TRUMP: "The CLINTONS DID IT!"
CAUTION: No Room in this INN for prudes! Only "free spirits, free thinkers, left-leaning liberals and problem solvers."
Right-Wing Nuts, should probably "buzz off". The truth is frightening for those with a closed mind, little or no education, and, boxed in by their backwoods religious beliefs.
* * * *
Howdy Folks, Fellow NewsTalkers.commies, and, you Left-Leaning Liberals, too lazy to get a job, because you are wasting your life away playing that damnable game CORNHOLE.
Might I ask, of you, my fine feathered friends; the "upright, uptight aficionadoes", here, on theNewsTalkers.com, addicted, as I am, to this format, a personal question?
"Is it appropriate for the Commander-In-Bold Face, Jive-Ass Lies, Donald J. Trump, "to boldly go where no one has gone before"?
The orange-faced MAROON, fake POTUS, real POS, in the Whitehouse, stated publicly, on a Nationally Televised News Nut-work Channel, Fox News, that "The Clintons Did It!"?
Is that OK with you?
The audacity of that ill-bred CAREER CRIMINAL, Trump, the "congenital, third-generation crook" to accuse a "lovely," wonderful, "perfect", pure as the driven snow, all-white, Lilly White - White-White, American Christian family, like the much loved "Clintons", of the heinous crime of "MURDER", without a shred of lettuce, er., evidence?
As of this date, investigators are still trying to sort out if Trump's "best friend and life-long partying buddy", Jeffrey Epstein, committed suicide while locked down in a maximum-security, correctional facility awaiting trial, or, was it just another Trump orchestrated "hit job"?
WE REPORT - YOU SNORT
Suspicion still hangs over the FAKE POTUS-Real POS in the Whitehouse, according to our "sauce", Steve Bunions, a defrocked Trump Advisor and self-proclaimed "Leninist".
Trump's inflated head, mammoth ego, and history as a "pathological liar" makes him, not the Clintons, the "PRIME SUSPECT". Trump is the one with the most to lose.
Trump's feeling of guilt, in my "humbled by the years' opinion", is due in part, to the highly publicized, still unsolved, "Khashoggi Murder-Torture-Butcher Scandal" that, to this day, lingers over the fat, orange head of the "wannabe Mafia King-Pin".
Many pundits, including this one, believe that crime "may have been" carried out by the Saudis, but, suggested to them by Trump, or, at least conducted with his knowledge and consent. I state this without a shred of lettuce, er., I mean, "evidence".
Trump is a sociopath, as many respected psychiatrists and mental health professionals have pointed out repeatedly in numerous publications.
Indeed, over 1000 highly acclaimed mental health professionals signed a published "Chain Letter", putting their reputation and professional certifications on the line.
Trump, of course, Horse, just retorted on "Twitter", like a junior-high snot nose, another bull chip line for his "suckers to suck on".
"I know more than any damn psychiatrist or mental health professional in the world! I can tell you, categorically that I am NOT NUTS! I don't even have any nuts", Trump proclaimed.
Whereupon, the brazen "Dumpster" dropped his trousers on the set of "The View", in full view for millions of Americans to view, to illustrate to the world that Trump, indeed, does not have any.
Everyone "that is anyone" knows that Trump is a "chicken-sh*t, Punk", who talks big, but, carries a little stick.
To refresh the minds of our "now, nearly-napping", NT members accustomed to very short, slanted articles published, here, by "deeply disturbed, under-educated, right-wing Trump Idolaters", I apologize for the length of this OPUS. But, truthfully, it is not for some of y'll.
Run along, those closed-minded, Red Necks from Red states. For serious intellectual FACT CHECKERS, now, maybe the best time to find the restroom, get a beer, a packaged snack, or, stretch. We are in for a "humdinger raucous ride"
Please, fellow Newsvine.com fiends, "No Smoking Allowed". It stinks up the place, makes me nauseous and is a juvenile, unhealthy habit. Chew tobacco, if you must, but, no spitting. Swallow, you brought it in!
Chapter One - Disclaimers, previews are over, so sit down and shut up!
"OK, are we back, front, too, I assume? Where was I? Oh, yes!"
"Khashoggi, as some of you may recall, the butchered journalist was an American resident, a well known, worldwide, highly respected journalist (not like one of us) working on an "explosive" article about Trump's financial ties to the Saudis, when he was conveniently "slaughtered" in the Saudi's Embassy in Turkey.
Needless to say, the story and its supporting documents, never made it to publication. They were used to wrap the body parts, and sent, Express Mail, to the Saudi Prince as souvenirs.
Our highly placed "sauce", a skinny guy, inside the Whitehouse (S. Miller) confirmed that Trump "has one body part on display in the Oval Office", which the "Don" points to when he needs to emphasize an order to a reluctant WH Staff member. It was a personal gift from the Crown Prince, Salim De Chopper, next in line to the Saudi King.
Trump, as he often does with his own crimes, projects them onto innocent people to throw the suspicion off of him, and on to another.
Our sauce, Trump's mother, said, from the other side, that "the dullard", as she called him, "Did not care about whom he FRAMED."
"He would blame me, his own Mother, projecting his misdeeds onto me", whaled his mother crying hysterically.
"It excited his father so much that in his rage, Frederick would beat me senseless, instead of that young punk, Donnie".
Clever, huh? Unless one uses this technique every damn day.
This time, however, Trump did not as much as offer a "shred" of evidence. The rambling "Donald" blurted out in an impromptu press conference, on his way out of town, that "The Clintons Did It".
He offered no proof. Not one shred.
At the "Don's" impromptu press conference, the New York, "Don Fugazy" (as he is known to the NYC mafia) held up, for the world to see, his proof:
A handful of "shredded lettuce" provided to him by Attorney-General William Barr, fresh from Barr's office salad bar.
Ninety-nine cable outlets worldwide, all respected media operations, with the exception of Fox TV Fake News, called his stunt "downright despicable".
And, let me tell you, Brothers & Sistas of the NewsTalkers.com, I know despicable?
"Shame, Shame on the Drumpfu*k", I say. "Shame on that White Honky, Pussy-Grabbing, Projecting Freak".
By contrast, this tome is a tediously crafted, "EXCLUSIVE, HANDWRITTEN REPORT" (in large block letters) for Trump's "Deplorables" to have it read to them by their Mother, instead of that tired old bedtime tale, the "The Three Blind Mice".
The heavily redacted, "PIGEON REPORT", so named because of it infamous author, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, was produced, researched, edited, and used for toilet tissue by the "not so nice, not so bright arse wipes" at EAT THE PRESS - DO NOT LET YOUR CAT USE IT AS A LITTER BOX to test its strength, scratchiness, durability, and whether or not ,it would stand up to rigorous scrutiny in the Court of Public Opinion, the only court that matters.
Like many of you, sad sacks, Left-Leaning Liberals know, we, here, at "Eat It", are the ORIGINAL "FAKE NEWS"! Not the Real News that our FAKE POTUS, Real POS, calls "Fake News".
We are so fake, we just make SH*T UP.
It is quicker, cheaper and more fun than the Main Street Media's tired and boring method of "vetting the news".
Who gives a damn if it is "true".
"Does it sell?", that is what is important.
Therefore, we can assure readers that our stories are "never vetted". We don't even know what that means.
Most of our "hard-driving, fact-adverse interviews, that we rush to print, like this 'Block Buster Expose' , are the product of regurgitation of the infamous, "Doctored", Jonathan Livingston-Pigeon-Poo's and his unique ability to "divine the truth" via seance.
"The whole tooth, nothing, but the tooth, so, help me, Garf". That is his motto, and, I am sticking to it.
Pigeon-Poo has been involved with every high-profile case in modern times at various level, either as a "suspect", "analyst", or, "professional nuisance".
"Doctored", Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, his formal name, likes to enmesh himself in the HOT, popular headlines about Sex and Scandals and Things that Dangle , whether he is asked to do so, or not.
His technique is one that he learned from the noted "Sleeping Prophet" - Edgar Cayce.
Like his mentor, Cayce, "Jonathan", as his mother called him, is able to enter the minds of his sleeping subject while they sleep.
Once inside the subject's head, or, as in "the Donald's" case, "the suspect", Jonathan Pigeon is able to bypass that part of the brain that deals with lying. In Trump's case, it is practically his entire brain.
"Doctored" Livingston, in his own mind, is a "Certified Psychic", Semi-Registered Orthodox Charlatan, President, and CEO, of "Misfits Are People, Too!", an organization handed down from generation to generation, going all the way back to Adam and his first wife, Lillith, aka, the "First Tramp".
In his own, limited normal Jonathan's straight mind, and, on his own "normal" timeline, Jonathan is a lowly shoe salesman working in a woman's shoe store going by the name of "Bundy".
Don't get him started talking about High School football. You will never get away from his endless tale about how he scored five touchdowns in one game.
Just say, "Big 'Ems Alert, Jerk!", point, then, bolt out the store's door into the mall and run like HELL.
Well, NewsTalker fiends , please, I beg of you, to allow me to ask a "FUNDAMENTAL QUESTION" of you, Right Awful, Rightwing, Evangelical, Born Up-Side Down & Backwards, Fundamentalist Christians with a chip on your shoulder:
"Does the United States Constitution allow Congress to CENSURE a FAKE POTUS, Real POS, illegally installed in the White House?
Or, may they just march over there and kick his fat ass? Asking for a friend (CB).
Must we, America's weary, wet victims, forever be condemned to endure Trump's "daily, made-up, bull-crap spewing rants", because Trump is Putin's Bitch?
If you are offended by WORDS, but, not deeds, then, perhaps, you might be better served "to carry your sorry, uptight, White ARSE (as the British say) to another site.
Let it be known, near and far, that NO one is holding a freakin' gun to your forehead, or, forcing you to read this disjointed, chopped full of "factual nuts and highly questionable Mystery MASTERPIECES"!
We are not "Journalists", here, at "Eat It, Michael, Don't Beat It" , that is so passe.
We are "Urinalists", we piss on the news. That is why Trump reads us. He likes it like that!
Don't like it - Don't Read It!
There are plenty of Right-Wing Tomes filled with "fantasy conspiracy theories" that would make Linda Blair's head turn only to the RIGHT!
Now, for those very "special people" with the proper "Deep State Security Clearance", and, the "guts" to hear the truth, even if it is a "little twisted" (oh, alright, a lot "twisted"). Then, this article is for you to read at your own risk.
Be advised, Fellow NewsTalkers, this article has not been rated, contains American workingman's profanity, some nudity, sexual situations, and numerous grammatical mistakes, at NO ADDITIONAL cost.
Please, leave your pithy, concise, or, verbose comments, so, we might correctly report you to the necessary authority.
As always, we remain the ONLY "REAL TRUE PATRIOTS IN AMERICA", all else are frauds.
Friends, Fiends, and Fellow Malcontents, we, hereby, affirm and attest, that this is as close to the "truth", as we are allowed to get without going to prison. Please, take notes. Tell us how this article changed your life.
And, now, here is the "Rest of the Story", as Walter Concrete used to say. Walter is our Chief Political Correspondent and Proud Eater of Horse Meat!
"Take it away, Walter":
(Now is as good of a time as any to put down the gun and run). You were warned!
"In an exclusive interview, conducted by the Sleeping Psychic , 'Doctored' Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, (Moi) CEO & Flounder of the Bird Droppings Institute, A Think Tank For Morons - No Idiots, Please, held a successful seance this morning, 8/14/19 at 5:00 A.M.
It was witnessed by more Trump morons than can squeeze into an ass-kissing Trump marathon Cabinet meeting.
"The incident (seance) was, and, I stake my professional reputation on it, witnessed by a number of top-level, unnamed Whitehouse 'snitches', for verification purposes".
Additionally, it was recorded for posterity. And, as a backup blackmail tool, according to our bought "sauce", S. Miller, who explained, "if things go sour for those of us working in the WH, we will have choices"!
S. Miller, the right-hand puppet master to our FAKE POTUS is a man of highly questionable authority, and, a screaming "girlie man".
(Please, keep that a secret, folks. )
Steve M. (for Miller) does not want Trump to fire him because it is common knowledge that no one in America wants to hire "a gay Jewish, Neo-Nazi Advocate, with balding hair".
The WH's internal staff is plagued with paranoia. They never know when they may be "fired" by their "crazy-ass, Fake POTUS - Real POS, Trump".
This INTEL was, also, collaborated by a high-level, Trump presidential advisor, known as, KCJ.
We shall refer to her, only as, "Kelly Ann Con-Job", the alias that we created to disguise her real name, Kelly Ann Conway!
(Damnit! I can't keep a secret for the life of me)!
She spoke of many things, including some juicy sexual situations, that we cannot divulge due to our strict adherence to our Urinalist Code , as set forth below:
"The public's right to know every damn thing about everyone, right this damn minute supersedes our right, to tell the truth, so we don't"!
We, here, at, the less than prestigious, EAT THE PRESS - Don't Wipe Your Bun With It, are steadfast in our assurances to our "sauces", that we will protect their IDENTITY at all times, unless, of course, the bribe is large enough, and, it would make sense not to pass it up.
As "Urinalists", not "Journalists", we WILL NEVER give up our sources for under ten grand!
Furthermore, as Certified "URINALISTS", we urinate on the news, not other people, like some bullies in the White House are known to do on a daily basis. We have standards, the WH staff does not, otherwise, they would not be working for a Nut.
Necessary background checks and history are required to proceed, henceforth!
Chapter Two: TALE OF TWO SEERS!
"Doctored" Livington, a proud member of the Whitehouse Oppressed Corp, is, as many of you know, a disreputable, renowned, natural-born psychic.
It is a gift he purchased from a roadside stand, managed by a young Edgar Cayce, for $1.00, cold cash, back in the day. When "Blacks were Whites and Whites were Negroes".
The "Doctored" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo's extraordinary talent, gift, whatever, has enabled the sometimes bad, "Doctored" to instantly tap into the unconscious of anyone while they are sleeping, and, the "Good Doctor" is fiddling, even if they are thousands of miles apart.
When the young lad, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, then, a nine-year-old run-away from 'the Funny Farm" met the later, world-famous, Edgar Cayce, it changed his life forever!
Cayce readily revealed for an additional $1.25, that when "a subject is sleeping, or, drunk, the 'Truth"' is ripe for the pickin'", Edgar said, betraying his KY background, and backward, rural Evangelical upbringing.
"While we, you and I," explained Edgar, "probe unconscious minds for the TRUTH, the subject's conscious mind is busy looking at reruns of pornographic incidents from their life. Therefore, they are too busy to interrupt with jive-ass alternative bull-chips" the legendary "Seer", instructed.
"Can it be used on anyone", asked the young boy?
"Yes, on everyone! The only one that it would not work on was 'W', that boy, is too damn stupid! Alcohol, you know"!
Jonathan explained to the much older Edgar Cayce that he was "hitchhiking to Hollywood, California" because he had overheard two bums talking about all the "Charlatans, Psychics, Gypsys, Gay Folks, Sickos and Seers" attracted to Hollywood, like Koch Brother Roaches to the Trump Whitehouse.
"I know that", said, Cayce. "I am a Seer".
To prove his point Cayce blurted out:
"So, you overheard a man named, Mc Connell, a thin, turtle-faced, white hick from the sticks (my home state of KY) explain to his partner in crime, a fellow by the name of ' UnIndicted Co-Conspirator Number One', that "even a bad, stupid, Con-Man might make a good wage in that Shithole Town, Hollywood! Right?"
"Wow, that is amazing", Jonathan eagerly fell for it, hook, line, but no fish.
"How did you do it. Do you read minds?", asked the young lad.
"I can teach you for another $1.25 if you would like", Cayce offered.
"Shoot, fire, damn Hell! Yes, I would, indeed. You are making me pee", replied the young Jonathan with glee.
"Please, do not use profanity. I am an Evangelical Christian, and we do not cotton to that kind of language. In the South that could get you killed if you ARE NOT CAREFUL. If you slip, again, I will be forced to shoot you. It the only Christian thing to do", admonished Edgar.
"Sorry", said, Jonathan. "I could use that parlor trick to make a living in the 'Shit Hole, called Hollywood", offered the young lad.
"So, indeed you could", injected Cayce.
Cayce continued to engage the boy in conversation as an opportunity to demonstrate his AMAZING POWERS, as a "reader".
Cayce continued his monologue: "Mitch 'The Bitch' McConnell, a notorious Con-Man in KY was rushed out of that state and decided to go West, Young Man because he was wanted in the East."
True?", Cayce inquired of the still pissing himself young charge.
"That is absolutely correct," clapped the young Jonathan, dancing around his new mentor, as if he were a new convert to Scientology.
"Mc Connell", continued the eager, Edgar, to tutor the young lad. Cayce was going in for the kill desperate to prove the "validity of his psychic ability" by frequently interrupting Jonathan Livingston Pigeon with facts that ONLY Jonathan knew.
Cayce drove it home like an ace pitcher, "Mc Connel conned his suckered, easily led friend" by painting a glorious picture of how easily they could set up their panhandling, pick-pocketing business on a street corner to take advantage of the naive rubes".
"Yep, that's right, laughed Jonathan who was now deeply into the "Hard Cider" en route to becoming "doctored", very, very doctored. And, has remained to this day.
Mc Connell exclaimed, to his low-functioning, side-kick, that he occasionally kicked in the side for fun, more so, than his sadomasochistic tendencies demanded.
"They are three hours behind our time. So we could get a head start on the coppers", they said. Which made Jonathan and Cayce laugh out loud, as they both collapsed to the ground, hooting and hollering like school girls.
They crawled under the roadside stand to get out of the hot, mid-day sun, sip on the cold hard cider, chilling in a wooden tub of ice, fell fast to sleep in each others bosom, or, so the legend goes.
That evening they cooked their dinner on a warm BLAZE. They torched the roadside stand. The duo, "MindMelded", had no more use of it, since, they had found each other, and sealed their fates with a kiss, as was the custom, back in the day.
Satiated from their supper of roasted horse meat donated to them from a Good Samaritan, called Buzz of the Orient , as he "buzzed" by them on his journey to Indonesia, looking for the Orient. They melded their minds into one Man-Boy mind, then, celebrated by roasting each other's nuts over the roaring fire.
"What the Hell does this have to do with the title", interrupted the Moderator? "You are off-topic trying to please one member while sucking up to another. What is the point of this narrative?"
"That is just it", added the author, "there is none".
"I am calling PH and reporting you. You will never be able to write again, here, or, anywhere I rule", shouted the Moderator as It/He/She exited the stage, screeching like a Harpy from Hades.
"Calm down", commanded Cayce, "everyone from the future. You will get your chance to screw things up. Be patient. Chill out. Time for a refreshment break. Peanuts anyone, only a $1.25."
CHAPTER THREE: "Mitch The Bitch"
"Okey-Dokey," Cayce said, snapping everyone back in time.
"My reading of 'Mitch The Bitch' will now commence."
"When I first met my charge, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, he tasked me 'to prove' my psychic gift, so I did".
I explained to the young, impressionable Jonathan Livingston Pigeon that my "impression" of the bum, he called Mitch McConnell, was that a boat-load of weirdos, suckers, wannabe actors, and, nutjobs are drawn to Hollywood every year seeking 'fame and fortune'. Which translate to hucksters to mean, they rubes may have a little cash money. Ripe for a pickpocketer to relieve them of its burden".
In a final test of Cayce's credibility Jonathan, now, "christened" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, "Doctored" thew out another riddle for Edgar to unravel.
Jonathan look at his father figured idol with squinting eyes and said, "Mitch, also added a strange pronouncement - but, was silenced by Cayce's remarks.
Without a loss of a drop of the Hard Cider between them, both Seers, were "pretty cocked-eyed", when Cayce repeated word for word the exact conversation that Jonathan Livingston Pigeon had overheard.
Edgar, speaking now in a far-off sounding, weird, spooky voice shocked the lad: "Yes, I know", nodded the Master.
"The Turtled Faced one licked his thin lips succulently, didn't he?"
The nearly mesmerized boy nodded his head in the affirmative.
"The effeminate one called "Mitch The Bitch" made a revealing slip of the tongue, when he said, "There will be plenty of closeted queens for me to prey upon, er, I mean, play with, that is to say, pray with, too!"
Cayce sat down, like the wise man from Heaven, as Jonathan commenced to lick his boots sealing their friendship for a "thousand years", or, until some "dumbf*ck" like Trump shows up and screws everything up.
The silver-haired, silver-tongued Cayce, continued to use 'Mind Control" on the young, impressionable Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, "Doctored", encouraging him to "follow your dreams, not your screams."
"I see in the future", Edgar proclaimed, "you will be doing readings for a FAKE POTUS, real POS, residing in the WHITEHOUSE!"
"That is your destiny, young man", shouted the fading Edgar, "Believe It and You Can Achieve It, but, do not fall for that 'BE Best' bullshit.
"Your Mission Should You Accept It Is to get that POS out of the Whitehouse. The nation is depending on you!"
Cayce shouted his age-old, tarnished, overused wisdom at the tyke, who, at that precise moment was trying desperately to flag down his next ride with an "old reprobate", that the lad might induce him to give him a ride to California, as long as, the "gay blade" only looked at his crotch, but, did not touch it.
Just then, a bright, garish purple and pink Cadillac stopped abruptly. The driver opened the passenger's door, waved towards the young lad seductively. Smiling like Liberace cruising Hollywood Boulevard, the boa wrapped driver waved toward the of the boy with bejeweled hands and said with a pronounced lisp, "need a lift, Honey", as they say in the U.K., "yo Hollywood".
Over the decades, Jonathan reminisced about these events, never forgetting the predictions from the "Roadside Prophet".
Wherever his journey carried him, the lad "always, always" remembered what the Seer said, keeping them tucked away in an unwashed sock under his hat, as food for his ever-expanding mind.
The newly "Doctored", Jonathan Living Pigeon, remembered, too, that the Seer, said: "The piano playing freak is a pedophile, don't ride with him! He will want to pet you all the way to Hollywood. Just Say, 'No, Homo', er, and thank you, anyway.
To scare the weirdo driver off, Cayce, asked, "'Is that George in the backseat holding your lighted candelabra, Lee?"
The Seer turned to his young student, "After Liberace's gaudy, bejeweled Cadillac accelerates out of, here, there will arrive a fat, jolly man, that looks 'gay', but isn't".
"He calls himself Jonathan Winters, but, his real name is Aunt Maude.
"Jonathan, this Jonathan, will have a profound effect on your life, as I have".
"Do not fear him, he is not John Cayce, he is a 'hayseed' from Dayton, Ohio. Look for his Beverly Hills rusted out, Clampet-like, pick-up truck, with vanity plates that read, 'CERTIFIED NUT'.
"That is your ticket outta here, young man, and, into the future."
Jonathan, the boy, glanced back at the, now, fading image of Edgar Cayce picking his nose and wiping it on his clothes. His image fluttered, flickered, as the Seer, an optical illusion, slowly began to fade away on that isolated, lonely, seldom traveled, "Highway 66".
In a far off, distant voice the lad heard his mentor say, "Jonathan, this Jonathan, will take you SAFELY all the way to your destination, where you will meet 'destiny'. Wash your hands before you mess with her!"
"All that your guide/ride will ask of you, is, in exchange for the ride, the back rubs and washing his feet, that you listen to his non-stop comedy routines and laugh, when appropriate.
"Comedians are all so needy. They crave instant feedback. Give it to him, and, nothing else. Some of his comedy bits are so amusing you may have to stop the car and get out, or, you will PISS YOUR PANTS."
"Go with him - no other, Luke Sky Walker! And, may the Force Be With You!" Edgar saluted, evaporated into the ether, or, maybe, he was hit by a speeding semi-truck doing 110 m.p.h.
That my esteemed friends, who stayed with me, this far, is precisely what the young Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, "Doctored", did - and, as in all myths, that is "what made all the difference in the world" for him, but, none for anyone else.
CHAPTER FOUR: Epilogue - Hee - Hog!
Later, much later, while performing in every dirty, crack addict filled dive in Hollywood, "Doctored" Jonathan, (seen above), old, fat and disgusting picked up the nickname, "Poo" from his audiences.
It was unceremoniously added to his formal name, "Doctored" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, due, in large part, from the non-stop, nightly barrages of suggestions hurled at him like grenades from his drunk, red neck audiences, amid boos and hisses", and flung missiles of "warmed poo".
The now aged, "UnEmployed Philosopher", and his agent, the People Fish Man, were covered in it from his ravenous fans.
FLASH FORWARD TO:
August 10, 2019 (the subject of this dissertation).
"Doctored" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo appeared to the sleeping Trump in a "seance", though he was hundreds of miles away, inside a Locked Down Maximum Security facility in New York, helping Jeffrey Epstein, Trump's "best friend", hang himself with prison bedsheets.
Because the "Good", sometimes, "Bad" Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo is a multi-tasker, he is capable of doing multiple things simultaneously, and in different parts of the country.
Jonathan spoked to the sleeping FAKE POTUS, and, to the onlookers, explaining to them what they were experiencing.
"Psychic Readings are conducted when both parties, the 'Receiver', and the 'Tattler' are in a deep REM state", intoned Jonathan, in his best Edgar Cayce voice that he utilized for these occasions.
"When one is in a state of sleep, that may be artificially induced by ingesting certain drugs, combined with lots of alcohol. We open our closed MINDS to be read by SEERS!"
The "good" Jonathan Pigeon-Poo, then, cautioned, the ever-increasing group of onlookers, hanger-on-ers, and, regular run-of-the-mill staff, unable to get a job anywhere else in America of the proceeding.
Edgar, again, cautioned the growing crowd, "Do Not Try This At Home or When Driving a Tractor!"
"I am sensing a breakthrough in the Epstein Murder/Suicide Case", mumbled the Good, "Doctored", Johnathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo to no one in particular.
And, No One In Particular, mumbled back, "Shut the Fu*k Up, you Quack"!
CLIFF NOTES: For "our" people, not "those people!"
Only readers of this "less than prestigious" blog, EAT THE PRESS - DO NOT WIPE YOUR BUT WITH IT, are "cleared/queered" to read this classified, TRASH BLOCKBUSTER"!
Violaters will have their private parts removed and "fed to the fishes."
So, others, the timid, should "f*ck off"!
"Please, above all else, remember to scrub with a strong, aromantic, antibacterial soap every time you read, or, touch this TOME.
"It is, also, advised that one say three Hail Marys, and, promise to "never abuse oneself again in public. That is a no-no!"
Now, my weary Fellow Travelers, here, on this esteemed site, where we are gathered together, because we have nothing better to do, let us tarry no more.
Back to the present, and the real purpose of this rambling, asinine post: Cayce, or, someone that looks likes him, said:
"This morning I conducted a seance with our FAKE POTUS, REAL POS in the WHITEHOUSE's Lincoln Room with an unconscious Donald J. Trump, and recorded it, as I do all of my 'Super Secret Psychic Readings'
on Nixon's old audio recorder, which I purchased at a yard sale years ago.
"For safety reasons, I have instructed that these readings be stored, securely, locked away, in the safest place in 'Merica; the private safe of the owner of the National Enquirer, Mister David Pecker's wall safe .
The safe is cleverly hidden behind a life-size portrait of Donald J.Trump, donated to him from the Trump Foundation, as a token of their crimes together.
Kelly Ann, always the "showboat", asked the Fake Prez: "Who killed Epstein?"
"Who?", asked the Faked POTUS, Real POS in the Whitehouse, still a bit foggy?
"Epstein, your lifetime, best friend and, fellow Child Sexual Predator, Jeffrey Epstein", reiterated Con-Job, fiddling with the Fake POTUS's pajama bottoms.
Without hesitation, or, requiring any more prodding with the cattle prod, the loudly farting, Fake POTUS, Real POS in the WH, shot up in his bed and shouted:
"The CLINTON'S DID IT!"
"Hillary and Bill had him killed because they didn't want him talking to the public, or going to trial. They had a lot to lose.
"I don't. I lost it all when I cozied up to Putin", Trump confessed. Then collapsed back to sleep.
Trump roared like a satiated, King Henry, the VIII, slapping his enormous buttock with Kelly Ann's hand, then, running his hand up her skirt, which is Trump's new way of greeting women, and, some men, even while he sleeps.
Trump, in his mind, believes that he is King, and, no longer President.
The commotion erupting from Trump's loud mouth reverberated throughout the WH, but, but, it never penetrated the highly trained, sleeping secret service agents ears. They had been assigned by Obama to guard Trump's room as leftover security, so, they continued to dream of naked women they had bedded in Mexico and never paid.
Kelly Ann Con-Job, Trump's top Advisor (forever at his side) burst thru the Lincoln Bedroom doors with such a clamor that both of the sleeping guards were aroused from their drug and alcohol-fueled state of past euphoria!
Trump noticed the sleeping guards, shouting, "Obama should have fired them on his watched"!
Con-Job ignored the Commander-in-Cheetos protestation and calmly asked: "What did the Clintons do, Donnie, Honey-Poo-Poo?"
The nearly-naked, Trump T-Shirt clad, skinny Con-Job, tantalized the still sleepy FAKE POTUS.
Trump stared at her with lust, for an awkward moment. Con-Job always reminded him of an aged Ivanka, his favorite sibling, and, he immediately wanted to "bed her".
Con-Job, as one onlooker commented, "is masterful with calming the dazed Donald"!
She was very familiar with the Fake POTUS - REAL POS's Night Terrors, Bed "Shatting", Serial Affairs, and Relentless Blame Naming.
" Silly Ann ", as the FAKE POTUS, liked to call her, had been highly trained in preparation for this day, by the WH witch doctor, and, supervised by Nurse Ratchet, a White, Live-In "Dike", reporting only to Trump and, of course, Kellly Ann Cunt-Job, her lover.
Con-Job had been previously been put through rigorous training by a cadre of the nation's finest psychiatrists, quacks, charlatans and psychics.
Silly Kelly Ann groped Trump's groin while spoon-feeding the 'baby-tyke', Trump "soothing, simple words", when trying to stop his non-stop crying, whining, whimpering, child-like, frightening outbursts. FU, too!
CHAPTER V : The Advertisement, For readers ONLY:
The entire collection of "NIGHTMARES ON PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE" , will soon be released, as a Mini-Series, exclusively, on Fox TV Network cable TV, aired 24/7/365, on all programs until they have so much money, everyone can quit the network and open up their own "Little Shop of Horrors".
And, now back to our feature, "The CLINTONS DID IT"!
"THE CLINTONS DID IT!", shouted the deranged, demented Trump, again and again, until, Con -Job, had no other choice, but, to slap his fat, ugly, ORANGE FACE.
Trump whimpered, "Please, believe me. I did not have anything to do with Epstein's Murder/Suicide.
"I did not order the Saudis to do it!", the groggy, more subdued Commander-In-Lies slurred from the Lincoln Bed, littered with thousands of porno photos of "Stormy Daniels".
"Stormy Daniels is the real love of our FAKE POTUS-REAL POS's life", Con-Job addressed the gathering crowd. "She is the 'porn star' that got away. The one that hurts Donnie, the most."
As many Whitehouse "In-siders-Outsiders" know, the only way "The Dumpster" can fall to sleep at night is by listening to the mournful yearning of his favorite Wagnerian Opera, "Spring Time For Hitler", sung by that gravelly, velvet voice, Mel Brooks.
It is only after it is played seven times backward, straight in a row, without interruption that the "Orange Buffoon" might drop off to "Neverland", and, dream the dream of romping through Paradise eating bits of Ronald McDonald, while holding hands with Michael Jackson, that "the Baby Donald" is able to find solace in his sordid life of constant lies. Of course, Horse, there is always that other way.
"Who's up for the OTHER WAY. Let's have a show of hands."
To Be Continued.
Maybe, or, maybe not. Depending on how much money I am paid by theNewsTalkers.com posters to "NOT WRITE ANY MORE BULL SH*T".