Oh, fuck off, John Bolton. I don’t wanna talk to you.
“I’m not John Bolton.”
Who are you?
“I’m John Bolton’s Mustache.”
Goddammit, this site is getting weird.
“This asshole’s gonna get us all killed.”
“No, you don’t. You think you do. I know his secrets. It’s so much worse than you could imagine.”
“He masturbates to the opening scene in Saving Private Ryan.”
“Enough. More than most people do.”
This is not good news.
“He whispers his dreams to me. They are of fire and blood. Do you know he wants to defenestrate Cuba?”
Defenestrate means “to throw out a window.”
“I’m well fucking aware of what it means. He wants to throw the island nation of Cuba through a window. I didn’t say the man’s desires were based in logic; I said they were terrible.”
“I know what words mean. I went to Yale, y’know.”
“He’s the new National Security Advisor? I can tell you right now what kind of advice he’s gonna give. ‘Bomb ’em.’ No matter what you ask him, that’s gonna be the advice. North Korea acting up? ‘Bomb ’em.’ Italians dissolving their Parliament again? ‘Bomb ’em.’ This is not gonna go well!”
He wouldn’t bomb the Italians.
“Dude, I’m attached to his face. Trust me on this one. He would shoot cruise missiles directly at the Trevi Fountain and then hit all the morning shows to gloat about it.”
“Yeah, He’d be good to pray to. Maybe I could be a whistle-blower. Let the public know about how bad it’s gonna be. Is there such a thing as a Facial Hair Relocation Program? I get a new identity, like as a goatee, and move to Scottsdale?”
I don’t think that’s a thing.
“Just checking. I think I’m stuck with this turdchomper.”
I’m sorry, John Bolton’s Mustache.
“I’ll think of something. Maybe I could grow real fast and strangle him?”
Can you do that?
“I haven’t so far, but who knows what the future holds?”
Good luck, John Bolton’s Mustache.
“You, too. You’ll fucking need it.”