Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: Maggie haberman (page 1 of 2)

The Late-Night Calls Never Stop At Maggie Haberman’s House


“Aw, c’mon. What did I do to deserve this besides kill those hobos? Hello?”

“Am I speaking to Margaret Lindsy Haberman?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Robert Mueller, ma’am. Are you Miss Haberman? Answer the question and remember that you’re under oath.”

“I am, but I’m not.”

“Ma’am, I’m calling in reference to certain phone calls that may or may not have been placed to you in the early morning hours of…Jesus, are they calling you every night?”

“Just about.”

“So you do admit that you have been receiving phone calls from the Trump Administration and various related persons?”

“You have a very prosecutorial tone.”

“I’m a prosecutor.”


“When did the phone calls begin, Miss Haberman?”

“Mooch. It all started with Mooch.”

“Mr. Scaramucci, yes.”

“Have you called him in for questioning, Mr. Mueller?”

“Off the record?”


“Like, four times already. Scheduled to come back in on Tuesday.”

“Jesus, what did he do?”

“Do? Nothing. He’s not in trouble at all, but we just love the guy. Got the best stories. Did you know he knows Bono?”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Miss Haberman, what did you and Mr. Scaramucci discuss?”

“His penis.”

“You talked about his penis for the entire conversation?”

“No, sometimes we were technically talking about other subjects, but the theme was always his penis.”

“You’re speaking about subtext.”

“There ya go.”

“Mr. Bannon also called you?”

“Several times. He’s garrulous.”

“He is. Keeps stopping by our offices to–and I quote–‘talk shit about Jews.'”

“That sounds like him. Don’t tell me he’s implicated in the Russia thing.”

“There’s no Russia, no Russia.”

“I’m messing with you, Miss Haberman.”

“You got me.”

“Everyone falls for that. People don’t realize how robust my sense of humor is.”

“Very robust, Mr. Mueller.”

“There’s so much damn Russia.”

“That’s the vibe I’m getting. And Steve Bannon’s involved?”

“Oh, no. That man hates foreigners. Truly and deeply. Wouldn’t collaborate with a Russian. I don’t even know if he’d have a beer with a Canadian.”

“Big Steve’s got his principles.”

“He smells like someone cut open a durian fruit in a port-a-potty.”

“That, too.”

“I see that Donald Trump, Jr., has also reached out to you.”

“Yeah, Fredo.”

“Oh, that’s funny. We call him that, too.”

“How much trouble is he in?”

“All. Fredo is in all the trouble. I’m suffering from choice over here about who to turn into witnesses and who to send to jail. These are some of the sloppiest numbskulls I’ve ever come in contact with. Ever see a baby eating spaghetti? Like that. There’s evidence just everywhere.”

“I’m sure.”

“Sean Spicer also called you several times?”


“Manage to make it through the phone call without chopping one of his legs off?”

“Just barely.”

“You should see this guy’s journals. He took notes on everything.”


“Absolutely everything. There’s even little sketches of where people were sitting. He’s actually not a bad artist. His lines remind me of George Grosz.”

“That should be helpful.”

“They’re just about making my case for me. That and the fact that I’m currently tapping the phones of everyone in the White House.”


“We are still off the record, Miss Haberman.”


“It’s an old-fashioned Tennessee Dick Tug going on over there. Lots of crying and hate-sex, too. Imagine Jabba’s Palace, but if David Lynch directed it.”

“The White House is a bit of a mess; yes, sir.”

“All Kelly does is put out fires. Actual fires, Miss Haberman. Someone over there’s a firebug.”

“This is a weird year.”

“We think it’s Omarosa. Miss Haberman, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“If you say so. Good night, Miss Haberman.”

“Good night, Mr. Mueller.”


“You think he heard me?”

“No, we’re safe, baby.”

“I love you, Baberman.”

“I love you, Mooch.”

Stop Picking Up The Damn Phone, Maggie Haberman


“I hate everything about everything and everyone. FuuuuuuuuuuuckWHAT?”

“Haberman, it’s Big Steve.”

“Not calling you that, Bannon.”

“You think Charlie Rose is a queer? He was making fag-eyes at me the whole interview.”

“It’s three in the morning. What do you want?”

“Wanted to see what you thought of 60 Minutes. Been watching it on a loop since it aired. I look hot.”

“Not really.”

“I’d fuck me.”

“You looked like you were stitched together from seven or eight other, uglier, men. At times, your skin was literally bubbling.”

“Unfortunate side effect of daddy’s concentration juice.”

“I’m not asking what that is.”


“Not a thing.”

“I was on my game, Haberman. Laid out my views for the future.”

“Which are?”

“Destruction. Terror. And mayhem.”


“Pass me a sissy, and Maggie I’ll slay them.”

“Don’t quote Ll Cool J at me.”

“He’s a modern-day Thucydides. Haberman, do you know who built America?”


“No. The opposite of that.”

“Record says otherwise.”

“Look into your heart, though. Doesn’t your heart say that Mexicans are rapists?”

“It most certainly does not.”

“Listen: Trump ran on immigration and security. Get it? ‘Immigration’ and ‘security?’


“Nudge, nudge, wink wink,”

“I got it.”

“Darkies, beaners, and homos.”

“I said I got it, Steve.”

“And the mockies.”



“What do you, collect old-timey slurs for Jews?”


“Why am I not surprised?”

“Maggie, America should be for Americans first, and then not for anyone else at all. Imagine how great the other nations of the planet would be if all of those people who came here had stayed where they were. What a wonderful world it would be. And, you know, if women couldn’t vote.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re all so emotional. And some of you are criminals, like Hillary Clinton and my bitch ex-wife.”

“Which ex-wife?”

“All of ’em. Bitches.”


“Lemme tell you the problem with the Catholic Church, Maggie.”

“This should be interesting.”

“Vatican II. That’s where it all went wrong. I can understand changing the Mass from Latin to English, but Spanish? C’mon. If God speaks Spanish, I’ll stick my fist up my ass and use myself as a ventriloquist’s dummy.”

“Can I go?”

“The elites, Maggie. That’s who’s destroying the country.”

“I thought the immigrants were.”

“They’re in league. Lots of collaborating going on here. Circles within circles. And within the innermost circle?”

“Don’t say it.”

“Jew star.”

“You said it.”

“Jew money, Maggie. It rots whatever it touches. That’s why I fight.”

“I’m hanging up the phone.”

“My face is bulging for you, Maggie.”


Maggie Haberman Should Stop Picking Up The Phone After A Certain Hour


“No. No. No, no, no. I’m just not gonna answer it. I’m not gonna pick it up. But they won’t give up. They’ll keep calling me, and they’ll keep calling me until I listen to their drunken bullshit. No. No, no. I’m not gonna pick it up. I’m not.”


“Fuck! Hello?”

“Maggie, this is Donald Trump.”

“Oh, hello, Mister–”



“I did a thing today.”

“You sure did, buddy. Testified in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee. How’d it go?”

“Fucking killed it.”

“Uh-huh. I heard you got lost coming back from the bathroom.”

“That building is complicated!”


“They should let my dad build them a new Senatorium.”

“Capitol. The building is called the Capitol.”

“They should call it the Ugly Zone. There’s no amenities at all. I kept asking people, ‘Are you the concierge?’ And everyone was like, ‘Junior, you’re talking to a statue.’ I was confused a little, but then I yelled ‘Fake News!’ and I made myself laugh and everything was okay. Well, not okay. I was still pretty lost. Hey, what are you wearing?”

“A Sarah Lawrence tee-shirt and sweatpants with a pizza stain on them.”


“What are you wearing, Junior?”

“A business suit, because I’m a businessman.”

“Right. Even at three in the morning?”

“Ten a.m. in Moscow.”


“Dude, you would not believe how hard I bullshitted these dummies. They just sat there eating it up. They bought everything.”

“Riiiiight. Junior, do you know what a ‘perjury trap’ is?”

“Pssh. Of course I do. I went to Pennsylvania University.”

“You mean the University of Pennsylvania?”

“Same thing.”

“It’s not. What’s a perjury trap, Junior?”


“Are you googling it?”

“No! I KNOW WHAT IT IS! I’m smart.”


“Perjury trap doctrine refers to a principle that a perjury indictment against a person must be dismissed if the prosecution secures it by calling that person as a grand-jury witness in an effort to obtain evidence for a perjury charge especially when the person’s testimony does not relate to issues material to the ongoing grand-jury investigation. The perjury trap is a form of entrapment defense, and so must be affirmatively proven by the defendant.”

“Yeah, that’s the first hit on google.”

“No, it’s not! What’s google? I’ve never even heard of that. Is it like antifa? You are such fake news.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Why aren’t you supporting my dad? He’s the greatest president ever. Ever!”

“Well, that’s debatable, and the job of a journalist isn’t to support the president. It’s to report the news.”

“Okay, well, here’s the news: President Trump is awesome. What other president has reached across the aisle before to make a deal with the enemy party?”

“All of them. Every single one. Until Obama, for some reason.”

“Because he was divisive.”

“Right. That’s it.”

“I still think he was born in Kanye.”

“Kenya. He was born in Kenya. And he wasn’t.”

“My dad says different. My lawyer took me for hot dogs after the hearing today. I had almost three.”

“Who’s a big boy?”

“I am.”

“Yes, you are. So, what exactly did you tell the Judicial Committee about that meeting?”

“Dude, I told them that the Russian lawyer lady didn’t have any good information.”

“Was that true?”

“OH MY GOD, NO. She gave us all sorts of shit on Hillary. And, you know, I vetted her fitness. Because if anyone’s more qualified than me to judge Hillary’s fitness, I don’t know who they are.”

“You, the man who’s never worked for anyone but his daddy, were going to ‘vet the fitness’ of a former Senator and Secretary of State?”

“Yeah, fuck her.”



“There it is. Okay, Junior. I gotta get some sleep.”

“Fuck that. Come on over. I got gak.”

“No, thank you.”

“Pink and flaky, yo.”


“More for Junior.”


These Late-Night Phone Calls To Maggie Haberman Need To Stop


“Jesus wept. And then cursed me. Jesus wept and cursed me, and I know not why. Hello?”

“Maggie, sweetheart, how are you? How’s your mother?’

“It’s three in the morning, Senator Schumer.”

“Morning, shmorning. You’re my favorite yenta.”

“I know what that means.”

“Congratulations. Are you hungry? I’ll send over some pastries?”

“Senator, why are you calling me?”

“Well, I was just wondering something.”


“You got any idea what the fuck happened today?”

“Not a clue.”

“I was in the room and I got no idea. C’mon, Maggeleh–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“–I know you’re tight with those crazy people over there. What’s the word from the White House?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“From me? Bupkes. From an unnamed aide briefed on today’s meeting? The president thinks the debt ceiling is an actual ceiling.”

“Like, the underside of a roof?”

“Yeah. A ceiling. The schmuck says, “While we’re raising the debt ceiling, why don’t we do some improvements? Paint it?’ Swear to you. Me and Pelosi laugh like he’s telling a joke. He keeps going. ‘Maybe we could add a chandelier.’ Guess what he did next.”

“Pulled out the electoral map.”

“Such a smart girl.”

“I am a 43-year-old woman, Senator.”

“Good for you. Now tell me what’s happening over there.”


“I knew that.”

“No, more than normal. Like: chaotic by Trump Administration standards. He didn’t tell anyone he was going to agree to a three-month extension. Jonathan Winters never ad-libbed like this.”

“You should’ve seen Paul Ryan’s little goyische punim. The boy was just shattered.”

“And McConnell?”

“He looked like a turtle.”


“You don’t understand how quickly it went down. I didn’t finish my sentence. ‘How about three months, Mister…’ and he says ‘Yes.’ I mean, he didn’t say ‘Yes.’ He said, ‘Chuck this is the best deal, a really beautiful deal, that many, many people are comparing to the New Deal.'”

“Did he do the hand thing?”

“Does he ever not do the hand thing?”


“Mnuchin looked like he’d been slapped. And not with a hand. With a shmeckle. Pardon my French.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Tears. Tears were pooling in the man’s eyes. Never seen anything like it. Honestly, I wish I had gone for more stuff.”

“Like DACA?”

“DACA? I think I could’ve gotten him to buy a time share. Man’s desperate, Maggeleh.”

“Stop that.”

“In all seriousness, I hope that today’s agreement ushers in a new era of the Trump presidency: one of cooperation, collaboration, and compromise, and that both parties can put past differences aside and move the country forward in a bipartHAHAHAHA.”

“Couldn’t hold it in, Senator?”

“I’ve had a few cocktails. Holy shit, are we gonna shiv the cocksucker with this. He didn’t hand us a sword, he built us a sword factory. Maggie, answer me a question. What’s three months from now?”

“The holidays.”

“I’m gonna make that gonif shut down the government for Christmas.”

“Of course you are. How did Pelosi take it?”

“I think she was happy. Who can tell with that face of hers?”

“You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

“You didn’t know that?

“Good night, Senator.”

“Zay gezunt.”

Maggie Haberman’s Number Must Be Written On The White House Bathroom Wall Or Something


“Motherfucker. Motherfuckers motherfucking fucking mothers in Motherfucker City. Three a.m. Every motherfucking night with these motherfuckers. What!?”

“Hey, Maggie. It’s Sean Spicer.”

“Sean? Why are you calling? You quit or got fired or whatever a month ago.”

“You’re right, but today’s my last day.”

“Does anything work normally in that building anymore?”

“If I told you, you’d never sleep again.”

“I don’t sleep now because all of you wretches, fumblers, and drunkards calling me all goddamned night. Have you been going in to work this whole time?”

“Going in? I haven’t left my office in a month. I got my mini-fridge, and I stole an oven from one of the messes. Couple brewskis, make myself some nachos. Got my brother’s Netflix password. It’s Spice World in here.”


“Living the life!”

“Why haven’t you been going home?”

“My family looks at me with shame in their eyes.”


“This is better, honestly. It’s like I live in the White House. You ever read From the Mixed-Up Files of Basil E. Frankweiler? It’s like that. Ooh, or Eloise.”

“You’re not Eloise, Sean. You’re a 45-year-old ginger who’s living in his office.”

“And working. Still working to spread the President’s message and policies.”


“Maggie, just because I was publicly humiliated to the point where everyone started to feel bad for me doesn’t mean I’m not a terrible, terrible person.”


“MAGA, Maggie.”


“Take just today, for example. I advised Jared Kushner that the President should blame antifa for the hurricane.”

“Yup, that’s terrible. Wait. Jared Kushner is your buddy now?”

“We are super-tight. Guy loves me. Keeps asking for my autograph.”


“Says he loves my signature. Goes on and on about how great it is. Makes me sign it on all different sorts of paper.”

“You probably want to stop doing that, Sean.”

“He tells me all about the rabbits, Maggie.”

“It’s a real circular firing squad over there, isn’t it?”

“Things are tense. Sometimes, the President just howls. Like a betrayed wolf. Sound goes right through your soul. Maggie, can I be honest with you?”

“First time for everything.”

“I think…and, gosh, this is so tough to say…I think he could be doing a little better.”


“Don’t get me wrong! 95% of the President’s problems are caused by the lying media. Or Obama holdovers. Or Jeff Flake. Or the weather. Or the Deep State.”

“So: anyone but him?”

“Basically. Do you know that Obama not only pardoned Charles Manson, but sent Air Force One to pick him up from jail?”

“None of that is true.”

“It is. One of the President’s sons told me.”

“Which one?”

“The ugly one.”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Sean.”

“Hey, you in Washington?”


“You wanna come over? I’ll give you a special tour.”

“I’ve seen the White House, Sean.”

“But have you seen the ceiling of my office?”

“Annnnnnd there it is. Good night.”

“Don’t tell the Pope I said that.”


Maggie Haberman Should Really Start Turning Her Ringer Off


“NOOOOO! Why!? Why, why, why!? Three o’fucking clock in the goddamned…what!?”

“Hello, Frau Haberman. Um, Mrs. Mrs. Haberman. I meant Mrs. This is Doctor Sebastian Gorka, PhD.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake.”

“As you know, I quit working for the Jew-infested White House today.”

“I don’t know that. In fact, I was told the exact opposite. That you were fired.”

“Jew lies.”

“The antisemitism is going to make this a very short conversation.”

“I can hate Muslims, if you’d like.”

“Try not to hate anyone.”

“Then I would have no purpose in life. Mrs. Haberman, the White House has been corrupted. Do you know why I took the job?”

“Because it was the only one you were offered in the past few years?”



“I wanted to MAGA. I believed in MAGAing. MAGA in the morning, MAGA in the evening, MAGA at suppertime.”

“Stop saying that word that isn’t a word.”

“And where’s the MAGA? I saw a little bit of it in President Trump’s triumphant press conference.”

“The one where he called the Nazis ‘fine people?'”

“What a man. But I feel he didn’t go far enough in denouncing the Communist, anti-American alt-left. Especially that woman who did all the damage to that innocent Dodge.”

“The one who was run over and killed?”

“Totally caved in the front end. That doesn’t just buff out, you know. Besides, she didn’t have a permit. If someone doesn’t have a permit, then you’re allowed to run them over. That’s the law.”

“It is not a law anywhere in the world.”

“Most of those protestors were either secret Muslims or openly black. Kind of like Obama.”

“What the hell does ‘openly black’ mean?”

“You know, a rap black. One of those who thinks their life matters. Not a good black.”

“Uh-huh. And can you name some people you think are good blacks?”

“Bill Cosby.”

“Stop right there.”

“Mrs. Haberman, the president has been cucked. Cucked with fury by the globalists and the Deep State. Do you know he didn’t mention the phrase ‘Radical Islamic Terrorism’ in his Afghanistan speech?”

“Why is that such a thing with you guys?”

“Because if you don’t say the magic words, the spell doesn’t work.”


“Nothing, nothing.”

“Listen, Sebastian–”

“Doctor Gorka, PhD.”

“I’m not calling you that. I don’t know why all you slapheads in the White House seem to think I’m your exit interview, but I’m not.”

“I saw Jared Kushner run into the middle of the street to pick up a nickel.”

“Holy shit, man,”

“Mrs. Haberman, America is under attack.”

“I agree.”

“Not just by Jews and rap blacks. Syphilis is back, and do you know why?”

“Lemme guess. Mexicans?”

“Mexicans! Yes!”

“Are you on our side?”

“NO! You’re just predictable.”

“Did you know that the homosexuals have a plan to steal all the potatoes?”

“That’s simply absurd.”

“They’re joining forces with the antifa. The antifa is everywhere, Mrs. Haberman.”

“Antifa. Uh-huh. What does that mean?”

“Anti-fascist thugs.”

“Right. So, uh, if they’re anti fascists, and they’re your enemies, then what does that make you?”

“The Muslim Brotherhood has infiltrated the Girl Scouts, and they’re going to put bombs in the Thin Mints.”

“I’m hanging up. Wait. Where are you?”

“Breitbart office. Came directly here. Hey, you wanna talk to Steve?”


“You wanna talk to Big Steve?”

“No. Good night. Don’t call here anymore.”

“Auf Weidersehen, mein liebchen.”


“Nothing, nothing. Good night.


Maggie Haberman Gets A Call About Her Article


“Fuck me. Just fuck my life in every hole. Four in the goddamned morning. What?”

“Ms. Haberman, this is General John Kelly.”

“Hello. Uh, sir.”

“Ma’am, I read your article today, and I’d like to know the names of your sources.”

“You know I can’t do that.”


“You know I’m not a recruit at Parris Island, right?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was in the Corps for 35 years. Yelling at people generally produced results.”

“Sure. How’s the president taking the article?”

“The one about me controlling all access to him and strategically denying him unhelpful information?”


“I didn’t let him see it.”

“Smart move.”

“I’m like the fucking Dutch boy over here, except instead of my finger, it’s my dick plugging up the fucking hole. Pardon my French.”

“I’ve heard worse. Mostly when The Mooch calls.”

“Man, I skullfucked that pissant, didn’t I? You could see right through the hole I made. Only fun I’ve had at this job.”

“That bad?”

“You’ve apparently talked to everyone in the building about it.”

“I was being polite.”

“Starting to think the only thing that could solve this administration’s troubles is an air strike.”

“On the White House?”

“White House, North Korea, Tehran. It’s like a Gordian Knot of shit over here. Lemme tell you something: if Eric Trump was my kid, I would’ve eaten him. Like fucking Kronos. Only thing that soft little cocksmith is good for is protein.”

“A little harsh.”

“Ms. Haberman, this fucking place is a retard orgy. You ever been been to a retard orgy? Got one over there trying to fuck a potted plant, this one’s taking a shit on the couch, nothing’s getting done, no one’s happy, and everything is starting to smell. Retard orgy.”

“We don’t need to use that word, General.”

“Losing it with these fucking shitheels. No discipline, and that starts at the top. Other day I was talking to the president and I realized my hands were involuntarily wrapping an imaginary bar of soap up in a towel.”

“I think most people would understand your feelings.”

“Marines don’t have feelings, ma’am; Marines have knives.”


“You should hear him stand up out of his chair. Sounds like a goat dying.”

“That’s very specific.”

“You can’t spend too much time in the Middle East without knowing what a goat dying sounds like.”

“I suppose.”

“There’s too many paths to the greasy bastard. He’s got phones hidden all around the building and all those asshole-buddies of his call him up and pour molten shit in his ear. You know Roger Stone?”

“Who doesn’t.”

“I find that perverted weasel, I’m pegging him with my bayonet.”


“Tell me he doesn’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Shit, you ought to be thanking me.”

“For what, General?”

“Wrestled the nuclear football out of his hands twice today.”

“Holy God, what happened?”

“Those useless sacks of shit on Fox and Friends started talking about ‘Why don’t we nuke that hurricane before it hits land?’ And guess who thought that was a capital fucking idea?”

“Holy God.”

“God left the fucking building six months ago, ma’am.”

“Please don’t let him nuke the hurricane.”

“I’m doing my best. Turns out he’s easily distractable. Throw a drumstick from KFC in front of him and he forgets what he was talking about. It’s like training a seal.”

“You should teach him how to balance a ball on his nose.”

“Ms. Haberman, he can barely balance himself on the earth. I’ve never seen a more incompetent fuck in my life.”

“Jesus. Wait. Why are you still up?”

“Still up? I’m starting my day. Marines beat the sun out of bed, ma’am.”

“Good to know. The rest of them call me while they’re drinking.”

“Oh, I’m already drunk as hell.”

“This all keeps getting worse.”


Another Three A.M. Call For Maggie Haberman


“Oh, c’moooooon. One night of sleep. Just one. Ugh. Hello?”

“Miss Haberman, this is Senate Leader McConnell. Everything I say is off the record, including the little bit I said before I declared this conversation off the record. I may or may not give you a quote you will attribute to an “aide close to the Leader.” Do we understand each other?”

“Finally! A professional.”

“Yes or no, ma’am?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Off the record.”

“Oh, good. I can let my hair down.”

“That was a joke. I’ve never let my hair down in my life, even when I had hair.”

“Oh. Ha.”

“What’s going on in the White House?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Haven’t talked to them in weeks. Last time I spoke to the president, we screamed at each other. He called me a “Jew bastard,” which is incorrect in just every way.”

“What was the fight about, Senator?”

“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two better be Russia.”


“Starts ranting that I’m not doing enough to protect him from the witch hunt. Then he talks about Tiger Woods’ hacked photos. Black cock this, black cock that. Excuse my language, Miss Haberman.”

“No worries, sir.”

“I mean, you expect that sort of thing from Lindsey Graham, but it’s downright unsettling coming from the president. Then he complimented me on my wife’s ass.”

“Not okay.”

“He called it a ‘heinie.’ I was unsettled my that remark.”

“You seem to be unsettled a lot by President Trump.”

“Man doesn’t let anyone settle. He’s just orange chaos.”


“I pushed back, of course.”

“About the ass or Russia?”

“Both. Told him he was a goddamned idiot who didn’t realize what a friend I’ve been to him. Half the caucus is already calling for his enormous head and the shitbrained toad is trying to primary Senators from his own damn party. I’ve seen monkeys fuck footballs with more grace.”

“How did he respond to that?”

“He accused me of being antifa.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does not. Then he told me I ruined his mac and cheese.”


“I infer he was eating when he decided to call me and talk about my wife’s ass. I could also hear mastication.”


“The president chews wetly.”

“Double ew.”

“Then he starts yelling about how he wants another Supreme Court pick. I thought he was kidding, or wishing, or just high off those little pills he doesn’t think anyone knows about. Dumb sonofabitch has no idea how the government works. You understand what I’m saying, Miss Haberman?”

“I think so.”

“Not that he doesn’t get the nuances of governing, or the game of politics. I mean grade school civics. Not even the advanced stuff. Basics. Checks and balances, how a bill becomes a law, that kind of thing.

“I understood you.”

“I got some eyes in that building that tell me he’s still getting lost. Been there six months.”

“The White House is a big building, Senator.”

“I’m talking about the residence. Wanders around in there at five in the morning looking for the bathroom, and when he can’t find it he pisses in the hallway like a fat leopard. Something wrong with that man.”

“I agree.”

“That ‘both sides’ nonsense. Nazis aren’t fine people. The Republicans aren’t the party of Nazis, we’re the party of respectable racism.”

“Respectable racism, Senator?”

“You know, quietly. Behind the scenes. Through legislation, the courts, that sort of thing. Insidious racism, not goose-stepping through town. And especially not shouting about the Jews. The Republican Party is not anti-Semitic.”


“We’re racist. Big difference.”

“Not that big.”

“In terms of fund-raising it is. The moron’s killing us. Quite frankly, I don’t see how sustainable this is.”

“What are you saying, sir?”

“Me? I’m not saying anything. A ‘top-ranking Republican briefed on the conversation’ said that last part.”

“Are you crying, Miss Haberman?”

“It’s just so nice to get a phone call from a professional.”

“Glad to be of service.”



“Why are you up at three in the morning?”

“Tying one on. Drunker than a Frenchman on laundry day.”

“God bless America, sir.”

“And New York City, too.”

Maggie Haberman Gets More Late-Night Phone Calls


“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.”


“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.”


“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.”


“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?”


“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?”


“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?”


“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.”


“Deeper, gayer, that sort of thing.”

“Double ew.”

“You in?”


“Awesome. Put on your headphones.”

Maggie Haberman Receives Another Late Night Call


“Wha? Huh? Jesus, what time is it? Oh, this better not be him. Hello?”


“Was that a belch?”

“Hey, better out than in. Haberman, it’s Bannon.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Mooch gave it to me.”

“Of course he did.”

“He says you two banged.”

“Fake news.”

“Hey, that’s my line. HahahaHACK HACK HACK!”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“Nothing a Pall Mall won’t soothe. Listen, Habes.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“This place? The White House? Couldn’t run without me. Bunch of fucktards. And Jews. Everywhere ya fuckin’ turn. It’s like a Chinese restaurant on Christmas. Should call it the Nose House.”


“Speaking of China, they got Fat Ass over a barrel. Like the funniest scene in Pulp Fiction.”

“Which scene was that?”

“Where the black guy gets raped.”


“They’re the real enemy.”

“Black guys or China? I mean, either answer is horrible, but I’d like to know what you meant.”



“Chinese are eating our lunch. And, you know: anything’s lunch to those fuckin’ people. Hardcore omnivores, the Chinese.”

“Mr. Bannon–”

“Big Steve!”

“–is there a reason you’re calling?”

“Because I think we have a lot more in common than you think.”

“We do? Like what?”

“Both of us hate me.”


“We’re both halfway through our second bottle of gin.”

“I was asleep.”

“Sleeping’s for cucks.”

“And everyone else.”

“Nonsense! Napoleon slept three hours a night, and so do I. The trick is to not own a bed.”

“How does that work?”

“I keep a pile of canvas moving blankets in the corner. I just curl up for short snoozes. Hey, did you see the president’s press conference? How great was that?”

“Not at all. It was the single most shameful public performance of a president since Bush threw up on the Japanese prime minister. And, you know: that was involuntary. Whereas Trump intended to equate Nazis and people protesting Nazis.”

“And he fuckin’ nailed it! Listen to me, young lady: start removing Confederate statues and next thing you know, white people are being executed in the streets by radical feminist lesbian Mexicans. History proves this.”

“It doesn’t.”


“WHOA! There ya go! Big Steve’s back in the game. Hey, I got a ton of this; come on over and get loose.”

“No. Wait. Where are you?”


“You’re doing cocaine in the White House?”

“In the White House? Shit, I’m sitting at the fuckin’ Resolute Desk. I AM THE LAW, MOTHERFUCKER.”

“Holy shit.”

“I’m optimistic about tax reform.”



“What about tax reform?”

“I didn’t say anything about tax reform. Hey, you wanna know what Fat Ass keeps in his desk drawers?”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

“Okay, tell me.”


“Holy shit, it’s just cans of hair spray and cock rings.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“Ooh, a Luger.”

“A Luger?”

“It’s a German pistol issued to Nazi officers, Habes.”

“Don’t call me that. And I know what it is. Why is there one in the president’s desk drawer?”

“Because it’s history. Removing the Nazi pistol from the Resolute Desk would be just as bad as taking down the Robert E. Lee statue.”

“I have no response to that.”


“Or that. I am hanging up, Mr. Bannon.”

“Big Steve!”

“Not calling you that.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Just, uh, just answer one question for me.”


“What kind of name is Haberman, anyway?”


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