encourage myself.”

“Ew.”

“Deeper, gayer, that sort of thing.”

“Double ew.”

“You in?”

“Fine.”

“Awesome. Put on your headphones.”

1 Comment

  1. Luther Von Baconson

    August 19, 2017 at 3:19 pm

    you been driving the Packard Caribbean by 1794 Opechee Dr on the way to the Publix?

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