COVID19 UP-DATE! Be Advised: This ain't NO DATING site. In hindsight, maybe it should be! (SATIRE)

WARNING:   Political Pornography slung around "Cheer."

If you are offended by words, but, not deeds, you might want to seize your " tiny-hiny", by your tinny-tiny, Lilly-white hands, and, slither over to one of those Right-Wing, " Trump-Is-God," sites!

Those watered-down, "Christians Only" sites are specifically scribbled for the superstitious, in crayon, with L A R G E Block Letters making them easier to read, but, still as incomprehensible as a "T-rump Rant!"

Here, at Eat The Press - Do Not Wipe Your Bun With It, our highly re-trained, rarely supervised, research team, jacked-up on the cheapest spirits we could find are paid in wine. (Trump's Wine, of course, Horse).

It's "Divine! If you are Slime!" (That's their slogan, not mine. My slogan is more direct:  "It's a Crime, should be sold for a Dime.")

Each grape is hand squeezed by an Angel. Grown at the gated Las Vegas " Ranch for Fallen Angels", just a hop, skip and jump from Trump's favorite vacation spot, "The World Famous CHICKEN RANCH Brothel."

It is truly a "World Famous Brothel" DESIGNED for the "Rich & Twisted!" The Brothel/Religious Conversion Camp only employs winos, fallen angels, and/or former big-busted Evangelical ladies with a suppressed desire to "Walk On The Wild Side."

These "ladies" (from "Shady Land") work cheap and never sleep! The Fallen Angels are half-mad from their devotion to their work. They are taking the "working from home" concept to a whole new level. Imagine, if you could "self-quarantined" from your bed. You would be half-mad, too!  

(Write that down, Honey! And, don't frown. The "Ranch" is always hiring new talent!)

ADDERALL

Our success, here, at Eat The Press - The World's First All Fake News , is due primarily to that wonderful "under the counter" drug Adderall, endorsed by Donald J. Trump and sold at most Trump Truck Stops.

It's the ideal supplement for employers. It keeps employees working, "Day and Night, Night and Day." Their workers never stop, until they expire, or, their hair catches on fire.

At which time, like Trump, we kick their worthless, used-up arses "to the curb."

In Las Vegas, their are no curbs at the "Raunchy Ranch," so, they just dump them in the Desert.

Trump licks (likes) it, too, according to his Ghost Writer, "WTF is his name?" (Tony Schwartz, who later, remorsefully, said, "All I did was put lipstick on a PIG!") 

You know, the author who actually wrote "The Art of the Steal,"   Tony WTF's his name, lamented that "It's not Trump's Best Seller, it's mine."

"All that sick f**k did was brag about all the ways he has cheated suckers and ripped off banks."

Trump likes to exaggerate that he wrote the book in collaboration with his Ghost Writer, WTF's his name.  In truth ,"the Donald" can't write, spell, or, read.

"He never wrote a freaking, fracking word," Tony Schwartz explained to Chris WTF is his name, on WSNBC CABLE News Network!

Immediately, Chris Mathews was fired/resigned on the air, "right-smack dab" in the middle of the show.  Management was forced to dragged him off the set in a straight-jacket. It was great fun.

Tony Schwartz, the "alleged" ghost writer, seeing the chaos unfold, sensed that it was a "great opportunity" to sell more books. Like all obscure writers he kept right on yapping into the TV camera mesmerized by his growing fame.

Tony got "down & dirty" exposing their relationship like a spurned lover. 
"Trump did what he always does," continued Schwartz.

"He took credit for everything; cheated me out of most of my royalties, then, told the world he did not know me."

"My only regrets," Schwartz added. "I had several opportunities to kill him, but, I choked."

Whereupon, Tony leaped up on the set, tore off his shirt and belted out singing that old Frank Sinatra hit, "Regrets, I have a few. Too, few to mention," as the audience, fed up with Chris Mathews for decades, went berserk applauding loudly, whistling, and screaming for Schwartz to take his pants off, too. It was long rumored that Tony had one of the longest "schomogies" in the history of schomogies.

The wonderful thing about "Winos & Former Ho's" is that they are willing to work around the clock for a drink of cheap wine, mixed with greater and greater amounts of Adderall.

That's Trump's preferred "picker-upper", after a night of whoring!

Our employees, at Eat, as many of those poor saps working at the White House (if interviewed by law enforcement authorities) won't remember "a damn, fart, Hell" thing, thanks to the their Adderall addiction. (Clever, huh?)

That's why, we at "Eat It - Don't BEAT IT, Michael," only buy the cheapest wine we can get! And, of course, Horse, we purchase it exclusively from Trump Winery!

Every bottle is mixed with a handful of Adderall capsules. (In case, "the Donald," (aka, "The Devil") should drop by in need a quick "fix!"

Winos are people, too. Disgusting people, but, people, nevertheless.
Trump is disgusting, and, he ain't even a "Wino." I'll bet Trump would be a better person if he was a "Wino."

I know I am.

I used to have a great job, as a "Hand Towel," in a Gay Bath in Greenwich Village, in NYC.

Giuliani and Trump frequented our very, very private establishment, not so much for our "World-Class Spas", as they always claimed. But, as many of the staff suspected, they were attracted to the muscular, nearly-nude, young, chiseled, handsome, male masseuses.

I got fired for rubbing a "patron" the wrong way. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Now, thanks to the New Stalkers.com, I am no longer "gay." I found my "calling," and, it is not "Hog Calling," as I first thought. 

I am proud to say, as a former "gay man", I am now as "straight as an arrow", depressed around the clock, just a sour, White Man brimming with enthusiasm and eager, perhaps, to eager, to published my highly sought after Epistles on this wonderful site .

At first, when I started writing (or, should I say, scratching) my "ditties" on Men's bathroom stall doors, located within all major Airports in America, I was tentative. 

I would hurriedly leave only small amount of Graffiti, but, never my phone number. I had grown beyond that cheap, needy solicitation. Besides, it is illegal.

Back then most of my subscribers were twisted politicians. However, when the weather turned cold, my audience expanded, as winos, street urchins, and, prostitutes held their "sleep overs" to keep warm.

"Little Folks," with low-paying, boring jobs, I am told by the janitors, enjoyed reading them, also.

And, thereby, by accident, my true calling, "Ed-U-Ma-Kat-ing" God's Tread Upon, Weary-Folk would flocked to my scattered sites, or, were fired from their job for reading "Smut" while working, were transfigured as stick figures in the cartoon of me head. 

Now, thanks to this site, thenewstalkers.communists, I have "Moved On Up! To the Big Time," like The Jeffersons.

"Moving on up to the West Side to that High Rise in the Sky! Moving on Up!"

You see, folks, I am an "Unemployed Philosopher," with a passion for teaching, among other shifty, sordid things.

No, Sir-re-bar, Muther-FuKars, no one should remain dumb.That is my Motto! That is my "Mojo!

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"Political Pornography" is ideal fer the idle, uninformed, the easily led folks fer ONLY $20.00 per month, when you sign up for your "Free" subscription.
(If you fail to cancel your subscription, within the first 30 days, we will continue to bill your stupid arse for the rest of your life, "until death do we part." )

"Don't worry! Be Happy," as John Legend sings, "If you're Happy & Know It ," but, your purse don't show it. Don't worry, be HAPPY!"

Your neighbor does. And, they have to sleep sometime. We, also, send your our bonus package of "Free Lock Picking Tools," to jump start your new adventures into Happy, Sappy Land! 

Just place your neighbor's, or, your Social Security check in the mail, better, yet, FedEx it to me, % Cell Block, 622, Mildew, Ohio. "Don't Worry, Be Happy, Snappy," everyone in the town knows where I am.

Remember, it is not a crime if you are doing it for "Wine!"

STEVE BUNIONS

Here, at Eat The Press, our highly underrated, research team, led by the discredited, Steve Bunions, a former White House Aide-de-Camp to Trump, has finally, revealed the "unvarnished truth" about the "Unwashed Religious Right," known, in more respectable circles, as the "Religious Wrong!"

(Now, folks, pay attention. T he above is as excellent example of  a "run-on" sentence, as one might find in any Henry James novel.)

Remember, TOO,  Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation , "Ed-u-mac-ka-shun is where it is at!"

Source - "King Fish," from the 1950's hit Amos & Andy TV series.
 
Fall From Grace

This is the tragic saga of a man's (Steve Bunions) fall from Grace, as revealed, herein, for the first time, in the first person, by Grace.

"I kicked his drunk, dirty, unshaven arse out," explained Grace. "He doesn't have nearly as much money as I thought he did. Besides his feet stink!"

Women do not like smelly feet! (Write that down, men!) It will come in handy when you go a "courtin'!")

Below, purloined from the bowels of one William Barr, aka, "Wheel Barrel" Barr," is the redacted, unattractive, "live recording" of Bunions last run for "glory," (a street walker he met on Pennsylvania Avenue") after his Last "Free" Supper from the WH.

It was Steve who had the name of the White House changed officially to the "Whites Only, (except for Dr. Been Crazy) White House!"

Ironically, it is staffed by a "Blacks Only Kitchen and House Keeping staff," in keeping with Washington, D.C.'s long standing "Southern Heritage."

A heritage that our orange, two-faced Fake POTUS, Real POS wants to keep in place, of course, Horse. He is, after all, a racist, in addition to his other numerous, too, numerous to mention, sins!

Steve Bunions was Trump's Chief Adviser! Bunions, aka, "Stinky Feet," was the one that wrote every speech Trump gave on the campaign trail. Which, in all honesty, should have led to JAIL, instead of the White House. 

Bunions, was known derisively by the WH staff, as the "that filthy, unwashed Machiavellian  behind the Throne," as was, of course, horse, all of the other incarcerated advisers, who helped get him illegally installed in the WH!

They, howsoever, met more drastic consequences for their association with "The Donald."

Paul Manafort, Cohen, Gates, Stone, Flynn, Papadopoulos, Pinedo, and Alex Vander Zwaan are currently serving time in jail for their misdeeds.

Awaiting sentence: 13 Russian Nationalists, 12 Russian Intel officers, and Konstantin Kilimnik, for a grand total of 40.

(Not bad for Trump's first run for public office.)

Bunions told Eat The Press - Do Not Believe A Freaking Word They Print, or, some jack-rod, looking a lot like him, said that he (or, the person looking like him) that, he, Bunions, was "forced to refer to Trump" ( once he was elected) as the "Lord Jehovah on The Earth," upon penalty of having his sack "sliced off "by that POS in the WH!

Trump is forthright in his menacing!

What did Bunions in was when he gave a "rousing" speech to Trump followers, he, inadvertently, stole the LIMELIGHT from the "Donald."  It led immediately to Bunions instant demise!

BUNIONS' speech to IDIOTS

"I, Steve Bunions, an unshaven, Leninist, hereby, state, by the authority invested in me, from God's Appointee , his Orange Majesty Trump, who, so ordered me, to let it be known, near and far, that he, (Trump) is 'The Living Jesus,' reincarnated for this 'Gig', that the 'Masses of Unwashed Arses,' might obediently obey HIM, upon penalty of being, 'SMITED,' whatever the HELL, that is."

Note to readers:   This, too, is another illustration of a "run-on sentence." And, that is a NO-NO!

Trump, at that precise moment, jerked the microphone out of Bunions' tiny, female-like hand, and, shouted for all to hear and obey.

"God appointed me POTUS, because I is a Special Selfish, Egotistic, Know-It-All POS , and, you, my LAME underlings, are not!"

Bunions had been the most powerful presidential adviser to our "Fake POTUS, Real POS, in the WH," until that very moment.

Unfortunately, for him, Bunions (not to be confused with Steve Kevin Bannon) had committed an "Unforgivable SIN!" 

He overstepped his place as a Trump flunky during a Press Conference that featured Steve, instead, of the extremely sensitive, jealous, "touchy" Donald J. Trump, who always hogged the "Spot Light!" 

Source:  Unknown! (Believed, however, by some, to be Melania).

Trump ramble on about, "The radical, Right-Wing, Religious Nut-Jobs, gather together on Social Media platforms," (such as this one) "or, in local, dimly lighted, seedy taverns, and/or, crammed tightly into store-front churches are spreading like COVID19, and, are just as dangerous!"

"I love you, but, I am going to have to shoot you."

"Shoot Us, Shoot Us", screamed back his supporters, "Shoot Us, please. Usher in the End of Times!" They screamed over and over again, until they came . . . to "The Jesus." 

(What the Hell did you think I meant?)

Having capture his audience's attention, Trump got down to business:

"Don't send your MONEY to a church," Trump preached, "I am the ONLY Church you will need.  Send it to me, % 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, Disease. I am the God of Evil-Genitals. Hear me roar!"

At which point, CNN cut off the "live" feed.

TRUMP

Whereupon, Trump, explained to the unwittingly, slow Vice President Pence, that "HE" was given the Holy name, "King-Fish Trump," by none other than that Great Evangelical Multi-Millionaire Preacher, Pat Robertson.

(777 Club [the number 666] was already taken by the "Donald" at HIS birth.)

Angered by Bunions "hogging the limelight," Trump ordered his "staff-of-coc-cus," to "shove a Limelight" up Steve's bun, where the sun don't shine!"

Which, of course, they did! (This tragic incident was only recorded by Fox TV Network Fake News, since Trump, long ago, barred any other network from his "PRESS RANTS").

Trump, according to our "sauce", (Trout Giggles, hiding in a closet in the Oral Office, er, Oval) coldly ordered Pence to drag Bunions from the podium, and to, "tossed his fat arse ," unceremoniously, out the front door of WH.

"The Dullard Donald," so named, for good reason, added insult to injury by commanding his Mommy's Boy Pence to "bring me back six Big Macs, a fleet of French Fries, and 17 diet Cokes. Cruelty makes me hungry!"

Trump turned to the cameras to explain his Executive Action,"No one upstages Trump!"

Trump said, and Pence departed the premise dragging the fat, stinky feet Bunions, kicking and screaming out of the WH, while Melania ('Murica's First Ho) danced on the Oval office desk, once owned by JFK!
 
TRUMP

Thump signed his first, EXECUTIVE ORDERS, declaring "that America will, from this day forth, be known as 'Murica', in HONOR, of my loyal, Southern-Confederate-Flag-Waving Supporters, who with the aid of Putin, helped to get me elected POTUS, due to their intense HATRED for my opponent."

(Man, did that piss off Secretary of Education Betsy (Elizabeth Dee) Devos, who later complained that "spelling is next to cleanliness in the Bible, and should be respected." 

But, being a "billionaire," too, she wisely kept her "trap shut," tucking her thought away in the safest place she could think of, her vagina. No one had been in their for decades.

MITCH "The Bitch" McCONNELL 

Whereupon, Mitch (recently Knighted "The Bitch" by Trump) McConnell, was given a "direct order," from Emperor Trump, who personally handed it to his favorite "Bitch", Mitch, now, that his other "bitch," Melanoma was rumored to be in a 'hot affair' with her body guard, and refused sex with Trump.

(This Inside, Close Up & Personal View of the WH is raunchy stuff. The weak of mind, hypnotized Religious Wrong may want to "Run for the Border").

The Super Secret, hand written, coded message in crayon, in its original Cursive (that Trump likes to show off that he can write in Cursive) instructed his "Bitch," Mitch, (R, KY) to give it to Giuliani, Trump's personal attorney, and a known sleaze bag to implement, because Rudy could read.

Top Secret Clearance Required Be On This POINT

It instructed Rudy to hire two disreputable Ukrainian flunkies, aka, "errand boys" for King Trump to dig up "dirt" on Joe Biden, his possible rival for the WH in 2020. Rudy naturally reached into the bottom of the barrel snatching up Lev Parnas and his business associate, Igor (No Shat) Fruman.

You see, folks, Trump is jealous of Biden. Uncle Joe can spell! Trump can't, so it looked like Trump's goose was cooked. Trump's "Turkey Neck" was in grave jeopardy.

Brief Intermission! You may want to take a "restroom break,"also!

They (the "errand boys") were instructed to tell the Majority Whip & Head Congressional Sadist , in the Senate, to "hurriedly pushed the necessary legislation" through Congress by "threatening to cut off Republicans 'Bonus Checks' from Trump's donors, the Vulture Capitalists, Corporate-lobbyists of 'Murica! Or, it was NO SOUP for them!

TROUT GIGGLES

Thankfully, one our own frequent Code of Conduct violators , here, on newsvine.com . . . er. . . (sorry, old habit).

I meant, here, on this site, thenews.strokers.com, Trout is my main "sauce" for "breaking story" that I post as my own!

But, in reality, which I avoid, are stories, cartoons and articles  purloins from the Urinalists at Broke Back Mountain! 

Trout is know for "fishing" with Brad Pitt at their "favorite hole,"when his spouse leave on a "business trip."

(Someone has to support the family).

Although, it is our strict rule, NEVER to reveal our sources, because they are usually a seedy bunch, don't exist, and many, too many to mention, are violent psychos. 

Thankfully, our unpaid "sauce," is none other, than that lovable, hilarious writer, TroutGiggle, a prolific contributor to both TheNewsStompers.com and Eat The Press-Do Not Read It, (journalistic competitors).

(You know what I am talking about, don't you. Shhhh. No one knows, but, me and you.)

TroutGiggles (as many of you know) is  a registered "Hilario," (or, someone looking exactly like him) recently claimed, perhaps, erroneously, that she, Trout, had it on "pretty shaky authority" (that's the only kind we like) that, she had a "block buster" lead on a  "explosive scandal," that just might win her the Pulitzer Prize For Most LIES in an non-vetted, no source story .  

She, further, explained to our publisher, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon, that she (Trout) was a dead-ringer for that Journalistic Award, and, if we printed it, with out checking it out, our arses might end up in the "slammer."

Giggle is a Hilario, a self-invented comedian desperate to get a few "laughs" on her largely ignored site?

(Hilario - Greek for "Gay Comedian).

I, too, am one, but, not as good as "Hilario," as many of you posters have rudely reminded me over and over and over, again, and, again.

(e.g., "You ain't funny, Arse -Wipe!"

Or, my favorite a Right-Wing Evangelical Preacher's taunt, "Why don't you jump in front of our Church Bus. We will run you over. Back up, and run over you, again, Heathen!"

Howsoever, I digress, because, I am not, yet, dressed! 

My source, of course, Horse, Trout Giggles, "the laughing fish" (his CIA code name) confessed to me, in one of my recent,"telepathic visions" (or, someone that may have hacked into me head and fooled me, as some covert spies are want to do-do) that he has it on "pretty shady authority" (Dick Cheney) that the "religious wrong" is fermenting Civil Unrest by posting misspelled, grammatically incorrect bull-chips articles designed to further screw-up the pliable minds of Americans, per Putin's plan."

AUTHOR'S ASIDE:

Thank the American-British author, Henry James (15-April 1843 - 28 February 1916) for teaching me how to bore people to tears with long, senseless, "run-on sentences," that compelled readers to scream uncontrollably, while reading his "Tomes."

As, I am advised, as do most of mine readers. Well, one, "CB"!

The writer, Henry James was the perfect counter-point to Edgar Allen Poe, who made people scream for different reasons.

As an English Major, I was forced to read James' difficult to read works.

Personally, I loved his use of "run-on sentences," but, never, not once ever grasped "what in Hades" he was jabbering on, so long about.

So, I just made up "Shat" for my comprehension essays on "H. James," because no one, not even, the professor had a clue.

Now, I know that, that might be too complex to follow, but, so is putting on my pants in the morning.
(End of aside!)

Now, for you non-vegetarians, let us return to the "Meat of the Matter!"

(Warning: If you are not "gay", continuing to read this Tome may cause you to become "Gay", as I am.) 

Therefore, if you wish to remain "Depressed, lethargic, vindictive, hostile, or, a whore, continue as a Trump Supporter," you may prefer to stop here!

As I did for a restroom break. !

TRUMP NEWEST SCAM:

Trump's latest endeavor, "Bladder University," where one learns the technique of turning one's bladder into a Weapon! Comes in handy when someone infected with COVID19 try to cut in front of you at the check out line.

👲🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙅‍♂️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️🙋‍♂️🙋‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️🧙‍♂️

CHAPTER II

"The Key To The Present Is Unlocking The Past!" Or,  rubbing your own Crystal Balls and Channeling the Past, The Past!

THE MAULER REPORT

If you haven't read, "The Mauled Over By Barr, Mauler Report," in the "raw", written by one, Robert Mauler, a disbarred, former World-Wide Wrestling Federation headliner (known as the "Mauler)" before he went "straight," and, was crowned the "Enema of the State"  by our deranged Commander-In Cheetos.

Thus, Trump's condemnation of Bob Mauler made it impossible for any Republican in 'Merica to engage in any form of intercourse with the Special Counsel, Robert Mauler, Attorney - At- Law.

Trump's Executive Order applied to "any verbal, written, straight or gay communication, including 'touching'!"

That stigmatization is equilvalent to a "banishment by a King," or, our, very own, " Fake President, Real POS in the White House," who see himself as such.

Trump, aka, "the worst president in the history of this country," loves to "get revenge!" He lives for it. That and accumulating money illegally.

"Revenge, I have a lot," so sayeth, "the Donald" to his best buddy, (now, that Epstein is dead) Howard Stern, on Stern's "Vulgarity First - Radio/TV show for Perverts & Twirps."

"I LOVE, freaking love, getting revenge on Mister Mauler for saying mean things about me in his Fake report," the Donald gushed, then, kissed Howard on the lips, to prove his point.

Trump knew Howard (intimately, back in the day), "when everyone was young and gay!" 

(Trump knew that Robert Mauler had dated Howard for a short time, and "the Donald" was jealous and wanted some sort of "freaks' revenge.")

(I'll bet you didn't know that, either. Did you? About Trump and Howard.)

Now, folks, since we are going to be in "Lock Down" for many more months, what the heck do we have to do-do, but, "go ballistic and kill our family."

True that will keep you busy for some time, depending on the size of your family with all of the chopping. But, it inevitable leads to a lot of explaining.

Instead, maybe, this is the "perfect" time (as Trump likes to say, PERFECT) to ENRICH your mind by reading the Mauler Report to your children?

They will get so bored they will do the job for you. That way, you get off, "Scot-Tape-Free ."

You, see, "The Mauler Report" is, in a way, a murder mystery, "full of thunder, edited by an Idiot," William Barr, Attorney General, who turned it into the "Redacted Spoiler Report."

Trump screamed from the Rose Garden, "No Collusion, No Obstruction!"

"I am exonerated, what a freaking laugh. I am guilty as Hell. My supporters truly are dumb."

In my reading of it, "The ( Original ) Mauler Report, I discovered that unbeknownst to the general public the actual report states categorically, "that Re-Puritans (often referred to, behind their backs, as , the Right-Awful-Righteous, Religious- Rightist) are considered to be America's major threat.

Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored", also contributed to our analysis of the un-redacted report, stated passionately on You Tube, that "the Constitution, unto, which I stand, hand invisible, never-kneeling, until death do us part, so help me, God, is in peril of being shredded and flushed down the tube."

Or, until, "some worthless, rude, arse -wipe in the room farts. I cannot "cotton" with that rude behavior).

Admittedly the "Mauled Over Report" is difficult to read. It is legal tome and uses "BIG words!"

It was written General Public, but, not intended for consumption by the Private, peon, low-level Public! 

"NEVER, Never, Ever, Honey, let their name, Religious Right, fool you." 

In essence, the Religious Right, in Reality TV World, is the Religious Wrong!" 

(Put that in your crack pipe and smoke it, addicts.)

Further, in Korean, it state, and, here, I quote, that "These rabid religious junkies are guilty of eating the poisoned apple and have been ' SHATING' themselves, since the beginning of time!"  

You see, folks, today, they go my the alliterate name, "Killers 4 Khrist Sakes" .

(I'll bet you did not know that, either. I didn't until I just made it up.)

The Mauler Report concluded that, "these folks are loosely wrapped."

That is a technical term fer "NUTS!"

We all have nuts, that is men folks, but, some folks have them in the wrong location, which create chaos in our "Christian Only Created Country by our Fondling Fathers!" (Pat Robertson, Jimmy Bakker, Reverend Oral Fleece, "Straight From the Street and Not from the Police!")

Today, I strive to "correct" the record of those old fools, Washington, Jefferson, Thomas Edison and Larry Flint, our original Founding Fathers of Folly).

You see, the correct colloquialism for "Nut Jobs" is "Cluster Fuc-Jerk-Offs," a technical term overused by the author of Dickens Posthumous Papers, according to the tremendous research done by Lewis & Clark on their maiden Moon Landing Flight in 1620.

MEDIA CRITICS
Today, harsh, unfair, bias contemporary critics, like, CNN, the Washington Post, and Mother Jones   clutter the air ways with distorted reference to GOD'S ANOINTED MOUTH PIECES as "scurrilous, Re-born Again, TV-Evangelists with great white teeth, big, Palatial, Rich Temples, and, Mountains of Money Hoarders!"

That is so sacrilegious to think that "backwards, born upside down, blonde, blue-eyed Christian White Folks" could be so WRONG!

Write that down and put it in your Book of Wisdumb and sleep on it. In the morning you will "see the light," and be forever changed.

(Don't ferget to send $6.00 in cash to me, care of the T he Church of How Big Is Your Wallet, How Small is Your Mind , Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs, not even "Blow Jobs." )  

Don't pay the rent, skip Lent, send your money, honey, instead, to the Church. The Ends of Times is Upon Us!

Rush it by God's Angels, "Direct Deposit", to the "Church of How Deep Is Your Pocket." ASAP, that I might continue my ministry and make that overdue Mercedes payment." 

The above was a PSA, courtesy of Reverend Oral Fleece!


CHAPTER III  GUN TOTING CHRISTIANS
 

The Radical Religious, Gun Totting Right-Wingers are not "swinger," if you did not know that, so, do not try to screw with one of them, on any level: Mentally, Personally, or, Physically.

They have been known, like Islamic radicals, to chop it off and shove it into the offender's office, as the Vietcong did to their dead enemies.

The Religious Wrong are limited intellectually, stunted saps who, too, often are ridiculed and tagged, " Re-Puritans," by insensitive, disrespectful, Arse -Wipes on the Left.

On the Right, they are revered as "KILLERS FER CHRIST," as prophesied in the Evangelical Bible, re-written by Jim Jones, with assistance from Pat (The Robber's) son, Billy's Graham's son, Franklin, and Jerry Falwell's son, Jerry Falwell, Jr. 

Of course, Horse, what you may not know about these modern-day prophets that they refer to themselves and the "Re-Born, Upside Down,Re-Puritans Christians," and believe that they are the "direct descendants of the Puritans of Salem , but, more militant!

Today's Puritans carry automatic weapons, dress in camouflage fatigue, rather than their predecessor's black cloaks. They, also, prefer "Shine" (Moonshine) to wine.

Our, Highly Stained Team of "uncleaned scholars, here, at "Eat the Press - Do Not Scratch Your Bun With It," stumbled upon this momentous discovery while on an all night drunk.

 It was there on that cold, barroom floor, that they hard their first of an "Alcohol induced vision," that informed them that they were the Sons of Lot (the hole lot of them) that is.

At first it confused them, but, soon they realized that they could make a "Hell of a Lot more Money" by being a direct descendant of Lot.

This unique, distinctive cluster f**k, thereupon, harped back to the the days of the Salem Witch Trials , in 1692.

Wherein, a group of "semi-attractive, hysterical, young, over-sexed girls engaged in lewd, licentious, and, highly sensuous dancing in the woods without a permit.

Led by, as some historians claim, "Stormy Daniels!"

(Why not, this is my story, and, I am sticking to it!)

They, further, came to understand that the "Witches gyrations," was exactly like the gyrations of modern day Evangelicals dancing in church aisles. 

These sexually charge, hysteria' driven preacher men learned that the nearly-nude, out of control ceremonies, performed in the woods of Salem, Mass-a-curd-as, "did not rattle the Puritans of Salem establishment," as much as, the sin of "not inviting the Church's Elders" to video tape them. That was highest slight, when one is "High" on Indian Weed, and, refuses to share the pipe!

(Source:  Leviticus 15, Verse, 69, Deal a, primarily, with an entire sub-section  "Sharpening Ones Inter-Personal Skills While Slaughtering a Sheep."

Well, folks, history is quirky, that is why most folks don't take the time to read it in it's original Arabic form written on the foreskins of non-believers. 

You see, back then (1620) "omission" was the biggest sin/crime, that those "Hot,Little, Nubile, Sexy Bitches, er, Witches" were subsequently indicted on. 

To wit: 

"Failure to allow their Elders to video-tape their Sexy, Sinful Ceremony," without a written note from the Elders!

Of course, Horse, the "Rigged Trial", as our present day, "Impeachment Trial"  was conducted in strict accordance with the Re-Puritan's Christians in the Senate's Procedures and Practices, of our times are, pretty much, word for word with the Salem Witch Trial's procedures.

The only significant difference is "upon being found guilty," the guilty parties are given the maximum penalty, "Burned with the Steaks Until Properly Roasted!"

Conservative Christian Republicans have been trying since 1950 to amend the Constitution, based on our "historic cultural record" to add it to all capital offenses. Evangelical clergy are in strong support, and, in the Senate, Miss Lindsey Graham is taking the lead on this proposal since his arrival in the Senate. After all he is from North Carolina. They are big on burning folks for the smallest infraction.

Can't wait for the day when those "crackers" learn that Lindsey is a "Switch Hitter."

This, and stopping abortions, are the two hot idem that the Right-Wing Coalition of Christian Conservatives in Congress, with support from every branch of the Flu Flux Klan are fervently working to bring back.

That, and, stopping any attempts to increase the "Minimum Wage."

Howsoever, back in the day when "Religion Talked & People Walked," three feet behind, "whining and wringing one's hands" while wearing a "Red Cape,"
marked the sinners as demon mingles.

Back then, the Church was King, and, there were no Queens allowed!

Whatever the church said was a commandment, intended to be followed immediately, upon penalty of banishment. That is precisely why the Puritans gradually disappeared.

Now, here, in ' Merica , those "Gouty, Rip-Roaring Days of Yore," that early Puritans celebrated, in honor of the the " Cleansing of the Wicker Witches of Salem, is today, done ONLY in Evangelicals' Wednesday Night Services.

If you have not attended one of these "Lovers of the Ends of Times", who are eager to "Usher the End of Time" into the world, look forward to their "Rapture."

One of my liberal Evangelical Friends confided that it was the "perfect" way leave all of your financial debt behind and let the "Heathen" take care of it.

Simon-John-Luke, my friend, explained that that is why there is so much,"Whooping, Howling, and Frolicking," until the sun came-up on Wednesday Night, which includes the "Celebration of the Last Sins."  

Whereupon, the remaining Religious-Right-Awful , the Scarlet Ladies, back in the day," were, and are, additionally charged with "cleaning up this mess!"

"Witches," the Church Elders barked, "get this damn, fart, hell, poopy mess cleaned up!"

As was the custom of their day (as is to this day) women worked, while the men, exhausted, went home to their wives and quickly fell asleep, after first filling their head with lies, as men are apt to do today.

When asked by an angry wife why they were out all night, they routinely replied, as taught to them in their "Men Only Spiritual Reading" where instructed to tell their wives, "I was bowling with the boys and time slip-slided away."

And, back in the day, folk had nothing but "a stick and the sun's shadow" to tell time.  That was a plausible excuse.🕖🕖🕐🕠🕡


CHAPTER IV

"WE ALL HAVE PSYCHIC ABILITIES, if we sin enough!"
 
As a self-proclaimed "political pundits" (me-self) as well ,as a telepathic, tel-marketing, psychic guy, I am blessed with the gift of hearing the voice of Edgar Cayce, when asleep.

I feel compelled, almost driven by my "calling" to defame, re-frame, and explain the " Origins of Re-Puritans & Their Rise To Power in the Republican Party."

(My latest, shamelessly written book, on sale  at all "Hustler Adult Book Stores").

No matter how odious, hurtful, or, libelous these allegations might appear, to you, it is my Constitutional Right to babble incoherently, just, as it is the "right" of a modern-day Re-puritans to do the same when "chatting with their God In-Tongues."

(I'll bet you did not know that their God can't speak English. Only gibberish!) 

Such practice, to this very day, is still NOT APPROVED by the American Dental Association, and, may lead to dental problems, resulting in loss of teeth, particularly the front ones.


As you may know, modern-day "Re-Puritans," (aka, Evangelical, Bible Trump- ers ) are direct descendants from the Salem, Mass-acutes' Puritans and just as strict.

JIM JONES, JONES TOWN

For example, Jim Jones, the evangelical, self-proclaimed pastor of the Peoples Temple was a renown "Religious Leader," in Indiana (Pence country). 

Reverend Jones was a charismatic, con-artist, "preacher-man" who founded "Jones-town" in Guyana, and, like many charismatic evangelical church leaders do, even to this enlightened day, demanded 10% of their congregates "Gross Income, not Net Income" (tithe) be given to the church upon penalty of expulsion. And, no one, even today, wants to be expelled, except the really bad, disruptive folks:

You know the type:  Artists, Free Thinkers, Writers, Poets, Sculptors, Dancers, Actors, Musicians, the scruffy looking, "Artsy-Farty" trouble-makers.

Raise your hand, if you are one! 🙋‍♂️



DICK CHENEY Nursing Home Fer Wayward Republicans
We, here, at Eat The Press - Not Your Cat, discovered that the "most humane thing" this great nation of Trump could do for these contagious, proliferating, hard-heart-ed, religious-right awful devotees is to do what we "do-do", at the Dick Cheney Nursing Home Fer Wayward Republicans.

Quarterly, when residents run out of money, Dick Cheney, the Chairmen of the Board of Directors, would force the staff (working for less than minimum wage) to quietly apply a soft, sturdily made, "My Pillow," over the nose and mouth of these penniless buzzards, while they slept. 

The Dick Cheney Manual Fer Wayward Republicans suggested, rather, than, commanded, that the Health Care Specialists (working for less than minimum wages, "should gently, press-down firmly for three (3) minutes, with a sterilized pillow, then, let nature take its course." 

You know, I must confess, in a boring, mundane, monotonous, "less than minimum wage job", it was sort of "fun" watching the kicking, wriggling, hapless, brittle old bodies disintegrate in front of one's eyes was Dahmer-ian fun. But, listening for those funny, final grasps for air, up close and personal, was empowering. Every patient had their own signature gurgle.

It, also, helped to break-up the daily routine of doing nothing for hour upon hour.

Author's Apology:

Folks, I don't mean to be inhospitable, or, disrespectful of one's religion, but, couldn't you find one that was a little less insane?

BTW, Trump ain't God!

Not here, not anywhere!

Not even in his underwear.

Here, I is!

And, don't you, Muther FuKars forget it, or, I might "smite" you. Whatever, the Fu-gar , that is!

Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De -Generation, (You know who I am talking to! You, Left Leaning Liberals Too Lazy To Get A Job.

Fellow Travelers, as we further our spiritual journey, TOGETHER, via this, admittedly, deeply disturbing, brilliantly crafted, scientific driven "Religious Tome."

With God's Grace, may we transverse this "Survivor-Like Obstacle Course" (designed by Jeff Probst) and, never be tempted to hold our nose!  As, I was want to do-do, too, when I wrote it. 

Well, if you must, Gus, it is "All righty, then," as Jim Carey, the Comedian, Actor, Film Star, Registered Weirdo, and, now, my personal spiritual trainer, says, in times of strife: 

"All, Righty, then! "

Carey made that phrase famous. Even copyrighted it. So, we may both be sued.

Me for using it.

You for "reading" it.

We live in a very litigious world! It is not like it used to be back in my day, in the other "century," where one might legally call someone everything in the Book of Curse Words, pee-approved by "Mother," Mike Pence!

One could say, any "dog-gone, darn-thing" they wanted to take down a weaker opponent! 

For example, that popular, crushing put-down, "damn, poop, fart, Hell," was our go to "Sucker Punch!"

It worked every time with cry-babies. "Man those were the days," of hazing, pushing people down, stuffing them inside of a potato sack and dragging them to the River for their Annual Baptism. If they escaped they automatically became inebriates of their local "Knights-Of-The Klucking Klan Bake and given their first noose to twirl, until they got the hang of it.

Man, has ' Merica changed! And, not fer the better, bitter brothers of the Knghts

It didn't matter how vile, or, childish it sounded. What was important is that a man responded when challenged. 

Back, then, in America's Great White-Washed, Picket Fence Days,  we, as white privileged men, had the "God Given Right," to say what the F**k we wanted to, to any man, white, black, brown, green, orange, or, Eskimo. 

But, never to the weaker sex (women). Women were exempt, as General Kelly, Trump's Chief of Crap & Clean-Up Hitter for our fake POTUS, real POS in the White House!

General Kelly appeared daily on Fox TV Fake News Morning Show to translate WTF Trump was stammering about the previous day.

For instance, Kelly would tidy up some of Trump's most memorable verbal gaffes:

"American men, back in my, Trumpian 🤴days, always put women on a pedestal before raping them, so, short men couldn't reach them! Ha!, Ha!" Trump squealed this tidy, ditty on the "Larry King, I am Almost Dead Show," which killed King's career forcing him to take a part-time job as a "bag boy" for Chunks-of-Cheese's Drive Thru featuring former TV stars.

And, of course, Horse, that famous one liner,"Grab them by the Pussy," drove Evangelicals, by the tens of millions) to race frenetically to one of Trump's " Rally In The Alley" (trash-talkin', put-down shows, in order to worship him.

Back in the "Good Olde Days" of the 1950's, White folks roared like elephants on "crack", then, ripped-off their clothes, whopping each other's arse until they bled.

It was a purification ceremony to cleanse the body by banging on tin pans, and, each other's wives.

Those where the nostalgic days of White Bread, Burr Hair Cuts, and Tide Washed White T-Shirts, Rolled-up Sleeves days!  "Those Happy Days, fun-filled days of Eisenhower."

Remember, the "I Like Ike" campaign?"

The presidential campaign of 1952, when Eisenhower and Adlai Stevenson squared of in a very "square" frosty contest, in which a World War II hero defeat a smug, "know it all."

The overwhelming results ushered in a life-long democrat when he became an instant Republican, when Dwight was asked to run on the Republican Party ticket, not the Democrat one. Ike did what any ambition General with no political background did what any ambitious man would do. He jumped ship, switched parties and embraced the Party of Big Corporation vs The Party of Little People, "who don't have a pot to piss in".

Those were the "real-deal days, when everyone, especially, businessmen wore skinny red ties, blue suits matched with those "risky" white, heavily starched buttoned down shirts to broadcast their patriotism, and, subtly, demonstrate their addictive "love of cunt-ry!"

In those days of yore, "real men cursed like men, and, never failed to return a "cursing down" rants, ten-fold.

It was an old fashioned, time-honored exchange, a sort of "White Man's Privilege." 

In today, vernacular, it is what we might call "Whitey's version of playing da' Dozens!"

The few numskulls that took exception to the cultural norm, did so with regrets. A lot of regrets, get my drift?

Frank Sinatra was the top entertainer with Mafia contacts. His songs often had hidden messages contained in the lyrics, and, subliminal directives in his music, that he sang on the AM only radios!

It humanized Sinatra, reminding folks, that Frank, too, had "regrets." 

"Regrets I have a few, too, few to mention," he crooned, which, in itself, was a veiled threat to those that did not "go along to get along."

Unfortunately, old folks from that time period, didn't tune in! Consequentially, they could never resist the urge to stick their noses up in the air, whenever, our religion, "Rock & Roll," busted-lose on the radio sending thousands of young folks dancing, no matter whether they were in church, the dentist office, or, in "custody" for "Dancing' In The Street!"

Ah, those were the "Wild & Wacky Days of Yore," and, Jim Crow!

In mixed crowds, senior citizens, were always in a grumbling funk. They instinctively hollered out, at the top of their blackboard-chalk scratching, screeching voice, " Stop that damn noise! Rock & Roll is the Devil's Music!"

And, they should know. They were the ones closest to the Devil. Right on schedule to visit HIM, soon. ("Too soon to mention").

These, old, stale farts, added insult to injury by slapping down a stinging Shakespearean quote, or, a biblical quote (Is there really any difference?) . . . that none of us could understand! They loved to Lord their High School education over our 8th grade "dropout" heads. 

For example, who the Hell knows what this meant, but, old fart- ers , "Devil, get ye behind me ! "

That was there favorite put-down, and it hurt, primarily, because we had no idea what it meant. 

To make matters worse, they would shout it out whenever they heard the first note of a Rock & Roll song.

As a young teen, it sure as Hell looked, to me, as if Belzabar , the Devil's Assistant, was, indeed, behind . . . inside, outside, and, all about them!👳‍♂️

( NOTE TO READERS :  Upon reading HIS name, Belzabar, readers should say, "Three Hell Marys," or, drink four of them at a Bar of your choice.

Otherwise HE ( Belzabar ) is known to crawl up folks's bun, shaking COVID19 molecules thru out their intestines making them deadly sick.

Be ever so careful, Me, Amigos! "Don't Cough & Drive!" People are getting pretty damn paranoid-ed and you could be shot by one of those Open Carry Nuts!

"Remember, Jude," there is no known cure for it, as, of yet. But, our "Stable Genius," Trump's Junk is personally working night & day on one.

What folks do not understand about the culture, "back in the day," when Seniors got frisky, became quickly rowdy and extremely disruptive when the "Top Ten Hits, did not include one by "LAWRENCE WELK".

Those easily upset, old,rattling,buzzards would instantly start  banging their canes on the aluminum folding tables, while clicking their dentures in rhythm with the music.

That defiant, uncalled for, act drowned out the band, immediately sucked all of the "repressed sexual excitement" out of the room.  Bummer!

On, too, many occasions, too many to mention, this Devil's cacophony, resulted in a devastating, total interruption of our "religious service!"

(That is what "Rock & Roll" was to us, young, easily-led teens . It was our manifesto, our newly found "Religion," just as, "Talking-in-Tongues," and "Shake, Rattling & Rolling In The Aisles" is to present day, burr-head cut, Right-Wing Evangelicals. 

If you ever visited a modern day, so-called, new-dangled, Christian Spin-Off, Evangelical Church, the comparisons are uncanny.

There is "A Hold Lot of Shaking, Rattling & Rolling," in which, the Witches in congregate are instantly caught-up in the Spirit of the moment, the Salem Witches were, back in their day.

Now, the loud music, flashing light, repetitiveness, and, babbling in "Tongues" by this Righteous, Religious-Right Christian-With Guns reacted to their music concerts and we teens did in our day. Totally out of control!

Running, up and down the church pew and aisles of their palatial "Evangelical Temples" like "the Lost Tribe of Israel" did, whenever Moses went up the Mountain to CHAT with GOD. 

When Moses was absent his followers, led by his brother, Franklin Graham, entered int a spiritual, emotional frenzy, resulting in and orgy of free-love based on their old Baal religion, or, brain damage, caused from the 40 years of walking in circles in the Cyanide Desert.  

Back in my day, it was considered a sacrilegious (an unacceptable intrusion) by seniors to deliberately disrupt a "Do-Wop" concert with their shenanigans. I mean it was like a "religious experience" for us, too.

That is when the SHAT hit the Fan. It had to be dealt with immediately, if we were ever going to dance to our favorite Hymn, "The Twist!"

The wrinkled up, old fogies would, also, disrupt our service by playing that Damnable Game, "Bingo," during these concerts, by shouting out loudly, "BINGO!". Jumping up like hysterical teens, twirling around and, in general, making a fool of themselves. 

Their commotion often threw the musicians off, especially, when the Jazz bands "laid down a riff," or, banged brilliantly on the keyboard of an upright piano. Jerry Lee Lewis did it the best. That wild red head belted out his number one hit, "Great Balls o f Fire, and,immediately sat his balls on fire.

The crowd went wild for different reasons.  Young people loved it. But, seniors only fueled their conspirator theories about Rock & Roll being inspired by Satan, not pent up sexual lust boiling over in everyone's pants.

When the "Rag-Time Jazz" groups took to the stage, these out of controlled, fired-up, old-timely grannies waved their guns in the arm, and, whizzed themselves. Trump would have love that.

All kinds of music, but, RAP, was popular, back in the day, when kids were liberals, and old timers were dangerous Calcified Conservatives.

Whenever, a "Blues band" took the stage, instantly, a lot of "Colored Folks" (that is what we called anyone that didn't look like us) would jump up, hooting & hollerin' and started dancing up a storm in the aisles, on the dance floor (even in the restrooms) with white women, which really "riled up" the older generation. They would pull out their pistols and fire off round after round to show their displeasure.

Now, I don't know folks, in your religion, if a shoot-out between the younger and older generations would disrupt the music portion of your religious service or not, but, it ruined ours.

So, we reverted to our old, "tried and true strong armed method" to handle "Geriatric Hecklers Gone Wild!"

Naturally, as "Gentlemen & Gentler Women," we, first, tried the verbal approach:

"STFU, you toothless, old, stale farts! Or, we'll take you out with the TRASH! Whereupon, the young folks in the audience, broke out in unison, singing that Rock & Roll hit from the late 50s, "Get A Job, Jack, and Don't You Come Back, No More, No More! Get A Job, Jack,My Mamma Said To Me!"

At which, these Witches & Warlocks, in black frock, hollered back:

"Dumb Asses, we be retired, Meatheads! We don't need no freakin' jobs, Punks. We be on Social Security."

As, if to emphasis, their disdain of our beloved music, they would fire off magnum after and magnum, until they were out of ammo.

If that didn't silence, caused by their empty cartridges didn't shame them for not being fully prepared extra cartridges, we had no other choice, but to pull from our Quills, that every testosterone pumping male, carries on their back, stored in their quill pouch, the one thing that would stopped them!

Whop! Bang! "Play It Again, Sam," and, it's "No Soup For You!"  - Forever!" 

That was the "coded signal" to our professionally, trained Seals (real seals with weapons) to waddle out. They were our bouncers. They bounced over to the disruptive tables, honking their horns, and flapping their fins.

Being former Circus performers with a grudge, they would "snatch" these rowdy, old geezers by the "scruff," and, toss them out the Alley Door with a flourish.

Back then, playing "Jazz" was not only sinful, it was illegal. So, was selling booze, spitting tobacco on the sidewalk and sex. Every damn thing was illegal! 

Our bulked up, on Human Growth Drugs, Bouncer would "escorted" ( Hee-Hee, Hee-Haw) these senile, old goats, wearing those damn, silly VFW hats out back, whereupon, they mercilessly beat them with autographed baseball bats, until they said, "Uncle," or, involuntarily, departed this dimension.

We didn't care. We were young, dumb and full of come.

It was, we thought, a "civil way" of dealing with people problems, like "dueling" used to be before that long-haired, sissy-fag, Alexander Hamilton screwed everything up by getting shot by Aaron Burr.

What a pussy! It took Hamilton three days to die,

It may sound harsh, to some, today, in our gentler, more softer girlie -man days.  But, back then,"Oh, Those Were The Days." When a Man Was A Man, and A Woman Looked Like A Man.

Today, people scoff at us, but, in our day, it curtailed "unnecessary fisticuffs," especially between authoritarian teachers with their hair in a bun, fond of wearing that same God Awful, over-sized, sagging-black, sack-dress every damn day.

These tight-fisted, tight-wad Wildebeest never changed outfits. It was as if God ordained that they must wear those hideous, frightening, black dresses with matching army clog hoppers that seemed to "highlight" their shoelaces!

I still have nightmares about being pursued by a fat, obese, naked school ma-marm screaming, "Come back, here, you little punk. I want to "screw you to the sticking post!" That's straight out of ShapeShifter's Playbook of plays. (What the Hell else do you think it would be called?)

We were cultured, too! Every summer William ShapeShifter , and, his Merry Men, dressed as women, performed "Hamlet" in our Hamlet.

William ShapeShifter & His Cross-Dressing Marries, after the performance, liked to let their hair down (those that had hair) and hang out at the Ye Old Tavern , when they were in town for the annual "ShapeShifter's Summer Plays, sponsored by Antioch College, in Yellow Springs, Ohio.It was called, "yellow springs" for a reason: college age kids drinking, and, too few, Porta-Johns. What were they to "do-do?" 

That year (the year I went to the New Jersey Insane Asylum for a "my annual, very expensive,Touch-Up Using Electrodes," (Electro-Shock Therapy) prescribed by my former guardians, Doctors Ding-Dong & Ding-A-Ling.

It was an exciting year for me. The "Band of Marys," as we like to call them, were going to perform my favorite play, "Screw Her To The Sticking Post."

And, I had a small walk-on part, as one of the "Marys", which forever changed my life.

Additionally, they were scheduled to perform "Springtime For Hitler," featuring Mel Brooks. But, the cast can down with the Corona Virus, and, to protect himself, Mel ('the genius") had to have them all shot.

I was happy to do it for him. Perhaps, I would be rewarded with a bigger part. The theater is a "cut throat" business.

So, you can see we weren't all male Chauvinist Pigs ! Some were just pigs that we roasted over a flaming spit and ate.

"Desperate Times Demand Desperate Acts."  - William ShapeShifter, playwright!

So, we recruited a bunch of "stoned" theater majors from Antioch, which was closed down due to the quarantine.

Thanks to a "generous grant from the Trump Foundation," even with extravagant KICK BACKS to Trump, we were able to fly Mel Brooks in, so, that the "genius" could mount the production.

Instead, he mounted a slew of very, very liberal young, bored, big busted female students from the College. Mel,  like a lot of artists is particular. His contract demanded that we recruit ONLY the attractive ones, and, a few of the "ugly men."

(Bet you didn't know that about Mel. Everyone in the movies in Hollywood is "Whishy-Swishy. ")

We, too, were liberated. That didn't phase us at all. We understood that several members (well all) of the ShapeShifer's   cast members were Drag Queens! 

The common understanding of the day was "If you knew what was good for you, you left them alone to do their thing, or, they would make you their thing."

"Wild Thing, You Make My Heart Sing." Wham, Wham, Whack, Crack.

I lost a lot of good friends that way.

No one makes fun of Drag Queens, Transgenders, Fender-Benders, or, Bonkers. Everything and everyone was cool. It had a lot to do with the temperature.  The Arctic Winds kept  every one, "cool,", in a grove, "chilled. We were cool, baby, so cool, that many had ice-chicle dangling from their nostril. 

SCHOOL DAYS OF YORE

Well, Mates and Lasses, back to the Days of Yore and Middle School.  For me, t was the shoelaces, that traumatized me. They crisscrossed, back and forth, all the way up the wearer's inevitable, varicose veined, bulging, ham-like legs, exposing their shaved privacy, and unwashed, knobby knees.

That view, always caused me vomit profusely, sending huge projectiles of my lunch across the room, or, directly into the back of the head of the girl sitting directly in front of me. I felt sorry for the her, but, she was ugly and a dunce, so I changed my seat, often that year.

Of course, Horse, it was the male students from the "wrong side of the track" who wore their hair in a D.A. (Duck's Ass, back then, "in the day," when everyone, even Nuns wore black, leather motor-cycle jackets). These were the miscreants whom the teacher attacked.

In my 8th grade English class, Miss Rude-a-Minski , an old maid's old maid, would periodically, like the Tables, leaped out of her desk seat like a Black Widow Spider, spreading her legs and arms  out. Her normally beady eyes bulged out as she sprang into action, whenever she suspected that a young, 15 year old, male student had a "spontaneous erection."

Like a trained, former concentration guard (which she was rumored to be) she would march up and down the classroom aisles like a Gestapo enforcer looking for the culprit.

"Stand Up," she'd order the the hapless suspected violator, that she might intimately (perhaps, too, intimately, inspect the embarrassed lad.

Her routine included a full-frontal body search! To make matters more humiliating for these young boys  with raging hormones out of control, she patted them down like a Airport Security agent suspecting someone of smuggling in drugs from South America!

At that age, a young man might be reading a chemistry book, and, quite mysteriously, unknown to them, have one Hell of a "boner."

Hillda Rude-A-Minster would callously spin the lad around, so everyone in the class might get a look at his "boner" and laugh uproariously.

I never did laugh!  I was always surprised when it turned out to be me. Sometimes one's body has its own agenda.

Whereupon, this Witch Without a Broom , would "WHACKED" it with a ruler. Cries, scream of pain, and, plenty of "Ouch, Oh, Ouch, Oh, Ouch," rang out from our classroom until the old prune-faced instruct-tress collapsed upon the floor in an "orgasmic, flopping seizure."

It was only then, that the sweating, hysterical bat stopped WHACKING the young man's Jonson. After awhile, I must admit, like anything else, I got used to it. The lingering sexual overtones of my reprimand left me confused, yet, somehow feeling erotic.

I wasn't the only one in my class that "looked forward to it." Sometimes, in the privacy of me home, I would "whack" it myself.

My mother would shout up, "knock it off or you'll go blind."

"Can I do it until I need glasses?" I pleaded.

"Ok, but, don't ask me to pay for your glasses!

What puzzled me the most, was not my teacher's bizarre, unusual method of discipline, rather, Dan, to this day, I am confused about which side is "the wrong side, which is the right side of the track?"  

I easily recognized the "Right" side. Their silly, Red MAGA caps, and Nazi flags flapping in the wind was a "dead-give away." That and getting punch in the face for wearing a pink, Polo shirt.  Why are Nazi, so, into Brown Shirts?

I like pink!

MY HOME ON THE TRACKS

Our tinny-tiny Shack-House, where we shacked up, was situated, in the middle of the the train tracks. At regular intervals, trains would chug-a-chug thru the middle of our house, rattling everything. It terrorized the kids, and, me, causing me to asks myself, "Which is The Right? Which is the Left, aka, Wrong side of the tracks?" 

I envied our native Indian population, that were gainfully employed at the " Choo-Choo Casino. When I got to know them a little better, they confided in me that they believed that the ash, soot, and, smoke spewing from the Engine's smokestack was a coded messages, smoke signs from their ancestors.

I envied their sense of certainty.

The sound of a train, any train, "Choo-Chooing," incessantly, at all hours of the night, "chug- chugging" down the railroad tracks. It grew faster and faster, blowing it whistle loudly and heading straight for our house. It was an ominous, frightening sound that sent all the kids (all 19 of us) scampering for the safety of our outhouse.

Some didn't make it! The younger ones were, too, often sucked into the train's smoke stack when the engineer blew the whistle. Instantly, they were gone. Never to be heard from again. "Nevermore,' said, the Raven, "Nevermore." Nary a post card. Just vanished.

That is why we never referred to our home's infra-structure called as the "Train Trestle" because of the sharp, inverted V curve. Tragic was known to strike there, too often! Locals dubbed it the "Devil's Train Triangle," and, for the most part, kept their distance.

The outhouse, where we hid, definitely was on the "Wrong Side of the Tracks!" It's smell would knock one out in a "New York Minute," which we calculated to be, 16.5 seconds.

If one made it, and, not all did, it was the our "Safe House!" It had no windows. Thank God for that. Its sturdy, cedar planks construction that kept us "relatively clean and safe" from the trains bellowing, belching, angry Smoke Stacked, as it passed violently thru our house.

We emerged safe, but, very smelly! You know, it is nearly impossible to flush an outhouse. The smell lingers for years, decades, and for some until interned in their shallow graves.

Trump reminds me of that smell. As did the orange-faced engineer, who flipped us the bird every time his train cut though our living room, destroying our collection of antiques brooms.

As the train swiftly maneuvered thru our domicile, its blackened soot covered our "Arty Fartsy" clapboard, former, coal-shack, home that neighbors dubed The House of the Rising Sun!  

During the day, we hosed our residence down with battery acid, which gave it that white, art- nouveau , textured look that we loved.

Thankfully, our house, our home, our citadel was built by a frugal, stingy idiot, my father, before he passed away from drinking too much rum, and battery acid exposure.

From an architect's point of view it was a marvel with its inverted U-shape design that allowed the chugging train to pass thru its open arches. But, God forbid, if Mother forgot to leave open the double doors before turning in for the night. 

Fortunately, for us, trains ran late at night, while Patsy Cline sang, "I Go A Walkin' After Mid-Night Searchin' For The One I Love."  

We went a walkin', too, after midnight, when most decent folks were asleep. Patsy's music lulled our neighbors into "Loll Loll Land" so, we might hurried, busily, break into their home looking for scraps of food."

Our house/shed was very . . . er . . . "unique." It had that distinct, art-nervous shape of NYC's Holland Tunnel.  Locals name it, "Holland Tunnel, too." (Catchy, eh?)

The sole entrance was gained by climbing three stories up on a rickety, old wooden ladder which enabled us, "Scruff-ins," to ascend to the roof (those that survived the ascent) to enter our domicile, undetected via a small attic's window that unfortunately opened outward. It was a fatal detail that man of our siblings forgot. (Splat on the Track. The sadistic train engineer kept a Score Card of his Direct Hits).

A number of our hapless siblings fell off the ladder and into the every growing splatter. The process whittled our family down from 19 to two. Just, me, and me Mum.

Well, folks, enough with the "sob stories." Let us return to the meat of the matter, stealing our neighbor's food to survive.

Which reminds me, as a child I didn't eat meat. We licked cans, instead. That is why, to this day, I get hungry whenever I see an aluminum can tossed into a Recycling Bin. It like an invitation to a "Free Smorgasbord." Impossible to resist.

If it is, "All Righty, then," with you, as Jim Carey, might say. Then, "By Golly, Miss Molly," as Little Richard used to say, it is " all Righty, then" with me, too! (No Lefties, please)

You see, as a "born square" living in a "round world," I can assured you, that I ain't going anywhere in me underwear for at least the next 15 days, per my Governor's (Mike De Wine's) "Executive Order."

Therefore, locked indoors, as all of us are, we, you and I, have plenty of time to "chat." So, let's "CHAT!"

It's time to chat " SHAT!" 

Perhaps this will get us going on dat chat:  " Get Down, Don't Frown! High-Five, Up-High, Down-Low, See You On The Low, Down, Bro.  Shake it All Out & Turn Yourself About."

"All Righty, then," as Carey would say, "When do we begin?"

BE A LIMP WRIST TAKER - er - Risk Taker

Friends, fiends and newsvine.com ex-patriots, longing for the past, "be, ye, a Risk Taker, a Thespian-Lesbian, Shakespearean Faker."

Not a cowardly, congenital lying, FAKER," like that POS in the White House,Trump.

Friends, don't be afraid of busting your noggin!  I've done it thousands of time. Dive-in, head-first, into the murky quagmire we call "politics." 

In fact, I am doing it now, with you. Join me. Bang you head on the TV. It is invigorating, knowing that finally, you found a use for it.

Therein, "ye" might, one day "saved the nation" from Stupid by discovering the "Good Stuff," in every "nook and cranial," of me brain.

Right "chere, " frenetic friends, where Trump ain't GOD!  In  this pastoral place where you can safely whine "until the cows come home," as me Uncle Slimy said, before they "hanged" him for saying that.

Thank God for dat! Here, on "me " site, Trump is a "Rhino Butt," a fat piece of shameless SHAT! Therefore, we never mention his name, never, never. Nevermore! - Edgar Allen Poe - Poet

MEDICAL ADVISE

Brothers & Sistas of the Corn-Hole De-Generation, be sure to start your day, refreshed. "Remember, Jude," to start your day with your "Morning Trump." And, Don't Ferget Jude. to "Wipe Your Pence." That thing is more toxic than your "Trump Dump."
                                                      
Howsoever, if you are a Twisted Sister, a Wacky, Wild & Crazy Guy like me (or, Steve Martin) feel free to "Back-in to it backwards, Baby, 'cause you got Back."

WTF?

Go on now, you know you Bad Girls want to take a dip in that BAD Arse waters of the Righteous, Religious Right-Wing, Always-Awful, Dark, Sinister Junk of narrow-minded Conservatives obsessed with their number one priority, "Conserving Gravity." 

Brothers & Sistas , I spakes da tooth. Even though, I ain't got my front two.

As always, in our ever "slip-slidin' away " democracy, it is your choice, Horse, of course. We still have a democracy, until November 3, 2020. "Bye-Bye, Miss America Pie."

BIG BUST SITE for liberal women ONLY

If you are a seeker, elementary school teacher with "Big Hooters" seeking enlightenment from a "dirty old man, burdened with "impure thoughts," a who wants to show you, " Da Tooth, the hole tooth, nothin' , but, the tooth," so, helps me, Barf, then, baby, Baby Mine, maybe this is your Big Bust Site for Liberal Women Only!

Note:  This is our Disclaimer for those thinking of filing a Lawsuit. All information discussed, here, was gleamed from the writing of my ancestral family tree pruner, Emanuel Pigeon- Shat, a 4th Century (B.C.E.) Jewish-Hungarian, Thespian-Lesbian, who struggled with "identity issues," due to his misfortune of being born in a small borough-o, called Sodden & Gomorrah, formerly know as "The Garden of Eden."

But, when the Edens moved out and headed East, the residents left behind, took matters in their own dirty, uncleaned hands and changed the towns name to "Sodomus & Gonorrhea," in recognition of the most prevalent health-issue facing the 12 men remaining in the "Little Town By the Levy." (And had no Levy).

Due to the fact that many of the locals where bad spellers, a century later they changed the town's name,once again, agreeing to the shorter the name, making it easier to misspell.

These, the "Unwise Manly Men" unwisely chose the name, Sodomy & Gomorrah, the proper names of the two reaming, er, remaining, uninfected folks still living there.
 
Emanuel, a distant relative of mine, recorded the in his Secret Sacred Scrolls of the Naked , which if found, could send these two jerk-offs to jail for life.

Therefore, being "unwise men," they recorded their dirty deeds in Crayola Crayons, in leather, upon the backs of sheered, "live" sheep, that they might move them quickly, if the need arose. And, it often did. 

Later, much latter, when they both reached the age of Methuselah, 969, they decided to hide the Secreted Scrolls , within the bowels of a stinky, musty smelling, ancient cave, wrapped in used toilet paper to keep "looters"at a distant. (Looter are progenitors to present day Hooters.

Thus, their crimes, and this scene, was not molested for over 2,400 years. Until, one day, a gay camel herder stumbled upon on them, and, knew that smell, instantly concluded that something was ajar. And, indeed it was. The scrolls were neatly packed in "Foul Sheep Dip" and stored in clay jars. 

It was very important that my ancestors hide these scrolls while they were alive. The notorious, brutal, misogynist freaks, known as, "The Thought Police,"  doggedly tracked them day and night and night and day. 

The "Thought Police," as is the custom to day, would not give up until they found them, and did "unspeakable things" to them, " In The Heat of the Night," which latter won posthumous, several Golden Globe Award for "Best TV Series."

These Ruthless,Right-Wing Extremists were not piano players.. There were no pianos at the Inn, just very unattractive tarts.

These Killers For Christ were before their time. They were trained in their deadly craft at the  Mike Pence School of the "You Damn Right, You Can Refuse Anyone Service For Religious Reasons, 'Cause ,You Bitches, Are Bigoted Religious Nut Jobs and Saber Rattling "Killer Fer Christ."

If anyone from that outfit discovered the scrolls, Sodom and Gomorrah's reputation would be ruined, rendered void and gnawed. These former camel herders didn't mess around.

It is not the same today? When voters, here, in 'Merica, discovered that Pete Buttigieg was "gay,", they killed his presidential bid, threw him into the Press Pin, to be "mauled" by reporters.

Religious Scholars surmised, that those boys, "back in the day," the antiquity days, knew what was what. As, we sometime think we know!

Experts agree that that is why they buried the scrolls and each other. They didn't want anymore scandals circulating about them.
                                                   
SACRED SCOLLS

The Sacred Scrolls were first dug up in first Century, A.D. by Joseph Smith, Founder of the Mormon Church, who read them, and reburied them in Salt Lake City for others to discover, because, like me, he was a poor reader, who received low marks from his teachers.

Our ancestors, if you did not know, were into recycling, too. That is not something that this generation just started. Don't believe it, google it, Meatheads.

Read and re-read, again, and, again, Psalm 23, Curses 23, page 23, titled "Spells and Curses Used and Reused Over & Over, By Our Ancestors is Guaranteed to Banish our Enemies and them Straight to Hell! Its greatest asset was its ability to WHITEN yellow teeth.

Now, B&S, of the CHDeGeneration , if you are "gay," reading these sacred, never seen before codices will scared you "straight."  So, be careful.

Archaeologists, refer to it as a "Two-fer!"

Just send your last two checks to Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored", % Mildew, Ohio. It will get to me. Everyone knows that I am living high off of the hog in the Jail like Julian Assauage, on "Trump-ed up charges" for speaking, writing, and spewing NONSENSE.😜 I

t's my first book. Give me a break!

Guilty as charged.

                  When KARMA Fails Us, What Do We Do-Do?"

Should we take matters into our own dirty, filthy, unwashed, COVID19 infested hands?

Or, as the Wise Old Owl said to the Unworthy rabbit, "Run Rabbit Run!" Run, Shoo-shoo-less, in your untied, designer tennis shoes, run bitches like old Shoe-less Joe Jackson never did, before I gobble your arses up for brunch!" 
 
Let me ask you, fellow Newstalkers.com , do we take the "Road Less Traveled," as Robert Frost did? That softer, poetic fork in the road to problem solving, or, the Dumpster's decidedly more "Crooked,Thorny, Horny, Mean-Spirited One", less traveled, because of the tourist buses?" 

Where so upon, in our Journey to Enlightenment , we might, at will, scare the " be-jesus " out of everyone, (especially Will, the "sissy) and, ANYONE "that isn't someone."

You know, like nerds, curds, kids on the debate team, math majors, geeks, freaks, young meat. People like me hiding inside my facade.

We were the sick ones, the routs, uncivil ones that liked to scare the younger weaker student " shatless " via a blood curdling Wolf Pack Howl, that sounded more like hyenas, as we raced thru the Hill School halls, knocking over students, books, banging on lockers, and. laughing, always, laughing, until Mister Whitman, the principal, pulled a loaded gun forcing us to "STFU and return to your classrooms." Bummer!

It is that kind of abuse that stunts a would be mass murderer and turns them into "Bible Thump- ers !" Amen!

"Shoo-shoo, you little bitches, in your pink britches! Run, Rabbit, Run ," we shouted at squealing girly boys, without their guns, crying like hysterical grammar school girls? Cowards everyone!

We were the Thugs, the Sweat Hogs, the Dominators, back in the day, when everyone was "gay,", dancing, dancin' in the streets, was a treat in the 1950s. 

'Merica was a better, bitter place for poor whites trash, and, not as confusing as our time is today with Pence and Trump installed in the White House by Putin. 

Now, we are Trump Supporters, who use the woolly, bully Trump "Approach to Problem Solving:  Get The Hell Outta My Face, or, I blow your arse back to Hades, Rat face."

(Not our recommended, "Results Oriented Approach" used by civilized, thoughtful folks, like us, Gus, here, on the newstalkers.com, purveyor of Fake News. How do you do?

Do we dare, "You Whose" to be so square, so naive, so wimpy that we continue to sing off-key (way off-off key) even though "We are the Ones, The Chosen Ones" rejected, ejected, by our Re-Puritan "Betters?"

"Hey, Jude, what will we do-do?" 

Do We Dare Pull Out Our Hair, Suck Our T humbs like that Witless-Dumb, Half- Arse , fake POTUS in the WH? Shouldn't that POS be locked in an outhouse?

My Fellow, Brave Hearts, you worn-torn, huddled, brow-beaten, gentle arses, know to local authorities, as Brothers & Sistas of the Corn-Hole De-Generation.    I "ax" you, WTF are we to do?

Do We Dare "Run for the Border?" The Mexican Border, that is, before the WALL IS COMPLETED?

                          "We Distort - You Snort!" 

That, illustrated above in bold, large print, is our much over-used tag-line for this, the Less Than Prestigious, Eat The Press - Do Not Read It!  

We are the ORIGINAL Fake News. We are so fake we just make SHAT up! Do not shake hands with us!

For example, our newest Fake headline:  "Breaking News:  Scientists Just Discovered That Trump is NOT a Moron, as we previously reported! He is a Certified Horse's Patoota!"

This latest edition will soon be on sale at all grocery stores that failed to pass their Health Inspection.  Look for it in the Gun aisle. Butt, Butt Heads, don't buy any. We are trying to clean up that mess.  

"Dead person on Aisle 6!"

My advice to you, NudeVine.DropOuts.commies is don't  waste your time reading this liberal trash, Eat The Press! 

It's worthless, the value is in the pulp when one eats it. So, eat It, Michael, don't "Beat It. " That is so passe.

Ignorance is Bliss!

 Our Journalist Creed (below) which is permanently imprinted on our arses, via a ceremonial pick-ax passed down from Father to Son for ages by the Night Ticklers from the old country, Laugh Slovenian! The First Ho's place of birth.

"All Hail, Slovenia, Mother Fuc-Cards birth place. 

Excuse me, for that aside, but, I couldn't help me-self. I prefer the Scottish more intimate "me", as in me head.)

As I was so inaptly saying, our Journalistic Creed, reads, in its original crumbling Greek, Latin (Pig Latin) and, of course, Horse, the Biblical Aramaic for devout "Killers For Christ", as follows, below, very far below our competitors.

We are not Journalists - We are Urinalists!  We piss on the News! Trump love it. He is on our mailing list.

Note when reading this, take off your clothes and send photos of proof. Thank you, the Management. Ready? Here is our Creed as Mephistopheles wrote it.
                                                    ---
" The public's right to know every damn thing, right this damn minute, about every damn person in the freakin' world; SUPERSEDES our Right to Tell the Truth. So, we don't!  We just make SHAT Up!"

BLISS

Hell's Bells, Girly-Men & Manly-Girls , Do Not Read Anything! Ignorance is Bliss.

I should know. I've been "bliss" all of me life!

From the moment "me" mom pulled me out, feet first, took one look at me cone shaped head, screamed to "God Almighty", shouting, "This is a mistake! I am not a Cone-Head. I am a Leper."

According to the testimony provided to police by of the maternity ward's disorderly, orderly.

It seems that me "Mum", was so distraught with what she had just done, that she flung me violently across the hospital room like a pitcher's fastball.

Kah - Splat! 

Flat against that wall. There is still a mark on it to this day.

"Foul ball," shouted the nurse, then, ran out screaming hysterically about "demons."

Rumor has it, that I slammed, inadvertently me soft-head into the hard, ceramic tiled wall, ricocheted into the waiting, hairless, cold arms of Doctors Ding Dong & Ding-A-Ling, who raised me with sheep. It was cheaper that way, they claimed at their Child Abuse hearing!

I never did develop a taste for sheep dip, or, cold, hairless arms, to this day. But,  Butt Heads, there is always tomorrow! 

"Tomorrow, Tomorrow Is Only A Day A Way."

All together, now, NewsTalkers.comminists , sing it out:

"Tomorrow, Tomorrow . . . May Never Come, Unless We Drum that Piece of Scum out of The  White House! Into the Outhouse!"

"Hum, Hum, Hum it like it is the End of Times. " 

If you want to have the greatest impact, set in your preferred lotus position, butt, make sure your head is deeply embedded in Uranus.

Thank, you. Thank you, folks, that was Wonder Bar, chimed in Liberace. Yes, he is still alive and playing Gay Baths thorough out America.

Now, Folk Lorgnettes, a little about me, your host!  Some of you, the more enlightened, might know what kind of "Kook", I is, and, the rest might not want to know what they have gotten themselves, fa-dangled up with. Sorry, it is, too, late. You should have listened to your Mother.

I am "The One Your Mother Warned You About." 

Let me explain, not that anyone gives a damn, including me. I had a traumatic childhood, as I surmised, that many of you, mixed-up kid did, also. I can see it in your writings.
 
I never knew me "Mum", she died at childbirth - her own. (Bum!)

My father, a certified sex prodigy, passed away when he was nine. (On Rum).

I was raised by Siamese Twins, conjoined at the arse , as a farce.
(They were former, Vaudeville, Slap-Stick, Comedians on the run from creditors, and the "Law", McGraw. Now don't start drawing on the wall. You know how Pierre H. hates that).
Well as I was saying, and you weren't listening, consequently, I was left Home A Lone to "play" with myself, which I did every day, nine or ten hours.

But, when the clowns returned from their seasonal theater tours, followed by short stints in every Lock-Ups, in every town, in all 50s states. They loved to surprise me with these unscheduled visits in a most "unusual way".

They never fail to awaken me up at the crack of dawn, those devilishly, handsome, slant-eyed, sons of same, conjoined-comedians would cracked me arse, to awakened me.

That always gave them a big laugh, but not me.

Next, they would kick me down the stairs. Then, up the stairs, again and again, until they were physically exhausted and giddy. One might say, they got their kicks that way. (Freaks!)
 
I didn't! I got my "kicks," much later.

One morning, after the conjoined twins kicked me up the stairs, then, down the stairs, I decided to do something about it.

I tore out the stairs.

But, that didn't stop them. What stopped them was falling into the hole where the stairs used to be! 

                          Now, that's Karma, Baby!
                      That's what I am talkin' about!


DISCLAIMER :

This is a Special Edition, Cliff Notes for Special Folks, a handy, helpful Health Guide for you, my soon to be ailing, Fellows & Fellow- ettes , here, on this, "possibly contaminated," COVID19 site, known in some most Republican circles as T heNewsTalkers.Communist .

(I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?) 😎

To the cool folks, here, the "insiders," it is know as, " The New Stalkers," (for short)! 

However, if one is an ignoramus, (Trump Supporter) and, did not know it, butt, their dirty, rag-tag underwear showed it, we be  "The Social Media Platform to beat the Livin' Crap Out of All the other "Tattlers".

We are the war-torn, huddled-masses of weary asses; the wet, the cold, the browns folks trying to sneak into our pristine, endangered, White-Only country of semi-literate bumpkins, living badly in battered trailer courts throughout all 50 states of ' Merica playing with their stockpile of weapons. 

As many of you "Street Walkers, Hustlers, and Car Boosters" may know, We be the cream of the crop of thenewstalkers.com's. We are the Supreme S weat-Hogs!" John Travolta's Sweat Hogs! The "Untouchables," no one messes with us, do even the Moderators.

We are the "cluster Fu-cat-ers", who get to eat first at the "Cool Kids Lunch Table."

(I bet most of you don't even know where it is located. Do ya? Cooties!)
 
Thus, Gus, we be known, now, as "the Cool Whip Cream eaters.  The distinguished Dream Team" of PH's creation.

We are the one, the "only ones" that intuitively know, that this site is our site, our Virtual Sanctuary Citadel.

It is our home away from our institutions, jails and nursing homes that we sprang forth from, or, in my case, involuntarily departed. 

It is our mental homo, a way from home, our Verbal Sanctuary, wherein, we flourish, or, flush safely away from the hate-filled , hostile world of Die Hard Slow Witted, Conservative Republicans addicted to Bruce Willis films and violence.

The world that Nixon-Reagan and W, along with those dopes, Republican-Conservatives Straight from Hades drudged up! 

(Ref: The   Drudge Report). Google it.

For decades, these misplaced, twisted, ideological wart-hogs (Re-Thugs) obsessed over "smaller government, deregulation, Family Values, and, THEIR favorite platform: "No Food For Poor Folks."

This Republican Platform was crafted by Pat Robber-son, (Club 777) "God Wants Evangelicals To Be Filthy Rich, Too," and, Putin!

(Bet you didn't know that, ether?)

All of these worthless Draconian policies were designed to help our "betters," get better, and, we all get the COVID19 fer free.

It makes economic sense that Vulture Capitalists, crooked Corporations, the Uber Rich, the "One Percent-ers," should be guaranteed the privilege to do as they damn, well please; especially Lord Over Us, Gus.

In their lexicon, "The Common Fleas", as they are fond to refer to we, the Backwards Expired 'Merican-Made, Cans of Stupid .

Well, it is true, most of us are still using ink well, instead of computers. And, I am sorry to say, many of us are straight from Jail, Juvenile Facilities, or, Yale.

You see, fellow Straight-Jacket-Wearers, I am not a silly, comedian, as some  of you Hooting Hooters defame me.

I am an Unemployed Philosopher! (Write that down.)

My mission is to "ED-U-MA-CATE" foks, the "Fallen Angels from Heaven, without wings!" If not, in China, they end up being served as "Wings & Things." One does not want to know where the things come from, or, what they are.

Therefor, eaters of "Leaven Bread," whether, or, not you want to be "ED-U-MA-CA-TED," by a former cast-out, you will be telepathically. It may take some time. I am still working of the A-s. Be patient, your turn will come and, you, too, will be "enlightened" for ONLY $99.00 for the rest of your life.

My message, like me, is simple, to the point, and, mostly grammatically incorrect, with plenty of misspelled words, like a Trump Tweet! (Nearly, incomprehensible).

The enemy Is NOT Left Leaning Liberals, Too Lazy to Get A Job . It is darker.

"It's Billionaire Arse-Wipes, like the Koch Roach Brothers that "Can't Get No Satisfaction." No matter how hard they try. Nor, how much wealth they accumulate, they still want more, 😜just like Sex Fiends, that "Can't Get No Satisfaction."

" All Righty, then ", Jim Carey knows! That is all that I care about. Jim also knows that song, all of the lyrics, and, some of the tune.

Lets make Jim Carey happy and sing a few bars of it along with him. Start us off, Jim Boss. Then, we, too, might get "Some Satisfaction."  

Go on now, congregates, shout it out, "Can't Get No Satisfaction, But If I try sometime, I might get what I need. Laid!"

Who got some, raise your hand? The rest of you look under your seats, Opra put something under there for you'll.

And, don't you ass-wipe, former crack smokin' , free-love, old hippies fer get it, neither! 

Now, listen up you Lazy Arses, I want you, former Low-Lifes to REMEMBER "dis," we have rules, too. 

No cursin', smokin', drinkin' or, Jim Crow reversin', chere! Can I get a Haleakala from my Hawaiian friends?

Folks, those of you who have given up on traditional religion because of the money demands (tithing 10 percent of your gross income, NOT, the Net Income, which can be expensive, even though you might go directly to Hell if you do not donate to the church.

Now, you nearly broke, former Christians, without disposable income, have your only Holy Place , a Virtual Sanctuary City for Misfits, Cow Licks, and the Un-Wanted Fruit of the Looms that no longer fit. It's Paradise.

We, Be "The Awares", not the Squares. "The Awoke," not the Broke!

Brothers & Sistas, we be the "wrongly accused," despised, Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation!  

Can I get an "Amen," for dat Sha t?

"A-M-E-N," and, how about an "Amen" for Brother Ben Carson. America's First White-Black Man! Amen, Jack and "Hit the Road, Jack, and Don't Ya Come Back, No More, No More. Hit the Road, Jack!"

Now, that is a wonderful send off Doctored Ben Carson. Thank you, folks.

In our hearts, and our farts, we (you and I) instinctively know that we are " The Chosen Ones !"  'Cause, we be doin' the chosin'.

Come on now, NewsTalkers.com , gather round, hunker down, and, gives me another, "Hallelujah," for that Scat ?

Rap ain't SHAT ! 

SCAT   is where its at!

"Hallelujah. We is the Chosen Ones!"

We know, (you and I know) butt, those BUTT HEADS don't know - that, we be the ONLY ONES, "in The Know," when it comes to Blow, Snow Flakes, 'cause we be AWAKE. 

Now, Howl at the Moon , Jump on your seats, dance in the aisle, Talk-In-Tongues, cause, no one can understand you anyway, and do the "Hokey-Pokey," and turn yourself about, until you pass out! - Alan Ginsberg, Greenwich Village Poet 

Of course, Horse, our Special Place in the Universe is due to the fact that we wasted our lives away playing that damnable Devil's game, "Corn Hole," all dang day-long, when we should've been out lookin' fer a job that don't exist. 

Now, in case ,you is a Right-Wing Muskrat that snuck in chere , dis, here, is a Social Medium Platform! This ain't no Twitter where we "flitter!" 

"No, Sir, Reba Mack-entire," chere, baby girl, we slide, we glide, we socialize by swapping "Lies," discus disproved conspiracy theories gone viral on YouTube, and work to improve the planet, You Who! Fuc* Up. We ain't the enemy. You is. And Trump is the DEVIL. 

It is, here, Brothers & Sistas, where we are safe to ask that age old question, "Why? Oh, God? Why Him? Why Trump? He is nothin' but a PUNK!"

Why is that Half-Wit still rumbling about in the People's White House?

We are the "unemployables," WE NEED CASH, NOW! Nothing but federal "bailouts" will help us now.

We are the small-town "rubes" that fell hard for that orange, tanned face and blonde possum's nest on his heat. 

We are the ones, too, dense to come in out of da' rain! 

Yet, Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation, We are the ONLY Ones Dedicated to "Draining the Swamp! With our own MOPS. No federal issued mops for us, Gus!"

"Hear, Hear!" Can I get a "Hear-Hear", cheer"? Well, f**k, you, too! 

Lend me your ears, for I am in need of them. I am deaf, dumb, and bat-shat crazy. It's gettin' worst by the minute!That is why I am asking each and everyone of you to send $20 to Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo GO FUND ME ACCOUNT.

Folks, We, that is some of you, Are the Big Guns. The Ones That Strolled the Hill School Halls like we owned them!

Now, "We are the Ones Fighting the Good Fight to Save Daylight Saving Time " from the cruel, heartless corporate thugs & thugettes, who want to turn our clocks back one hour! 

I say, "Horse, Shat, to dat, Muther-Foo-Cats!"

BULLETIN - BULLETIN:

(We interrupt this CNN News Rant for a word from one of our unbalanced Moderator, Split Pea Soup, da Vicious ):

( No Value! T here is nothing of Value here . You don't know what you are talking about. Get lost, rat! Jump off a cliff note, you sinking ship of shat!)

(Now, readers, I must say, that quip, hurt like a whip cracking over me arse).

Fellow Thespians, Has-Be-ians , Wannabes, and, Cone-Heads: May I address you, my comrades (in someone else's arms), in the familiar?

Yes?

Well, then, Fellow, Yellow-Belly, Chicken-Shats, Freak-Commies, and, of course, Horse, you Left-Leaning-Liberals, Too-Lazy-To Get-A-Job! Let me say this about that, "Times They Are A Changin'!" - Bob Dylan on Ritalin! (Published by our BETTERS, the good, doped up folks at Pharmaceuticals of America who sponsor the life changing campaign: "Addiction For Life For Everyone to Stimulate the Economy and Make More MONEY, Honey for the Rich Folks." 

Aint' America Great, Again?

  AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This mess we find ourselves in is a very no laughing matter, but, "If We Try Sometime, It Just Might Be." Therefore, fellow "Talkers," we are asking you to sign your life away and get your subscription, or, prescription, right this damn minute, as I toot, you scoot! 

Author's Aside :  "Toot! Toot, Donald! Smell that! It's for you. It's from the Bowels of HELL. I just wanted to give you a taste, Orange Face, 'cause de Devil, she be a coming to get you!

More importantly, youse Guy and Dolls, here, on thenews.communists are gonna be out of "Times," if you don't sign up, now.

And if you don't, I ain't "setting your clocks forward! No more, no more!"

Fellow, "NewsStalkers," if we falter, hold our halter, too, tightly, thus, cutting off blood to our brain, yet, fail to "Drain the Swamp," or, worse, to rid ourselves of that "Spot of Snot in the White House," we may all be consumed, doomed to be lunch (my hunch) for the CORONA-VIRUS19 bunch!  

(Sweeping Generalization! Get, ye, behind me, Heathen!) Sweet Pea, Sandy.

Write that down in your Book of Predilections, co-authored, of course, Horse by moi, Loony Tune Viticus, Trump's Greek Ghost Writer, Hedonist & Pleasure Seeker Pimp!

Or, as our sweaty, fat, deranged, orange Virulent Verbal Viru s in the White House, Trump, "the Dumpster" likes to call our current health crisis, " - a damnable FAKE PANDEMIC, created by Demon-crats, still under Obama's spell, and, on their way to HELL!"

(Off . . . Way Off Topic) - "Better Knock it Off, or, I will knock you up, lock you up, and, have Bubba F-U-UP!) - MS-13!

(Off Topic) Do it again, and, I will beat you to a bloody pulp with my Hickory Cain, Brother. He is a killer.

Sadly, folks, our sad saga, " How NewsVine.com became NewsTalkers.com, without a legal decision from the Supreme Court" goes on and on, in nausea-um. If you want it to end, Send $20.00 to Eat The Press % Mildew, Ohio and it will instantly, "Cease & Disorder."

If not, it goes on and on:

Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored" still talking to himself continued his monologue, which started us on this tangent.

"Trump, and I", noted, Jonathan, who spake in his monotonous monologue because, he can't bake.

It was, indeed, a "true monologue" for no one was listening, not even a mouse, as it is says in the Hindu "Dead Sees Only Scrolls."  

"He that listens will be eaten by squirrels". - Preamble!

"Folks," Jonathan confessed, I will share with you a secret. I have a "back channel," (a private, super-secret forum) for me to "co-moon-knee-ate," directly to the "Orange One in the WH," via telephotography. 

TRUMP'S PHONE CALL

The "Con," Don, and I, are on the same frequency, in some strange, odd, wave.
I miraculously, hear him when he calls, which is more and more often, especially, late at night when he want me to help him spell a word. It is "Tele-Pathetic," my psychiatrist, Mongoose  Zsigmondy explained to me in sign langue, since he is deaf.  He recommend that it is something I should immediately abandon.

"Well, folks, and folkettes, (silly transgenders), let me torture onward.  On this scornful, cold, bitter morning, "the Donald" called, telepathically, as he is want to do, late at night. Our minds are one, as some assholes are.

"T he Donnie-Boy" is what I call him, after our first kiss, was in a "very bad, sour mood"!

It seems that no one in the White House had the decency to call him "GOD," as he strolled the third-floor corridor in his wet Depends, chilly, and all alone, with no one available to change him.!

Man, oh, Manly Man, did the Orange Face with Pink Eyeliner H A T E that!

So, quite naturally, he took it out on me. I am a little bit of a masochist, and, Trump is a whole-lot of a full-on sadist, so, we bonded together, and, do other private things that I am not at liberty to mention, together.

Melanoma doesn't mind. She is usually "shlonging" a Secret Service agent in the Lincoln Bedroom. That is the only way she can climax, imaging Abe.

On the phone, Don, "The Con" shouted at the top of his lungs, so loudly, I had to hold the telepathic-phone 36" foot from my ear- arse , as they did in the Ukraine, right NEXT TO MY ASS mouth! 

"The Donald" did not hold back. He blasted out a string of vulgar invective's: "You, dumb arse, Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Crap," he bellowed, then, punched, V.P. PENCE in the face, for emphasis.

Trump's regular punching bag, Doctor Been Crazy, was not available. He was too busy playing with matches.

So I was more than happy to step into "The Ring of Fire" with him. I like it like that. Hot, angry, sweaty, with a lot of "throw downs."

Oh, how I love to hear a man a "Manly Man" bellow at this fellow, especially, "the Bronze Donald!" 

The "Con Man's Con Man" hollers in that ear-piercing high-pitched, angry, manly-man's voice which often arouses me. I get so excited, so nervous, that I pee me-self. Hee, Hee . (He likes it like that, you know.)

Trump continued to railed at me, even though, I put the telepathic phone down to clean up the mess I created. I always have paper towels with me at all times, and lug them about wherever I roam.

If I forget to bring them, "Donnie" will save the day, an,d toss a roll to me. He has a good tossing arm. I lick, er, like it, too. I like everything about "The Donnie."

But, this particular morning was different. He raged, in a belligerent, vindictive way, that excited me so much, I nearly passed out.

Donald screamed,"Those damn, Left-Leaning Liberals Demon-crates are at it, again," he said.

"They are blaming this fraudulent, non-existent flu-bug on me! Can you believe that SHAT," The Commander in Orange Cheetos, asked, though he never want anyone to reply.

"Imagine that! Me?", he went one at a very high Megahertz, and man, did it hurt.

"By God," he wailed, "I am God's GIFT to Humanity," where upon, he huffed and puffed, like the Big Bad Wolf  "blowing me house down."

"It was magnificent". It blew off my housecoat, P.J.s and house shoes.

From the bathroom, where I retreated to, I heard him say, "They are accusing me of being incompetent!"

 "I can't be incompetent . . . ," the Orange One shouted, as he banged his head on the Oval office desk. "I don't even know what incompetent means." 

  "Incontinent, yes, but not incompetent. They don't sell Depends for that," at which point he chocked, nearly croaked sending the Dow into overdrive.

"Can you believe these lying, criminal Demon-crates saying that I don't care about anything, but MONEY, Honey?

"Well that's true!

"I hate those self-serving Liberal-Commie bastards! They just want to bring down the Greatest President who ever lived, ME! 

"Furthermore, Pinhead," our fake POTUS, real POS, added, "I was NOT illegally installed by Putin! Nor, am I a Fake POTUS, real POS. I am a REAL POTUS, Fake POS.

"Listen to me, you bi-racial, bi-polar, bi-pedal Jerk-wad, I am an a Certified Professional CROOK!  Not like Nixon, that pussy grabbing bastard. That's what got him impeached. Not Watergate!

"I didn't get impeached. I got exonerated!  Because I know how to Cheat. I have balls, Nixon  was a punk.

"I am the only president in the history of this country not afraid to say it publicly. Nixon was to much of a pussy to do that. All of the Presidents were pussies." I am the ONLY one appointed by God.

The president was on a roll, "Hell-Bells, Girly-Man, I am a renowned, worldwide CON ARTIST. My misdeeds and pee are on display at the Al Capone Museum For Crime Bosses."

I didn't know that, I thought to my self and made a mental note to write it down so I might memorize it and tantalize myself later.

"And, by God," he went on, now that he found his groove, "I am good enough, dumb enough, to admit it. It is a thing of pride. Pence doesn't have any pride. If he did, he would be in the PARADE twirling batons, instead of his tiny-ass-worthless thumbs."

 Trump rattled on self pitiably, "Giuliani (aka, Ghoule-lee-an-ee) is the only one in my unofficial Kitchen Cabinet that I trust. He is as crooked as I am. We look out for each other. "

  "Why, when that little, grease ball, WHOP flew to Ukraine, he didn't lease an expensive, private jet, like that wimp, Steven Mnuchin, did on the government's dime.

"No, he just flapped his wings and flew off.

"Now, that is a patriot. Rudi was in Kiev, unknown to me (but, of course, Horse, by my orders) digging up dirt on Biden, so, I might be president until 2044.

  "Rudy, even called me from there. This crooked, little, Italian, grease-ball, wop bastard is more corrupt than I am.

Trump railed, Ghouliani took the time from his, heroic,historic mission to call me, collect", Trump chortled. Trump likes to chortled. It has something to do with his childhood.

The Fake POTUS, Real POS, continued, "Rudy sucked-up to me, in my 'Hour of Impeachment', offering to provide me 'free' legal advice, because he knows, I don't pay my bills.

"When you ain't got a defense," Rudy advised, "blame the damn Dems." 

  "And, damn, fart, Hell if it didn't work," cursed POTUS. "I was exonerated by my Republican friends in the Senate . .  on a threat of an Epstein if they didn't. Putin taught me that trick!"

"Finally, the most deserving President anywhere in the world was featured on the cover of Times (third times in one day) and given a 'Ticker Tape Parade down Fifth Avenue', where I shot several people from my Presidential Float.

"It was so much fun. I wish I could do that every day. I could clean up New York City in a New York Minute. I would put that rat, New York City Mayor, Bill de Blassio, in a nuthouse for life and have non-consensual sex with his wife. That really turns me on. Non-consensual Sex.

The Donald was in a rare mood and  dished more dirt on his rivals, "The Real Mayor of New York City is Ghoul-Lee-An-eee, t he Italian-Jews! No one knows this, but, me! " 

At which point, T-Rump shouted to do one in particular, and, No-One-In-Particular, shouted back from the room next door, "STFU! You Idiot!"

Trump was on a classic rant, now, "We both, Rudi and I, have close ties to the NYC MAFIA .  So don't mess with us, or, we will mess you up!" 

"The Mafia is not what most folks think!", the Donald clarified, playing with his trouser zipper.
"It is an elite, prestigious Social Club for NYC's Richest Crooks." 

"We are, also, members of the same Gay Bath, located in the Village" where bending over to get the soap is a recreation exercise, not a sordid affair, I swear.

  "Well, Rudy, that dirty, Italian immigrant is so crooked he would steal your mamma's teeth, in a New York Minute," Trump laughed.

"In some ways, Rudy, was my mentor. He taught me to be proud of what I do best, 'Conning Ignorant folks' out of their money! "

  "Just like my criminal daddy, Frederick, and, before him, my Grand Pappy, Snappy, who made a fortune from running a string of brothels out West."  

 Now, Trump flipped instantly into one of his notorious VENDETTA mood swings, "I swear, to you, and all the crud in this world, if any, blood sucking, punk-arse Demon-crat that dare says different, I will, personally, shove William Barr, United States Attorney General, so, far up their buns that Barr's fat eyes will be looking out of theirs.

  "My supporters, would be like, calling these Liberal arses, 'Four Eyes' . . . like I used to do to my pre-school classmates. Then, pushed the little suckers (pre-schoolers) down the elevator shaft. Ha! Ha! Boys, those were the days!"

Rumor, that is Bruce Willis' daughter, has it on pretty sketchy authority, that Trump chortled, nearly choking to death while singing out loud, "those were the good old days of yore, when there were whores galore. A smorgasbord, we hat, at Epstein's PENTHOUSE place."

"What an IDIOT!", I thought to myself, but, dare not say aloud, as Trump twitted and railed aloud simultaneously, in between asking me to spell more words.

"No one is capable of shoving a fat arse, like Barr up someone's arse!", I said to myself out loud. Trump wasn't listening. He doesn't listen to anyone.

  Have you seen how fat Barr's Arse is? It is huge! Bigly!

  Trump finally, pulled himself together, and explained, in a more modulated tone, with some soft, piddling, tinkling noises in the background, as we chatted on our daily, "Morning Telepathic, Top-Secret Devotional Incommunicado." 

 I was so freaking' delighted that Trump, Real POS, Fake Potus, was calling me direct. I didn't care about the collect charges.

  BTW, written transcripts are available for ONLY $1.00. No audio tapes were made, or, release to the public. 

  "HIS ROYAL HIGH ARSE", Trump, snorted a slew of curse words that even I didn't know. The Con Man, Don, barked that I, better wise up, or, Trump threaten to "wise (my) Arse Up & Down the stairs, like the conjoined twin doctors used to do you! You, Piss-Ant, Little, Wise-Arse, Meathead Commie, Pinko, Fag!"

  "Mercy, me, Bubba", I said, "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden."

  "Well, half-wit, I have one now! Get down on your knees, Clown. And get her done," the wanabe King commanded. 

  I was so thrilled. Goose bumps ran up and down my body like a Schizo on Speed.

  I must confess, because, I am a mess, I never had a clue, that the nation's First Fake President thought me wise! It made me tingle all over me body, so much so, I cried. 

  Note to Readers: It is OK to read this Epistle to your children and grandchildren before they go to bed. Mine helped me write it before they went to jail.)

  Trump called me back to lecture me further saying: "Listen up, arse-wipe, you, penniless piece of twat. I am talkin' to you, Miss Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Crap, from Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs - not even blow jobs! You hear me? 

  "If you don't straighten up, I will cut the air off to that puny, little borough by the county's Waste Treatment plant, Mildew! I will, I will, I will . . . you. Chinese carry virus swell.

  "And, tell those Mildew ass-wipes to stop swimming in it. That is probably where the COVID 19 started. You filthy Ohio Corn Holers!" Thereupon, "The Donnie" slammed the telepathic phone down, again, and, again, until I did something about it. I tore it out of me mind.

  Even those I was eating my lunch of dry crackers crumbs on cracked, un-buttered, unsalted wheat bread, in the kitchen, one-room away, I could hear the Commander-In-Blurting-Out-Shat say,"This is the poppy-damn-fart-Hell last time I am going to tell you, get on board, or ,get your arse out of MY COUNTRY!" The freaked-out, faked-out, breathy POTUS raged, in that peculiar orange wave of his and like magic he was gone.

  "Yes, Sire, your, Holy, Molly Orange One," I responded, telepathically, while in a deep sleep dreaming of big-busted Stormy Daniels.

  "It is all Nancy Pelosi's (Head Demon) fault, Sire. not eye . . I mean, I". I stammered. 

  "Mister President" I begged, "let me explain! Nancy, that poor, little thing, Gorilla Glued that messages to every-poppy-darn-fart Demon-crat's ARSE, via some sort of Wicked Dems Witchcraft! 

  "You, see, Sir, you were right all along. It is a Witch Hunt! And, to be honest, Commander-In-Whoppers, I kind of enjoyed it, being a freak and all!"

  Trump spoke, again, this time from his considerable, arse: "Sounds kooky, to me Jonathan."

  "Want to see mine?" I asked, quivering, shaking, rattling and wanting to roll in the hay, as I tippy-toed about in my flat in me worn, torn tennis shoes with multiple holes. 

  "No, not now, Homo," responded Trump, harshly, but, manly! A chill swept over me. I didn't know if he scared me SHATLESS , or, desired me.

  "Maybe later," the Donald, cooed softly. 

  "For now, you piece of flem, I want youse to get your white arse a crackin', and, wash those nasty, hurtful, menacing messages off your arse. And, everyone else's, too!" 

  "Bye, bye! I Love, you. Talk at you next time," Trump said sweetly in that effeminate voice he reserves for his intimates.

Once, again he slammed down the telepathic-telephone with a fury, followed by a cling and a clatter. 

  "What does it matter?", I said to myself. "He's NUTS!"

  "Matter-Scatter, Inbred s," I spake into the disconnect, the half-backed, scorching hot phone. "Man, oh, manly man, was that Orange Thing on FIRE today! He was so hot, it singed every hair off me pussy, me pussy cat, that is, of course, Horse.

  Would any of you readers, like to see it? (My Tattoo. Not my cat) If, so, send twenty-five cent and I'll show it to ya, via email.

  It is plastered over my tattoo of that classic, "Roger Stone & the Donald", photo, where they are intertwined in an unflattering pose, known as the "Photo-shot Heard Around The World!" 

  Or you can purchase said item on sale, now, at all Hustler Magazine Adult stores.

  END OF TRUMP'S TELEPHOTO-COPY PHONE CALL

Fellow News-Trash-Talkers, Fiends, Fruitcakes and Fairies Without Your Wings, send Money, Honey. I ain't doing this fer free. I've got fleas and I need some treatments. No damn, silly, arse cards, or, flowers. Hey, that is so passe!

  "It's Money, Honey that Makes the World Go Round and Around!" 

  Not "Round Up," stop sending that stuff! I refuse to drink it, anymore, anymore! Thank you, just the same. It's toxic, like Trump. I won't swallow his junk, no more, no more! 

  "Round Up", you know, causes bad things in your body when one drinks it! So, please, Fellow Maroons, don't get the two confused. Or, as Cable News pundits say, "Conflated."

  My Cry-Babies and Fellow Travelers, the grieving process will come, thereafter. It has been scheduled by "our has-been, Porn Star," recently bumped-up to "First Ho", our one and only, professional event planner, Melanoma! Let her it for Melanoma!

  Thank you, Fellow Spit Tunes: 

  BACK TO THE SERIOUS JUNK

Enough fun, now, fer our serious activities! They will commence, hence, on a fence, when we be all gathered, fer Card Carding Members ONLY! 

  We'll gather together, like sheep, beep, bleep, for the Annual Slaughter of the Lambs ceremony, featuring this year, the nearly dead, Rev. Pat Robinson, who will invite our fellow evangelicals MEMBERS to obediently (as they did at Jones Town, to those old standards that we love so much, "Loony Tunes from the Bible while Smokin' Crack!" Those were the Days of Haze, Hay Fever and O.Ding.

  My favorites, of course, Horse, is the "Opus in Filthy Minor," and, this year, it will be conducted by Trump's Spiritual Adviser, Miss WTF's Her Name? 

  You know, that screeching, bleached-blond, skinny- arse , multi-millionaire hussy, and, "spiritual adviser" to the Dumpster. 

  Currently, Miss WTF's Her Name, is handling all things of religious importance to the nation for Trump from her paid position in the White House. Whereupon she is paid with taxpayers funds "only a pittance" of $190,000 per year. Sacrificing the millions she drags in from her "Sermons," reportedly, "written for her by GOD, in cursive, so no one else might read them!"

  This self-proclaimed, Spiritual Adviser To The Stars, that parks cars on the side, is known for her popular sermon, "Do Not Pay Your Bills - Send the Money To The Church!" 

  Her church, of course, Horse! Whereupon, the self-confirmed "preaching Less Than A- Lady, From Shady-Lane, and the "School of The Jesus Talks to Me All Freakin' Day-Long,That I Can't Get No Satisfaction, or, Sleep! Damn It To Hell!" 

  Miss WTF her-name will lead the congregates, (e.g., the Trump "suckers") in their, up-to-date, rip-roaring, ribald, favorite spiritual: "I Drove My Chevy To The Levy, But The Levy Was Dry. Singin' Bye, Bye Miss American Pie!" 

  And, on cue, in unison, we, ( "the suckettes" ) will cracked our own arses with those silly, Red, MAGA caps, then, pitch ourselves, or, each other, into the Levy! 

  "Hallelujah! Bring it on, Jones Town! We would rather drown, than be shot down, upon the sacred grounds of Jones Town, by militant Evangelicals Killers Fer Christ! Available World-Wide To Rid The World of Protestants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and You Whose, How Do You Do?" 

  We be singing, all the way down, the following. Come sing-a-long with us, now, as you read-a-long, Ding Dongs. Raise your voices and belt it out, "Trump Is Jesus!"

  "Bye, Bye Miss American Pie!

  "We Are All Gonna Die, 

  "And, I Don't Know Why! 

  "Could It Be, Could It Be, Maybe,

  "The Coronavirus 19 virus, Baby? 

  "Or, is it T-Rump, the Skunk

  "Da Wants Your Ass-sets, Chump?

  "Singin' Bye, Bye, Miss America Pie! (Chorus)

  "Bye, Bye to the Rule of Law & da Constitution, Too,

  "Bye, Bye, Miss America Pie!"

 Editor's Note:
At which point, V.P. Pence, will commence the playing of the "Annual Sacrament" from his Arse-Mouth Harp, as a reminder to the Masses of Unwashed Arses, gathered, here, together to usher in the End of Times that "the Donald loves you!"

Mike Pence like his pursed lip, then, shouted in that queer-man voice we have all learned to hate.

"Be sure to leave your estate to the Donald. He's Broke, Again, Mates and need your cash!"

  "After all," Pence added, Mother told me that, "the Jesus, the White, Blue-Eyed, European Jesus APPOINTED Trump President, and not you! So Don't Sin, Take It on the Chin, Pass the Gin & Grin! Or, Fu*k Off!"

An Aside:

Enlightened folks, you know, that Putin helped Trump, of course, Horse. But, Jesus was behind all of the Voter Fraud. 

  Your vote did not count, only Jesus's vote does. So, why vote? Stay home and pray in your closet all day, on November 3, 2020. 

  Do your part to help "The Jesus." - Lactose In-Tolerant -666!

 INTERMISSION:  Pop Corn, Anyone?

Now, is as good of a time, as any, to wash your mouth out with soap before

part two commences! I am going to throw up, then, turn myself over to federal authorities, who, at this moment, are pounding on me door.

  "Open Up, Arse Mouth, or, we will bust your door down!" Oh, I how I love the sound of husky voices.

  WARNING: This section is guaranteed to make many Right-Wing Nut-jobs Nausea, Weak-in-the knees, and, oddly Sexually Arouse. Continue at your own r

 * * *

"Screams From Uranus!" , penned from the Pen

By that lovely, fun loving, whacked out guy-girlie man,Jonathan Livingston-Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored!"

  "Oh, why, oh why, must we see those creepy eyes? Mates, can you imagine what his other ends looks like? Nor, can I, without a Fifth of Gin & Tonic! No lime, please."

  "Why, oh, why, does that old, orange fart make me old man's eyes cry? Is it the toxic fumes, or that the planet is doomed.

  "Besides, I can't drive. I don't even have a Chevy! How can I get me arse to the Levy to Die?

  "As a matter of fact, Jack, I despise American crack made cars, produced by greedy Vulture Capitalists, deliberately designed to fall apart at intervals forcing low-functioning 'Mericans, like me, to buy additional crappy cars, of inferior quality, on schedule, so billionaires might become trillion-Shat Heads.

  "While I can't afford a pot to piss in, or to put air in me tires. Life is so, unfair, I swear. That is why I am losing my hair, even if I wear me Schizo Underwear, available, too, at all Hustler Adult Book Stores. Free pack of autographed condoms with each purchase.

  "Let me ask you this, my Fellow 'Mericans, and, former Nixonians, 'Haven't we suffered enough as a nation? Wagged the tail, once, too, often?' 

  "Why must we be subjected to this fermented "Shat," (as the British call it) from that SHAT MASTERBATER, in the White House? Shouldn't he be in the White House's Outhouse?

  "The world," as Lincoln said, in his Gettysburg Address Book, "may not remember what we said, here," but, it will long remember what that fat, ARSE, the orange, golf playing, Hockey Puck SHAT, here!"  

  "Or, words not remotely similar to these.

  Here, here, Friends, Fiends and Facebook Drop Outs, it is time for all of us Queer Folks to cheer:

  "The cute, little, handsome Pete Buttigeig is out! Biden is in, Warren flew off on her broom, Amy is crooning, and Bernie is in the pub throwing back 'shot after shot', steaming like a Red-Faced Lobster that lost his grin! 

"It's clear now, the East to West Coasts that is, you are dismissed. Think about your Vote.

  "Thank you fellow Fiends, Thespians, Lesbians, and my, dear, favorite, you Sweaty Queens for your generous endowments, and, may the Shat Never Hit Your Fan!

 
I remain, deranged,

"The Dishonorable Sham,"

Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored", CEO & Flounder of Eat The Press - Do Not Eat Your Cereal!

  We are the Original FAKE NEWS! We are so fake we just make SHAT up!

All of these policies are designed that our "betters", Corporations, the Uber Rich, "One Percent," might do as they please, and, Lord Over Us Common Fleas, as they like to call the rest of 'Mericans, straight out of Jail, Juvenile Facilities and Yale.

You see, fellow Straight Jacket wearers, I am not a comedian, as some claim. I am an Unemployed Philosopher.

My mission is to "Ed-U-MA-CATE" youse "Fallen Angels from Heaven," and, eater of "Leaven Bread", whether, or, not you want to be "Ed-U-MA-CA-TED," by a former cast-out.

My message, like me, is simple, to the point, and, mostly grammatically incorrect, with plenty of misspelled words:

"The Enemy Is NOT Left Leaning Liberals, Too Lazy to Get A Job. It is darker.

"It's Billionaire Arse-Wipes that "Can't Get No Satisfaction." No matter how hard they try. Nor, how much wealth they accumulate, they still want more, 😜just like Sex Fiends that "Can't Get No Satisfaction."

All Righty, then, who knows that song. Lets sing a few bars of it. Then we might get "Some Satisfaction." 

Go on now, congregate, shout it out, "Can't Get No Satisfaction, But If I try sometime I might get what I need."

Who got some, raise your hand. The rest of you look under your seats,

And, don't you ass-wipe, former crack smokin', free-love, old hippies fer get it, neither!

I want you former Low-Lives to REMEMBER"dis"   ,we, her,e have rules, too. 

No cursin', smokin', drinkin' or, Jim Crow reversin', chere! Can I get a Haleakala from my Hawaiian friends?

Folks, those of you who has given up on traditional religion because of the money angle (the tithing of 10 percent of your gross income NOT the Net Income, which can be expensive.

Now, you nearly broke, former Christians can have your only Holy Place, a virtual Sanctuary City for Misfits, Cow Licks, and the Un-Wanted Fruit of the Looms that no longer fits.

We, Be "The Awares", "The Awoke" even if we are Broke! Brothers & Sistas, we be aware that we be the "wrongly accused," despised Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation! 

Can I get an "Amen," for dat Shat?

"A-M-E-N," Brother Ben Carson. America's First White-Black Man!

In our hearts, we (you and I) instinctively know that We Are The Chosen Ones!  Come on now, hunker down and give me another, Hallelujah, for that Scat? Rap ain't SHAT!

Scat is where its at!

We know, (you and I know) butt, those BUTT HEADS don't know - that we be the ONLY ONES  "In The Know," when it comes to Blow, Snow Flakes, 'cause we be AWAKE. 

Now, howl at the Moon until you pass out! - Alan Gingsberg 

Of course, Horse, that is due primarily to the fact that we wasted our lives away playing that damnable Devil's game, "Corn Hole," all dang day-long, when we should've been out lookin' fer a job that don't exist.

Now, in case you is a Right-Wing Muskrat that snuck in chere, dis here is a Social Medium Platform!

This ain't no Twitter where we "flitter!"

"No, Sir, Reba Mack-entire," chere , baby girl, we slide, we glide, we socialize by swapping "Lies," discus disproved conspiracy theories gone viral on YouTube, and work to improve the planet, You Who! Fuc* Up. We ain't the enemy. You is. And Trump is the DEVIL. 

It is, here, Brothers & Sistas, where we are safe to ask that age old question, "Why? Oh, God? Why Him? Why Trump? He is nothin' but a PUNK!"

Why is that Half-Wit still rumbling about in the People's White House?

We are the " unemployables " , WE NEED CASH!

We are the small-town "rubes" that fell hard for that orange, tanned face and blonde possum's nest on his heat. 

We are the ones, too, dense to come in out of da' rain! 

Yet, Brothers & Sistas of the Corn Hole De-Generation, We are the ONLY Ones Dedicated to "Draining the Swamp! With our own MOPS. No federal issued mops for us, Gus!"

"Hear, Hear!"  Can I get a "Hear-Hear", cheer"? Well, f**k, you, too! 

Lend me your ears, for I am in need of them. I am deaf and bat-shat crazy, gettin' worst by the minute!

We Are the Ones, We are the Ones, Fighting the Fight to  Save Daylight Saving Time from the cruel, heartless corporate thugs & thugettes, who want to turn our clocks back one hour!  

I say, "Horse, Shat, to dat, Muther-Foo-Cats!"

(We interrupt this CNN rant for a word from one of our unbalanced Moderator, Split Pea Soup):

(No Value!)

(Get lost, rat, jump off a cliff note, you sinking ship of shat!)

Fellow Thespians, Has-Be-ians, and, Cone-Heads:  May I address you, my comrades (in someone else's arms), in the familiar?

Yes?

Well, then, Fellow, Yellow-Belly, Chicken-Shats, Freak-Commies, and, of course, Horse, you Left-Leaning-Liberals, Too-Lazy-To Get-A-Job!  Let me say this about that, " Times They Are A Changin'!"

       - Bob Dylan on Ritalin!  ( Published in part by good folks at Pharmaceuticals of America  champion the campaign:  "Addiction for Everyone!"


AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This mess we find ourselves in is a very serious situation. Therefore, fellow "Talkers," you must get your subscription, or, prescription, right this damn minute, as I toot, you scoot!

Toot! Toot, Donald! Smell that! It's from the Bowels of HELL. I just wanted to give you a taste, Orange Face, 'cause de Devil is a coming to get you!

Moreover, youse Guy and Dolls are  gonna be out of " Times," if you don't sign up, now. And if you don't, I ain't "setting your clocks forward! No more, no more!"

Fellow, " NewsStalkers ," if we falter, hold our halter, too, tightly, cutting off blood to our brain, yet, fail to "Drain the Swamp," or, worse, to rid ourselves of that "Spot of Snot in the White House," we may all be consumed, doomed to be lunch (my hunch) for the CORONA-VIRUS19 bunch! 

( Sweeping Generalization)! Get, ye, behind me, Heathen!

Write that down in your Book of Predilection, co-authored b y moi , Loony Viticus, Trump's Greek Ghost Writer & Hedonist, Pleasure Seeker.

Or, as that sweaty, fat, deranged, orange Virulent Verbal Virus in the White House, Trump, likes to call our current health crisis, ". . . a damnable FAKE PANDEMIC," created by Demon-crats, still under Obama's spell, and, on their way to HELL!"

( Off . . . Way Off Topic) - "Knock it off, or, I will knock you up, lock you up and have Bubba F-U-UP!)

(Off Topic) Do it again and I will beat you to a bloody pulp with my Hickory Cain, Brother. He is a killer.

Sadly, our sad saga, "How NewsVine.com became NewsTalkers.com , without a legal decision from the Supreme Court."

Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored" still talking to himself continued his monologue, which started us on this tangent.

"Trump, and I", noted, Jonathan, who spake in his monotonous monologue because, he can't bake. It was indeed, a "true monologue" for no one was listening, not even a mouse, as it is say in the Hindu Dead Sees Only Holy Scrolls. 

"Folks ," Jonathan confessed, I will share with you a secret. I have a "back channel," (a private, super-secret forum) for me to "co-moon-knee-ate," directly to the "Orange One," (Trump) via telephotography.

"The Con", Don, and I are on the same frequency, in some strange, odd, wave. I can hear him when he calls, which is more and more often, especially, late at night when he want me to help him spell a word.

Well, on this scornful, cold, bitter morning, Donald called, telepathically. Our minds are one, as some "assholes" are.

"Donnie-Boy" is what I call him, after our first kiss, was in a very bad mood! It seems that no one  in the White House had the decency to call him "GOD" as he strolled down the third corridor nude. Man, oh, manly Man, did the Orange Face, with Pink Eyeliner, H A T E  that!



So, naturally, he took it out of me. I am a little bit of a masochist, and, Trump is a whole lot of a full on sadist, so, we bonded together, and, do other private things that I am not at liberty to mention, together, Melanoma is "schlonging" another Secret Service agent in the Lincoln Bedroom.

Don, "The Con" shouted at the top of his lungs, so loudly, I had to hold the phone a foot from my ear- arse , as they did in the Ukraine, right NEXT TO MY ASS mouth! 

"The Donald" did not hold back. He blasted out a string of vulgar invective:  "You, dumb arse , Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Crap," he bellowed, then, punched, V.P. PENCE in the face, for emphasis. His regular punching bag, Doctor Been Crazy, was not available. He was too busy playing with  matches.

Oh, how I love to hear a man, any man, raise his voice, especially "the Donald!"
The Con Man hollers in that shat-faced , high-pitched, whiny, manly-man's voice arouses me. I get so excited, so nervous, that I pee, me-self. Hee, Hee . He likes it like that, you know.

Trump continued to railed at me, even though, I put the telepathic phone down to clean up the mess I created. I always have paper towels with me at all times, and lug them around where ever I go. If I don't, "Donnie" will save the day, and toss them to me. He has a good tossing arm. I lick, er, like it, too. I like every thing about "The Donnie."

But, this morning was different. He raged, in a particularly belligerent way, that cause me to nearly pass out.

"Those damn, Left-Leaning Liberals Demon-crates are at it, again", he said. "They are blaming this fraudulent, non-existent flu-bug on me! Can you believe that SHAT?"

"Imagine that! Me? God's GIFT to Humanity!", where upon, he huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf, nearly "blowing me house down."

Oh, it was magnificent.

 "They are accusing me of being incompetent!", he choked, nearly croaked.  "I can't be incompetent . . . ," the Orange One banged his head on the Oval office desk. "I don't even know what incompetent means." 
 
"Incontinent, yes, but not incompetent. They don't sell Depends for that.Then they LIE saying that I don't care about anything, but MONEY, Honey,  Well that's true!

"I hate those self-serving Liberal-Commie bastards! They just want to bring down the Greatest President whoever lived, ME!" 

"Furthermore, Pinhead," our fake POTUS, real POS, added, "I was NOT illegally installed by Putin! Nor, am I a Fake POTUS, real POS. I am a REAL POTUS, Fake POS.

"Listen to me, you bi-partisan, bi-pedal, bi-racial jerk wad, I am an a Certified CROOK! I am the Greatest. And, I am proud of it.

That's why I didn't get impeached. I got exonerated because I cheat.

"Hell-Bells, Girly-Man, I am a renowned, worldwide CON ARTIST.  My misdeeds and pee are on display at the Al Capone Museum For Crime Bosses, Trump bragged.

"And, by God, I am good enough, dumb enough, to admit it. It is a thing of pride. Pence doesn't have any pride. If he did he would be leading the PARADE twirling batons, in his favorite gown,instead of  twirling his tiny-ass-worth thumbs.



"Ghoulie-an-knee is the only one in my l Kitchen Cabinet, that I trust. He is as crooked as I am.  We look out for each other.

"Why, when that Grease Ball WHOP flew to  Ukraine, he didn't lease an expensive airplane. He just flapped his wings. Now, that is a patriot. He was in Kiev, unknown to me, digging up dirt on Biden, so, I could be president until 2044, when I am resurrected.

"Rudy, even called me from there. This crooked bastard is more corrupt than I am. He took the time from that heroic mission to call me, collect. Suck up to me, in my 'Hour of Impeachment', offering to provide me 'free' legal advice, because he knows, I don't pay my bills.

"When you ain't got a defense, Rudy said, blame the Dems.

"And, it worked. I was exonerated, featured on the cover of Times (the third time in by 4 year) and given a Ticker Tape Parade down Fifth Avenue, where I shot several people from my Presidential Float. It was so much fun. I wish I could do that every day. I could clean up New York City in a New York Minute. I would put that rat, Bill de Blassio, in prison for life.

" The Real Mayor of New York City is 'Julie-on-his-knee,' he knows how to suck up. Julie, as I like to call him,  and I, are tight lipped, brothers from different mothers.

We are both members of the same Gay Bath in the "Village," where bending over to get the soap is a recreation exercise, not a sordid affair, I swear.

"Well, Rudi, that dirty Italian immigrant thief would steal your mamma's teeth", Trump said laughing, "taught me to be proud of what I do best, 'Conning Ignorant folks' out of their money!

"Just like my criminal daddy, Frederick, and, before him, my Grand Pappy, Snappy, who made a fortune from running a string of brothels out West."  

Trump's mood shifted radically, as he is want to do, and he told me in no uncertain-ed words, "I swear to you, you punk arse fruitcake, if any blood sucking, punk- arse Demon-crat dare says different, I will, personally, shove William Barr, United States Attorney General, so, far up their buns that Barr's fat eyes will be looking out of theirs.

" M y dim-witted supporters, would be like, calling these Liberal arses, ' Four Eyes' . . . like, I used to do to my pre-school classmates. Then, I would pushed the little suckers (preschoolers) down the elevator shaft. Ha! Ha! Boys, those were the days!"

Rumor has it, that Trump chortled, nearly chocking to death, as he was singing out loud, "those were the good old days of yore, when there were whores galore. A smorgasbord at Epstein's Penthouse Pad."

What an IDIOT!

I thought to myself, but, dare not say aloud, as Trump twittered and railed aloud, in between, asking me to spell another word.

"No one is capable of shoving a fat arse, like Barr up someone's arse, " I realized that the President lied.

"Have you seen how fat Barr's arse is? It is huge! Bigly!" I said to no one in particular, and, "no one in particular" retorprted, "STFU!"

Trump finally, pulled himself together,explaining in a more modulated tone, amid the soft sound of piddling, tinkling noise in the background.

These phone calls are our daily, " Morning Telepathic, Top-Secret Devotional  Incommunicados ." 

I was so freaking' delighted that Trump, real POS, fake POTUS, was calling me direct. I didn't care about the collect charges.

BTW, written transcripts are available for ONLY $1.00. No audio tape were made, or, release to the public for security reasons. Trump does not want to go to jail for breech of protocol. He prefers going for shooting his rivals, like his idols Capone and Hitler did.

"HIS ROYAL HIGH ARSE ", Trump, snorted a slew of curse words that even I didn't know.

The Con Man, Don, barked that I, better "wise my arse up," or, Trump would "wise (my) Arse up & down the stairs, like the conjoined-Siamese-Twin doctors used to do me.

Trump, always finished his phone calls with the same salutation, "You, Piss-Ant, Little, Wise-Arse, Meathead, Commie, Pinko, Fag get her done!"

"Mercy, me, Bubba", I said, " I Never Promised You a Rose Garden."

"Well, half-wit, I have one now!  Get down on your knees, Clown. And get her done," the wanabe King commanded, again and again, until I tossed me cookies.

I was so thrilled.

I never had a clue, that the nation's First Fake President thought me wise! It made me tingle all over me body, so much so, I cried. 

Note to Readers:  It is OK to read this Epistle to your children and grandchildren before they go to bed. Mine helped me write it before they went to jail.)

Trump called me back to lecture me further saying:  "Listen up, arse -wipe, you, penniless piece of twat. I am talkin' to you, Miss Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Crap, from Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs - not even blow jobs! You hear me? 

"If you don't straighten up, Ill cut off the air to that puny, little borough by the county Waste Treatment plant, Mildew! I will, I will, I will . . . You swell.

"And, tell those Mildew ass-wipes to stop swimming in it. That is probably where the COVID 19 started. You filthy Ohio Corn Holers!" 

Thereupon, "The Donnie" slammed the telepathic phone down, again, and, again, until I did something about it. I tore it out. But that didn't stop him. What stopped him was "shatting" his pants.

Even those I was eating my lunch of dry crackers crumbs on cracked, un-buttered, unsalted wheat bread in the kitchen, one-room away, I could hear the Commander-In-Blurting-Out-Shat say,"This is the poppy-damn-fart-Hell last time I am going to tell you, get on board, or, get your arse out of MY COUNTRY!"

Amazingly, the Commander-In-Everything continues talking when the tele-prompter is hung up, and our telepathic communication is over. It is uncanny.

The freaked-out, faked-out, breathy POTUS raged, in hat peculiar orange wave of his and like magic he was gone.

"Yes, Sire, your, Holy, Oily, Moodily Orange One," I responded, telepathically, while in a deep sleep dreaming of big-busted Stormy Daniels.

"It is all Nancy Pelosi's ( Head Demon) fault, Sire. Not eye . . I mean, I." I stammered and slammed my head into the wall, as I am want to do when Trump calls.

"Mister President" I begged, "let me explain! Nancy, that poor, little thing, Gorilla Glued that message to every-poppy-darn-fart Demon-crat's ARSE, via some sort of Wicked Dems Witchcraft!

"You, see, Sir, it is a Witch Hunt! And, to be honest, Commander-In-Whoppers, I kind of enjoyed it, being a freak and all!"

Trump spoke, again, this time from his considerable, arse-mouth,   "Sounds kooky, to me Jonathan."

" Want to see mine?" I asked, quivering, Shaking, Rattling and  wanting to Roll," as I tipsy-toed, and, started to disrobe. 

"No, not now, Homo," responded Trump, harshly, but, manly! A chill swept over me. I didn't know if he scared me, " SHATLESS ," or, desired me.

"Maybe later," the Donald, cooed softly.

"For now, you piece of flem, I want youse to get your white arse a crackin' , and, wash those nasty, hurtful, menacing messages off your arse . And, everyone else's, too!"

As he sometimes does, when he is satiated, he said, "Bye, bye, love you. Talk at you next time."

Trump said sweetly in that girlie-man's voice he reserves for his intimates. Once, again he slammed down the telepathic-telephone with a fury, followed by a cling and a clatter.

"What does it matter," I said to myself. "He's NUTS!"

"Matter-Scatter, Inbreds,"  spake into the disconnect, the half-baked, scorching, hot phone.

"Man, oh, manly man, was that Orange Thing on FIRE today! He was so hot, it singed every hair off me pussy, me pussy cat, that is, of course, Horse."

Would any of you readers, like to see it? (My Tattoo. Not my cat) If, so, s end twenty-five cent and I'll show it to ya, via email.

It is plastered over my tattoo of that classic, "Roger Stone & the Donald", photo, where they are intertwined in an unflattering pose, known as the "Photo-shot Heard Around The World!"

Or you can purchase said item on sale, now, at all Hustler Magazine Adult stores.

Fellow News-Trash-Talkers, Fiends, Fruitcakes and Fairies Without Your Wings, send Money, Honey.

I ain't doing this fer free. I've got fleas and I need some treatments. No damn, silly, arse cards, or, flowers. Hey, that is so passe!

" It's Money, Honey that Makes the World Go Round and Around!"

Not "Round Up," stop sending that stuff! I refuse to drink it, anymore, anymore! Thank you, just the same. It's toxic, like Trump. I won't swallow his junk, no more, no more! 

"Round Up", you know, causes bad things in your body when one drinks it!  So, please, Fellow Maroons, don't get the two confused. Or as Cable News pundits say, "Conflated."

My Cry Babies and Fellow Travelers, the grieving process will come, thereafter. It has been scheduled by "our has-been, Porn Star," recently bumped-up to "First Ho", our one and only, professional event planner, Melanoma! Let her it for Melanoma!

Thank you, Fellow Spit Tunes: 

Enough fun, now fer our serious activities! They will commence, hence, on a fence, when we be all gathered, fer Card Carding Members ONLY!  

We'll gather together, like sheep, beep, bleep, for the Annual Slaughter of the Lambs ceremony, featuring this year, the nearly dead, Rev. Pat Robinson, who will invite our fellow evangelicals MEMBERS to obediently (as they did at Jones Town, to those old standards that we love so much, " Loony Tunes from the Bible while Smokin' Crack!"   Those were the Days of Haze, Hay Fever and O.Ding.

My favorites, of course, Horse, is the " Opus in Filthy Minor, " and, this year, it will be conducted by Trump's Spiritual Adviser, Miss WTF's Her Name?

You know, that screeching, bleached-blond, skinny- arse , multi-millionaire hussy, and, "spiritual adviser" to the Dumpster.

Currently, Miss WTF's Her Name, is handling all things of religious importance to the nation for Trump from her paid position in the White House.  Whereupon she is paid with taxpayers funds "only a pittance" of $190,000 per year. Sacrificing the millions she drags in from her "Sermons," reportedly, "written for her by GOD, in cursive, so no one else might read them!"

This self-proclaimed, Spiritual Adviser To The Stars , that parks cars on the side, is known for her popular sermon, "Do Not Pay Your Bills - Send the Money To The Church!"

Her church, of course, Horse! Whereupon, the self-confirmed "preaching Less Than A- Lady, From Shady-Lane, and the "School of The Jesus Talks to Me All Freakin'  Day-Long,That I Can't Get No Satisfaction, or, Sleep! Damn It To Hell!"

Miss WTF her-name will lead the congregates, (e.g., the Trump "suckers") in their, up-to-date, rip-roaring, ribald, favorite spiritual: "I Drove My Chevy To The Levy, But The Levy Was Dry. Singin' Bye, Bye Miss American Pie!"

And, on cue, in unison, we, ( "the suckettes") will c racked our own arses with those silly, Red, MAGA caps, then, pitch ourselves, or, each other, into the Levy!

"Hallelujah! Bring it on, Jones Town! We would rather drown, than be shot down, upon the sacred grounds of Jones Town, by militant Evangelicals Killers Fer Christ! Available World-Wide To Rid The World of Protestants, Catholics, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and You Whose, How Do You Do? " 

We be singing, all the way down, the following. Come sing-a-long with us, now, as you read-a-long, Ding Dongs. Raise your voices and belt it out, "Trump Is Jesus!"

" Bye, Bye Miss American Pie!

"We Are All Gonna Die, 

"And, I Don't Know Wh y!

"Could It Be, Could It Be

"The Coronavirus 19 virus, maybe? 

"Or, is it because Trump

"Wants your assets . . .

 "Bye, Bye, Miss America Pie! (Chorus)

"Bye, Bye to the Rule of Law & Constitution, Too,

"Bye, Bye, Miss America Pie!"


At which point, V.P. Pence, will play the "Annual Sacrament" from his Arse-Mouth Harp, as a reminder to the Masses of Unwashed Arses, g athered, here, together to usher in the End of Times. 

"Trump loves you!", Mike Pence, will shouts in that girlie voice we have all learned to hate.
"Be sure to leave your estate to the Donald. He's Broke, Again, Mates and need your cash!

"After all, The Jesus, t he White, Blue-Eyed, European Jesus APPOINTED Trump President, and not you! So Don't Sin, Take It on the Chin, Pass the Gin & Grin!"

Enlightened folks know, that Putin helped, of course, Horse. But, Jesus was behind all of the Voter Fraud.

Your vote did not count, only Jesus's vote does. So, why vote? Stay home and pray in your closet all day, on November 3, 2020.

Do your part to help "The Jesus." - Lactose Tolerant - 666

 

RESPITE:

Now, is as good of a time , as any, to wash your mouth out with soap before
part two commences!  I am going to throw up, then, turn myself over to federal authorities, who, at this moment, are pounding on me door.

"Open Up, Arse Mouth, or, we will bust your door down!" Oh, I how I love the sound of husky voices.

WARNING:   This section is guaranteed to make many Right-Wing Nut-jobs Nausea, Weak-in-the knees, and, oddly Sexually Arouse.

Continue at your own risk!

                                                    * * *
  " Screams From Uranus!" -  Penned from the Pen, by that lovely, fun loving, whacked out guy-girlie man ,Jonathan Livingston-Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored!"

"Oh, why, oh why, must we see those creepy eyes? Mates, can you imagine what his other ends looks like? Nor, can I, without a Fifth of Gin & Tonic! No lime, please."

"Why, oh, why, does that old, orange fart make me old man's eyes cry? Is it the toxic fumes, or that the planet is doomed.

"Besides, I can't drive. I don't even have a Chevy! How can I get me arse to the Levy to Die?

"As a matter of fact, Jack, I despise American crack made cars, produced by greedy Vulture Capitalists, deliberately designed to fall apart at intervals forcing low-functioning 'Mericans, like me, to buy additional crappy cars, of inferior quality, on schedule, so billionaires might become trillion-aires.

"While I can't afford a pot to piss in, or to put air in me tires. Life is so, unfair, I swear. That is why I am losing my hair, even if I wear me Schizo Underwear , available, too, at all Hustler Adult Book Stores. Free pack of autographed condoms with each purchase.

"Let me ask you this, my Fellow 'Mericans, and, former Nixonians, 'Haven't we suffered enough as a nation? Wagged the tail, once, too, often?' 

"Why must we be subjected to this fermented "Shat," (as the British call it) from that SHAT MASTERBATER , in the White House? Shouldn't he be in the White House's Outhouse?

"The world," as Lincoln said, in his Gettysburg Address Book, "may not remember what we said, here," but, it will long remember what that fat, ARSE, the orange, golf playing, Hockey Puck SHAT , here!" 

"Or, words not remotely similar to these.

"Here, here, Friends, Fiends and Facebook Drop Outs, it is time for all of us Queer Folks to cheer:

"The cute, little, handsome Pete Buttigeig is out! Biden is in. Warren flew off on her broom, Amy is crooning, and Bernie is in the pub throwing back 'shot after shot', steaming like a Red-Faced Lobster that lost his grin!

"It's clear now, the East to West Coasts that is, you are dismissed. Think about your Vote.

"Thank you fellow Fiends, Thespians, Lesbians, and my, dear, favorite, you Sweaty Queens for your generous endowments, and, may the Shat Never Hit Your Fan!


I remain, deranged,
"The Dishonorable Sham,"
Jonathan Livingston Pigeon-Poo, "Doctored",
CEO & Flounder of  Eat The Press - Do Not Eat Your Cereal!

We are the Original FAKE NEWS !  We are so fake we just make SHAT up!