Archive for October, 2017

Science Men Confirm Chemical Composition Of 400 Pound Guy On The Bed


“If a fart were a solid rather than a gas, it would look like Sarah Sanders.”

Previews Of Coming Attractions

Mongo’s Mueller Monday


the mongo awoke before dawn
he put his boots on
he took a face from the ancient gallery
and he walked on down the hall . . .

Mongo woke before dawn on Monday and burrowed in at the Whiter House residence to wait for the Russia bombshell he knew was coming.

Separated from most of his West Wing staff, Mongo clicked on the television and spent the morning playing fuming media critic, legal analyst and crisis communications strategist.

The resident digested the news of the first indictments in Special Counsel Robert S. Mueller III’s probe with exasperation and disgust. He called his lawyers repeatedly. He listened intently to cable news commentary. And, with rising irritation, he watched live footage of his onetime campaign adviser and confidant, Pavel Rooskifort, turning himself in to the FBI.

A few minutes later, court documents were unsealed showing that George Papadopoulos, a foreign policy adviser on Mongo’s campaign, pleaded guilty to making a false statement to the FBI about his efforts to broker a relationship between Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin. The case provides the clearest evidence yet of links between Mongo’s campaign and Russian officials.

Mongo’s anger Monday was visible to those who interacted with him, and the mood in the corridors of the White House was one of weariness and fear of the unknown. As the resident groused upstairs, many staffers—some of eighty-years-later-bride-of-frankenstein-is-still-sexy-and-scary-1026-1445874107whom have hired lawyers to help them navigate Mueller’s investigation—privately speculated about where the special counsel might turn next.

Mongo is also increasingly agitated by the expansion of Mueller’s probe into financial issues beyond the 2016 campaign and about the potential to him and his family.

“The walls are closing in,” said one senior Republican in close contact with top staffers. “Everyone is freaking out.”


The first big takeaway from Monday morning’s flurry of charging and plea documents with respect to Pavel Rooskifort, Jr., Richard “Prison” Gates III, and George Papadopoulos is this: the resident of the United States had as his campaign chairman a man who had allegedly served for years as an unregistered foreign agent for a puppet government of Vladimir Putin, a man who was allegedly laundering remarkable sums of money even while running the now-president’s campaign, a man who allegedly lied about all of this to the FBI and the Justice Department.

The second big takeaway is even starker: a member of Mongo’s campaign team admits that he was working with people he knew to be tied to the Russian government to “arrange a meeting between the Campaign and the Russian government officials” and to obtain “dirt” on Hillary Clinton in the form of thousands of hacked emails—and that he lied about these activities to the FBI. He briefed Mongo on at least some of them.

The Papadopoulos stipulation offers a stunningly frank, if probably incomplete, account of what occurred during the spring of 2016 in the Mongo campaign. To wit, during that period, Mongo campaign officials were actively working to set up a meeting with Russian officials or representatives. And from a very early point in the campaign, those meetings were explicitly about obtaining hacked, incriminating emails. 

Susan Hennessey & Benjamin Wittes

Asked about the indictments on Monday evening in Moscow, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said, “We don’t know what the charges are.” After a and c_fmbeing sent a copy of the indictments, he responded, “My office hours are over!”


Mueller’s opening bid is a remarkable show of strength. He has a cooperating witness from inside the campaign’s interactions with the Russians. And he is alleging not mere technical infractions of law but astonishing criminality on the part of Mongo’s campaign manager, a man who also attended the Mongo Tower meeting.

Any hope the White Houser may have had that the Mueller investigation might be fading away vanished Monday morning. Things are only going to get worse from here. 

Susan Hennessey & Benjamin Wittes

this is the end
of all elaborate plans
the end
of everything that stands
the end
no safety or surprise
the end


Race Is Run


That’s How It Works

One day, when I was 19 years old, I was in the middle of a photo shoot for a Miramax film when I was suddenly told it was time to leave. I was wearing a little black dress, showing a lot of cleavage, lying seductively on my side and looking slyly at the camera. The part I had played in the movie, Guinevere, could not have been more removed from this pose. My character was an awkward girl, bumbling, in fact, who wore sweatshirts and jeans, and had little sense of her sexual power. But this was how they were going to sell the movie, and at a certain point, I was tired of being a problem, which is how a female actor is invariably treated whenever she points out that she is being objectified or not respected.

I was pulled out of the photo shoot abruptly. The publicist stories-we-tell---sp-and-mp-snowmansaid that we needed to be in Harvey Weinstein’s office in 20 minutes.

“Are we done here?” I asked. “No” was the answer. “But Harvey wants you there now.”

In the taxi, the publicist looked at me and said: “I’m going in with you. And I’m not leaving your side.” I knew everything I needed to know in that moment, and I was grateful.

When I got there, Mr. Weinstein wasted no time. He told me, in front of the publicist and a co-worker beside him, that a famous star, a few years my senior, had once sat across from him in the chair I was in now. Because of his “very close relationship” with this actress, she had gone on to play leading roles and win awards. If he and I had that kind of “close relationship,” I could have a similar career. “That’s how it works,” I remember him telling me. The implication wasn’t subtle. I replied that I wasn’t very ambitious or interested in acting, which was true. He then asked me about my political activism and went on to recast himself as a left-wing activist, which was among the funniest things I’d ever heard.


Lost In The Mail

My Harvey story is different, mostly because of timing. I was in one of the first films that Weinstein produced. I accepted a supporting role in a small movie based on Loser Takes All, the short novel by Graham Greene. I was twenty years old. The idea of playing a supporting role in a small British movie appealed to me after having just made a big splash in the John Hughes movies. Plus, I was an enormous fan of Greene’s writing. When we began filming, in France, I was gallery-1445357085-gettyimages-111614916warned about the producer, but I had never heard of him and had no reason to fear him.

Thankfully, I wasn’t cajoled into a taxi, nor did I have to turn down giving or getting a massage. I was lucky. Or perhaps it was because, at that moment in time, I was the one with more power. The English Patient, Weinstein’s first Best Picture winner, was still a few years away. The worst I had to contend with was performing new pages that Harvey had someone else write, which were not in the script; my co-star, Robert Lindsay, and I had signed off to do a film adapted and directed by one person, and then were essentially asked to turn our backs on him and film scenes that were not what we had agreed to. We hadn’t even finished filming, and the movie was already being taken away from the director.

After that, the film was completely taken away, recut, and retitled. Weinstein named it Strike It Rich, because he insisted that Americans couldn’t stand to have the word “loser” in a title. He also changed the poster: he had my head stuck onto another body, dressed in a form-fitting, nineteen-fifties-pinup-style dress, with a hand reaching out to accept a diamond, like Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I wouldn’t have posed for a picture like that, since it had nothing to do with the character I portrayed; it struck me as ridiculous false advertising. (I was always a little mystified that Harvey had a reputation as a great tastemaker when he seemed so noticeably lacking in taste himself. But he did have a knack for hiring people who had it, and I figured that’s what passes for taste in Hollywood.) In any case, the film tanked. I had a percentage of the gross, and, as it turned out, you still make money if you have a gross percentage. I found this out about a year later, when my lawyer called to tell me that I had been denied the percentage owed to me. She asked if it was O.K. if she went after the Weinsteins. I ended up suing them for the money, which I got, and I never worked with Harvey or the company again.


Humans Transitioning Into New Life Forms


Mongo Pee-Friend Vlad Tells Americans To Sit Down And Shut Up

Vlad The Impaler, God Emperor For Life of Russia, and Mongo’s great good pee-friend, has told the Americans they must respectfully worship Mongo, or else they will be put in a Camp.

“Mongo was elected by the American people. And at least for this reason it is necessary to show respect for him, even if you do not agree with some of his positions,” the Russian leader said.

“Inside the country, disrespect is shown for him. This is a regrettable 28617-2916-1498putin rides trump_anegative component of the US political system,” Vlad said.

In Vlad’s opinion, “one can argue but one can’t show disrespect, even not for him personally but for those people who voted for him.”

“I believe that the president of the United States does not need any advice because one has to possess certain talent and go through this trial to be elected, even without having the experience of such big administrative work. He has done this,” the Russian leader said.

“He won honestly,” Vlad added, as the room erupted in giggles.

Vlad suggested that those who do not bend the knee to Mongo must “eat polonium pancakes or be shot in the elevator, as happens in my country. At the very least, they will be whipped in the streets.”

Mongo got a little woody, informed of Vlad’s words, and rushed to the twit machine, there to twitler that Vlad is “so nice. He could not have been nicer. He was so nice and so everything. He is a nicer person than I am. You have to give him credit that what he’s doing for that country in terms of their world prestige is very strong. I believe Vlad will continue to re-build the Russian Empire. He’s done an amazing job of taking the mantle. You look at what he’s doing. And so smart. When you see the riots in a country because they’re hurting the Russians: ‘okay, we’ll go and take it over.’ And he really goes step by step by step, and you have to give him a lot of credit. Russia is like, I mean they’re really hot stuff. In all fairness to Vlad, you’re saying he killed people—I haven’t seen that. I don’t know that he has. Have you been able to prove that? He hasn’t been convicted of anything. I’ve always had a good instinct about Vlad. I have received a gift from Vlad—an award and a beautiful letter. We got along great, by the way. Vlad said good things about me. He said, ‘he’s a leader and there’s no question about it, he’s a genius.’ If he says great things about me, I’m going to say great things about him. I’ve already said, he is really very much of a leader. We’re going to have a great relationship with Vlad and Russia. He is my new best friend.”

Order Man Tells Dead Negroes To Shut Their Yaps

Order Man is a retired serial killer Mongo initially tasked with killing brown people down along the nation’s southern border. He was then brought in as chief of staff, in a desperate attempt to impose some semblance of order in the Whiter House, back in the days when the likes of Rabies Man were running amok in the place, biting the desks and raping the sofa cushions.

In recent days Order Man has been shamelessly deployed as a human shield, in a craven gambit to protect Mongo from the consequences of his chundering lies about his predecessors’ record of contacting the relatives of US troops killed overseas. Order Man was quickly compelled to take even 29906170001_5616084654001_5616086113001-vsmore incoming, as widows and orphans across the land began clogging the tubes with tales of how Mongo is too busy masturbating like a monkey on the twit machine to give them a ring about the dead soldiers in their lives. One man said Mongo did call him, and even promised him a $25,000 bribe to shut up about his dead son, but the money was never sent; the Whiter House was forced to admit that Mongo had spent the money instead on remote-controlled butt plugs for Lolita.

Then Congressmember Frederica Wilson stated she was in the car when Mongo placed a call to the family of a soldier killed in Niger, and that Mongo was—surprise, surprise—callous and unfeeling, and couldn’t be bothered even to say the name of the dead soldier, or of the man’s widow, to whom Mongo was speaking. Mongo immediately whipped out his micropenis and pounded out a string of twitlering lies about the encounter, denying all. Then the man’s family members confirmed Wilson’s account, and so there was nothing to be done but place a giant Kunta Kinte slave collar around Order Man’s neck and drag him by a chain onto a stage to there take all the grenades, for Mongo.

The 400 pound guy on the bed stepped aside so Order Man could tell the press assembled that Mongo “called and expressed his condolences in the best way that he could.” Order Man added that “if ‘the best way that he could’ included ten minutes of screaming about Kneeling Negroes in the NFL, and an inquiry as to where the family likes best to get their fried chicken, well, that’s what people were electing, when they cast their vote for Mongo.”

Order Man said that was why he was “absolutely stunned” that Congressmember Wilson first listened in on the call, and then went to the press to talk about it. “Because if the election of Mongo means anything,” he pointed out, “it means the Americans are absolutely not interested in anything any Negress has to say. The election of Mongo was an explicit, complete, total rejection of Negritude, in its entirety. The only job of Negroes today is to go get killed overseas wherever rich white people want them to die, and, at home, to be shot by white police officers whenever those officers want to test-fire their guns. They are to keep their mouths shut at all times—and that goes double for their Negresses. The Negresses can do that shrieking and wailing over the coffins, like they do, but they are not to talk back to their betters, by which I mean any white person anywhere.”


Go Look At Uranus

If you are one of the ever-dwindling number of Americans who can look up at the sky and actually see the stars, you should go out now and look at Uranus.

All night Uranus will be visible to the naked eye, or at least to a naked eye pressed to binoculars.

At a magnitude of 5.68, Uranus shines no more brilliantly than the sky’s faintest stars. Given a dark sky free of light pollution, you might see omicron-pisciumUranus with the eye alone—but only if you know right where to look for this distant world in front of the rather faint constellation, Pisces.

In astrology, Pisces is the sign of psychedelics, REM sleep, quantum colored glasses, absolute refusal to accept that Mongo is actually in the world, and general deep weirdness. Thus it is right and meet that there one may perceive Uranus.

When I was in the school I had a criminal fake news teacher who insisted that Uranus was pronounced yer-uh-nuss. But we children were not deceived: we knew it was truly pronounced yer-anus. And that the criminal fake news teacher refused to acknowledge this because she was afraid if she correctly pronounced the word aloud, we children in the school would titter. And so what if we did? There is nothing wrong with tittering. And an anus is actually pretty titter-worthy. Except when, as now, it is the president.

Uranus is named after the guy who was married to Gaia, who is the earth. The word is derived from a proto-Greek word that means “to rain,” and is here probably referencing ejaculate, as the same root-word elsewhere wandered off to make a word meaning “to urinate.” If you are the guy married to the earth, you would want to have some ejaculate, so together you two could make some uranus_14other planets and moons and such.

Uranus is also the son of Gaia, because those old Greeks, they knew quantum.

Uranus was castrated and his genitals were thrown into the sea, where they churned up the foam that became Aphrodite. Today Aphrodite governs one of the two folds present in the male human brain—the porn fold. The other fold, the sports fold, is governed by Vince Lombardi.

The Science Men do not know a lot about what goes on there on the planet Uranus, because it doesn’t talk much, and it is shrouded in a “gaseous envelope”—which is also something that is occasionally emitted by your anus. It has a magnetic field that no one understands, and is cooler than the other planets, for No Known Reason. If you went there you would want to wear a jacket, because it is -371 degrees there, or colder even than Minnesota. It does have seasons, but doesn’t want to discuss them. The geography of Uranus is dominated by natural features known as dingleberries. These were named after Dr. Bernard Phillips Dingleberry, who first observed them, by placing his head up his ass. There is a lot of ammonia on Uranus, so it would smell like a catbox, if they had smelling in space. Uranus has 27 moons, all of which are named after characters from the works of William Shakespeare and Alexander Pope. These men liked anus jokes, too. From A Midsummer Night’s Dream are named the moons Titania, Oberon, and Puck. But there is from Dream no moon named for Bottom. Which is ridiculous. For this is, after all, Uranus.

So go out and look at it. You may then have a most rare vision.

Send In The Owls

No End In Sight To The War On Christmas

When running to be the president Mongo promised many things: to grind the Mexicans into mortar to build a wall, to permit the police to shoot Kneeling Negroes at all times, to identify the Mooslems and then kill all their families. Etc.

He also vowed to end The War On Christmas.

“They don’t want to use the word Christmas anymore at department stores. I will assault that. I will go so strongly against so many of the things, when they take away the word Christmas.”

The War On Christmas was for many years a sinister, subterranean conflict, unknown to the general christmas-concentration-camp-decorations-crampedpublic, until Ted Baxter brought it before the people, in an attempt to divert attention from the fact that every night he would masturbate like a monkey while urging women over the telephone to pleasure themselves with falafels.

It is well known from the true-life documentary film It’s A Wonderful Life that whenever a bell rings, an angel gets his/her wings; Baxter stunned the nation by revealing that whenever anyone says “Happy Holidays,” rather than “Merry Christmas,” nails are driven through Jesus’ flesh.

In attempting to become the president Mongo naturally jumped aboard this bent bandwagon, as he sought to appeal to the vast wasteland of Americans who believe that Adam and Eve rode dinosaurs to church, and that those Baxter damns as “secular progressives” are running amok in the department stores, rabid to sodomize Christ behind the cosmetics counter.

Because the Americans are too stupid to even have a country, Mongo became the president. And, several days ago, their dear beloved Mongo, he announced that victory was nigh, in the War On Christmas.

“We’re getting near that beautiful Christmas season that people don’t talk about anymore. They don’t use the word ‘Christmas’ because it’s not politically correct. Well, guess what? We’re saying Merry Christmas again!”

Yeehaw! Lord be praised! We are Delivered!

But not so fast. Because out there in the Cornhole State, a known Mongo region, a man was recently arrested after he drank mass quantities and then went out on his lawn and bellowed “Jingle Bells” at top volume through a bullhorn.

He is a political prisoner! Mongo must free!

“This shall not stand,” the 400 pound guy on the bed said grimly. “‘Jingle Bells’ is one of our holiest Christmas songs: it is a well known Fact that Jesus sang it at the Last Supper. Every American has the right to sing it, whenever and wherever they wish.

“It was the first song broadcast from space, because Jesus likes it so much,” the 400 pound guy on the bed continued. “The astronauts thought maybe Jesus could hear it better out there, closer to heaven.”

The 400 pound guy on the bed said “Jungle Bells’ is additionally precious to Mongo because the incessant references therein to sleighs and sleigh-rides “are redolent of Russia, homeland of Mongo’s greet good pee-friend Vlad.”

“The arrest of this God-fearing Merry Christmas man is proof that in the War on Christmas we still have a ways to go,” Mongo himself said later in the day. “I have directed Confederate General Jefferson Beauregard seSSions III, images-2a.k.a ‘Sheets,’ to investigate for civil rights violations and then execute in the electric chair everyone associated with this man’s arrest.”

Mongo additionally announced that as a result of complaints that compelling horses to draw sleighs constitutes cruelty to animals, he had signed an executive order freeing horses of such burdens, ordering that all sleighs shall henceforth be drawn by Kneeling Negroes.

“They like kneeling so much, they can kneel while they pull sleighs!” Mongo heehawed.

And all the 62,979,879 MongoRoids, they heehawed with him.

Dictionary Men Change The Word “Lie” To “Mongo”

The International Association of Dictionary Men has voted unanimously to retire the word “lie,” and replace it with the word “mongo.”

The Dictionary Men decided to do so after Science Men proved conclusively that what Mary McCarthy once Libeled about Lillian Hellman—”every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the'”—is, in the case of the words that flow from Mongo’s lips, and tliar-1080x608from his twitlers, absolutely, positively, 100% True.

“We combed through his every utterance, his every note inscribed in crayon, throughout the entirety of his life, and we were completely unable to find anything that was true,” reports Science Man Bjorn Borm, “All of it, was lies.”

“And this is why we are retiring the word ‘lie,'” explained Dictionary Man woman Sandra Cheevy. “‘Lie’ is a word that has had a good long run, but we simply don’t need it anymore, now that we have ‘mongo.'”

“He lies with every breath,” Borm added. “Even breathing in his sleep, he lies. His every snore, is a falsehood.”

Yesterday Mongo appeared before the press with Turtle Scrotum, to review various ways they are wrecking the world. As ever, every word to escape Mongo’s lips, was a lie. Or, in the new parlance, a mongo.

For instance, he mongoed that his predecessor in the presidency never called the families of slain US soldiers, because of his Kenyan Mooslemism. This was a howling mongo; Obama, in truth—a realm that Mongo has never once entered—even reversed a cruel policy that had former presidents declining to contact the families of soldiers who had committed suicide.

It is becoming increasingly difficult for the Sane and Decent people to remain civil, when Mongo sets about mongoing. Thus, a member of Obama’s administration yesterday went to the twit machine and there wrote:

that’s a fucking lie. to say president obama (or past presidents) didn’t call the family members of soldiers KIA – he’s a deranged animal.

Sounds about right to me. Although now I understand that deranged animals have hired Gloria Allred to file a class-action suit alleging it is libel and defamation per se to be compared to Mongo.

Remember during the 2016 campaign, the numbskulls who claimed it was actually the Clinton II woman who was the premier liar?

Never forget. Never let them forget. Even if they crawl across cut glass to Canterbury, in an attempt to make amends, it shall never be enough. Ever.

Send In The Clowns

Cowgirl Leaves The Stands

In a week filled with news about his administration’s political fails, President Trump seems to have landed a major cultural victory for his base: keeping black America on its knees by forcing football players to their feet during the national anthem.

First and foremost: The decision to kneel for the anthem, beginning with Colin Kaepernick, was always about protesting American racism and police brutality. Sadly, and predictably, instead of engaging with the honest plea for America’s police to stop killing citizens of color, Trump, Vice President Pence and the National Football League have reacted by doing their damnedest to 6a00d83451c72969e2011278f9951728a4-350wisilence these protests, by staging taxpayer-funded walkouts and issuing statements directing players to stand for the national anthem. On Tuesday, weeks after he kneeled with his players for unity and equality before the anthem was played, cantankerous Cowboys owner Jerry Jones issued a statement saying his players would stand for the anthem. Jones admitted that he had spoken with Trump over the phone and that the president had reminded him of the NFL policy of standing for the anthem.

With Pence’s stunt, Trump’s tweets, Jones’s edict and NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell’s statement saying players should stand, the debate about players standing for the national anthem is no longer about the flag. This is not about the anthem. This is not about supporting the troops. This is about putting outspoken black people back in their place in America—subordinate, and silent about the racism, police brutality and white supremacy that affect our lives everyday. This is about controlling what are considered “acceptable” ways for black people to protest. When black people take to the streets in places such as Ferguson, Mo., to protest police brutality, we are treated as rioters and are teargassed, arrested and painted by the FBI as “Black Identity Extremists” posing a threat to the United States. When we call out Trump for his white supremacist ways on Twitter and suggest boycotts to send a message to people in power, we get suspended from our jobs. And now, when we silently kneel during the anthem, we are blackballed from playing in sports.

This issue goes beyond the NFL: Black children across the country are facing consequences for exercising their rights to free speech and protest. In Houston, 17-year-old India Landry was expelled from her public high school after she says she refused to stand during the Pledge of Allegiance, despite the fact that she had declined to stand for 200 days beforehand. A high school in Louisiana even has reportedly threatened to punish student athletes if they don’t stand for the national anthem. Does this sound like the land of the free and the home of the brave?

The Dallas Cowboys are my hometown team and have Steven Means,Malcolm Jenkins,Ron Brooksalways been a part of my life. While I was growing up, it was usually my mother, an immigrant who moved here from Ghana, who kept the Dallas Cowboys spirit alive in the house. She put together Super Bowl watching parties. She still watches most of the games. Thanks to her, I even had a brief stint in Dallas Cowboys cheerleading camp when I was a kid.

When I moved to Washington several years ago, I somewhat expected to be an outcast in the town of the Cowboys’ longtime rivals, the Washington Redskins. Instead, I was struck by how many black Washingtonians were longtime Dallas Cowboys fans. I met a number of black people here who proudly fly the team star, who attend games when “The Boys” are playing, and who fly down to Dallas Cowboys stadium every year.

I came to learn that the Cowboys gained a number of black fans in Washington due to the perception that the team was on the right side of civil rights history in the 1960s, when it made visible efforts to integrate the team with black players during the era of segregation, whereas the Redskins did not. Learning about that history gave me extra reason to be proud of my ’Boys.

This week, Jerry Jones and “America’s Team” have decided to put white America first—despite the reality that about 70 percent of the NFL consists of black players who put their bodies and health on the line every week to entertain millions across the country. The players do have power. If every single black player decided to stop playing football, the league would shut down. Maybe there will be some brave Cowboys players who will kneel next Sunday. But as for this Dallas girl, as long as Jones decides to storm down the wrong side of civil rights history, I have no other moral choice but to hang up my Cowboys jersey and find something else to do during Sunday games.

Karen Attiah

Mongo Signs Executive Order Banning Melanin

The Los Angeles Dodgers are a baseball team based in California, which is decidedly not a Mongo region. In that state, the top elected officials commonly say things like: “California is building a wall of justice against President unnamed-2Trump’s xenophobic, racist, and ignorant immigration policies.”

And so it is right and meet that when the Dodgers go out on the road, they do not stay in Morongo hotels. Like all Sane and Decent people, they would rather drink muddy water, sleep in a hollow log.

The Dodgers’ decision was sparked by first baseman Adrian Gonzalez, whom Mongo will soon now deport, because he is a Mexican, and therefore a rapist drug criminal.

The Los Angeles Dodgers, for instance, returned to Trump’s Chicago hotel in May 2016 on a road trip to play the Cubs. But Adrian Gonzalez, a Mexican American first baseman, chose to stay elsewhere.

“You can draw your own conclusions” about why, Gonzalez told the Los Angeles Times. “They’re probably right.”

The team soon followed suit. When the Dodgers returned to Chicago for the playoffs that year, they stayed at a new hotel.

The Dodgers are currently preparing to win the World Series, but U Bum will invalidate the results, declaring the team ineligible because of the players’ criminal refusal to frequent his fleabags. He will put them in Guantanamo, and declare the New York teams winners of all the sports, by divine right of playing on an island so stupid and boring the Lanape let it go for a couple of beads.

During the 2016 presidential campaign Adrian Gonzalez posted the below video to his twit-tube:

As a result, Morongo has directed the Pentagon to use drones to take out his family. You’ll see up above a photo of Gonzalez and his family, in disguise, preparing to extort candy from the homes of white people. “Nits make lice,” Mongo commands.

Gonzalez had accent marks placed on his name on his jersey and has encouraged other Latin MLB players to do the same. Mongo has determined this means he is a communist agitator who should be shot in a jungle like Che.

In the world according to Mongo, Puerto Ricans are as bad as Mexicans: even before the hurricane their island was a trash heap, and Morongo is sick of dealing with it. He threw them some towels: what more do they want? Also trash heaps are “the inner cities,” where “the Democrats have ruled for 100 years“; these are infested with “the minorities,” who are begging the police to fire their guns at all times, but the police can’t, just sit on their bullets, because “they have to be politically correct.”
Mongo every day twitlers threats and abuse to all and every, including dropping nukes on people and hitlering broadcast licenses, but the geniuses there just let him rail on, even as they suspend Rose McGowan for being Mean to Penises. What a perfect useless platform. Soon come Michael Rennie, flying over in a Gort ship, with a big magnet, to erase it all.

It Is Happening Again

All of his work is informed by something that happened to David Lynch when he was a little boy growing up in a perfect sunny little Pacific Northwest neighborhood. One afternoon he was out in the street playing with his brother, and around the corner came stumbling a naked, bloodied woman. She sat down on the curb, and cried. And Lynch, he cried too.

The Said Admiral Is Dead

They say it came first from Africa, carried in the screams of the enslaved; that it was the death bane of the Taino, uttered just as one world perished and another began; that it was a demon drawn into Creation through the nightmare door that was cracked open in the Antilles. Fuku americanus, or more colloquially, fuku—generally a curse or a doom of some kind; specifically the Curse and the Doom of the New World. Also called the fuku of the Admiral because the Admiral was both its midwife and one of its great European victims; despite “discovering” the New World the Admiral died miserable and syphilitic, hearing (dique) divine voices. In Santo Domingo, the Land He Loved Best, the Admiral’s very name has become synonymous with both kinds of fuku, little and large; to say his name aloud or even to hear it is to invite calamity on the heads of you and yours.

No matter what its name or provenance, it is believed that the arrival of Europeans on Hispaniola unleashed the fuku on the world, and we’ve all been in the shit ever since. Santo Domingo might be fuku’s Kilometer Zero, its port of entry, but we are all of us its children, whether we know it or not . . . .

—Junot Diaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

Much about the Admiral is not known. Where he was born, and when: these are not known. The arc of his early years, when and what he studied at the University of Pavia: these, too, are not known. Where he obtained his ideas of geography, this is not known. The Admiral, it developed, did not know geography: he believed, to the end of his days, that where he landed in 1492 marked the far eastern fringe of Asia.

What is known is that when the Admiral stepped ashore on Hispaniola, he brought original sin to the New World. For the policies he pursued there exterminated that island’s people, the Taino. Every one.

All the Indians of these islands were allotted by the Admiral . . . to all the settlers who came to live in these parts; and in the opinion of many who saw what happened and speak of it as eyewitnesses, the Admiral, when he discovered these islands, passed sentence of death on a million or more Indians, men and women, of all ages, adults and children. Of this number and of those since born, it is believed that there do not survive today, in this year 1548, 500 Indians, adults and children, who are natives and who are offspring of the stock of those he found on arrival.”

Today, “the Taino survive in the shape of one’s eyes, the outline of one’s face, the idiom of one’s language.” All the rest, is gone.


Sunday Mornin’, Goin’ Down

Satan’s sermon this Sunday morning was a sulphurous blast at Tennessee Senator Bob Corker:

Senator Bob Corker “begged” me to endorse him for re-election in Tennessee. I said “NO” and he dropped out (said he could not win without my endorsement). He also wanted to be Secretary of State, I said “NO THANKS.” He is also largely responsible for the horrendous Iran Deal! Hence, I would fully expect Corker to be a negative voice and stand in the way of our great agenda. Didn’t have the guts to run!

Corker is a mainline Republican—that is, a Barney Rubble from out of the Stone Age—who, as is common with such people, bob-corker-donald-trump-vpattained office riding racism, and once there refused to vote for Dodd-Frank, firearm background checks, the automaker-revival act, The Kenyan’s health care legislation, and cap-and-trade, among other pleasantries.

Corker is a tool, but he does possess sentience. Which is why in recent weeks he has publicly observed that Morongo lacks “stability and competence,” does not “understand the character of this nation,” and is basically an agent of chaos.

Corker has declined to seek re-election in 2018, because, like everyone with a functioning cerebrum, he has no interest in participating in the politics of Morongo.

Though once considered for top posts in the Morongo administration, when friendly with both Morongo, and all the other criminals in Morongo’s immediate family—Lolita, Lampshade, Mrs. Mongo Vol. III, Uday & Qusay—Corker has since concluded he would rather set fire to himself in the county square, than continue to pretend that Morongo is a decent human being.

Some new word of Corker’s revulsion must have pulsed out of the Morongo hi-fi TV this morning—presumably on the Frauds and Fiends show, Morongo’s own personal Pravda—thereby causing Morongo to commence the twitler Satanism.


Among The Wildflowers

October 1, 2017


into this neutral air
where blind skyscrapers use
their full height to proclaim
the strength of collective man, 
each language pours its vain
competitive excuse

faces along the bar
cling to their average day:
the lights must never go out,
the music must always play,
all the conventions conspire
to make this fort assume
the furniture of home;
lest we should see where we are, 
lost in a haunted wood,
children afraid of the night
who have never been happy or good

the windiest militant trash
important persons shout
is not so crude as our wish: 
what mad nijinsky wrote
about diaghilev
is true of the normal heart; 
for the error bred in the bone
of each woman and each man
craves what it cannot have, 
not universal love
but to be loved alone

no one exists alone;
we must love one another or die

defenseless under the night
our world in stupor lies;
yet, dotted everywhere,
ironic points of light
flash out wherever the just
exchange their messages:
may i, composed like them
of eros and of dust,
beleaguered by the same
negation and despair,
show an affirming flame

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When I Worked

October 2017