Monday, August 28, 2017

How Trump Is Depriving Bloggers Of The Will To Live

It's more or less official:  Blogging is down, blogs are disappearing faster than transgender liberals at a white supremacist picnic, while large numbers of bloggers report having a hard time even getting out of bed in the morning.  The general consensus among them: What's the fucking point?

As one former blogger put it:  Yeah, you know, at first Trump was like this giant golden turd, an endless source of content for blogs everywhere, but then we never actually considered the consequences of 'endless.'  It's like too much, total turd overload, a spray-tanned white out from which there is no escape. 

Another blogger confides:  At this point I'd rather join an Evangelical Christian cult of Bible-thumping child abusers - and yes, I'm now taking the whole end-of-days crap a lot more seriously - than write another word about Trump, but then I can't think of anything else to write about.

Noted psychiatrist Bernard Gert explains:  An alarming number of intelligent, progressive bloggers seem to have succumbed to what I like to call the One Dimensional Trump Trap, in which every single smart thought is immediately invaded by a supplemental dumb thought about Trump. It is possible that Trump's mental illness, spread through social media, is contagious. In short, the endless bombardment of Trump stupidity is destroying the intelligence of the human population.*

(*Needless to say, this does not apply to the 30~40 million diehard Trump supporters who are already brain dead and therefore in no immediate danger.)

Question from former blog reader:  What about dogs?  My dog is acting a lot dumber since Trump got elected.

Many bloggers admit being driven to drink by Trump.  And no, this does not mean that Trump is actually picking them up and driving them to their local pubs. Although one would have to be pretty drunk to even consider getting into a car with Trump behind the wheel.

"Excuse me, Mister President, but you're driving way over the speed limit, and also I think you may be on the wrong side of the highway."

"Not to worry, oppressed, white working class Trump sycophant.  I happen to know more about operating an automobile than professional race car drivers. Besides, all these other cars are fake. And by the way, the senate will be repealing Obamacar any day now."

"Sorry, but don't you mean Obamacare?"

"Are you kidding?  Obama doesn't care.  Not like I care." 

When asked about Trump's dangerously inept driving, advisor Kelly-Anne Speedway, perhaps not surprisingly, responded,  "Well answer me this, has anyone checked the trunk of Hillary's car for all those missing emails?"

"Are you suggesting we should lock her up?"

"At the very least, lock her in the trunk."

"With the emails."


No question that bloggers have taken a severe hit under the dark, toxic cloud of Trump, but rest assured, dear reader - there is still one of you out there, right? - this blog is back, determined to hobble forward, despite the odds.  Silence, as truly appealing as it may be, is not an option.

**Finally, it is with deep sadness that we report the recent demise of Lucy Leigh, a vital part of the Dog team, and the best four-legged broom handler there ever was.  We miss you, L.L.


Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Fuck Reality, I'll Take It Fake

It's a new world, or a lost world, or possibly a non-world. Talking heads remind us that the world is certainly changing. What they're actually saying is that the world is now officially Fucked. Donald - I took a Huge dump on all you American dumbbells and you loved it - Trump is now the POTUS,  which used to stand for President of the United States, but now more appropriately signifies  Preternatural Orange-hued Tasteless Underhanded Shit-bag.

Trump assures his moronic monkey base that he will be the most Tremendous Stupendous Shit-bag leader of all time, or possibly even longer.

President Trump discussing time with advisor Kelly Ann Conflagration:

You know how to tell time, right, Kelly Ann?
This very expensive watch on my very right-wing wrist says I do.
Your watch actually talks to you?
Well, not literally, but, you know, seriously.
Okay, whatever. So tell me this, what's longer than all time?
Hmm ... let's see ... there's pre-time, timeless time, like in the movies,  or how about alternative time?
Alternative time ... I love it. I mean, it's fucking dumb, but the base will eat it up.
Gobble gobble, Mr. President Shit-bag.

So, real is fake, fake is real. Get used to it.

News Flash:

President Ronald Rumpus steps in a hole while fugue-walking on one of his golf courses. After being reanimated by his personal physician, Dr. Frankenstein, he immediately signs executive order banning all holes in the U.S.A. No exceptions.
According to the President:
We don't know how many of these holes were dug by Muslim extremists; some of them are so deep, huge, frankly, a terrorist could easily be hiding in one of them. Banning all holes now will keep the American people safer.

Later in the day, press secretary Sean Superfluous tries to assure a nervous public that the all-hole ban does not apply to assholes, at least not to the assholes of U.S. citizens.

What about the assholes of valid visa holders? a reporter inquires.
As far as the ban - which by the way is not really a ban - applying to the assholes of this sub-group, the President wants to spend more time looking into the whole asshole issue. 

And rest assured, anal-retentive America, the White House is now occupied by some of the biggest assholes on the planet. If they can't get the job done, nobody can.

Breaking News!

Trump insists that the 3 million illegal aliens who voted for Hillary are real, not fake, unless fake is now real; plans to round them all up and have them build the border wall for free.

After all, the President said, aliens built the pyramids, so why not my wall? Which, by the way folks, will be so big, so hugely colossal, that it's going to drive the Chinese and their stupid wall crazy.

Flash! Bang!

 President Trumpet overheard whining about the paltry crowds and crappy entertainment at his inauguration; advisor Steve Bandicoot (see super-sized assholes above) tries to reassure him by promising that his eventual coronation as King of Trumplandia ( country's name soon to be changed by executive decree) will be much more spectacular.  

Will it be huge? Trumpet reportedly asked.
Are you kidding? Steve replied. What's bigger than huge? Aside from my really huge, really really red nose, of course.
What do you think I should wear? the President wondered.
I see you in a flowing fur cape, said Bandicoot. White, naturally. Polar bear, perhaps.
Hey, squealed the POTUS, my daughter Avuncular sells those on her web site.  They're only like 3 million bucks.
Which I'm sure the idiots who voted for you will gladly pay for.
Well, either them or the Mexicans. 

*Take heart, intelligent, still mentally sound minority. Yes, the country is rapidly going down the recently installed gold White House toilet, but things have never been better for late night comedy.