Blackhumouristpress's Blog

November 30, 2016

You’ll Get So Tired of Winning…

The Whackers or Little Whackers as they were known, had a Thanksgiving
Day tournament game that had to be played outside at a refrigerated
rink on a perfect late Fall day if you have to play ice hockey
outside- no sun, no rain, no wind and about 41 degrees Fahrenheit or 5
degrees Celsius if you live anywhere else in the world other than the
United States.

Coach Grimm walked in the locker room belonging to the Pee Wee
Whacker team.  Some of the boys were getting dressed, a few were
practicing stickhandling with a ball designed to practice stick work
with a puck when you can’t be on the ice.  A few just sat there cold
in their hoodies, not motivated to move yet because they were tired
and cold.  The regular coach quit after a dozen games after having to
take a job out of town or some bullshit.  Truth be told- the first
coach grew tired of guys not trying, not listening, not passing, not
pushing themselves and complaints by parents.  The Whackers went out
and got a veteran out of mothballs to help save the season.  Things
were looking up.  Coach Grimm showed up with his verbal pregame cattle
prod.  One of the players made the mistake of asking the coach if the
game they were about to play counted in the stats.
“When I wake up early on Thanksgiving morning, put my underwear on,
my pants on, my shoes on and drive to wherever the fuck this place is
to coach a game…  Yes it matters.  It matters to me and it should
always matter to you…  Turn off that ghetto fucking music.”
The one player with yellow tints in his brown hair, glared at the
coach as he turned off his Bluetooth connected to a Bose speaker.
“Sagging pants and bad poetry with a voice modulator will not be
tolerated any longer in the locker room.  It’s not music…  Now you
know…”
Coach paced back and forth looking at the ground and ceiling while
speaking to the players.
“When I joined you merry bunch, you were two wins and eight loses and
you’re now four wins and no losses since I’ve joined you.  Wanna no
the secret?  I don’t take bullshit. I’m not your babysitter or
substitute teacher… Why do you play hockey?  Cause your mom wants to
sleep with Jonathan Toews or your dad never quite made it to juniors,
The A or the show and thinks you got something just a bit more special
than the average beater playing this game?  All parents think too
highly of their kids. Who knows.  What I know after coaching this game
four times longer than you been alive, since your daddy was living in
his daddy’s balls and dinosaurs walked the earth…  You have to want to
fucking win.   Not just hope to win.  You have to decide that you’re
willing to go through a wall if necessary to get the win.  Puck is
loose…  The guy on the other team should be ready to shit himself at
the idea that you might put him through the boards as soon as he
touches that puck.  The opposition should marvel at the fact that you
move the puck like the Harlem Globetrotters passed a basketball and
that every shift, you play like it’s the last shift of game seven of
the Stanley Cup finals.  People who don’t know this sport will tell
you that wins and losses don’t matter.  Ask those people if it matters
to them that the person they voted for in the presidential elections,
lost…  Went down in flames.  Which brings me to this analogy-
elections and hockey are like a tug of war.  It’s momentum and
psychological.  You want to be sure that you’re all pulling together
to get your opposition face down in the muck, the slime, and the shit.
You want them to accept losing before they lose by being tougher.
You’re going to leave here in 90 minutes.  The Turkey will taste
better tonight if you win.  It always does when you win.  If you lose,
lose with your goalie pulled and you bombarding the other team with
seconds to go on the clock.  You should never get your ass kicked if
you’re ready for work on time. “
The kids looked at their coach who was old enough to be a
grandfather, who could still out skate them.  Bald, facial scars and a
chipped tooth from a high stick, which was fixed and then knocked out
again by a high puck to the face.  There was something inspiring in
his off the wall comments.
“Way back in 1973…  Maybe 74, the years all blend together…  There
was a kid from an Indian reservation who was fast and mean.  He would
slash the shit out of players and body them like he wanted to kill
them.  I was intimidated by The Chief.  He was quiet, mean and
determined to win.  The Chief come up the boards and I clipped him
with my hip.  I didn’t see it but others told me he cartwheeled and
had a ribbon of snot that wrapped around his helmet.  Was I bigger
than Chief?  Stronger?  Faster?  Probably not.  I got into his head by
knocking the shit out of him like a truck hit him.  If you gain the
centerline and dump that puck in the corner and then bury the Defense
as soon as they touch that puck in the corner, they’ll be whipping
that puck anywhere not to get clobbered.  You take away time and space
by bearing down on their asses by fore-checking at full speed…  Hands
in the middle.  Take a look at one another.  You need each other to
win.  This isn’t fucking golf; you need each other to do this right.
Why were the Beatles so good?  Because they played together…  The best
way to win a fistfight is to throw the first punch and keep swinging
until they stop moving…  This is a new era about to happen.  You have
a new coach.  You have a new president.  Things are going to be a
little different, a little raw…  If your new president was here
cheering you on today, what he say?
“Big?”
“Huge?”
“Make the Whackers great again?”
“Grab them by the pussy?”
“That’s it boys!  Your president would tell you that you’re going to
win so much that you’ll get tired of winning and he would tell you to
grab them by the pussy.  Let’s win this shit and give thanks that we
live in a country where we can take a day off to play the greatest
game ever invented…  Ice hockey.  Let’s go fucking get them!”

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November 11, 2016

When Barack Met Donald

Barack extended his hand to president-elect Trump as he entered the oval office. Mr. Trump put his hands across his chest, closed his eyes and took a deep breath and held it.
“I took my first Pilates class today. I promised my wife that I would work on my flexibility and thought Pilates would be the place to begin. My wife is always saying I gotta be more flexible… What? I’m the most flexible man you ever met. I came to learn that this Pilates guy was put in an internment camp in England during World War I and he came up with this stuff while in a jail cell… Maybe that will be my first profound message to those locked up for all sorts of illegal and wholly subversive behavior… Ask not what the government can provide for me in the form of entertainment but what can I do to pass the time and become more… Flexible. Yes, yes, yes… I do feel more flexible today and a bit taller. All that flexibility makes you feel taller…”
Donald took Barack’s hand and shook it firmly. He then patted his right shoulder and looked around the room and smiled.
“I want to make this as unakward as possible, Mr. Trump. I want to prove to the nation that acrimony is not what we’re about. We’re above all that. This is what makes us who we are… The ability to accept the results and ensure that the greatest democracy the world has ever known, continues and continues to flourish.”
Mr. Trump clapped his hands and wiped imaginary tears from the corners of his eyes and then put his right hand on his heart.
“That is a beautifully heart-felt speech… It’s a shame the press isn’t here to hear this. I only wish the bust outs around my home could have heard this last night. People around the country had to reassure their crying children that I’m not coming into their home to deport or jail them, say crude things and grab their mom by the pussy… Meanwhile, I gotta explain to my son that the paid political activists aren’t going to drag us out and do us like the Romanovs. A bunch of Bolshevik, bewildered Bernie supporters and their inability to think like you and me, Mr. President. They just don’t get the whole bit about accepting results and this is not who we are… Is this room bugged? I betcha it is. TMZ, Wikileaks, Richard Nixon? I bet there’s planted Nixon bugs in this place you’re still finding like World War I landmines in Belgium.”
President Obama gripped his chin with his thumb and index finger, closed his eyes and shook his head. Was the moment of incredulity because of the things being said by Mr. Trump? Was it the fact that half the nation voted for this modern-day carnival barker who beat the odds and won or that the next president was going to piss on his legacy with the help of the senate and house? The correct answer- all of the above.
The current president shuddered to think about the potential abuse of power by his successor. Undoing transgender bathrooms, Obamacare, institutionalization of misogyny… the grabbing of the nation by the genitalia.
“Do you have any questions for me, Mr. Trump?”
“Yes… When did you decide the election was over and that I had won? I’m thinking after Florida… Maybe North Carolina. I always knew… CNN, NBC, ABC… The whole lot of them. It was like watching someone die… so when was it?”
” After you finally admitted that I was born in the United states…”
“Very quick, Mr. President… I can only hope that when Air Force 1 takes you towards Chicago, that you don’t hijack the plane to Ottawa. I’m thinking the Canadians got a really big wall to build to keep you and half of Hollywood out.”
“sarcasm is a sign of inferior intelligence, Mr. Trump.”
The zingers flew rapid fire from man to man for the better part of an hour before The thought came to Trump- I won this. I fucking won this thing. I beat Hillary, Obama, the Democratic Party and the Republican Party. I told the establishment to get fucked and enough people backed me. I don’t need to keep this shit going any longer. I won. I can walk out of this fucking door the way an Italian does from a balcony after popping a virgin on his wedding night- hang the bloody sheets over the railing to a cheering crowd and let everyone know that the deed was done. I can put on my smoking jacket and just relax now.
“We gotta go out there and face the press… How’s this gonna go? We lay the bullshit thick and get through this or we can verbally spar. I think the nation needs a day off from that sort of thing, right Mr. President?”
“Yes… We can have our own armistice day… I’m warning you though- any crap from you and this can go a totally different direction… You ready to do this?”
The two men emerged to a huge gathering of the press. Photos clicked furiously as the present and future presidents emerged from behind closed doors. President Obama spoke first.

PRESIDENT OBAMA: Well, I just had the opportunity to have an excellent conversation with President-elect Trump. It was wide-ranging. We talked about some of the organizational issues in setting up the White House. We talked about foreign policy. We talked about domestic policy. And as I said last night, my number-one priority in the coming two months is to try to facilitate a transition that ensures our President-elect is successful.

And I have been very encouraged by the, I think, interest in President-elect Trump’s wanting to work with my team around many of the issues that this great country faces. And I believe that it is important for all of us, regardless of party and regardless of political preferences, to now come together, work together, to deal with the many challenges that we face.
It was Mr. Trump’s turn to speak. Was he going to be a loud mouth, trash talking winner and turn the press conference into some sort of WWF event? President Obama held his breath as the president-elect began to speak. This was going to go well or become a food fight. Which would it be?
PRESIDENT-ELECT TRUMP: Well, thank you very much, President Obama. This was a meeting that was going to last for maybe 10 or 15 minutes, and we were just going to get to know each other. We had never met each other. I have great respect. The meeting lasted for almost an hour and a half. And it could have — as far as I’m concerned, it could have gone on for a lot longer.
We really — we discussed a lot of different situations, some wonderful and some difficulties. I very much look forward to dealing with the President in the future, including counsel. He explained some of the difficulties, some of the high-flying assets and some of the really great things that have been achieved.
So, Mr. President, it was a great honor being with you, and I look forward to being with you many, many more times in the future.

October 28, 2016

The Emperor’s New Clothes or F#ck The Cubs

Gil and Gail packed up their deviled eggs and New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that they bought while in New Zealand and headed over to their friends Tom and Tam. It was a beautiful fall night more like summer than fall with a full moon. The event was a baseball game between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Chicago Cubs. Tom, a huge Cubs fan, set up a television outside in front of a fire pit and a trampoline off in the distance.
Gil was born and raised in Los Angeles and was a life long Dodgers fan stranded in the midwest. He walked past a teacher’s union lawn sign and three different lawn signs for Hillary Clinton and a giant blue W painted on a plain white background to signify a win for the Chicago Cubs on the way to Tom and Gail’s backyard. Gail and Tam really liked one another. They met at a Pilates class and became great friends. They watched the Kardashians together at different homes and texted about it at night. Their sons played youth hockey together and Gil was the hockey coach. Gil was quiet owner of an ice hockey pro shop who played hockey, sold hockey and played hockey four to five days a week. Gil and Tammy’s son was thin and good-looking, fast and capable at being a scoring threat at every game. Tom and Tam’s son had man boobs and hips wider than his shoulders. The bookish son of Tom and Tam was slow and had a weak shot. Gil took their son as a favor to his wife who really wanted a friend up in the stands to sit with at games. Tom was jealous that Gil was in good shape and was a good skater and coach. Tom couldn’t skate but was wealthy and had season tickets to all Cubs and Chicago Blackhawks games. Tom was a partner at a law firm and drove a Range Rover and a Corvette with personalized Cubs and Blackhawks Illinois license plates. One license said PWR PLAY 69 and the other said LUV CUB 69. Gil had no hair, was built and had a half missing tooth much like the hockey great Alex Ovechkin and a face full of scars from years of playing ice hockey without facial protection. Gil refused to wear a cage or a half shield while playing and looked like a rough neck. Tom wore black horned rimmed glasses and had looked like an LL Bean model in front of his $5000.00 built in backyard grill, 50 inch television exclusively for the backyard and excellent sound system. A band from the 1980’s called Haircut 100 blared through the speakers while the ball teams silently  took batting practice. Gil stood with a bowl of deviled eggs in a LA Dodgers hat and shirt. Tom wore a Cubs hat with a T-shirt that had a large W on it. He was cooking filet mignon, he offered Gil a beer. Gil declined as he was gluten-free. It irritated Gil when Tom would offer him a beer. Even though Gil had declined dozens of times, Tom would still offer a beer to Gil. Gil had Ceiliaks disease which prevented him from processing gluten properly.
“Tam remembered and purchased a gluten-free, lesbian safe beer for you from Trader Joe’s… You can be like every other man around this town watching this game tonight and start the night properly with a beer.”
Gil opened the beer, tapped it against the bottle Tom was holding and talked about their son’s hockey team. Gil was careful not to say too much and let Tom comment on the high and low points of the season.
“The goalie is brutal… It is truly a testament to your defense that we’ve been in every game. Do you put your best skaters on defense always?”
Gil took a drink of his beer and pondered the best answer to a question he didn’t care to answer truthfully. Gil felt that it was a good idea to be as cryptic as possible with parents when it came to playing time, position and lines. Gil played Tom and Tam’s son on the first line even though he was a slow, tentative, ineffective player. It was a political move to appease his wife who was considering her friend’s feelings.
“I try to find a balance…”
“That is a beautifully scripted answer, coach. People try to figure out where you’re coming from. They want to know if there is something deeper to your tactics. I think mystery comes off as deep but I think I have you figured out, coach…”
“Tommy… This is a night all about baseball. I’m ready to take the night off of hockey. A full moon, great fucking weather, good food, booze and the Dodgers poised to make a California boy proud…”
Beer turned to scotch and then to wine. Bottles and bottles. Blue cheese on choice steaks with gluten-free pasta. It was a night to remember. A clear, full moon and August like weather in October. The game turned ugly for Gil. The Dodgers tanked and were getting crushed by the Cubs. It was a debacle not unlike when Gil was young and the Dodgers would lose every year to the Yankees. It might have been a moment of hurt pride that caused Gil to change from a good-natured fan to a critical observer of the type of man he disdained- bragging, rich, unathletic, pudgy Chicago fan. The Dodgers were losing by a touch down when Tom lit a cigar and laughed at the score between innings. Gil told Gail that he wanted to leave. she was having a great time without having to watch her children and she did not want to cut the night short and return home yet. The game ended with a huge Cubs win. Tam put on a song that harkened back to Burt Bacharach buy a band called Cousteau. No relation to Jacques called, The Last Good Day of the Year.
There’s something there
Among the fallen fruit and flowers, won’t rest
Only minutes, only hours unless
Now the morning breaks in showers, I guess
We’ll remember this all of our lives
On the last good day of the year
Gil sat and looked at the full moon as a gentle breeze blew through the leaves in the trees that were ready to turn colors and fall. Tom was going on and on about the Cubs and then switched to politics. After a beer, a scotch and many glasses of wine, Gil was ready to speak freely, uninhibited or reserved. Tom was taken by surprise.
“Fuck you. Fuck the Cubs, fuck unions, fuck Hillary and fat kids who really don’t want to play ice hockey… Enjoy your win you fucking pompous asshole. I hope Hillary gets the same fucking treatment Nixon got for the minor shit he did compared to that cunt.”
Gil knew that his wife hated the word cunt and that most women had a thing against the word. Both Tam and Gail gasped and tried to get Gil to calm down. It only made him angrier.
“You want to let all the Mexicans in? All the Syrians? Every fucking moderate who makes their wife cover their whole fucking face like a goddamn Ninja? Fuck you and your W shirt and Hillary lawn sign… Your kid is going to wind up with heart disease by high school if you don’t discover the word no. No you can’t eat whatever you want and drink sugary bullshit. Your son has bitch tits… I know that might be harsh to hear but you can thank the Cubs and Hillary. Bitch fucking tits on a 10-year-old and why? Because you can’t say no to him? You wanna know why my kid is fast? Because he eats yogurt instead of gummy worms and fucking Doritos…”
” I think you’re angry Tom…”
“Yes, I am. When unathletic fucks like you gloat, I get mad. You don’t know dick about how to really win and it falls into your lap tonight and you’re like a fucking scientist about baseball. Yes… The fast capable kids play defense on my teams and really I believe your son would be happier with a hot dog and a drink up in the stands next to you than forechecking. You got season tickets and you want your little son of sam to play like Kane or Toews.”
Gail came up and hugged Gil and put her hand over his mouth. Gil pushed Gail away in a way that let her know that he was not done. Tom had enough drinks to stand up to Gil and he did.
“You’re mad that the Dodgers lost and that Trump is about to go down in flames. Too many people do not buy into the Hitleresque bullshit spewed by Trump. Mexicans are the paste that holds this country together. Who is going to do the shit they do for the money they make? Big strong, stupid, flag waving, tear-in-the-eye patriot who hates anything not white. You’re the big hockey coach but you weren’t quite good enough to make it so what do you do? You coach.”
Gil took a step towards Tom with the thought to give Tom a smack. Tom sneered and raised his chin as if to say, “smack me! I don’t give a shit.”
“You know something, fuckface? I won’t ever apologize for being white. I won’t ever apologize for not blindly trusting people who hate me. Vote for whoever you fucking want. Why do we all got to know who it is? Why not put up a lawn sign that says you need a little blue pill and porn to make it with your old lady? You know what? All I need is a little text telling me to get home fast and my dick hurts to be cramped up in my jeans knowing that it’s going between my old lady’s legs just as soon as possible. You like baseball analogies? I’m the fucking closer who doesn’t need a warm up pitch. Put me in cold and I’ll finish the game…”
The women left the two men alone who were about to come to blows. Tom was about to rebut Gil when the women put on a song from the 1980’s from their youth. It was a Sinead O’Connor song called The Emperor’s New Clothes. In the light of the moon, the two men watched their rather fit middle-aged wives sing and bounce on the trampoline naked slathered in coconut oil. The oil glistened off of their breasts. The men stopped fighting and looked on at their wives without saying a word. Tom poured a glass of wine for himself and Gil. The men stripped down to nothing and joined the ladies on the trampoline on probably the last good day of the year. The song played on repeat while they made love or something resembling love beside one another.
Everyone can see what’s going on
They laugh `cause they know they’re untouchable
Not because what I said was wrong
Whatever it may bring
I will live by my own policies
I will sleep with a clear conscience
I will sleep in peace
Maybe it sounds mean
But I really don’t think so
You asked for the truth and I told you
Through their own words
They will be exposed
They’ve got a severe case of
The emperor’s new clothes

January 14, 2016

Yelping the 2016 Presidential Candidates

Republican presidential candidates -***** – I give the current cast of candidates five stars. I believe it is about time to think outside the box and outside the beltway. Career politicians- you’ve been served. Somebody has to stand up properly to the Iranians, North Koreans, Chinese and work with Russia for sane solutions. I think Vlad understands what deposing another dictator in the middle east will get us and it isn’t democracy. Trump is saying the things that many in this country think but do not dare say for fear of being labelled a backwards racist. We need to bring in throngs of Syrians just so our women can be fondled, robbed and raped at the Superbowl? Build a wall to keep us safe from everything. It’s a scary world and we had all better start taking notice. Would it be wrong to have morals and scrupples again?

1/2*- Unbelievable everyday that the media reports on the ridiculous things Trump says and does. Is this how Hitler made it? It’s like having your racist, drunk uncle show up to a family party and everyone is amused by the shocking things he will inevitably say. Maybe you’re not for Trump. Oh but there are others nearly as ludicrous. And starring Grandpa Munster as Ted Cruz. I say send him back to Canada and let him read nursery ryhmes to the Parliment in lieu of getting anything passed. Uncle Ben Carson, seeking to become the house Negro for the overseer Republican establishment. Marco! Rubio! Sorry, I can’t see you because I’m swimming with my eyes shut through this sea of blind reactionism. I know there are others still hanging on to the idea that they will be discovered and suddenly surge fifty points and become the front runner. Not even their spouses take them seriously. I ran a fortune 500 company, I was the governor of a state that was happy to get rid of me, my dad ran for president therefore I should do the same, yes but my brother and dad we’re presidents! We are a nation of shallow, short attention span people who get their news in sound bites and bullshit via the internet but really who is taking these idiots seriously other than ancient white people who remember the good old days when everyone was white who was somebody and gosh golly- all the presidents were men and white. Most Episcopalian too.

Democratic presidential candidates- *****- I’m not sure at this moment how I will vote but it is certainly a breath of fresh air to have sane, intelligent and civilized candidates who understand that our enemy is not a religion and that people who live in this country are not going anywhere. The elephant in the room is race relations and how the police target people of color on a daily basis. We have more to worry about within our borders than outside of them. Does anyone want to go back to the good ole Bush days? I think not. We are still recovering from the near collapse of our system under Republicans who were lead around by banks and Wall Street on all fours with ball gags in their mouthes. Bernie is not their slave and I think that speaks to the numbers of people out there that are ready for someone who is more of a third party candidate than the run-of-the-mill Democrats. Unemployment at 5%, low interest rates. Things were not this good in 2008. Whether we ultimately elect Hillary or Bernie, America will be in good hands. I’m waiting to see how things go in Iowa and New Hampshire before making a choice. Like the president said last night- we are the most powerful nation in the world and the state of the union is good!

1/2*- I kept trying to give the current list of Democratic presidential candidates no stars or less than that and this damn site won’t let me. Rome is burning and Bernie is playing the violin while Hillary plays cello. So your husband was president and you opted to look the other way on a slew of his indescretions that would get a raised eye brow from the other Bill- Bill Cosby. Benghazi, classified documents floating unsecured and Nixon had to resign? Pinocchio lies so much and so often she doesn’t even know when she’s lying. As long as we get more imbedded potential terrorists into this country in the form of refugees, I’ll go to bed feeling safe that the Iranians won’t make a bomb and use it against us so they can continue to fight proxy wars and terrorize the west. Don’t really care if your president is woman? Think that maybe she is not necessarily the heir to the throne exactly? Maybe you’d like an old time hippy communist who wants to dig deeper into your pockets to tax further and redistribute any wealth this nation might have. Yes comrade, there is a Vermont and if you let him, Bernie will turn the nation into one big Vermont- neo hippy, tree hugging, no deoderant wearing, gluten free, lesbian safe world where we are all use the same gender neutral bathrooms but men would have to sit when they piss so as to not be mysoginistic pigs. Yes everything and everyone equal but maybe some just a tad bit more equal as we will need some among us to run the new politburo. Eight more years of this silliness and we will be practicing Sharia Law and have a St. Lous style arch at the Mexican border that reads, ” Work makes you Free”. That’s if we haven’t been bombed out of our misery first. If Trump isn’t the answer, the right questions are not being posed. Come on!

August 2, 2011

Obama’s Text Messages

 

His name was John Holmes but everyone referred to him as The Wad.  The Wad was a smallish British Man with bushy blond hair, horned rimmed glasses and a smirk on his face at all times.  The Wad expertise was getting information that seemed impossible to get.

            The Wad had the occasion to meet with members of the Republican National Committee.  While swirling a Scotch in his glass at a Washington DC gathering of top GOP, The Wad posed a question.

            “Wouldn’t the public really like to know what it is your president says and thinks?  None of the farce you see behind the podium, Hail to the Chief and all that rubbish.  What I’m talking about is lifting the rocks and watching the bugs scurry about.  You people here in the states stay glued to television watching grotesquely obese individuals lose weight, has-beens and almost-were individuals dance and so forth.  Don’t think for a moment that transcripts of your president’s text messages wouldn’t be for every inquiring mind… Because it would.”

            Several older men with furrowed brows listened with interest to the jovial Brit.  Nothing was decided that night but soon after, The Wad received a text message from a Republican mover and shaker.  This is what the Cryptic message said:

 

I WOULD LIKE TO DISCUSS WITH YOU ABOUT THE RETREIVAL OF CERTAIN INFORMATION THAT COULD BE OF ASSISTANCE TO ME AND MY COLLEAGES.  LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU MAY BE AVAILABLE TO DISCUSS DETAILS.

 

            Keep in mind that the American people voted for change in 2008.  This change most likely meant an end to war, lower inflation, lower taxes for working people who make a modest living and possibly more jobs.  By election year four years later, taxes were higher, there was still a war in a part of the world that 99% of Americans would never visit and jobs were difficult to find.  Very little had changed.  The one thing that the president had over the stable of GOP hacks was his personality.  Being able to expose the president as a fraud and fake might be the only thing that could put a Republican back in the White House. 

 Two million in United States currency was wired to The Wad in London.  The GOP officials read in giddy glee at the intimate text messages between the president, his vice president, secretary of state, his wife and the singer R. Kelly.  It was a perfect deterrent from real issues like two unfunded wars, the economic mess of Wall Street, lost jobs and vanishing job opportunities.  Reading text messages from the president and his inner circle would be perfect to get people’s minds of the fact that to pay off the national debt, each person living legally and illegally, would have to pony up close to $40,000.  For all the talk of deficit reduction, there really wasn’t going to be a reduction.  Text messages are more interesting and easier to understand than finance.  Here is how it went:

 

President- We yanked Osama too early.  I’m going to need to pull another rabbit from a

                  hat before the election.  Any ideas?

 

Secretary of state- I say you put the bloodhounds on John Boehner.  Expose him like

                              Jimmy Swaggart.  Leave him crying like Eliot.  The public wants

                              blood. I say shove it up his ass.

 

Vice president- I’m ready to do what is necessary.

 

President- Lol…  I like the picture of Swaggart.  The holier than thou crowd caving like a

                           A house of cards.  Do we have someone digging up the dirt on the

                           Republican front runners?  Get word to Anderson Cooper.  We  

                           need this exposed.  I know he’s sore about the gay marriage thing.  That’s his

                           thing.  I just don’t believe it is the next civil rights issue.  Too many people

                           still don’t give a fuck about gays.  I got enough fish frying to worry about

                           all that.  If we need to, get Sulu from Star Trek to do some leg work for us.

 

Secretary of State- Do you really think we have much to worry about?  Mormons?  Get

                               real.  Stay the course like Bush Sr. used to say.  We got this one 

                               in the bag.  The GOP is looking for the great white hope and it isn’t

                               there.  McCain came off looking like a crippled Beetlejuice and now

                               what?  Mormons?  Airheads from Alaska?

 

President’s wife- The girls want to know if there is still a chance we might visit Haiti. 

                            They really are not fond of their French tutor and would rather quit if

                             We are not going to France or Haiti.

 

President- With all I have going on at this moment.  Look, you tell them we all have jobs

                   to do.  They’ll learn French.  I don’t want to hear again that Americans cannot speak anything but

                   English and certainly not our girls. I would like nothing more than for the press to catch wind of our

                    girls parlaying Francais.

 

Vice President- I’m ready to do what’s necessary.

 

President- Cool, Joe.  I’ll let you know what’s up.

 

R. Kelly- Wad up, dog.  Got a gig in Baltimore.  Was wondering if you wanted to get a

                A game going.  Two on two.  Me and Shaq, you and Prince.Lol.  Lemme know.

 

Secretary of State-  This may sound a bit Nixon like but I think we set up surveillance of

                               What is going on at the republican headquarters.  We get pros for this

                                and then turn it over to CNN as if they had been on the trail all along.

                                This will detract from anything that has flatlined and stagnated.

 

R. Kelly- Yo I hope your old lady is cool with me stopping by.  Don’t want to start no

                stuff, dog.  Two Chicago boys thrown a little rock.  That’s all.

 

Vice President- Just say the word.  I’m ready to do what is necessary.

 

President’s wife- I just spoke to Oprah.  She said she can arrange for Justin Bieber to

                            show up and do a few songs for the girl’s party.  What do you think?

 

President- I am copying you all on this same text.  I am overwhelmed with text messages

                 right now and need to put some fingers on some dykes.  French- yes.  Justin   

                 Beaver okay but what will it cost?  Tell Oprah I said hello and thank you. 

               R.K- B-ball yes if you can get Prince and Shaq, I’m down with that fo sho.  Hill- have

                your people look into what can be found on people of interest and so on.  Joe-

                I need you to visit a VFW hall in Fergus Falls, Minnesota next Friday for their

                 fish fry if you can attend.  Gotta go.  Playing golf with Boehner.

 

            The GOP was ready to make the call to Fox News when the bomb dropped in Great Britain.  Rupert Murdoch’s stock dropped in British Sky and really that was the only thing that really scared people who were stock holders.  Somebody, some employees, had decided to hack into phone messages.  Hacking of the royal family, victims of the London bombing and dead British soldiers.  The GOP feared that handing over transcripts of text messages of the president, might back fire and might be illegal too.  One older gentleman twisted the scan that he printed off of his computer message from The Wad and lit the paper and then lit his cigar.  Several men watched the flames burn the transcripts.  The flames glowed in all of their despondent eyes.  One man among them spoke a few words.

            “Well, boys…  Let’s pray that a calamity arrives in time to save us.  We have to HOPE for a CHANGE at this point…  That’s all we have left.”

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