Thoughts On The Dead

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

The Return Of Maggie Haberman’s Late-Night Callers


“Wha? Huh? Oh, right. The three a.m. phone calls. They’d let up for a while. Hello?”

“Hey, Maggie, you see the iceberg I just steered the Shitanic into?”


“Guess how many shirts I’m wearing.”

“I don’t want to–”

“Nine. Nine shirts at once.”

“–guess how many shirts you’re wearing.”

“It’s my thing. Don King had his hair, I got multiple shirts.”

“Steve, why are you calling?”

“You see that little letter he sent out today? I can see his little fists balled in rage, and they disappear into his cuffs and he has to, like, struggle them back out. And that gets him even madder and Hope Hicks starts crying and oh, God, I bet it was beautiful. Who do you think read it to him?”

“I heard that he read the whole thing all by himself.”

“Like a big boy. Wow. You think he was doing that thing with his mouth?”

“Where his fish lips curl back and you can see his teeth?”

“Yeah. He did that once while I was eating. Put me off of Arby’s for good.”


“Dude, I downplayed his fast food problem. Fucker eats ’em all. I didn’t even know that Arthur Treacher’s still existed, but he has it twice a day. Shit, I saw him put away some Hardee’s once.”

“I don’t even know what Hardee’s is.”

“You read the bit about the sheets?”

“Yeah, where he strips his own bed. What’s that about?”

“It’s not just metaphorically that Donny shits the bed.”

“Oh, Jesus, no.”

“Once a week or so. Weird thing is that he isn’t asleep when he does it. You know he hits the sack around 6:30 p.m., right?”

“I wish I didn’t know that the President of the United States retired before Jeopardy came on, but I am aware of that fact, yes.”

“Oh, man, wouldn’t you love to watch him watch Jeopardy? Dumb fuck would argue with Alex Trebek. ‘You are fake clues.'”

“Fake clues.”

“See what I did?”

“You’re a wordsmith, Steve.”

“Yeah, I’m the tits. Anyway, limpdick puts on his peejays and gets into bed at dusk, but he doesn’t go to sleep. Sits there watching cable news and calling people until midnight. The stewards bring him fish sandwiches, but not on a plate. Gotta be in the wrapper, in the bag. He just dumps all the trash next to him on the bed and rolls around in it. And, you know, like I said: once a week, he’ll just shit himself during Tucker Carlson or whoever.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Uh-huh. He’s a sub-human cretin, Maggie. You’ve talked to him.”

“True. So what’s the next step, Steve. You’ve been declared a non-person by the Party.”

“I know, right? I’m Snowball now.”

“Watch our for icepicks next time you visit Mexico.”

“You kidding? The only idiots more incompetent than the White House are the ones who lost the election to them. You know she’s a lez, right?”

“She is not, Steve. And even if she were, that would be inappropriate.”



“Like a thirsty dog drinking from the bowl.”

“Jesus. You know the President’s threatening to sue.”





“–HAHAHAHAHA. Ha. Wow, I haven’t laughed like that since I watched that chick get run over in Charlottesville.”

“Holy shit.”

“Let the shit-smeared fuckwit try! Let’s go to discovery! Fucking stooge.”

“You think he’s not gonna do it?”

“Even his lawyer isn’t crazy enough. I am, but his lawyer isn’t.”

“I’m gonna hang up now.”

“Sure you don’t wanna come over and party?”

“I have two sleeping children in the house, Steve.”

“Shit, bring ’em over. We’re fully stocked.”


1 Comment

  1. Luther Von Baconson

    January 4, 2018 at 7:40 pm

    maybe Justin will take him out for a Harvey’s. Char-broiled you see.

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