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Trump Blames his "Crabbiness" on a Bad Case of CRABS!

  
By:  Eat The Press Do Not Read It  •  4 years ago  •  31 comments


Trump Blames his "Crabbiness" on a Bad Case of CRABS!
"Scratch, scratch. It is driving me nuts, nut!" - Trump

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DISCLAIMER:    If you are disappointed with REALITY, live in an insulated TRUMP BUBBLE, you might be more comfortable with one of the numerous Right-Wing Screetishs posted by Reverend Jim Bakker, scattered about TheNewsTalkers.comunist liberal pages.

Send all complaints to:

I Don't Dive a Damn, I Am Going To 
Hell, Anyway INSTITUTE locate in the lovely, but, nearly all 
town down, the mold-covered village of
Mildew, Ohio , "where there are No Jobs - Not even Blow jobs!"

(You've Been Warning)"

"And, Now, All The News that is Unfit to View":


BROKEN NEWS: 

(High-pitched announcer):

"Hi, Girlie Men, and, Manly Girls, tonight's broadcast come directly to you from our 'cooty-covered Twisted Sisters at Broke-My-FREAKING-HUMPING-BACK!

"The notorious Broke Back Mountain Lodge for Twisted Republicans!

"Narrated, tonight, by Walter Crumbits, host of " MEAT THE PRESS - DON'T BEAT IT!   That is so passe, Michael!"


(Camera up, talent's microphone on, cue Walter):

WALTER

"Poppy, damn, fart, Hell! How many darn times must I tell you? My name is Walter Concrete , imbecile! Not Walter Crumbits!"

DIRECTOR:  (Whispering, "You're on the air! Walter!")

WALTER :

"Oh...agh...Good evening, fellow NewsTalkers.communists, this is WALTER CONCRETE, with the News Not Fit To Be Viewed... the lewd, crude, nude news that comes to you directly from our Twisted Sisters' Gay News Outlet, located in that sweltering Center of Depravity, where nary a Christian dares to venture, Brokeback Mountain.

DIRECTOR (Screaming at the cameraman): "Cut to the Announcer, Moron! Not the Weathergirl derriere, Idiot!"

AUDIO OPERATOR :  "Which is it, Moron, or, an Idiot? I can't be both.

DIRECTOR "Trust me, you're both. I know." 

AUDIO OPERATOR :  "How would you know that?"

DIRECTOR :  " You're a Trump Supporter, Right? Now, shut up and cue the announcer, before I come over there and...beat the...garbled....out of you!"

ANNOUNCER:
 
"But, first this commercial:

"Come On Down, 'Murikaa! - To the Depraved Side of Perps' News, where one might let their hair down, wear a dress, or, and dance in the street nude."

"But, first a word from our sponsor, Miss Ruby Red Apple Bottom, owner of Broke My Back Resort & REPUBLICANS ONLY Romp Rooms, located just a hop, skip and twirl from Sodomite Village! Take it away, Ruby!" 

DIRECTOR:   "Floorman! Tell that former White House aid to Donald J. Trump, to put her tits back in her bra. This is a TV broadcast, not a Strip Club!"

196

FLOORMAN: ("But, I was enjoying it so much! OK, I will!")

RUBY RED BOTTOMS :  (Pulling herself together, continues with her commercial plug):

"Honey, if you are in the know, then, you know, that there is only one place left to go, in America for the Rich & Perverted to play their favorite game, "Balls & Chains," since Jeffrey's Epstein's Penthouse was shuttered by the Feds.

RUBY :  "Ooops,  there they go, again! (Laughs) I am so big, I am always bustin' out.

"Thank you, floorman, for the shoehorn!"
 
"Now, where was I?  Oh, yes, telling you folks, at home, how deliriously delicious Broke Back Mountain's Swinging Suites
are!  

"These skank-free, luxurious Republican-only tourist-traps are specifically designed for Republican politicians seeking a 'discrete get-a-way' from the everyday, boring 'straight-life'! 

"If you are tired of pretending -
Broke Back Mountain, Sweetie, is the perfect place to get relief from those loud, squeaky spring mattresses, common, in seedy, pest-infested motels."
196

"Visitors may choose accommodations ranging from the luxurious Mitch (The Bitch ) McConnell's palatial suite, next to the Jeffrey Epstein's Rooftop Penthouse.

"Or, those cheapskates, on a tight budget, may want to hunker 'down & low' below, in the squalor of the low-down, low-rent Lind-Seed Graham's basement dungeons, where there are 'no lights, not even Night Lights."

"Great for those private get-aways with unattractive, disgusting people, that you don't know well, or, just picked up!

"Remember, Twisted Sisters, NO photographers allowed! Or, straight people, either. 

"All cameras and recording devices will be confiscated. We do our own videotaping via specially installed keyholes in every room, including the bathrooms!

"Our motto is: 'Discrete Services for the Indiscrete at Outrageous Prices!" 196

ANNOUNCER :

"And, now, back to Breaking News with Walter Bronchitis!" 

WALTER CONCRETE:  

"Hey, Wobbler, it's Walter CONCRETE, you, Maroon!  My name is Walter Concrete!"

WALTER CONCRETE (Clears his throat, spats out a gooey, oozy,  loogie directly at the announcer, continuing his news-cast update, uninterrupted.  

"Shots were fired outside the White House, but, no one gives a Rat's Patootie about that Crap--O--La!


"Sorry, folks...wait a moment...I have just been informed that our regular reporter, Steve Bunions is out with COVID19! 

196

"It seems that Mister Bunions is a rather unkempt, unlikeable, and decidedly disgusting individual with stinky feet. So, revolting, our sauces report, that he can't get a date...even if he pays for one."

"Apparently, the President's former 'right-hand man' is not the Little Girlie Man magnet, he claims!  The only thing he picks up is COVID19!

"That a Secret Service Code Name for local floozy.  Bunions, a divorced man, often resort to 'Floozy,' (a well-known street walker) to conceal his 'sexual orientation' leanings!"

"Agh...our producer..."Sweet Lips...is advising me, that the sashaying, hip-swinging Bunions (always the theatrical one) has sashayed out of our D.C.'s studio, flippin' the bird at studio executives and 'has left the building,' but, not with Elvis!"

WALTER :

"That's...agh...unfortunate, folks for you viewers out there in Whack-Whack Land...and, those of us stuck in the studio with Filthy...ugh...we...are...ugh...forced to turn to our lesser trained, half-wit, nitwit, stand-in dirtbag reporter..."

DIRECTOR :  "Walter...careful..."

WALTER CONCRETE: (Pulling himself together, puts his tits back in his button-down shirt, sheepishly! Walter blushed, then continued:

"...er...I mean that lovable, lying, SOB, Filthy McNasty!"


ANNOUNCER:  

"Viewer discretion is advised! Please, wear your COVID19 mask when viewing this broadcast!

"Filthy McNast is literally and figuratively 'filthy', in every imaginable way!

"Parental Guidance is recommended. Send your children and grandparents to bed. But, not, together! We do not want any more lawsuits!"

DIRECTOR:   "Cut to Walter...and, don't cut him, this time, Moron!"

WALTER:   "Thank you, Wobbler! You may return to your coffin...face down. Be sure, to use your hand sanitizer on your tongue. We don't want to infect our viewers! Ha! Ha!

(Walter, ever the consummate professional, continued his monotone-monologue that is guaranteed to Make Americans Teeth Grate, Again! And, again, and again...until someone in the family is homicide!

WALTER:  "But, first, a little background, on our replacement reporter, Filthy McNasty Disbarred-Barr, the former Attorney General to the
You're Fire, Commander-In-Shat, Donald J. Trump-Dump!
196

"McNasty
is a hard-hitting, down and dirty reporter, who doesn't mind getting in the swamp. He lives in it, when not drunk, or soliciting underage boys. 

"McNasty is known for asking the hard questions, as seen in this clip:

Mc NASTY:   "President Dump-Trump-Now , you seem down in your dumps of late, what's wrong, Little Buddy? Pelosi got your panties twisted in a knot, again?"

TRUMP:   "No, way, Jose," replied Trump, angrily!

Mc NASTY:   "My name is not, Jose," responded Mc Nasty. "It's Filthy Mc Nasty with a capital F - U!"

TRUMP:   "Your name is whatever I say it is!"

The fake POTUS, real POS in the WH Pressroom shot back, just narrowly missing Filthy with the gold plated pistol that the NRA had given him to settle down reporters at Press Conferences, whenever rude reporters ask real questions.

TRUMP (Shouting):  "Nothing those damn, slime-ball, NRA bums gives me ever works! Cheap JERKS! I hope they all go bankrupt, more times than I have!

"Who do they think they are? Those gun-toting twits! They refused to donate money to my re-election campaign, just because the STUPID, RIFLE SUCKING DOPES are flat broke from their graft.

"They can all go to hell," shouted, The Commander-In-Depends! 

Whereupon, to emphasize his point, the orange-faced, orange-haired, former, Circus Clown threw the two-shot revolver at Mc Nasty's fat head.
196
"Bang! Bang!" The tiny gun, designed to fit Trump's tiny hand, went off, as it hit the wall, startling everyone.

The shots, according to our "sauces," alerted the Secret Service, who were sleeping in the alcove with a street urchin named "Snow White," although she was Black.

In a slow-burning flash, these highly-trained, "goon-bahs" bolted into the Press Room, like rabid bulldogs, viciously attacking everyone in sight. Banging reporters in the head, which they have been looking forward to for a very, very long time, and kicking and punching anyone one in their path.

It appears that when the Secret Service boys pull their guns out, many, if not all, of the Whitehouse staff members, WET THEIR PANTS .

TRUMP:   (Smiled gleefully):  "Don't you just LOVE the smell of fresh urine?"

Jared Kushner, who was not looking at Trump at the time was, instead, was ogling ("making eyes") at a male reporter from the Village Voice , who kept crossing and uncrossing his legs provocatively.

Jared, known in some circle, as, "Princess K," was startled so much so, that... she... er... I mean... he... bolted from the Press Room like a screeching Fairy from Fire Island during a hail storm.

As quickly as Secret Service agents came in, they departed with Trump in tow. Trump whispered to one of the agents, as they were leaving:

TRUMP
(Whispering):  "Fear urine is the best!"

Trump's comment sent chills up and down onlookers' back's, and, cheers from the viewing audiences all across America, that were tuned into FOX Fake News! 

Trump returned ten minutes later, nonchalantly. The fake POTUS leaned on the podium, in his bent to one side, crooke d, f ake poise, and asked, "Where was I?"

McNasty immediately jumped to his feet, and asked his question, again:

McNASTY:   "Is your recent bout of crabbiness due to your meeting with Pelosi? 

TRUMP:   "No, you worthless ball of earwax. It's due to CRABS! CRABS, I got the crabs! "

(The orange-haired, orange-face, make-up wearing fake POTUS cried out in pain, and, whimpered loudly!)  


TRUMP:   "I've got the worst case of crabs in my life...even worse than the ones I was born with!  Those damn things were the size of Hitler's fist.

"These are the size of Melania's tits...humongous! And, they itch like crazy, just like her new implants!"


Trump went off on one of his favorite rants about hygiene:

"People are not as clean as they used to be," explained, the fake POTUS, feal POS in the White House, to the only three reporters still present. (Curly, Larry & Moe) who (like many Trumpers) are, too, stupid to run!


"In my day, people used to wash their hands as I do...one, two, maybe, three hundred times a day.

"Not today! No, Sir, Re-bar! If someone fools
around with as many call-girls, as I did, GOD only knows what they might bring home to their family.

"Believe me, I got it all:  Syphilis, Gonorrhea, STD's, even, some stuff not known to Medical Science.


"Back in the day, those 'Old Greedy Days' of my father, Frederick Trump, (a man I greatly respected, but, rarely saw) everyone used a strong, anti-bacterial soap product, daily.

"One so strong that it burnt the first layer of your skin right off. Oh, how I loved the smell of burnt flesh!

"Now, that product was rich, manufactured by Shakespeare & Company, called, 'Out, Out Damn Spot,' a subsidiary of Macbeth's Soaps & Stinging Lotions,  direct from London.  Wonderful stuff.

"Yep, and there were no exceptions!  If you forgot to wash with the stringent because it hurt, you got your teeth knocked down your throat.


"And, your mother made you rinsed with bleach! To kill the infection on the inside!

"There was no COVID19, back then," asserted, the illegally installed president, as he guzzled down a shot of Clorox.


Walter Concrete broke in with his standard wrap-up phrase, noting that "We are running out of time due to Trump's long-winded, incomprehensible, disjointed RANTS. "

Walter concluded, with that nauseous tag-line, "And, now, you know the rest of the story, Maroons! Good Night, Si-a-Nar-i, and, Kiss My Pompeo Arse!"

Representative John Kennedy (R) (Mo), scheduled to be interviewed by Walter, on Meat The Press -Don't Beat It, shouted OUT obscenities from the Green Room.

"Poppy, fart, damn, Hell, Walter! I was scheduled to go on with you. But, you let that Idiots go on and on!" Screamed, the hysteric closet queen, Miss Johnnie Kenney, from Missouri!

Walter, ever the consummate host, calmed down the rabid, red-faced, recently OUT-TED Republican from a Red State, by explaining:

WALTER:
  "Trump's incessant bloviating sucked all of the air out of the room, Representative Kennedy (not the real John Kenny His constant farting didn't help either."

The security guards had to drag the non-stop hollering hillbilly by his "shinny arse tukas," and toss him down the steps!

All the way down the stairs, the Congressman, a good Christian, and, a recently, out-ted Twisted Sister , spurted profanities at the top of his "girlie-man" lungs, as he tumbled, head over high-heels (Republicans, you know) down ten flights of stairs. "Ouch, ouch, ouch! Oh, silly me, that hurts."

PUBLISHER NOTE:

"If I have offended anyone with this post, then, I know I have done my job."

- Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored," Publisher & Flounder of
Eat The Press Do Not Read It! Do Not Read Anything. Ignorance Is Bliss. I should know, I am blissed.
 
Legal Disclaimer:
Our Journalistic Code, as spelled out on the inside of every stall in most Men's Restroom in 'Murika reads: 

"The public's right to know every damn thing about every damn person, right this damn minute; supersedes our right, to tell the truth, so we don't. We Just make SHAT up!


END OF BROADCAST! Aren't you glad?



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