Rapist Can’t Spell

The rapist resident in the Whiter House, having recently returned from two weeks of molesting Asia, where they are now all in therapy, last night chortled in the twitlers:

The Al Frankenstien picture is really bad, speaks a thousand words. Where do his hands go in pictures 2, 3, 4, 5 & 6 while she sleeps? And to think that just last week he was lecturing anyone who would listen about sexual harassment and respect for women. Lesley Stahl tape?

Numberless are the sins of the Americans, that they are condemned to this Mongo, brain smooth as glass, incapable even of correctly spelling his own name.

Mongo has assiduously avoided commenting on the adventures of Roy Moore, the time-tunneling nincompoop from Alabama, who has throughout his life sexually pursued teens, pre-teens, toddlers, infants, and zygotes. He’s in a bind there, is Mongo: he doesn’t want to support Moore, and then have the video come out of Moore masturbating on the stroller, and he doesn’t want to condemn Moore, because then people will say, yes, well, but what about that you yourself, Mongo, are a violent serial sexual predator, a rapist, a man who bones his own daughter? Mongo is hoping Moore can on his own rally the faithful, through embarking on a journey across the state, on foot, bearing the granite Ten Commandments on his back, like Jesus with the cross ascending Golgotha, the yeehawing Roids everywhere running out to weep and throw themselves at his feet, a hideous, mind-numbing Spectacle that would have De Mille rolling over in ecstasy, out there in the boneyard.

“What we need is a diversion!” Mongo yowled into the earhole of The Nazi, recalling how, during the late, lamented presidential campaign of 2016, when came the tape documenting that Mongo’s preferred method of introducing himself to a woman is to “grab ’em by the pussy,” “move on her like a bitch,” his great good friends at Rooskileaks immediately excreted a shitpile of stolen emails referencing the Clinton II woman.

And so The Nazi huddled with the creeping mouth-fungus Sean Klannity, who recalled that one of his acolytes, a woman with far too many vowels in her name—Leeann Tweeden—had, as Klannity admitted like an imbecile yesterday on his radio show, shown him “years ago” a photograph of now-Senator Al Franken leering as he cupped her kevlared breasts, snapped while the two were on a USO tour entertaining American serial killers over in some country where they had no business being.

So Tweeden was yesterday deployed to sob in the twitlers that Franken possesses a criminal Weinstein penis. Then these geniuses double-barrelled with Melanie Morgan, a nasty, vicious, nuthole winger, who has befouled the airwaves for decades, demanding that New York Times editor Bill Keller be put in the gas chamber, boasting about putting a bullseye on Nancy Pelosi, and foaming that George Soros is a Nazi—the latter caused the station program-director to bull into the show while she was still foaming to state she was lying and the station regretted airing her puke. Morgan was assigned to scream like ten banshees that Franken should go to the electric chair because he argued with her on the radio.

Because, as the Rooski investigation every day demonstrates, these dullards are the Abbott and Costello of conspiracists, Mongo’s Roy Cohn butt-buddy Roger Stone couldn’t contain himself from going to the twitlers—where he is banned—to preview the attack on Franken.

But the Franken assault blew up in their faces, like one of those cigars the Roadrunner is always foisting on Wile E. Coyote, when Franken immediately, contritely, offered a full and fulsome apology, and demanded he be investigated for possible placement in the penis prison. Tweeden then veered wildly off script by saying she accepted the apology and was not asking Franken to resign.

As meanwhile Roy Moore was bodily removed from another hospital after he was apprehended cruising the newborn nursery.

The “Stahl tape” is a bursting Mongo brain bubble referencing a long-ago free-ranging Saturday Night Live writer’s meeting assembling a sketch concerning mysterious pills found in Andy Rooney’s desk. There is no “tape.” Mongo here must be nervously thinking of his own tape, the pee-tape, where he hired the Rooski hookers to golden-shower the bed where the Obamas had slept. The Stahl tale first appeared in a 1995 story in New York, and died like a dog when Norm Coleman tried to use it against Franken in their 2008 US Senate campaign.

The comedians are now in the tubes lamenting that in his statement Franken concluded that comedy is not funny, and that they now expect that all of them, including the women, are going to have to go into the penis prison.

Who here has done improv comedy?

Of those that have, how many have engaged in sexual banter and/or sexually suggested physical touchings/gestures in a skit?

I can answer yes to both of the above. There was kissing. There were humping gestures. There were sound effects indicating instant erections. There were tons of jokes about boobs. Can’t tell you how many times my ass was slapped. There was an instance when my package was grabbed with a physical gesture to indicate it was being twisted and the actress then says “now I got you”  and my reply being “you most certainly do not”, etc.

I can also say that every single experience involved either implied per-consent (we rehearsed and there were no objections) or actual consent (I specifically remember the actress asking for my reassurance that it was OK for her to grab my package and how she could do it with minimal amount of invasive touching).

In any case, there is a very unique context here. This is not some pervy old man hanging out in a mall trying to pick-up underage teenagers.

This was my experience as well doing improv drama as an undergrad. And he even had verbal consent, and there is no allegation that he continued after she expressed disapproval.
And in the photo, he is not touching her. And there are an infinite number of versions of exactly the same photo, featuring both men and women, and it was in the context of a comedy team on a tour, where sophomoric sex jokes are the primary currency.
I had my pants dropped unexpectedly on stage by a woman, had my clothes stolen by three women while I was in the shower and had to run nude to the bus, and had women position my hand on my crotch while I slept and take and label photos that were blown up and hung on the bus.
I did get upset once with a prank that I won’t go into, but at the end of the day I had to realize that it was pride that was hurt.
When the whole point is that you are a team on a tour doing performances for a public that are “unprofessional” in content from the start, all kinds of things go on. And the context has to be recognized, or there will be no more stage-and-tour performances, which would be a shame.

There has to be some line between “I’m offended by sophomoric pranking” and “sexual harassment” or sexual harassment loses all meaning. Especially when in the context of a comedy performance group, in which sophomoric pranking about sex is pretty much the entire value of the ticket and the actors tend to presume a free and playground-style relationship as a part of the camaraderie of the experience.

The Franken case begins to have the trappings of a public moral panic for me. It’s hard to say that you can go on a military entertainment tour, know that a kiss is coming from an outrageous personality, agree to it, have it happen in a public place, and then claim it’s sexual harassment. It’s similarly hard to convince me that a photo that shows zero physical contact and replicates a photo that has been taken an infinite number of times, by both women and men, can fairly be treated as a new offense for which the standard should have been expected to be otherwise and known.

I’ve spent a lot of time with theater people due to family and friends in the profession. When they got together there was abundant bawdy behavior from the female as well as male actors . . . and they weren’t even comedians.

I was in theater for a while, and can today recall at least three women who will now need to go into the penis prison for sexing me up when I was a minor. Also two of my female high-school teachers: one gave me a copy of Open Marriage and urged me to pursue non-monogamy at all times; the other, my journalism teacher, wrote lewdly in my yearbook “thanks for all the ‘inches’.” I have the Evidence, and demand a Trial.

Now we know why Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor did not serve in the Congress.

In other twitlers, Mongo can no longer keep track of all the white men melting down and shooting mass quantities of humans because what else are the guns for.

When he got back from molesting Asia, Mongo upchucked a twitler instructing god to bless a pile of dead people in Sutherland Springs, Texas. But that was last week—he meant the new dead people, in Rancho Tehama. Gotta keep up there, Mongo.

Maybe since Rancho Tehama is in California, a Mongo-Free Zone, Mongo couldn’t bring himself to mention it by name, and so thought the Texas twitler should suffice.

Attempting to obviate this boner, Mongo’s daughter and rape-victim, Lolita Mongo, announced that henceforth she will offer, at 15% off, items from her corpse-themed fashion line, to relatives of the fallen in all the various white-men massacres. She will also provide, free, a Make America Great Again cap, so long as it is promised the corpse shall be buried wearing it.


3 Responses to “Rapist Can’t Spell”

  1. 1 janis November 17, 2017 at 5:32 pm

    What, no music to add to the entertainment value of your very entertaining writing ; ).

    You obviously don’t have a smooth brain, but one with many folds.

    Are those Trump taped comments about women at the NYT for real ! ?

    Some men are simply perverts and scary, some are stupid and laughingly inane, and some are entertainingly creative.

    There are wide differences between how comedians use women in their performances. Franken is sadly not at all funny or inventive. I can though appreciate Chris Rock’s sharp humour.

    • 2 bluenred November 17, 2017 at 9:04 pm

      No music came particularly to mind. Anyway I had to do something for a lawyer, and feed and water the barnyard.

      Those Mongo Times quotes are absolutely real. Initially they created quite a stink, but then Rooskileaks immediately released the stolen Podesta material, which caused everyone to default to the usual foaming from every orifice about “the emails.”

      However, their Reality means that not only did every one of the 62,979,879 MongoRoids who voted for him, as well as all those who otherwise supported, enabled, excused, justified, equated, or minimized him, do so knowing he is an out, proud, howling racist, they also did so knowing he is a violent serial sexual predator.

      I never found Franken particularly funny. Maybe he didn’t either, and that’s why he went into the politics.

      Because of our communism out here, the big AM talk-radio station out of San Francisco features two shows hosted by stand-up comedians who are also lefties. One of them has a segment called “Headliners on the Headlines,” in which he and fellow comedians comment mockingly on what is in the news. Today they all admitted that, in the wake of the Franken info, they will all need to go into the penis prison, including the women, because of things they have done on the comedy tours. They opined that maybe this is a plot to shut down all the comedy, just like in the nations Mongo so loves, where the comedians are either dragged off the stage with big hooks & sent to the re-education camps, or simply shot down in the alleys. They are hoping some distinction can be made between someone like Louis CK, who masturbates like a monkey whenever he sees a woman, or Mongo, who serially violently grabs, gropes, and rapes women, and something like the Franken miscreancies. Otherwise, they fear, they will all be trundled off in the tumbrils.

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When I Worked

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