Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: donald trump (page 3 of 21)

I Sewed Shut My Asshole…And Now I Sorely Regret It

When I first heard of the idea of sewing my asshole shut, I, like most people, thought it was a foolish idea. A week later, though, I happened to see a TEDx talk on the benefits of a sewn asshole. I was riveted.

I supported the procedure in dozens of articles, radio, and teevee appearances, even as everyone in my life said that I had to be kidding. As early as 2015, I wrote “there cannot possibly be a downside to lacing up your sphincter” and that it was “the smartest elective surgery” one could undergo. I believed that the sheer audacity of the move would be both balm and succor for all in these divided times, which is why I started a quarterly magazine entitled Asshole Affairs dedicated to promoting and defending my decision.

It is now clear my optimism was unfounded, and I should not have sewn my asshole shut. I thoroughly regret my decision and would strongly urge others considering the decision not to continue along their path. Far from making America great again, my actions have instead damaged my internal organs possibly beyond repair. I feel like I’m dying.

What did I see in sewing my asshole shut? I must now admit that I paid attention only to what I wanted, and discounted the many warnings from doctors, nurses, colleagues, and every single other person I know. The surgery would, I believed, save me, a person who went to Harvard, valuable time previously wasted in the bathroom. Financially, it was a no-brainer: thanks to Obama’s job-killing over-regulation, toilet paper is now the most expensive it’s ever been. No stains on your underwear, a cessation of flatulence, the list of positives went on forever.

Immediately after having my pucker zipped, I noticed that life was not, in fact, becoming great. When friends and family inquired, I would tell them that “it was early,” and “I’ve lived with a wide-open asshole for so many years; the transition is going to be a little shaky.”

But we are out of the transition. It is no longer early, and it is now clear that I was deluding myself. The body-wracking pains and gut spasms will not stop; they are, indeed, intensifying. Any time I thought I would save by no longer needing to poop has been replaced in treble by seizures and vomiting. As it turns out, everything my critics said was true.

I have seen the errors of my ways, but, perhaps, a bit too late and now I am completely and totally full of shit.


(After this jamoke.)

A Time For Choosing

The poet Maya Angelou once said, “Don’t forget about my asshole while you’re back there, boy. Let’s see some thumb work.” She also said “When someone shows you who they really are, believe them the first time.”

O, he showed us.

Is there a more transparent man in public life? A more obviously oblivious and  patently putrid mammal incapable of strategic thought or deed? Donald Trump has always laid his cards face-up in any one of the casinos he bankrupted. (He is, in a way, more trustworthy than actual politicians: they might be lying, but Trump is.) For years now–decades if you grew up in the New York mediasphere–he has informed all in earshot of his views on race. (And women, foreigners, the poor, and the press, but let’s stick to the topic of the day.)

His very first campaign speech–the cold open, for fuck’s sake–built to a climax in which he called Mexicans rapists.

In the 80’s, Trump paid (or got someone else to pay, most likely) for full-page ads in the papers calling for the death penalty for the so-called “Central Park Five, a group of black teens accused of raping a white women. They were later exonerated after spending years in jail; the city paid out more than $40 million in settlements. Donald Trump refused to apologize or repudiate his claims given the new information. Instead, he doubled down.

Any mention of African-Americans in his presence leads to a stuttering harangue on the inner cities, and their terrors.

Gonzalo Curiel is a judge assigned to hear a case involving Donald Trump. This is what he said:

“I think it has to do with, perhaps, the fact that I’m very, very strong on the border — very, very strong on the border,” Trump said at the time. “He has been extremely hostile to me. Now, he is Hispanic, I believe.”

Pressure on Trump continued to mount after his comments. In an interview with CNN in June, Trump doubled down on his criticism of Curiel, who was born and raised in Indiana, saying that his comments were not racist. “He’s a Mexican. We’re building a wall between here and Mexico.”

One might think it odd for a man who had such poor luck in casinos to be doubling down so much.

Donald Trump uses not just words to show us who he is, but actions. Hiring one known racist to work in the White House? Well, that’s an accident. Happens to the best of us. Happened to Reagan! Brought a fellow on to be his Communications Director and it came out that he’d been in the Hitler Youth. Ronnie gave him the axe, not sent him out to represent the presidency on teevee. Hire two? Can’t lie: that’s suspicious. But three? Now, that’s downright suggestive.

King of the birthers, ladies and gentiles.

Must we speak of Twitter? Of the “accidental” retweets from white supremacists? At the Star of David overlaid on a background of cash? Six members of Trump’s economic council have resigned in the past few days: five white and one black. I’ll take your bet on which one got the nasty tweet, but I won’t give you better odds than even money.

When Nazis started a riot in Charlottesville on Saturday, a woman ended up dead. Two policemen surveiling the scene were killed when their helicopter crashed. Many others were injured, some severely.  The president could not be bothered to cut his 17-day vacation short, and that night he read a boilerplate statement for half-a-paragraph. The statement had been prepared for him by more sober minds, but Donald got bored and started extemporizing.

“Many sides” were responsible for the carnage, he said while standing at a podium bearing the Presidential seal.

The White House released an unsigned memo the next day with more forceful language.

And so we come to the present. At a press conference today, Trump declared both sides to be equally at fault. One side, it should be noted, was made up of Nazis; the other was not. Yet the president claimed ambivalence towards the event. After all, he reminded us, the Nazis did have a permit. Then he expressed gratitude that mother of the dead woman wrote nice things about him on Facebook.

And then he lied about owning a winery in Charlottesville.

The cards are up. We’ve seen what Donald Trump is holding: most likely a flush. He seems to prefer when colors stick together. He is the most honest liar in the entire world, and he has shown us who he is.

Donald Trump has shown us whose side he is on.

Whose side are you on?

Trumps! Through! Historyyyyyyyy!

December 8th, 1941

“My fellow Americans, and also the losers and haters and blacks. Yesterday, December 7th, was a very, very bad day. Not good at all. Was it Wilkie’s fault? Maybe. Maybe. Who knows? I heard on the radio that it was, but it might have been the fake radio.

“Many sides were responsible for the tragedy in Hawaii. Parking a lot of ships like that is a real provocation. We’re not angels.

“Okay, great, war, great. Look up the Japs, though.”

September 11th, 2001

“Violence is not okay. I’m gonna say that again, but real slow. Not. Oh. Kay. Whether it’s the violence done by people flying planes into buildings, or the violence that buildings do to planes.

“It’s just sad all around.”

June 26th, 1963

Ich bin ein Berliner. But also a Communist. There are two sides to this story. Zwei sides, you understand that? Zwei.

“This is a beautiful wall.”

Many Sides

One side: There is a wage gap in between men and women in this country.
Other side: Depends on how you look at the numbers.
Not a side: Women shouldn’t have the vote.

One side: Local de-industrialization and global economic trends have left vast swathes of the country underemployed.
Other side: The residents of those areas have, without fail, voted for their own problems.
Not a side: I’d like to stand in a park and yell “nigger” as loud as I can.

One side: Israel is under mortal threat from the countries surrounding it.
Other side: Israel is a human-rights nightmare that causes just as much chaos as anyone.
Not a side: The Holocaust didn’t happen, but I wish it did.

One side: Migrant workers should be legalized and given a pathway to citizenship if they so choose.
Other side: American jobs should be for Americans.
Not a side: Driving a car into a crowd.

Another Set Of Lists, One Noticeably Longer Than The Other

Who Has Basketball Head Talked Shit About?

  • Mexico.
  • Canada.
  • Australia.
  • Germany.
  • Great Britain.
  • NATO.
  • Disabled reporters.
  • Muslims.
  • Blacks.
  • Transgendered troops.
  • American POW’s.
  • Morning teevee anchors.
  • The press.
  • The leaders of his own political party.
  • His staff.
  • The FBI.
  • The CIA.
  • The state of New Hampshire.
  • Numerous comediennes.
  • The White House itself.

Who Has Basketball Head Not Talked Shit About?

  • Vladimir Putin.
  • Fucking Nazis.

A Partial Transcript Of Donald Trump’s Press Availability, 8/10/17

“Great, yes, the press. Wonderful. I have done more press conferences than any other president in history. Acosta, did you have lunch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you have?”

“Fish sandwich.”

“Have you ever had a fish sandwich like that? That’s all Ivanka, by the way. She’s always saying to me, ‘Don’t forget the fish sandwiches, Dad.’ Sharp girl. Much better looking the Obama girls. And, you know. You know. What about the bun?”


“The bun.”

“Toasted, right?’

“Um, yes.”

“No one was doing that before me. Every other golf cub you’d go to, they’d give you disgusting bread like you’re a dog. Not at any Trump property. We toast.”

“Sir, can we talk about North Korea?”


“Sir, there are more important things to discuss.”

“I am now announcing that North Korea is cruising for a bruising. We’re gonna do an Executive Order on that in two weeks. When I get back to wherever. Where I have to live. Acosta, did you see what the Fake News Golf magazine said about me? That I called the White House a dump? Very typical of the biased media, which is very left-wing.”

Golf magazine is left-wing, sir?”

“We have supernukes. I can announce this now. Thanks to my leadership, the United States now has many supernukes.”

“Supernukes, sir?’

“Just the most beautiful nukes you’ve ever seen, believe me. Haberman?”

“Mr. President–”

“Mooch still calling you?”

“–I wanted to ask…yes, sir.”

“You should talk to him. Great, great, very successful guy. Didn’t work out, but I might bring him back. He did very well, everyone was talking about him, and then the very disgusting Ryan Lizza wiretaps his apartment and spreads fake news about him.”

“No, sir. Mr. Scaramucci called him on the phone. And Ryan informed him he was being taped.”

“Right, wiretapped. And who leaked that conversation?”

“Mooch called him, sir. He called a reporter.”

“Opiates are a national emergency. I’m declaring it. Barack Obama got everyone in New Hampshire, which is more disgusting than West Virginia, hooked on heroin. This is MS-13! You’ve heard of MS-13? Very, very, very bad. They cut off heads, drugs, just not great. And you know: Mexico is right there. They’re right there and they’re throwing opiates into our country.”

“Is there a policy announcement to go along with your declaration, sir?”

“Yeah, yeah, in two weeks. These people, and this is sad, they get hurt. Doctor gives them these pills. These are rough pills, real heavy hitters. People get hooked and then illegal aliens sell them drugs and rape them. The MS-13 I told you about it. You should look those guys up. No good at all.”

“Yes, sir. Can you say anything about the failure of the repeal-and-replace bill in the Senate?”

“Mitch McConnell should watch out. I might have to come up with a nickname for him.”


“Mr. President, can I have a word?”

“General Kelly, the best. Everyone know the General? This guy is really one of my best hires. I could not have picked a better man to do whatever his job is. So proud of him, and he takes such good care of me. Tall, great.”

“Mr. President, you have a meeting.”

“It can wait. The filthy liars in the media lie about me, so I’m getting my own message out there.”

“By talking to the media?”

“General, could you get me one of those of those oatmeal raisin cookies we have? Has everyone tried these? This is Melania’s recipe, and we have it at every property. Just the most delicious cookie you’ve ever had. General, bring back cookies for everyone.”


“Great general. Only a three-star. I probably would have been a four-star. Rucker?”

“Can we pivot back to North Korea, sir?”

“North Korea is complicated, but it’s also very simple. China has to step up and help, but what they’ve done so far, you know, that’s good, too. But, you know, if China comes with us and helps, then maybe we make some deals. Russia is doing a great job. But what it comes down to is this little fat kid has to understand  that he should be very, very scared of my supernukes.”

“You keep mentioning these supernukes, sir.”

“Beautiful weapons. Beautiful.”

“Is there some sort of ‘red line’ that you’re setting as far as Kim Jong-Un’s behavior?”

“Yes. It’s a secret.”

“That’s not the way to do red lines, sir.”

“You don’t get a cookie. Roberts?”

“Mr. President, your former campaign manager Paul Manafort’s home was recently raided by the FBI. What are your comments on that?”

“You know, the man’s there and it’s very early. Very early. Maybe his family’s there. If his family’s there, then that’s a real tough thing to do. Real tough thing to do. I don’t know why that’s going on. For the sake of the FBI director’s job, I hope that stops. This Russia thing…there’s no Russia thing. Where is it? There’s nothing. No one is being investigated, and no one’s house is being raided and there’s no Russia. But I hope the FBI gets a little smarter. A little smarter.”


“Mister President, the building is on fire! Come with us!”


“Are they just gonna leave us here?”

“I guess. Hey, Haberman.”

“What, Acosta?”

“You think Kelly set the fire?”

“I would have.”

A Partial Transcript From President Trump’s Phone Call With Mexican President Nieto

“Yes, great, phone call, hello.”

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Ricky! Congratulations on getting to work with me. You are going to be muy, muy happy. Do you speak good English or should I get a maid to translate?”

“I speak fluent English.”

“Donald, Jr., doesn’t. Good boy, but he’s weak. He cares. He cares. Good boy.”

“What are we talking about?”

“You gotta pay for the wall, Ricky.”


“I promised the people. This is bad for me if you don’t build my wall. Have I sent you the drawings? You won’t believe how beautiful this wall is gonna be. Stunning. Jared’s gonna come down.”

“Don’t send Jared down.”

“Many more Mexicans voted for me than Hillary, who has AIDS. The legal Mexicans. Cubans love me, Ricky. I go down to Florida and they give me standing ovations. It’s just amazing. Puerto Rico. Do you know about Puerto Rico?”

“Do I know what about Puerto Rico?”

“Do you know about Puerto Rico? It’s doing the most wonderful things lately, everyone’s talking about Puerto Rico, and it’s going very well. I got all of Puerto Rico’s electoral votes.”

“Excellent, Mr. President.”

“We could go to war on Canada.”


“The president has the power to go to war. Just the president. Totally unlimited powers, no one can stop him. It’s an unbelievable thing that many people don’t know about. Maybe we go to war with Canada. Maybe me and Canada go to war with you.”

“No puedo creer que tenga que lidiar con esto.”

“What? Do I need to get the maid or not, Ricky?”

“No, Mr. President.”

“Either you gotta build me my wall or at least stop saying to the press that you’re not going to. Okay? No one thought I could get 273, but I got 306. I won Michigan by the biggest numbers anyone’s ever seen. The governor of Michigan called me up to thank me for all the beautiful things I was going to accomplish. Tim Allen called, too. Great guy, very funny. Ricky, you know Tim Allen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Incredible short game. You two would like each other. Maybe I’ll send Tim Allen down with Jared.”

“Send neither, please.”

“You know that Israel has a wall, right? Spectacular wall. We could do that, no problem. Why don’t we follow their lead? Frankly, Ricky, you owe us a wall. The cartels are bad. You should see what they’ve done to Maine. The governor up there wants to start executing Mexicans, believe me. Build me a wall or I let Maine execute Mexicans.”

“Am I being punked?”

“Shit, shit, Putin’s on the other line. Hasta la vista, baby.”


¿Que ha pasado?

Send These, The Homeless, Tempest-Tost To Me

Belarus is a small country between Russia and Poland, which is a terrible idea. 90’s nostalgia seems to be all the rage, so I’ll use a trendy metaphor: Russia is OJ, Poland is his wife, and Belarus is the waiter. Waiter didn’t have to die, but he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Being in between Russia and Poland is the wrong place, and it has been the wrong time for over two hundred years.

In 1795 Belarus became part of the Russian Empire and the powers that be began a program known as Russification. (I did not make that word up, though it does sound like the kind of word I like to make up.) Gotta join the Orthodox Church, and wear what you’re told and speak the right language. The process was voluntary, and the only repercussions for not joining in were that you would be beaten to death after watching cossacks rape your family.

That is, if you were a Slav. Jews lived in Belarus, too. They were not included in the Russification process, but did get to participate in the “being beaten to death after watching cossacks rape your family to death” portion of the program. A Slav could be turned into a Russian, but a Jew? A Jew would always be a Jew. It was a matter of blood. They looked out for themselves, the Jews, and they whispered in their language. Look at their clothes. Look at where they live. How they live. What do they do, the Jews? Produce? I say that they do not. I say that they buy and sell. You work hard and they sit indoors all day with their books. Holy book and ledger book. A Jew cannot be a Russian. A Jew would always be a Jew.

Czar Alexander II was assassinated in 1881. On Sundays, he liked to take his carriage and go watch the soldiers march around. He always took the same route. The first bomb did not destroy the carriage, as it was bulletproof, but killed a guard standing on the running board and injured the driver. The Czar stepped from the flame-scarred carriage and demanded to be shown around the crime scene. There was a second bomber.

The Jews were blamed. Riots called pogroms broke out that were both egged on and forgiven by the Russian authorities. Pogroms weren’t the systematic and relentless extermination of the Holocaust, they just happened one night. Usually around Easter; priests led them, sometimes.

One would imagine alcohol played a part.

And the townspeople would come streaming into the Jewish section of town–Slavs that the Jews had worked and lived alongside that very afternoon–and houses and businesses would burn. Synagogue, always. Children were pulled from their beds, sometimes by their parents to be hidden, and sometimes not by their parents.

The Jews that were not murdered organized or fled. The ones who organized were killed in the next and far more vicious round of pogroms after the Revolution of 1917. The ones who fled went to Israel or America. My great-grandparents fled. Six of the eight came from the area eaten up by the Russian Empire. The other two came from Ireland when it ran out of food that one time.

I don’t know their names. They died when my parents were young, and my grandparents died when I was young. I don’t know their family names, and I don’t know the names their new village gave them.

But I do know the names Wolf and Bessie Glotzer, who changed their name to Glosser when they came to America in 1903 from Belarus. They were tired of having their house burned down and being beaten with sticks, and so they came to America. They took a boat. It was 1903, so they took a boat. After two weeks at sea, they entered New York Harbor and everyone aboard came on deck. They could see Ellis Island, where they would start the paperwork on their new lives in squatty brick buildings, but no one was looking at Ellis Island.

Not when the Statue of Liberty was right there.

That same year, 1903, a plaque bearing a poem was installed in the pedestal. It goes like this:

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

“Mother of Exiles.” How about that?

Emma Lazarus wrote it: it’s called “The New Colossus.” The Statue of Liberty was privately funded. Kids mailed in nickels, and charity dinners to get the swanky to write checks. One of the schemes was a fine art auction, and Emma Lazarus was asked to submit an original poem. She was a rich lady, but she was socially-minded and worked with refugees. Jews from Eastern Europe, specifically.

This poem was written about Wolf and Bessie Glotzer, and today their great-grandson Stephen Miller pissed on it.

Audition Night At The White House

“Mr. President, we have a number of candidates lined up to be your next Communications Director.”

“Communicating, very important. My White House has been the most transparent ever. Couldn’t see through Obama at all because he was black. Many people say this, General Kelly.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I love when you stand up straight like a soldier.”

“I’m a Marine, sir.”

“Marine, soldier, what’s the difference?”

“Let’s just get started.”

“Good, right, yes, great. Tucker Carlson is on in fifteen minutes. Time to watch Tucker.”

“Send in the first candidate.”


“Oy, they said you were a great orange tit, but I thought they was exaggerating.”

“Who the hell is this foreign skeleton?”

“Sir, this is Sam Cutler. He has a great deal of experience with, um, situations like ours.”

“‘E’s right, Donny. I’ve been at the ‘elm for disasters throughout the decades, I ‘ave.”

“Disaster? This White House is a well-oiled machine, the most oiled. No one’s ever seen this much oil.”

“Aye, me son. An’ the Titanic was greased up, as well.”

“Get Keith Richards’ grandfather out of here, General!”



“Not a win, General! Sad and weak! If this is the best you can do, I’m calling the Mooch back in.”

“That was a warm-up , sir.”

“I never need to warm-up. Stretches, whatever. Never needed to. I’m like a mountain lion.”

“Yes, sir. Next candidate, please!”


“Ugh. What the hell is that? Terrible looking. Trenchcoat and a beret?”


“General, what the hell is this?”

“The ghost of Sam Kinison, sir.”


“Get it the fuck out of here! Call the Ghostbusters! The old ones, not the ugly broads.”


“Very, very bad choices, General! I can’t make America great with this kind of staff.”

“Well, sir, this is what answered the want-ad.”

“Bottom of the barrel, General.”

“We dug through the barrel weeks ago, sir. We’re getting close to the bedrock. I think you’ll like this next one, though.”

“Hot chick?”

“No, sir.”

“Thin ice, Kelly.”



“Mr. President! You are the strongest leader America’s ever seen, and there is NO Russia.”

“I like this, good, yes, good.”

“This is plot by Zionists and the Western Media to make us look foolish.”

“Excellent, wonderful, beautiful.”

“By the sword of Allah, we will kill our enemies.”

“I liked the second half of that.”

“And there are no tanks at all in Baghdad.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mr. President, do you know Baghdad Bob?”

“Uh-huh. General, c’mere.”


“Whisper whisper whisper Muslim?”

“Whisper whisper whisper yes.”


“Your eyes look like the testicles of an ugly camel.”

“Go back to Iran!”

“Iraq, you dumbass.”


“General, this is not good. Not good! Very weak and disgusting candidates so far. Why don’t we call that tall lady?”

“Tall lady, sir?”

“The one with the nose who you can’t tell if she’s hot or not.”

“Are you talking about C.J. Cregg, sir?”

“I don’t learn women’s names.”

“I’ll see if she’s free, sir. I…huh. I thought we were done, but we have one more applicant.”




“I like this guy already, General.”


“Very handsome and confident. What’s your name, son?”

“What’s my name? My name? You want to know my name? Uhhhh…it’s…uh…Alberto…Poncharelli.”

“Strong name. Lends itself to a fun nickname. Very, very good.”

“Mr. President, you who are so powerful and wise. I will serve you so well. I will crush your enemies and hear the lactations of their women. I will stick my dick in the lying, fake, lying New York Times, and then I’ll take pictures of their sticky bodies to show you for your amusement.”

“General, I love this guy.”

“Sir, this is–”

“When can you start, Ponch?”

“I can start right now.”

“The best! Wonderful, beautiful, I make great choices. See, General! Clean slate!”


A Child’s Letter To Donald Trump

Dear Mister Predisent,

My name is Hunter but everyone calls me Timmy. I love you Predisent Trump. You are the favorit predisent I have ever had. Why are the Democrats being such obstructionists? My mommy and daddy voted for you both of them.

I had a Trump birthday party and the cake was the shape of Melania, who is acknowledged as one of the great beauties. You are tall and strong. You are making America grate again. Why does the failing New York Times, which is very unfair and disgusting, lie about you? My pet lizard is named after you. He eats crickets.

Why do peple not liek you? You seem like the most predisential prediesnt since Lincoln. Can we be friends? Why did the weak and beleaguered Jeff Sessions take the job if he knew he was going to recuse himself? There’s no Russia.

My wish when I blue out teh candles was to go to Mar-A-Lago or one of your many, many high-quality properties all around the world. Can I come have lunch with you? I liek meatloaf do you liek meatloaf?

I am a real boy.

Your Friend,
Donald Hunter

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