Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: donald trump (page 1 of 24)

Doing Lafayette Proud

“This is probably the best shoveling job anyone’s ever done, and I am so proud to be burying Barbara Bush. She was such a classy, classy lady even though she looked like a grandma and was a 3 in her prime. In her prime!”

“Oui are not burying ze First Lady, Monsieur President.”

“Maybe a 2. Not hot. All of my wives were hotter, so I win. Very sad, though, but she’s being buried on the lawn of the White House. That’s tradition. All the first ladies are here. Nancy, Lady Bird. Hillary will be here one day, and she deserves that. For the crimes she committed, Hillary Clinton should probably be buried alive, but we have to be nice. They told me to be nice. Michelle Obama will also be here, but in a different section of the lawn. You know. Over there. Those people go over there.”

“Zis izz not what izz ‘appening, Donald.”

“Melania? Where’s my Melania? Melania?”



“Melania? I guess she’s not here. Very busy, King Macaroni.”

“I am not ze king, and zat izz not my name.”

“Never in the history of first ladies has there been one who did so much. All day. This, that, bing bang, she’s all over the place. She talks to the children, and their faces light up. Great, great first lady. And she doesn’t tell people what to eat, like Michelle who was a man and a Nazi. Many people don’t know this, but Larry Kudlow told me. You know Larry Kudlow?”


“Real winner. When he’s on teevee, I’m watching. That’s why I hired him. He brought his own makeup girl, and you should see the tits on her. Real yabbos. You say ‘yabbos’ in France?”


“And not fat! Some girls, they got the tits because they’re hogs, but this one got a little waist, tush, nice. Then: bing bong boobs. There they are. You got fat chicks in France?”


“Lucky, very lucky. That’s what they say: Lucky Pierre. Very lucky. You should see all the fatties around here. I got one. Something wrong with her eyes. Great on teevee, though. Send her out, she yells at the lying, failing, Jewish media. They work hard.”

“The Jews?”

“No, fat chicks. Over-achievers, fat chicks. Everywhere except in the gym. Frenchy, you are gonna love this State Dinner. No one in maybe the history of State Dinners has done a better job than Melania has setting this up. She is just super. Melania?”


“Where is she? Melania?”



“Monsieur President, perhaps we should talk about ze Iran deal.”

“At dinner, at dinner. You are not gonna believe it. Do you have Chick-Fil-A in France?”

“I do not know what zis is.”

“It’s the pickle! I’ve had chicken sandwiches from everyplace, the most beautiful chicken sandwiches, and no one else does the pickle. Adds so much to the flavor. And, you know, you walk into Chick-Fil-A and the kid behind the counter is a real American. He doesn’t rap at you, nothing. It’s not Burger King. Let’s just say that. Anyway, we got Chick-Fil-A piled to the ceiling. All you can eat, which is an idea I came up with for the Trump Shuttle. All the peanuts you could eat, and people called me up, ‘Mr. Trump, thank you for the peanuts. Everyone else skimps, but you showed real class and brains with the peanut thing.’ People gave me such spectacular compliments.”

“What ze fuck are you talking about?”


“President speaking.”

“Vous just answer your mobile? Is zat a Blackberry?”

“Shh. Important call. Hey, big guy!”

“Hello, The Donald.”

“Are you shoveling, too? Great, wonderful, what luck. I’m here with King Macaroni–”

“Zis is not my name..”

“–and we’re shoveling. The best shoveling, but now that I see you’re shoveling, I think you might have an edge. Just a little one, but you are truly a hell of a shoveler. Are you planting a tree, Mr. President?”

“Da. Is tree asked too many qvestions.”

“Beautiful, great, burying. Hey, listen: we’re having a little get-together here tomorrow night. We would be so honored, probably the most honored people that have ever lived, if you would stop by.”

“Zoot alors, do not invite Putin to ze dinner!”

“I vould love to, The Donald. Vhat is menu?”


“Vonderful. Putin love pickle.”

“Sacre fucking bleu.”

Trump Lingered Last In Line For Brains…

As usual, Jennifer Boylan makes a good case over in the (failing, lying) New York Times comparing Trump to Gump; her thesis is based on a reputed conversation between Erick Erickson, who is to be taken exactly as seriously as his name suggests, and an anonymous Congressfucker in a produce section somewhere in Alexandria. This Rep–most likely the living avatar of Staten Island Peter King–describes Basketball Head thusly:

“It’s like Forrest Gump won the presidency But it’s an evil, really stupid Forrest Gump. He can’t help himself. He’s just an idiot who thinks he’s winning when people are bitching about him.”

Professor Boylan goes on to make her case comparing the two idiots. She writes beautifully, as always, but I must respectfully disagree with her. (And the Congressman, but without the respect. Fuck you, nameless government employee.) Yes, both Trump and Gump are mammals. Both, too, are nominally bipedal. The Krebs Cycle applies equally to both men.

But to posit a Forrest Gump who is “evil [and] stupid” is like talking about Darth Vader, but without the suit and he’s modest, kind to animals and children, and obsessed with hockey. We all–factual and fictional alike–have within us certain essentialities of character. A cruel Gump is not a Gump at all, just as a lazy Teddy Roosevelt is not a TR, or a giggly, loose-lipped Elizabeth II isn’t the Queen of England.

But, Enthusiasts, we surely must be able to compare Le Merde Orange to a fictional character. But whom? Moriarty doesn’t fit: while both men are clearly evil, Moriarty was a genius who could hold his own in a fistfight. (Sure, the fistfight was against a middle-aged opiate addict, but still.) Dracula is similarly wrong: both men suck, but Dracula could dress himself. Lara Croft? Both she and Turnip are children of privilege with big ol’ floppity tittyballs, but there is little correlation beyond that.

Perhaps Shemp? Shemp was a physically unattractive man, unpopular with the public, and replaced a much more talented and beloved performer.

Maybe Elmer Fudd. They are both perpetually confused, involved in disasters of their own making, antagonistic but cowardly, and convinced that the outcome will be in their favor no matter what the facts on the ground say. The two also resemble giant ugly babies.

Jabba the Hutt is too easy a comparison, so let’s move on.

What about Garfield? Hmm…

  • Fat.
  • Lazy.
  • Orange.
  • Use specialized glands in their cheeks to mark their territory.
  • Need to be taken care of.
  • Hate dogs.
  • Despise any sort of order or natural beauty.

And they both shit in a box in the corner! There you go, Enthusiasts: the fictional character Donald J* Trump most resembles is Garfield. You’re welcome.


*The “J” stands for “Jamoke.”

President Trump Examines His Military Options


“Lemme see hands. We’re gonna vote, even though I’m the President of all the people, even the blacks. We’ll vote, but maybe I’ll just do what I want. Who knows? We could do voting, we could do my idea, we’ll see. Okay, voting. All in favor? Opposed? Beautiful, wonderful, the ayes have it. We’re getting cheese in the crust. General?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Where’s my General?”

“You’re literally making eye contact with me, Mr. President.”


“Sweet Jesus, take me now.”

“General! There you are. I thought the Deep State got you. General, make the call. Cheese in the crust, which was my idea. I called up the CEO of Pizza Hut, told him, he did it. Millions. Millions, this guy made from jamming cheese in the crust. I told him to do it. Great guy. You should see his yacht. Call for the pizza, General.”

“We’ll get to the pizza, sir. But, once again, who are these people in the Oval Office?”

“Good friends of mine from Mar-A-Lago. It’s a membership perk for the real winners. Unlimited cocktail shrimp, plus you hang out with me for the day. Watch the greatest president in US history from up close. In many ways, these spectacular people are the real historians of our age. Great, great, wonderful folks. Some of ’em don’t speak English, but they’re rich, so it’s okay.”

“Have they been vetted?”

“Vetted, shmetted.”

“Holy God.”

“Are we doing the God bit now? Let us pray.”


“No, we’re not doing the God bit, sir.”

“I pray very well. The Pope told me that. Better than him, that’s what he said.”

“Sir, we have a meeting scheduled with–”

“You hear that, everybody? Meeting! Very exciting, wonderful, okay, great.”

“–General Mattis to discuss…sir, it’s top secret. We need to get the civilians out of the room.”

“You heard the General, folks. Sorry. Let’s go. C’mon, I’m gonna show you the Lincoln Bedroom.”

“Not you, sir. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

“I knew that. I was testing you, and you passed, unlike the slimy James Comey, who didn’t even see my hands. I never showed him my hands, not once, and in fact never met him in person, so his book must be fake news. Excellent work, General.”

“Okay, out.”


“Very forceful. Strong. You’re the best general, General. Can I promote you?”

“No, sir. I retired from the Army, so–”

“You’re promoted. Bing bong. Done, there you go. You’re not just a general, you’re a major general.”

“That would actually be a demotion, sir.”

“Bing bong.”

“Whatever. Listen, Mattis is here.”

“Ooh, great. General sandwich. All my generals in one place, and I have the best generals that anyone has ever seen. They’re all tall, really sharp. The best generals.”

“Yes, sir.”


“Oh, here he is.”

“Is that the pizza?”




“How’s he today?”

“He’s a gibbering fucktard incapable of even the most basic thought.”

“So, the usual?”


“He’s gonna call me Mad Dog, isn’t he?”


“You want a xan?”



“Muchas Garcias, brother.”

“Where you headed to?”

“Gonna get shitty in the Treaty Room. Got a bottle of Cuervo stashed in there.”

“Save some for me. Gonna need some when I get through with Momma’s Special Angel.”

“Mad Dog!”

“Fuck, he saw me.”



“Mr. President.”

“Mad Dog! Where’s my Mad Dog?”

“Standing in front of your desk, sir.”

“Mad Dog?”

“Not out the window.”

“Dog? Mad Dog?”

“I don’t know why you’d look in the wastepaper basket, sir. I’m clearly not in there.”

“General Mad Dog?”

“Now you’re just staring at the ceiling. Right here, sir.”

“Mad Dog! There’s my dog! What’s up, dog? The blacks say that all the time, and then they make the rap gestures. What’s up, dog. You ever meet Ludacris?”

“I haven’t, sir.”

“Good business mind. You know, for what he is.”

“Sir, I’m here to talk to you about the situation in Syria.”

“Add more milk.”

“Not cereal, sir. Syria.”

“Very bad. Obama started that war. Personally. May have also been born there. He kind of looks Syrian, right? Many people who know Syrians have told me that Obama is definitely a Syrian, and these are real smart people. Winners, sharks, my very good friends. Obama was Syrian.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Sir, we have a plan ready for your approval to bomb selected sites within Damascus that we believe may be key to the chemical weapon program.”

“They can’t do chemical. This is what everyone who knows anything says. Shooting? Bing bang bang? Sure, go ahead, shoot your guns, whatever. Sometimes these things happen. Bing bang. But chemical? No, not chemical. Very, very bad. Chemical. It’s a big deal.”

“Yes, sir. Now, there may be blowback from the elements backing Assad.”

“Fuck ’em. Bomb!”

“Such as Iran.”

“Fuck ’em. Bomb! Bomb, bomb, bomb.”

“And Russia.”

“Excuse me?”

“Russia is backing Assad.”

“Fake news.”

“No, sir. Everyone on the planet knows this information.”

“Maybe we should wait. Two weeks, kick it around. Maybe we should see what Hope thinks. Hope!”

“She quit two weeks ago, sir.”


“She is in a different state, sir.”


“For fuck’s sake.”

“She’s probably in the bathroom. Amazing control on that girl. She goes when she wants to. Holds it in for days. It’s a miracle.”

“Sir, the conflict with the Russians might be ameliorated by, through back channels, alerting them to pull their troops from the sites we intend to destroy.”

“Good idea.”


“That better not be who I think it is.”

“Mr. President!”

“Da. Is Putin. Hello, The Donald.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“President Putin, everything in America is going so, so, so beautifully. The jobs, everything. Trade deals are being made, but I get no credit for at all, but America is winning again and it’s a real compliment to me. How’s the weather in Moscow?”

“Is snowing.”

“Great, snow, the skiing, gloves, wonderful. Listen, Mr. President, we’re gonna shoot some rockets at Syria in a little bit. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, who knows? Anyway, your men should duck out of the way.”

“Vhere vill you shoot these rockets?”


“Is big country. Vhere exactly?”

“You ask the best questions. I got no idea. I’m the big picture guy. All the details, I leave to my staff. Hold on, let me put the Mad Dog on. He can tell you the locations.”

“Holy shit, do not put me on the phone with fucking Putin.”


“Mr. President, we’re gonna call you right back. My pizza’s at the front gate.”

“Vith cheese in crust?”

“Bing bong.”

People Donald Trump Is Thinking About Firing

  • Robert Mueller.
  • Rod Rosenstein.
  • Cardi B. (“Not a good black!”)
  • Jeff Sessions.
  • The manager for the Philadelphia Phillies.
  • The Philly Phanatic.
  • Don McGahn. (“Only one Don in the White House, everyone knows this, everyone. It’s a rule.”)
  • Sarah Huckabee Sanders. (“I thought I would get used to looking at her. Never did. Bad face and fat!”)
  • Preet Bharara, again.
  • John Kelly.
  • Gene Kelly. (“Ask Debbie Reynolds why! She knows!”)
  • Captain Phasma.
  • Jared Kushner. (“From whatever job he does and from son-in-law. Double firing, I can do that, the Constitution says so, and it’s such a wonderful document that everyone loves so much.”)
  • Billy Martin.

Ideas Donald Trump Was Talked Out Of In Lieu Of Sending The National Guard To The Border

  • The Avengers.
  • Trench full of hungry, racist crocodiles.
  • What if we do like Bugs Bunny does to Florida, but to Mexico? We get the biggest, most beautiful saw anyone’s ever seen, bing bong zip, cut it right off.
  • Let Jared take care of it.
  • We could do a bipartisan, or maybe a comprehensive.
  • What if we send our worst blacks down there?
  • Execute Jeff Bezos.
  • 20% tariff on Taco Bell.
  • Sharks.
  • General, how many Robocops do we have? General? Where’s my General?
  • Sean Hannity is an expert at karate, let’s ask him.
  • Nuking North Korea.

A Partial Transcript Of Donald J. Trump’s Remarks At The White House Easter Egg Roll, 4/2/18

“Great, look, children. Hello, children, I am the President because I beat Hillary Clinton very, very badly. She was bad. Can you say ‘Crooked Hillary?’ Many of her friends ate children, or had sex with them. John Podesta. Podesta the Molesta. Bad guy, kids, and I want you to forget all about that because I am the President, like I said and everyone knows, and I will keep you safe while you look for whatever. Eggs? Eggs, whatever, great.”


“What is it doing? It’s making a noise, and not a very good one. An awful noise, If I’m honest. Someone come get it. General?”


“General Kelly? Where’s my General?”

“Right next to you, sir.”

“General? Is this you in the bunny suit?”

“No, I’m not in the fucking…no, sir. Swivel.”

“Like this?”

“No, that’s bending over.”

“I can’t see you, General.”

“Straighten up and turn around.”

“Like this?”

“You’re doing the Macarena.”

“I was the first one to do the Macaroni. No one gives me credit for being a pioneer of dance. Oh, there you are. Get rid of the kids.”

“They all fled, sir.”

“Good, good. Bring ’em back when they’ve graduated business school. I let the wives do the kids, General. That’s their deal. Kids. They got snot all over them, real gross stuff. Shit everywhere. Not my thing! Wife does that, and the nannies, whatever. And then, you know, you got nannies in the house and sometimes you can get in there. You a nannybanger, General?”

“I never married, nor had children, sir.”

“Fag? I don’t care, just asking.”

“Sir, we have had this exact conversation five times a day for going on a year now.”

“Let’s talk to the press.”

“Oh, please, no.”

“Press? Where’s my press? Press?”


“You are all fake news.”

“Sir, can you say whether–”

“Maggie, lemme take someone else’s question. I’ll call you secretly later.”

“Jesus, man. Not out loud.”

“Press? Where’s the press? You, Jim. Jim, are you lying or failing?”

“Neither, sir. I’m with CNN.”

“You are lying and failing. Very, very fake and negative and maybe not nice. Very not nice, when I have set records with every segment of the black economy. The wall is being built. It’s almost done, very close to being complete and so beautiful. No one has a wall like this. China called me, this is true. They called and said, ‘Mr. Trump, our wall is good, but you have the best wall.’ They said that, and it was a real compliment to me because, you know, they’re known for their wall. But mine is better. Great, great wall. They said, ‘Maybe your’s should be called the Greatest Wall.’ They said that. The Chinese.”

“Do you have any comment on the new tariffs they’ve announced?”

“There are recreational vehicles full of Mexicans coming up here right now. As we speak. Huge line of RV’s heading north, and they’ve all got knives and diseases and because we don’t have the wall, many women will be violated and shot with Uzis. They’re coming from everywhere. There’s Mexicans from Argentina, Colombia, wherever. And they’re on their way. Maybe that’s a job for the Army? General? Can I bomb Mexico to stop Uzis?”

“Do you want Buffalo wings, Mr. President?”

“Yes, let’s do that. When I went to Wharton, which everyone recognizes is the best business school in the world, I was thinking about going pro in wing-eating. Nobody could beat me. People would come up to me on the street and say, ‘Hey, I heard you ate the most wings, 80, 90, 100, who remembers how many?’ And I didn’t have any trick. I’m just good at a lot of things naturally.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring back the kids. I have important things to tell them. Only the good ones. You know. The good ones. Only American kids.”


“Kids, we’re at the White House. Many, many Presidents have lived here and the staff keeps it up real nice. Super-duper shape. A lot of the staff are blacks, but they still work hard. Shrubs are overgrown? Bing bing bong, you got neat shrubs. You could even live here if you’re in a wheelchair. Roosevelt. Wheelchair. Still won World War Two. Never stood up, but he won a war. That’s big, that’s killer. And I got snipers on the roof. Snipers, come on out! Snipers? Where are my snipers?”

“Sir, we like to downplay the ‘snipers on the roof’ thing.”


“Sir, the children.”

“They all have to go back to Mexico.”

“Yes, sir. Wings?”

“Let’s do wings, great, absolutely.”

A Partial Transcript Of CNN’s OutFront With Erin Burnett

“Good afternoon, and welcome to OutFront. I’m your host, Erin Burnett, and today we have as our David Schwartz, an attorney who is representing Michael Cohen, who is the lawyer for President Trump. Did I get that right?”

“You did. Thank you for having me, Ms. Burnett.”

“Just to clarify: you’re the President’s lawyer’s lawyer.”


“Mr. Schwartz, you’re here today to discuss the contract between the President and Stormy Daniels. There seem to be–and virtually all legal scholars agree on this–massive problems with the contract. First of all, it wasn’t signed by then-candidate.”


“Why not?”

“Because he didn’t know about it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have to understand the relationship between Michael Cohen and Donald Trump. Michael ran around putting out fires all day. Quite frankly, if he bothered the President with every settlement he made with a porn star, then Mr. Trump wouldn’t have had any time to build all his grand skyscrapers. It was a weekly thing.”

“You’re saying that the contract signed by Ms. Daniels–”

“Who takes it up the tushee.”

“–was not only not signed by Donald Trump, but he didn’t even know it existed?”

“That’s precisely what I’m saying. You can’t be blackmailed if you don’t know you’re being blackmailed. And then the black guy puts his finger to his temple. Like in the meme.”


“Do you know that meme, Erin?”

“I do. Sir–”

“My kids are crazy for memes.”

“Mr. Schwartz, the problem with your statement is that what you’re describing is completely unethical and may get your client disbarred and the contract voided.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll grease a judge, the whole thing’ll go away.”

“Did you just say that you’d bribe a judge?”

“Bribe? No. Such an ugly word. I’d never bribe a judge. I would befriend a judge. That’s not a crime.”


“Ms. Burnett, let me clarify what my client just misspoke.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Barry Goldstein. I’m Mr. Schwartz’s lawyer.”

“Wait. You’re the President’s lawyer’s lawyer’s lawyer?”

“You say that as if it’s something abnormal.”

“Because it is.”

“That’s a rather bigoted view, Ms. Burnett. Everyone is entitled to legal representation. Now: my client in no way advocated or expressed any actual interest in bribing any judges. He was speaking hypothetically and taken out of context.”

“Which one?”

“Whichever you like. The crux of the issue here is that, like my client said, Ms. Daniels takes it up the tushee and therefore cannot be trusted. She was given Mr. Kostaya’s $130,000 out of the kindness of Mr. Cohen’s heart.”

“Wait, what? Who is Mr. Kostaya?”

“He gave Mr. Cohen the money to give to Stormy. Great guy. Big tipper. Mr. Cohen met him in Prague or somewhere.”

“I’m assuming this Mr. Kostaya is Russian?”

“Russian as hell! Vodka, furry hats, the whole schmear.”

“And what does Mr. Kostaya do?”

“Something in the field of oligarchy.”


“Ms. Burnett, my client misspoke.”

“Who are you!?”

“I’m Mr. Goldstein’s lawyer, Baruch Feldman.”

“The President’s lawyer’s lawyer’s lawyer’s lawyer’s lawyer?”

“It’s lawyers all the way down, Erin. There is no Mr. Kostaya. My client Mr. Goldstein has a drinking problem and is also not precisely an attorney.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Mostly, he’s a bagman for Mr. Trump. But he also does goon duty. For example, he was the one who threatened Ms. Daniels in the parking lot.”



“Robble robble.”

“No! You are not an attorney, Hamburgler!”

“Robble robble!”

“How is that anti-Semitic?”


“We’ll be right back.”

Call Me By Putin’s Name

“Russian Jenkins!”

“Da, sir.”

“Vhat did Putin tell you about comedic Russian accents?”

“Only you get to have one, sir.”

“Da. Putin is star of dialogue.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So many phone calls.”

“Well, you have so many phones.”

“Putin has most phones in vorld. Very important person.”

“You’re a VIP, sir.”

“Do nyet do that. Acronyms are for degenerates and the veak.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“China call. Say vonderful things. They have gift to honor Putin.”

“A gift? That’s lovely. What are they sending?”

“Not sending. Doing. Remember the thing in Singapore?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now is nyet thing in Singapore.”

“That’s a great gift.”

“Is just Putin’s size. And I am tough to shop for!

“Finding your Christmas present is always a nightmare for me, sir.”

“Vhat do you get the man who has killed everyone?”

“True, sir.”

“Cuba sent cigars.”

“Cuba always sends cigars.”

“Is their thing.”

“Has Chancellor Merkel called yet, sir?”

“She text.”


“Is mean lady. But Putin is vaiting on best call.”


“Da. You stay. Put on speaker.”

“I’m gonna laugh, sir.”

“Do nyet laugh!”

“He’s just so–”


“It’s him, it’s him.”

“I’m so excited!”

“Do not make me judo you, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir.”


“Da. Is Putin.”


“Nyet. Is Putin.”

“General? Is this my General?”

“Goddammit, Mr. President, I’m standing right next to you.”

“I knew that and you know that I knew that, everyone says so. Who am I on the phone with? Tell me it’s not Mexico.”

“You’re on the phone with Vladimir Putin, sir.”

“Oh, he’s great.”

“Yes, sir. Now, please remember: don’t congratulate him.”

“Right, sure, congratulate him.”

“No. No, sir. Do not congratulate him.”

“Sure, of course, do not forget to congratulate him.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Putin can hear you two.”


“Do nyet call me that.”

“President Putin!”

“Is better. Hello, Donald.”



“Spaceeba, Donald. This means ‘Thank you’ in Russian.”

“Beautiful language, just spectacular. There’s a lot of really, really gorgeous languages out there, but you can’t beat Russian. A lot of people would go with English, they’d say ‘The President is supposed to root for English,’ but I didn’t set the Electoral College on fire by listening to anyone. Mexican, not a great language. Whatever the hell that African thing is with the clicks and whatever, not great. I think they’re making it up! Fake language!”

“Da. Russian is tongue of poets.”

“Your election win was absolutely spectacular, President Putin. The people over there love you. Maybe even more than the American people love me, not that you’d know from the lying media who just want to report about chaos and gossip, and who don’t see–and so many people see this–that I’m getting things done for my country. We’re gonna start executing drug dealers.”

“Is good start. Must be strong, Donald.”

“Strong, sure, right, strong.”

“People vant strong hand to guide them. People are veak and foolish. Need powerful man to keep them safe.”

“I have some of the strongest hands anyone has ever seen.”


“Da, da. Such strong.”

“No one thought you could accomplish what you did in the election, but you proved them wrong.”

“Putin front on the haters.”

“True, great, true, sure. Listen, I gotta go. I got a bucket of KFC here and my show is on.”

“Sounds like you have busy day planned.”

“No President has ever worked harder than me. Maybe you, but I’m talking about Americans. None. Okay, it’s chicken time. I’ll call you later on the private line.”



“Two things, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Vun: I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“You’re having a good run.”

“Two: now Putin vant fried chicken.”

“I’ll call the kitchen.”

Trump’s Lawyers Negotiate With The Special Counsel’s Office

As President Donald Trump’s reaction to special counsel Robert Mueller grows more irate by the day, attorneys on both sides sat down last week in a rare face-to-face discussion about the topics investigators could inquire of the President. It was the first in-person meeting after several weeks of informal discussions between the two sides, according to two sources familiar with the talks.

Mueller himself didn’t attend the meeting. But prosecutors including former Watergate prosecutor James Quarles III gave Trump’s lawyers enough detail that the President’s team wrote a memo with possible questions they expect to be asked of him. – CNN, 3/20/17

“Mr. Cobb.”

“Mr. Quarles.”

“I still can’t believe your name is Ty Cobb.”

“No one can. Did you have any trouble getting into the White House?”

“No, but I did notice a lot of people crying and fighting in the hallways.”

“The White House is a finely-tuned machine, Mr. Quarles. That’s normal for any workplace.”

“Stephen Miller is shooting up with his door open.”

“Finely-tuned machine. Shall we get to the point?”

“Yes. The Special Counsel’s Office has several fields of query in which we’d like to question the President.”

“We want to cooperate.”

“We’d like to ask him about his firing of James Comey.”

“We won’t cooperate with that.”

“Why not?”

“Just won’t.”

“That’s not a reason.”


“‘Nuh-uh?’ That’s your legal argument? ‘Nuh-uh?'”

“I don’t know how to say it in Latin.”

“We’ll come back to James Comey. We have questions about Jeff Sessions’ meetings with Ambassador Kislyak.”

“Can you believe that guy’s still alive?”


“Right? And the President will not discuss Jeff Sessions’ meetings.”

“The reason being?”

“Executive Privilege.”

“Not how Executive Privilege works.”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality?”

“Stop that.”

“The President will under no circumstances take questions about any of AG Sessions’ meetings with Russians.”

“Wait. Meetings? Were there other meetings he had with Russians we don’t know about?”


“Uh-huh. Mr. Cobb, let’s try this: what will your client discuss?”

“Oh, great. I have prepared a list. Let’s see: how about football?”


“President Trump loves talking football.”

“That’s irrelevant to the investigation.”

“How about celebrity gossip?”

“Does the President enjoy celebrity gossip?”

“Very much so. Far more than you’d hope a Commander-In-Chief would, but that’s what makes him unique.”

“No gossip chat, thank you.”

“The next one I wrote down verbatim from the President.”


“This isn’t my phrasing.”


“We could talk pussy.”

“That sounds like him.”

“I assure you.”

“I believe you. But, uh, no. Let’s not discuss…whatever that would be.”

“The President gets remarkably graphic. He describes labia.”

“Didn’t need to know.”


“General? Is my General here?”

“Mr. President, I’m in here with the attorney from the Special Counsel’s Office.”




“Sir, tilt your head slightly down.”

“I saw you there, Ty. I’m the best at seeing people where they are. Ty, I’m about to send out another tweet, and many people think that my tweets were what got me into the White House. All the losers say, ‘Mr. President Trump, calm down with the tweets. Enough with the tweets.’ But they’re out there, and I’m a winner, beautiful tweets.”

“What does it say, sir?”

“I’m gonna call Mueller’s wife ugly.”

“Oh, please don’t do that, Mr. President.”

“Who is this? I know who this is because I do and you should believe me, but who is this?”

“This is the attorney from the Special Counsel’s Office. James Quarles.”

“James, have you had lunch? We’re getting Wendy’s. The chicken sandwich over there is so fantastic, the best you’ll ever eat. Some people get it with mayo, but I like the full chicken taste. Gimme chicken on my sandwich. Fries are good. Not McDonald’s. Gotta be honest and say that. Obama wouldn’t say that, but he probably preferred Burger King. Those people like Burger King. Wendy’s?”

“No, thank you, sir.”

“You can get chili.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“I’ll get you a chili. You’ll have chili. James?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need loyalty.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Sir! I think I heard Jared calling you. Maybe he solved the Middle East.”

“Jared? Jared? General?”


“Y’know what, Ty? We’ll agree to any conditions you want. Just get your guy in the room with us, okay?”

“He’s gonna perjure himself during the oath.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Donald Trump, Jr., Visits His Divorce Lawyer

“Leave the ice cream where it is, Junior.”

“Five second rule!”

“No, that doesn’t apply to soft-serve ice cream. Where did you even get that?”

“My other lawyer’s office.”

“How many lawyers did you see today?”

“Five? Six? Wait. Does it count if they’re not lawyers in America? Like they were from another–”

“STOP TALKING. I don’t wanna hear it! I am just your divorce attorney. Please don’t mention any other cases you may or may not have going on.”

“Do you have any dirt on Hillary Clinton?”

“Junior, let’s talk about the divorce. You have five children.”

“Yeah, they’re great kids. There’s Junior, Jr., Donaldina. Uh. Tall girl. Oh, one of ’em smells real weird. And I think the fifth is named Snow Shovel.”

“I’m almost positive your kid’s name is not Snow Shovel.”

“It’s something. I know my wife gave him a name. She’s real good with the kids like that: they all got names, and hands, and everything.”

“She sounds wonderful. What about custody?”

“It’s too rich and sweet for me.”

“Not custard, Junior. Custody. Who gets the kids.”

“Can we give them to Batman?”


“But they’d be Robins!”


“Fine. I’ll take them.”

“You want custody of your children? You want to take care of them?”

“Sure. One question.”

“Is the question ‘How do you take care of a child?'”

“Are you a psychic? If you’re a psychic, you have to tell me. That’s the law.”

“Let’s circle back to the custody. How many houses do you own?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s the White House…”

“You don’t own the White House.”

“It’s a Trump Organization property.”

“Besides the White House.”

“Like, three or four?”

“Is it three or four?”

“Are we counting treehouses?”

“Do you live in it?”

“I go there when I get sad.”

“We’re not counting it.”

“I don’t know. Three or four. I don’t have, like, too many houses. Just enough. I have the right amount of houses.”

“What about cars?”

“I liked the second one the best. Mater’s funny.”

“Not the movie Cars, Junior. Automobiles. How many do you own?”

“I have a Jeep. Sometimes, when I’m too sad even for the treehouse, I’ll put on a flannel and drive out to the woods to sit on a stump.”

“We’ve all seen the picture.”

“And I have a Mercedes, which is a business car, because I am a businessman.”


“And I have a Lada. Cutest little sucker.”

“A Lada? Why the hell would you have a Lada?”

“A Russian oligarch gave it to me as a gift after we–”


“It’s a funny story! We were in Dubai, and–”

“Shut up! Just talk to me about the divorce! Nothing else.”

“I still wanna pick up my ice cream.”

“Leave the ice cream on the floor, dammit. What about alimony?”

“My wife doesn’t know about Alimony.”

“Is Alimony a stripper?”

“No. She’s a feature dancer.”


“That means she’s the star.”

“The money, Junior. What are we going to do about the money?”

“The money? Oh, right. Wait, hold on. I want to–”


“–‘give that bitch wife of yours everything so that cocksucker Mueller can’t come after it.'”


“That is what I want.”

“Goddamn you, Junior.”


“Sir, there’s a phone call for you.”

“Is it Robert Mueller?”

“How did you guess?”

“I’m a psychic.”

“I knew it!”

“Shut up, Junior.

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