The New Donald Trump

You know, I never thought I’d be saying this but Donald Trump is looking, well, pretty Presidential all of a sudden. I know, I know! No one is more shocked than I am, but you have to admit it, the man is changing. Did you see his press conference after the New York primary? Where he referred to Ted Cruz as ‘Senator Ted Cruz’? Woah! It’s like, the guy who nicknamed Ted Cruz ‘Lyin’ Ted’ just vanished or something. That’s gravitas. I hate to admit it, but maybe this guy could be legit. I think maybe the Republican establishment could get in line behind Trump is he keeps this up. Did you notice later in the speech, he read from a teleprompter? I was, like, Jesus shit, that’s Kennedyesque! I literally did not know he could do that. I’ve been so afraid of his crazy ass, bombastic, xenophobic saber rattling crap, but you all saw it. He read actual, pre-written, scripted words off a machine, just like a normal, sane guy in the running for the position of most powerful man on earth. And then later in the speech? Where he only wet himself just a little? Like, a dime size spot on his pants? I mean, you know, this is a guy we’ve all come to expect a real trouser soaking from, pretty much every appearance he’s made up until this week he’s soaked his trousers to the point where they are totally saturated, the cloth cannot contain any more liquid, it’s just pouring off the cuffs like an open fire hydrant, and now? A dime size spot. A very presidential dime sized spot of pee on his pants during a speech. And yes, sure, he is still giving a monkey a hand job as the centerpiece of his rallies, but while the man may not be my candidate of choice, You have to be fair, it’s a much, much smaller monkey. Lately he doesn’t even always finish, he just gets that modestly sized, totally appropriate monkey going and then puts it back in its cage. Puts it right back in its cage. Like a President.

 

And no, before you ask, I am not going to vote for him. I’m still a Democrat, I’d take either Democratic candidate over Trump any day. All I’m saying is, I no longer feel like if Donald Trump is the Presidential candidate of a major American political party it’s a clear sign our system of government is collapsing. He can sometimes talk about rival without using offensive, childish nicknames, he is physically able to use a teleprompter to deliver statements that were written in advance instead of just shouting whatever the hell comes into his head, he wets himself a lot less than he used to and he’s sexually pleasuring significantly smaller monkeys at rallies, and often not to completion.

 

And that’s not even mentioning the fact that it’s been almost a month since he made any kind of reference to his Penis. Not even metaphorically. Think about that. He has not tried to remind the American people that his Penis is big for very close to a full month. You know which other candidate for President was famously able to go longer than a month without getting you to focus on his genitals? Abraham Lincoln. They didn’t call him ‘The Old Go-Longer-Than-A-Month-Without-Talking-About-His-Penis-Guy’ for nothing. And he turned out to be a pretty good President, too.

 

It’s impressive, and I think reassuring. The blinding light of New Trump makes it almost impossible to even see Old Trump behind it. There’s no reason whatsoever to believe that the Donald Trump we were all so afraid of just a week ago ever actually existed in any kind of real way.

 

Everything is going to be okay.

Stump Speech: Coal Mine Canary Perched on NY Primary

Coal Mine Canary Perched On NY Primary

Hello, all. Here’s a link to my latest Stump Speech column for small but vibrant NYC newspaper, Chelsea Now. Sure, you’re reading it online, but if you live in NYC you can get a real, physical newspaper and read it instead of going to see “Hamilton”.

The Sons of Superman and Batman

If you’re ‘up’ on comics, you might know that Robin is Batman’s son. Not Dick Grayson, he hasn’t been Robin for ages, or Jason Todd or Tim Drake or the brand new one whose name I don’t even know yet because in the current continuity, Batman gets a new Robin every ten minutes or so. No, one of the Robin’s, Damian Wayne, is Batman’s actual, biological son. And in just a few issues, Superman is going to have a son too. See, Superman was married to Lois lane, and then DC did a reboot and Supes lost his wife and the red undies he wore over his tights. Well, he didn’t lose them per se, they just never existed. Except turns out they still did in some pocket universe, and now they’re coming back and they had kid and he’s the same age as Robin son of Batman, so hi-jinks are bound to ensue. Boy, what a bold new idea, one that’s bound to draw youth back into comics. Except attempts by middle aged writers to appeal to youth culture rarely work apart from being unintentionally hilarious, and also, this idea is not new at all. It happened in the early 70’s and it was the best kind of awful.

For a long time I wrote extensively for a great internet site, i-mockery.com, and one of the things I wrote was a column on comic books called “Hey Dork: Let’s talk comics!” Here’s a link to the article I wrote on that first ‘Sons of Superman and Batman’ attempt. Check it out.

 

“Hey, Dork! Let’s talk Sons of Superman and Batman!”

Stenky’s Swine Song

Here’s a piece that actually needs some introduction. I invented the character of Stenky Gamuche in the eighties for the sketch comedy troupe ‘The Other White Meat’. The character was originally a very small role, the sidekick of another Character, Bill Grist. Bill was a middle aged loudmouth lout, played by the brilliant comic actress Deb Doetzer. Deb played men with real flair and bite, and said things that if I’d had a male actor say would have sounded flat out awful, as opposed to satiric and, you know, insightful. She made it okay for me to say some really horrible stuff. In his first outing, Stenky had few lines and was mostly a foil for Bill Grist’s yearning, wistful brutality. Stenky was supposed to be played by me. I was directing the show and I’m lousy at staging anything I’m in. I can’t see the whole picture or focus fully on the scene if I’m in it. So in early run throughs, I always used a stand in. Margaret Anne Brady stepped in to read my lines, and it was immediately clear she was much better at being Stenky then I was ever going to be, so we left it that way. Margaret inhabited the delusional French Canadian alcoholic to a degree that I think surprised us both. I have always loved writing for specific artists, it’s my favorite thing, but Margaret as Stenky somehow went beyond anything else I’ve ever written. I went on to write several monologues for Stenky over about a ten year period, both for ‘Other White Meat’ outings and for Margaret’s show with the equally amazing Dorothy Dwyer, “Mrs. Potato Head”. A couple of years ago, they started doing the occasional reunion show. Margaret asked me to write a new Stenky piece, but the first time around, though I tried, I couldn’t make it work. This last show I managed. I wanted something that would close out Stenky’s long debauched story. So, ‘Stenky’s Swine song.’

 

If you saw Stenky in performance over the years, good for you. I think it’s my best stuff, and Margaret called Stenky her King Lear. It was special, okay? Leave me alone. If you never saw Stenky on stage , this is going to be a little odd, because you’re starting at the end. Also I have no idea how this is going to work as just a piece of writing. It makes sense to me, I can hear it and I knew what Margaret would do with it even before I sent it to her. Alone on the page, it might just be an incoherent word mass. If so forgive me. But it’s not like I get paid for this ‘blog’, so I can pretty much do whatever the hell I like with it. Screw you, anyways. Here it is.

 

(Lights up on Stenky, deep in thought, seated at a bar stool, sipping a golden carbonated beverage with ice. After a moment he looks up. He’s heard something, or maybe only thought he heard something. He dismisses it and returns to thinking about whatever he’s thinking about. He hears it again. Looks around, eyes fix on someone.)

 

You talking to me?… Uhm… Yeah. Yeah, I’m Stenky Gamuche.

(long pause. Has anyone ever addressed him first in his life?)

Uh… not to be rude or nothin’, but… do I know you?… I do? Seems unlikely. I mean, a lot of people know me, or of me, I am a very well known fella, but I don’t… I can’t place your face. Wait a minute, wait a second, I know who you are! You’re that guy, you know, that guy that does that thing where he… where they… no, that’s not you, that’s that TV show where they get talking to some guy and see if they can get him, to, like, inculminate himself…. Jesus, I hope you’re not that guy. I done a lotta bad crap, but I ain’t never… NO! NO! I got it! McGuilicutty! Son of a bitch! How many years has it… how many… crap, I owe you money, don’t I? And not a small amount. Shit. Hanh? McGuilicutty’s son? Well that makes sense I guess. I was wondering how it was I ain’t seen you in a dogs age but you got younger. Thought you got yourself one of them lifestyle lifts or something, but I wasn’t gonna say nothing.

 

You remember me? Seriously? Well, that is flattering… not unusual or nothing, I’m known for being memorable on account of my being a raconteur of no small renown’ an shit… I do? Seriously? Well, thank you, young man. I s’pose I do look good… You know… comparatively. Considering I shoulda been dead like ten years ago I am DAMN GOOD LOOKING, AM I RIGHT? I look subtantially better than a decade old corpse. That is a solid truth right there. I should. I been on the wagon for some time now. No, no, no, no, I shit you not. I am ON… that wagon… which does not have booze service.

 

This? It’s Gingerale… Why? I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause 7 Up… is FOR PUSSIES!

(laughs outrageously, coughs)

Shit, I spilt 7 Up down my front… Oh…. WELL! CAUSE FOR A REFILL! AM I RIGHT? AM I RIGHT?! I am right. Oughta be on the house. Kid drops his ice cream cone, they give him another cone free. Just a friggin’ 7 Up, comes outta a god damn spray nozzle, I don’t see no reason they gotta be so damn cheap in this joint. I could take my custom elsewheres.

 

Oh it’s different all right, but not so much as different as I thought it’d be. Which when you think of it is not a huge surprise. See, it’s like they say; “You can’t change a cucumber… No, no, wait, not a cucumber, a pickle, you can’t take a pickle, right, and… and… like… make it go back in time until it’s a cucumber again. ‘Cause time travel and such… is NOT possible… without an object of such IMMENSE mass… that it would… lit’rally crush the SHIT out of your pickle… Do not be fooled, my friend, stackers are not time traveled pickles. They’re just… you know, sliced real thin… so your sandwich won’t be… like, all… lumpy. OK, look, it’s simple, the point is, once something is pickled, that’s it, there’s no going back, and I surely… WAS… PICKLED! I may not be soaking in brine no more, but there is NO doubt I was soaking more than long enough to get pickled. MORE than long enough. I’ll tell you this for free, though, you go to the grocery, buy yourself a bottle of pickles, shove it way back in the fridge and forget it’s even there for like three years, re-discover it, and that pickle is still pretty much okay. One time I forgot I had some cucumbers in the crisper? For, like, a month? That was a bag of grayish green liquid I could not even PRETEND was Jagermiester, and I am not ashamed to say I pretended pretty damn hard… well, okay, I’m a little ashamed… no, no, not ashamed, REGRETFUL, because that was NOT Jagermeister in ANY way whatsomever. Boy, if wishes was horses, than wishes would… would… require a lot of space. And hay… oats and shit.

 

How’d I do it? What, you mean, get off the sauce?… I don’t really know and that is the God’s own truth. I din’t have no choice, and like my old man used to say, “Stenky, there is… NO trick to doing something you don’t got no choice about”… Cause, cause the things you don’t got no choice about, right? They ain’t gettin’ done BY you as much as they’re gettin’ done TO you. But I done this… to Myself. So it was both. Know what I mean? Pro’lly not. I don’t.

 

Anyways, my Doctor says to me, you’re gonna love this, I love my Doctor, he’s all old school and shit, like this crusty old country Doctor type with a very dry, AMAZING sense of humor, and he says to me, check this shit out, you will laugh your ass completely off, he says… “Stenky, ol’ pal, Stenky, your LIVER… is… like some… horrible, old, gigantic, dead catfish… that some GUY… has tried to, like, jam down their crapper, who knows why, to hie it? From who? I don’t know. And of course it won’t flush on account of it’s WAY too big, it is a simple impossibility of PHYSICS to get a dead fish the size of a friggin’ German Shepherd puppy down a pipe sized for a normal human bowel movement, so he’s, like… POUNDING away on that catfish with a plunger, just HAMMERING until the damn fish carcass is TOTALLY jammed up to the point where nothing is getting past it ever again, that toilet is FINISHED as a toilet for GOOD, it’s just a, a housing now for a GIGANTIC dead CATFISH that is actually YOUR LIVER, Stenky Gamuche, you son of a BITCH, and I swear to the sweet Baby Jesus… that… that… wait a sec… wait a sec, now, here… I don’t even have a Doctor… I was at the ‘mergency room… the waiting room of the ‘mergency room… and it was Dr. OZ on the TEE-VEE!… And he was talking about this… like… cleanse. A, a juice cleanse or somesuch… where you don’t eat nothing and just drink juice for, like, a month, which quite frankly seems pretty unhealthy to me. It made me hungry as hell and I went to go get some chow without even seeing a doctor, so I don’t think that was what got me to quit drinkin’. I mean, why the hell would it have, right?

 

I did do AA for a while. Someone suggested it to me. Like some friend of mine who’d wised up… maybe it was a policeman… no, no, not a policeman, that other thing, whaddaycallit, in a bathrobe, a JUDGE! A very angry judge an’ he’s all “If I ever see you in this courtroom again” which was weird, ‘cause I do not recall this gent at all and I got one of them eidetic memories for faces… anyways now I think of it, it was not so much a suggestion as a, a, like… precondition of release. Whatever, I gave it the old college try, the coffee was flat out terrible, but it turned out to be a great place to bum cigarettes. A lot of good stories, though, I will say that, and I am a man acclaimed for a finley crafted anctedote, I mean I got STORIES that would FRY the tiny hairs on your FOREARMS, I was tellin’ this one story, right, this is HILLARIOUS, ‘bout how I was SO drunk this one time I could have sworn up down and SIDEWAYS I was explaining the finer aspics of parliamentary procedure to a group of very refined college ladies, and I’m going “Point of order, college ladies, point of order” and they’re like, putting their fans in front of their faces and giggling up a storm about how charming I am when what’s actually happening is I’m upside down in an ice cold shower in a YMCA locker room, fully clothed, screaming like a chollicy infant and this completely ancient JANITOR is, like getting’ SOAKED trying to drag my ass out of there, and I’m slappin’ him and he’s yellin’ “YOU HAVE TO GET OUT OF THERE, WE ARE CLOSED, HOW DID YOU EVEN GET IN HERE, IT IS TWO IN THE MORNING!”

 

(laughing fit quickly turns into coughing jag)

 

Oh, screw you, that story is a pisser. It killed at “The Moth”. Pro’lly it was The Moth… It may have been a bus stop, now I think on it. Truth be told, them folks at AA didn’t totally appreciate it. They was all, like, “Stenky, sit down, it is not your turn, that story was awful and also more importantly you can not drink during an AA meeting.” And I’m, like, “Excuse me, have you seen these metal folding chairs? ‘Cause my ass cannot tolerate two hours in one unless it is thoroughly hammered. And that, my good friends, takes maintenance. They’re all ‘Oh, Stenky, you’re not ready, you haven’t hit bottom.”… And I’m like “Au Contraire, chumps, I am on the bottom, I live on the bottom, I am a, a, human CATFISH in a TOILET and I STILL put a smile on my face because that is what you DO with life, if you don’t do that, it gets done to you for SURE and that is the GOD’S own… God’s own… It’s a true… ism… Is what it is.

 

So I guess what I’m saying is it wasn’t my AA experience that got me off the sauce.

 

Why the hell did I stop?… ‘Cause it ain’t easy… it is the opposite of easy, is what it is.

(looks around)

I should pro’lly stop hangin’ out in bars. Turns out that was a harder habit to break then the drinkin’. HAH! What about them apples? No, no, I come here… because it’s more difficult… and I am doing this. It’s important.

 

Okay, okay, this is gonna sound weird an shit, what with all the stuff I done in my life… The CIA, being a undercover cop and a stunt double for… for… I wanna say Pierce Brosnan? That don’t seem right. No, no, that other guy, that MASH guy, but after Trapper John goes home, that fat ,bald Charles guy DAVID OGDEN STIERS!… David Ogden Stiers… Why the hell would David Ogdan Stiers need a stunt double? I am never gonna understand Hollywood… What? OH! Right, well, see, the point is, despite all that, I feel like I ain’t done anything of… significance in my life… I know, crazy, right? I’m a whadayacallit… a striver. Anyway, I feel like I’m old and I ain’t done shit. I thought about an insane amount of shit, but I ain’t…. I ain’t never done… none of the shit I thought about… got… done.

 

And this guy, right, I was livin’ with this guy, like he was a roommate, Sikorski, and I just wanna say we was not friends, that man was no friend of mine, mostly because he was a complete rat bastard with nothin’ nice to say to nobody, not one time ever. He was an awful, awful son of a bitch, and vindictive, and skulky and back stabbin’ and that was on a good day. So we was living together. We known each other… a considerable long time. Ran in the same circles. And at some point, we was the only ones still running in ‘em. On accounta every one else from our circle being dead. Which is, you know, what will happen when the circle you runs entirely around joints like this. This place is actually pretty ritzy compared to most of the places we ran around. Most of us din’t even like each other, irregardless of the fact we had a lot of laughs. And we did have a lot of laughs. That is undeniable. Just, it wasn’t always funny.

 

Shit… Your Dad was in that group, wasn’t he? Crap. I am so sorry. I totally forgot he croaked… away. Passed away… Listen, my condolences, your dad was a good Joe, not like them other sacks of crap. He was… How could I have forgot that? I am seriously sorry. That was a faux pas. I do them.

 

So that fuck Sikorski takes me in. I had nowhere to go and he’s like ‘You stupid jackassed son of a bitch, you’re too friggin’ old and moronic to live on the street and survive it’ so he gives me his couch. An long story short, one day I come home and he’s on the couch and I’m like ‘get the fuck off the couch, Sikorski, where the hell am I gonna sleep?’ and he can’t ‘cause he’s dead. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not a twist ending, it’s the same ending every story has, am I right? I am right. But wait. That ain’t the end… of the story. Turns out he owned the place he lived in and now it’s mine. Like, legally… Total unreformed drunk on his last legs who spent his whole adult life busting my balls with a friggin’ sledge hammer every chance he got, at some point takes the time to do the papers so I get his joint when he dies. What the hell is that? What the hell is that? Bastard.

 

An’ I get to thinking… that was… undeniably… a thing to do. Know what I mean? An’ I’m the last one left… And I ain’t never done… nothing. So I’m doing this. I am doing… this. And not for him. Sikorski… my current living circumstances notwithstanding… was a butt.

 

I been back to meetings once or twice… thought it might help, you know, shore up my resolve an’ shit. And they’re all, like, “Stenky, you’re still a drunk, you’re a whaddayacall ‘dry drunk’, you’re white knucklin’ it.” Well, you know what I figured out by still being alive for so friggin’ long? We are all white knucklin’ it. Every day. Human beings have some god damn white knuckles. Maybe not about booze. But something. Everybody got white knuckles about something. And they got ‘em every day, and the trick is, do you go ‘Shit, look how god damn white my knuckles are, holy crap!’ or do you just give your knuckles a cursory glance and keep friggin’ moving.

 

Which is what I oughta be doing. I am a considerable distance from home for a gentleman of my advanced years… Hanh?… Well, yes. Thank you. Yes, I would like a ride home, Son of McGuillicutty. I would certainly like that very much.

 

(The slowly begins to exit. Lights begin to fade)

 

Oh, hey, listen, also for old times sake, do you think you might loan me a ten? 7 Up tastes like bee piss, but it ain’t free.

 

(Blackout)

The Real March Madness: Republican Death Spiral Edition

No Ducking Donald: Hideous Monster Cobbled From Years of Divisive Tactics

Hello, all. Here’s a link to my latest article in Chelsea Now, a small Greenwhich Village Newspaper of no small renown. It’s a close look at the fix the Republican party has spent a generation getting itself into.

Super Tuesday Hangover

America Suffers Splitting Super Tuesday Headache

Hey, Gang! Here’s a link to my Super Tuesday article in Chelsea Now, a small New York City paper chock full of New York City Values!

 

40 Things to Think About Besides Donald Trump’s Penis.

For the last two days, it seems as if America can’t think of anything except Donald Trump’s penis. It’s all that’s being talked about, written about and spoken of on TV. My Facebook feed is all Donald Trump’s Penis all the time. I myself have spoken of little else. It’s like a song you can’t get out of your head, an ear worm, except in this case the worm in your ear is Donald Trump’s penis. Nobody wants that.

 

So, in an effort to help myself, America and the world, I have written this list of things to think about besides Donald Trump’s Penis.

 

1.) Global Warming.

2.) The Zika Virus.

3.) The wealth gap.

4.) What are we having for supper?

5.) What was that thing I promised myself I was going to get done today?

6.) Is it too late to do a significant portion of the things I wanted to do with my life?

7.) Am I kidding myself regarding the types of things I can do with my life?

8.) Is this cheese still okay to eat two days after the sell by date?

9.) Marco Rubio’s Penis.

10.) John Kasich’s Penis.

11.) What can I do to stop myself from ever, ever thinking about Ted Cruz’s penis? Is pinching myself real hard enough? What about biting the inside of my cheek? Do I need to cut myself? I might need to cut myself.

12.) My rage at Donald Trump for by association making me think of Ted Cruz’s penis.

13.) Bernie Sander’s elderly, Jewish, socialist penis.

14.) Hillary Clinton’s not penis.

15.) Penis, penis, penis, penis, everyone’s penis, everyone on earth and all their penises.

16.) Donald Trump’s penis. GOD DAMN IT!

17.) My rage at myself for thinking about Donald Trump’s penis, when the entire point of this exercise was not to think about Donald Trump’s GOD DAMN IT!

18.) La la la, singing with my fingers in my ears, la la la, penis, penis, okay I am cutting myself.

19.) Where are the band aids? I know we have band aids. I just bought band aids not one week ago, why is everything in this house always penis? Missing. I said missing.

20.) Ebola. It seems like forever since I thought about Ebola. That’s a fun thing to think about, right?

21.) What the hell was I thinking when I only bought ten boxes of girl scout cookies? Is there a way to get Girl Scout cookies out of season? Is it out of season yet? Why the hell don’t they just sell them all year? What kind of crazy ass business plan is it to only sell something once a damn year?

22.) Is it Girlscout or Girl Scout or Girl scout? I’m pretty sure if I really focus on Girl Scouts I won’t think about OH CRAP, SHIT, GOD DAMN IT, OH I HATE YOU SO MUCH, I ALREADY HATED YOU BEFORE I WAS THINKING ABOUT YOUR GOD DAMN PENIS ALL THE TIME!

23.) My shame, regret and sorrow over the failure of this list.

24.) My shame, regret and sorrow that since you are reading this list, I have published it and promoted it, which I was in no way required to penis.

25.) Donald Trump’s horrible, stubby, orange, tootsie roll fingers.

26.) A Baboon in an Iron Lung, looking at you in the mirror positioned above it’s head, the eyes so piercing, so human, filled with pity, filled with the knowledge of what you are thinking about.

27.) My amazement that even thinking about a Baboon in an Iron Lung leads directly to thinking about you know what.

28.) This will pass. This will pass. People will think about other things someday soon. There are so many other things to think about even though thinking about other things necessarily entails thinking about not thinking about KILL ME, JUST KILL ME, SOMEONE PLEASE KILL ME!

29.) Is Trump Tower named after it?

30.) DAMN IT!

31.) It’s orange.

32.) It has a tiny toupee.

33.) It says “I’m Yuge! YUUUUUGE!” but in a tiny, shrill cartoon mouse voice. It won’t stop shrieking.

34.) Where is my hammer?

35.) My rage and anger that the many, many terrible, worrisome things about this election have been reduced and compressed into Donald Trump’s wing-wang.

36.) See how I did that? Wing-wang. That’s better. I feel better.

37.) Inch-worm.

38.) Elbow Noodle.

39.) Horrible, horrible, dangley fidgety bit.

40.) The distinct possibility that he doesn’t have one, that he is as blunt and shiny as a Ken Doll down there. Hey. Hey, that works for me. I’m not going to question it. I’m good. I’m good now. I’m going to go with that. You’re welcome.

Christie Endorses Trump, The Full Text, Verbatim, I swear It.

A full text of the exact words Chris Christie’s endorsement of Donald Trump, not embellished by me or made up or augmented in any way whatsoever, not even a little bit by me, I swear it, cross my heart.

 

“Good morning everybody, thank you for being here, Um, I am proud to be here, to be here to endorse Donald Trump for President of the United States. Seriously. I hoped it would be the other way around, but whatever, right? I’m doing this for a number or reasons; Uh, first is, that Donald and I along with Melania and Mary Pat have been friends for a number of years. Really, really good friends, super good friends because he’s a very rich, very famous guy that just likes me a lot, which is not unusual, I have a lot of celebrity friends and rich friends that I hang out with who like me that I’m friends with. I don’t want to name drop, so lots just say a lot of wealthy celebrities let me spend time with them because we’re friends. Donald has been my loyal friend, and I’ve been his loyal friend and you can still run against someone for president and be loyal, as I am to him. If I’d won, I’d be able to do things for him, but it didn’t work out that way, and when he’s President, no doubt he can do the things for me loyal friends do. If he doesn’t win, whatever, my career is pretty much shot anyways. Which is not why I’m endorsing him. This is not a hail Mary endorsement. It’s a loyalty endorsement. I appreciate him as a person, and, uh, as a friend. A friend I maybe said at some point didn’t have the temperament to be President and whose ideas about Muslims I maybe called ‘stupid’, but friends can disagree, right? Which I don’t anymore about anything anyways, and I probably never did, people say things sometimes.

 

There is no candidate better prepared to provide America with the strong leadership that it needs. Both at home and around the world, than Donald Trump. No, I’m serious. Shut up. Okay, okay, for a while when I was running I thought experience actually working in government, and, you know, having at least a little idea of how civics actually works or something might be good preparation for being president, but apparently beauty pageants and reality shows are better. You people agree on that, right? Otherwise Donald would be endorsing me. So shut up. You wanted it different, you could have had it different, so just… shut the… just shut up… and let me do this.

 

He will provide strong, unequivocal leadership and do what needs to be done to protect the American people, first and foremost in the homeland and, and, uh, for creating jobs in this country, and he will make sure that people around the world know that America keeps it’s word again. It’s very important that countries and people keep their word. Donald Trump is a person, who, when he makes a promise, he keeps it. Which is not saying he promised me anything specific, I deny that, but if he did promise me something in return for endorsing him, I would expect he would keep that promise, because he is a man of his word, which is something I’m saying right from this stage and people had sure as hell better remember it because maybe you don’t have a long memory, but I do. I sure as hell do. A promise is a promise… something Donald Trump knows. He better know it. Humiliation isn’t free. I know he knows that because we’re good, good, loyal friends, and I’m endorsing him and no one goes down alone in America. Not loyal friends. I’m not threatening anyone. I’m not in any position to threaten anyone. You people made sure of that, didn’t you? It’s no big deal. It’s good.

 

And third… did I ever say second?… crap I never said ‘second’. The second thing was the keeping his word thing… or the unequivocal… leadership thing. Jesus. Okay, third, and I’ve said this all along, even when I was running, the single most important thing for the Republican party is to nominate the person who gives us the best chance to beat Hillary Clinton. The most important thing. More important than keeping anything resembling a Republican party intact, more important than giving the nuclear codes to a man who has some small idea of what Presidents even do, more important than not being laughed at by every single other country on earth, and I mean every single one, Lichtenstein is going to be laughing, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that we beat Hillary Clinton. And it will be Hillary Clinton, because Sanders, seriously, a Jew? As if. I like Jews fine, but a geriatric Jew hippie President? Grow up. And I hate Hillary. I hate her so friggin’ much. You don’t even know. The world can burn. I don’t care. You didn’t vote for me. Screw you. The only thing I hate more than you bastards is Hillary. So whatever, right? Who cares. If a lump of monkey crap had the best chance of beating Hillary I’d be enthusiastically endorsing a hunk of monkey crap right now. You think I’m kidding? I am not kidding. I’d literally endorse a hunk of monkey crap.

 

Look, Hillary and Bill Clinton, who may not be running, but we all still hate him, right? They know how to run the political playbook against a bunch of junior senators, who by the way don’t know shit about shit and you bastards voting for them instead of me is just the icing on the shit cake… But they have no idea how to run against Donald Trump, because he is rewriting the playbook, he’s, he’s, he doesn’t even know what a playbook is, I’m not totally sure he can ever read, I mean, yes, he probably knows how, but he doesn’t like to, right? What would he read? I say that as a loyal friend. The loyal friend of a man who can beat Hillary Clinton because for whatever screwed up reason, he seems to be what you people want. I can’t figure it outy. No one can! So whatever! I’m in! I’m on the crazy bus with everybody else! This is not shameful for me to do. It isn’t. He’s a man who keeps his promises.

 

So I am thrilled to be here this morning to lend my support. I am. Shut up. Was that laughing? Did I hear laughing? I said I’m thrilled, so that’s what I am, it’s not so hard to believe. You’re all going to get what you deserve. You think this is something? Listen, you watch, I’m going to do whatever I have to do to support this man right through November, whatever it takes, will I grovel? You bet I will. I will eat a pie contests worth of humble pie and I will be watching you while I do it, and remembering, with every swallow. Watching and remembering. And when someone keeps their word, a certain someone whose trademark is keeping his word, some of you will be sorry. Very, very sorry.

 

So, I , uh, I thank him for his friendship, and his loyalty, but more importantly I thank him for leaving the private sector, for being willing to step out of the private sector and offer himself for public service and leadership in this country and show us all, not least of all me, just what the people really want. Not what they say they want, but what they really, really want which you know what? I thought was what you wanted all along. I did. And I really did try to give it to you. What, I wasn’t loud enough? I wasn’t enough of a bully? Screw it. I should never have closed a lane on that bridge. I should have blown it right the fuck up. You’d have loved me then, wouldn’t you? Well, you’re gonna get what you ordered. I hope you like the taste.

 

So I’m happy to be on the Trump Team and I’m happy to be working with him. Okay? Okay. Okay. Shut up. You’ll see.

A Last Minute Open Letter from Donald Trump to the People of New Hampshire

Okay, so, I guess I’m getting a lot of heat is what it looks like, from people, certain people, maybe in the media, for some thing I said, supposedly said at a Rally here the other day before I flew home to sleep in my own bed in New York because, you know, I’m very rich, I have a lot of money, it’s true, an enormous amount, so I can fly back to New York and sleep in my own bed, a real bed, not a hotel bed, at one of my many homes, not because I can’t stand the thought of spending even one night in a place like New Hampshire, which I don’t know, maybe it’s a state, but because I’m very wealthy I can do whatever I want, if that’s what I want. I have my own money.

 

So I guess what I’m supposed to have said is that when the subject came up of waterboarding, which I think is a good thing, a very useful, good thing to do to a terrorist Isis Mulsim, apparently Ted Cruz also thinks it’s okay but is not cheering it on, He;s not really excited about it, I don’t know, when it comes up I don’t think his mouth waters, that’s my opinion. Maybe that means he cares if you die in a terrorism, but not enough to waterboard somebody for it, or at least not enough to sit and watch and maybe eat a big tub of popcorn and cheer a little bit during the waterboarding. And some people are saying I said that made Ted Cruz a Pussy, which is not true, in fact I told a person, a woman, a supporter, one of my very passionate supporters, that she should not say ‘Pussy’ and I didn’t want to ever again hear her call another candidate for President a pussy, especially not to call Ted Cruz a pussy and in the process of telling her not to do that I may have repeated that Ted Cruz was a pussy eight or maybe nine times. A dozen times, maybe, I don’t know. I wasn’t counting. I was admonishing.

 

So I didn’t say Ted Cruz was a pussy, I’m not saying right now Ted Cruz is a pussy, I don’t know, maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, I’m not saying one way or another, I repeated that he was a pussy, I reported that someone had said Ted Cruz was a pussy, because maybe not everyone heard her say it, and I have a microphone and it’s important, it’s important people should know it’s not politically correct to call Ted Cruz a pussy, so I admonished her. I wasn’t saying ‘Ted Cruz is a pussy’, I was repeating ‘Ted Cruz is a pussy’. It’s like retweeting. Like, you know, when I retweet a tweet that maybe is from a white supremacist or a Nazi or a child molester or a person who is an advocate for actually eating children, a child cannibal, you know, those aren’t necessarily my beliefs, I can’t be held responsible for the beliefs of someone I retweet. If I retweet the tweet of a man who is a proponent of having sex with dead bodies, that doesn’t mean that I am saying it’s good to have sex with dead bodies, I just liked their tweet and I passed it on. What, I see a tweet, I have to investigate and make sure that this is not the tweet of a dead body sexer? Of course not. Of course not. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to live in a country where if you like a tweet and you want to retweet it, first you have to find out about the sex habits of the tweeter and the live or dead status of the people that tweeter wants to have sex with when that isn’t even the subject of the tweets you are retweeting.

 

So when I repeated that Ted Cruz was a pussy, it’s not my responsibility that the amplified words ‘Ted Cruz is a pussy’ gets heard at a rally. That’s not on me, folks. I would never, never say “Ted Cruz is a pussy”. Although maybe I would say that anyone who doesn’t want to set off a firework if they see a bad guy getting waterboarded, that doesn’t want to get it on the waterboarding and do the waterboarding personally, well that person is by definition a pussy, and if that’s the position Ted Cruz finds himself in vis a vis his pussyhood, that’s not my problem.

 

So anyway, if you live in New Hampshire and you haven’t voted for me yet, get the hell of your couch and go vote for me right now, I don’t know, I’m rich, I wrote a book, a book called ‘Art of the deal’, we’re going to get the smartest people, everyone else is idiots, and I heard someone say “Ted Cruz is a yuge Pussy.” God Bless and good night, I’d like to stay, I would, maybe, but I’d rather go back to my spacious palace in New York, maybe it’s me, but why sleep in a cow stall when you can sleep in a place a human being would sleep?

The Iowa Caucus Fracas

Stump Speech: The Iowa Caucus Fracas Edition

Mystified by the Iowa Caucuses? Hopefully my latest article for Chelsea now will clear some things up for you. Enraged by the state of our body politic? Sooth yourself with my insightful musings? Bored to tears with the entire electoral process? Share this article with ‘friends’!