Saturday, October 19, 2019

Remembrance of things Pabst


Those of youse guys who were readers of the old Trooper York blog might remember this series. Where I would detail all of the many joints I might have bounced around to for dinner or drinks. Those days are over now. Due to my health requirements and Lisa's dietary limitations there are not many places we can eat out. There are very few places that offer decent gluten free options and I really can't eat salt and everything you get in a restaurant is salted up the wazhoo.

So gone are the days of Marco Polo or Casa Rosa or The Red Rose or Mezcal's or any of the other places we used to frequent. But some days call for eating out and our recent anniversary called for just such an unusual night out.

We went to place called Meta Osteria which actually has a gluten free menu. They don't have a separate kitchen so I can't be sure there was no cross contamination but Lisa seems to get by all right there so it was the only nice alternative.

Here I am channeling Joe the Boss Masseria before Benny Siegel walked in and whacked him in Coney Island. I am enjoying the superb veal cutlet parmigiana that they serve here. Check it out:


That is a nice thick cutlet not a chop since there is no bone in it. Still and all it was dredged in flour and breaded and covered in mozzarella and a delicious sweet marinara sauce. Now this is a portion that is made for a man. Plus it comes with a side of spaghetti. So I was happy. It was really, really salty though so I paid for it for a week by filling up with water and having some heart complications. But it was worth it. Take a closer look:


See Chip doesn't document his delicious meals by posting photos of when he was half way through!
It takes a Brooklyn gavone to do that!

Oh I didn't post the appetizer. Here are the rice balls:

I started eating them before I took the photo so pardon me.

We ended it off with dessert. I had the tartufo and Lisa had some gelato:



All in all it was a great night out and a Remembrance of Things Pabst. We can't party like we used to but we still can enjoy a night out now and again.

Memories.....Misty water-colored memories of the way we were!

 I used to love Bat Day. Remember those? That was when you went to Yankee stadium and they actually gave you a bat. It was inscribed with the name of one of the players. The first one I ever got was an Elston Howard bat in 1965. That was a real bat. It was heavy. To heavy for a young Trooper York to use in the softball games we used to play in Carroll Park or Red Hook field, You see we used to go to the park with a team made up of kids from the block. We would bring our gloves and bats and a couple of clinchers and get into a game. Sometimes it was almost a tournament. You kept the field if you won. It was usually a triple header. 

I always would bring my Jim Lyttle bat that I got in 1970. It was perfect. It wasn't too heavy and I could whip it around like a wiffle ball bat which is what I had the most practice using. I loved that bat.

Jim Lyttle was an outfielder who had a cup of coffee with the Yankees for a couple of years. He hit 310 in 1970 in a limited role. Those were the Horace Clarke Yankees and it was a punishment from God on Yankee fans because Nuns were leaving the convent and they had the Mass in English. So we had to suck it up and take it like a man. I always followed his career when he bounced around the big leagues and later spent many years in Japan. I would check out the box score in the Sporting News to see how he was doing, Hey that's something nobody does anymore, It is all on the internet,

Jim Lyttle was one of the marginal Yankees that I always rooted for as a fan. I wasn't so much for the big stars like Bobby Murcer or Don Mattingly or even Jeter for that matter. I always rooted the most for the guy who was hanging on. Scrappy get in your face types. Jim Lyttle. Johnnie Ellis, Jim Mason. Steve Kline. Rusty Torrez. Jake Gibbs. Bobby Meachum. David Wells. Those were my peeps.

They don't do Bat Day anymore because I think they are afraid the people with hit each other over the head or something. Another wonderful thing from my childhood like full size Ring Dings and all white neighborhoods that are gone forever.

Still and all I will continue to root for my team. I hope youse guys root for yours. I know Lem will be rooting for his beloved Red Sox. I think he is rooting for them to get a good tan as they are on vacation.

Because as we all know. Boston sucks.

Thursday, August 15, 2019

Dear Tulsi


Dear Tulsi,

I just wanted to drop you a line to thank you for the way you bitch slapped that uppity mulatto the other night. It was a pleasure to behold.

Not as big a pleasure as when I smelt your hair when I swore you in as a Member of the House in your first term. You were not the only member that was excited that night. I remember standing behind you and rubbing your shoulders and smelling your hair. It smelt like the Beach and Hawaiian Tropiic sunscreen. Oh those were  the days. When we Democrats were in charge of everything and the Orange Man was just on a TV show.

Anyhoo it doesn't look like you are going to make the next debate. I am sorry I would have loved  to smell....errr see you again. Just hang loose because I will be needing a woman of color for my VP and you are right up my alley Tulsi.

Ma-hole-o baby.

Your pal
Uncle Joe Biden

Dear Tulsi


Dear Tulsi:
There is a definite possibility that I will be killed in my attempt to get you elected as President. It is for this very reason that I am writing you this letter now.
As you well know by now, I love you very much. The past seven months I have left you dozens of poems, letters and messages in the faint hope you would develop an interest in me.
Although we talked on the phone a couple of times, I never had the nerve to simply approach you and introduce myself. Besides my shyness, I honestly did not wish to bother you ... I know the many messages left at your door and in your mailbox were a nuisance, but I felt it was the most painless way for me to express my love to you.
I feel very good about the fact you at least know my name and how I feel about you. And by hanging around your campaign office I've come to realize that I'm the topic of more than a little conversation, however full of ridicule it may be. At least you know that I'll always love you.
Tulsi, I would abandon this idea of doing what I must do in a second if I could only win your heart and live out the rest of my life with you, whether it be in total obscurity or whatever. I will admit to you that the reason I'm going ahead with this attempt now is because I just cannot wait any longer to impress you. I've got to do something now to make you understand in no uncertain terms that I am doing all of this for your sake. By sacrificing my freedom and possibly my life I hope to change your mind about me. This letter is being written an hour before I leave for the debate.
Tulsi, I'm asking you to please look into your heart and at least give me the chance with this historical deed to gain your respect and love.

With all my love,
John

Dear Tulsi


Dear Tulsi,

It's me. Kamala. Look bitch I don't think you want me to go upside your head you pineapple pussy skank. Wach you think dogging me like that at the debate. I thought women of color need to stick together. Didn't you get the memo or did I have to send it by drum or some such shit like they do in Hawaii.

Look so I smoke a little pot and I put a lot of people in jail for selling it. So what? Old man Biden passed lots of bills about sex abuse and he is always fingering 13 year old girls whose daddy's just got appointed dog catcher or sum shit like that there. Look at Spartacus. That dude dares to talk about his boo when you know when he is talking about T Bone he is talking about what he gets where the sun don't shine. We all be liars. We're Democrats for fucks sake!

Look don't make look you up. Keep my name out of your mouth. I didn't swallow so much of Willie Browns cum to go down like this. I will cut a bitch.

Wach your mouth bitch or I am coming for you.

Sincerely your colleague and soul sister,
Kamala

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Baby come back

                                                             I am going to start posting here again. I know I said that before but it has been tough since I am not in front of my computer as much as before.



So I am going to try to use my iPad instead.




Monday, December 11, 2017

I can't get past how bad "Hero" turned out.



I posted about the movie "Hero" over at Lem's the other day. I can't get over how crappy that movie turned out.

I am a big Sam Elliott fan. So when I heard there was a movie built around him and his persona as a Western Icon I thought it would be good. You know. A man who personifies the values of the old West lost in the amoral world of today's Hollywood. They had a tiny bit of that but they turned him into a drug addled loser.

I guess Hollywood writers write about what they know.

What a waste. Don't watch it even if it is for free on Amazon Prime. It is a waste of your time.

Betty Ruble is a Dirty Girl...but Wilma is worse





Every so often the casts of the Flintstones and the Jetsons would get together.

Hilarity ensued.

Betty Rubble is indeed a dirty girl.

But Wilma is no slouch. Neither in Jane Jetson.

(Some things we have to keep from Lem. I don't want to sully his childhood memories.)

All My Sockpuppets are under the bed.




Things change. What was important last year is not a blip on the screen this year. Let alone things that happened three or four years ago.

Still people persist in their folly. I have a couple of people who email me tales from the darkside. Links to The Other Place when there is a particularly egregious example of bullshit. I think it is to get me to respond. To post over there. Or maybe it is just my ego. My thoughts are not all that important in the scheme of things. Who gives a shit about what I have to say? I mean I am out of the loop over there. I am sure most people who post at TOP don't know who I am since they have new people all the time as any normal person will get tired of the nonsense pretty quickly. So I don't kid myself. And I don't want those emails anymore because I want nothing to do with the dysfunctional circle jerk. I am just another insignificant blip on the blogger world. Nobody to listen too or care about my opinion since I have dropped out of the rat race.

None the less this last one is pretty funny. Someone claims that they never used a sock puppet because if they did they would just do it to be a "shitty person."

Trust me. You don't need to do that. You have already achieved your goal.

Bye Fiona.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Instant Replay-The Unedited Edition


Coach Lombardi was always a big patriot. As all of us on the Packers were. Many of us were vets and some of us were in the reserves. So we all stood at attention and held our hands over our hearts when they played the Anthem. Except for some of the Negros

They seemed to have a different view. There weren't that many of them on the team and the ones we had all stuck together. Not the way Paul Hornung got stuck to some of the rookies in the shower. More that they always hung out together. Now there weren't many Negros in Green Bay at the time. So they kind of stood out and were under a microscope.

They were always grumbling and complaining under their breath. They never said anything to Coach. Because he would cut them the next day. So they just kept their ideas to themselves. All of the black power and protest stuff was not something that was allowed in the locker room. Coach said to keep all of the politics out off the field.

Which made it all the more surprising when Lionel Aldridge decided to kneel during the National Anthem. That shocked everyone. It was during an exhibition game and the Coach wasn't even aware of what happened. When he found out he called Lionel into his office and read him the riot act. You see Coach Lombardi had coached at West Point. He was a super patriot. He wouldn't stand for it. We all expected that Lionel would be traded to Detroit or something.

But a funny thing happened. Nothing. Lionel apologized to the team and it never happened again. I had to ask the Coach what happened.

"Coach I don't understand. Why didn't you fine Lionel for disrespecting the flag?" "Fine him I was going to cut him. But once I talked to him I realized it wasn't right. You know he is crazy." "What?" "Yeah he is crazy as a loon. I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in the nut house someday. You know how I knew that he really is a crazy person?" "No coach how did you know?" "He married a white girl." "Gotcha."
(Instant Replay- The Unedited Edition, Jerry Kramer & Dick Schaap Random House 1968)

Did you ever get the feeling......


That if the Social Justice Warriors were right and the Trump administration was full of Nazi's.....we would not be having a problem with John McCain.

Did you ever get the feeling


That you are really glad you don't go to the blogs you used to frequent because it got really ugly.

So to speak.

DId you ever get the feeling....




That there is a reason that we never saw Obama on a cooking show?

Gratuitous Bathtub Scenes


"Make sure you get my back."
"I would much rather I get your front."
"Wait a minute. There are no lesbians in the Handmaid's Tale."
"No. Just Scientologists."

Camel Toe Corner......The Voice Edition

Did you know that most of the most popular posts on my blog involve Camel Toe?

I guess it is just people googling the image but still. Who'd a thunk it?


Betty Rubble is a Dirty Girl


That girl is pretty wild now
The girl's a super freak
The kind of girl you read about
In the new wave magazines.
That girl is pretty kinky
The girl's a super freak
I'd really like to taste her
Every time we meet.
She's all right, she's all right
That girl's all right with me yeah.
She's a super freak, super freak,
She's super freaky, super freak, super freak.

But most of all......Betty Rubble is a Dirty Girl.

Dick loves Pat and Pat loves Dick

"This is disgusting Dick. Why are we eating in a tent?"
"Because Ike likes to pretend he is still in the Army and if I want to be Vice President I have to kiss up to him. So just eat your steak and shut up."
"I still understand why we can't be inside. I mean Mamie is eating inside. Mrs. Hoover is inside. Even Marget Chase Smith is inside. Why are we the only ones outside. Well us and the Stassen's."
"Because Ike likes to humilate his subordinates. He learned that from MacArthur in the Philippines when he was his aide. He had to dress up like a geshia and serve tea to Mac and his cronies. So now its his turn to humiliate people."
"That's not very Presidential."
"Of course it is Pat. Most Presidents revel in humiliation. William Howard Taft would sit on his Cabinet members. Calvin Coolidge would have silent game contests. Teddy Roosevelt would tweak their nipples and if they cried he would fire them. Maybe someday a President will humiliate people in public and not care what people think. At least I hope so."

Marilyn's Diary


Living in Southern California people get the acting bug. You know. So much of the economy is based on the entertainment industry. Especially in the 1960's, It was different. They would cast you right off the street. You didn't have to get an agent or anything. Someone would come up to you and offer to sign you for a series. It even happened to my Uncle Herman.

You see this casting agent walked up to him at the market. They wanted him to audition for a role on sitcom. He thought he had the "Look" that would get people to watch. It was called F Troop. He was up for the role of Sergeant O'Rourke the rascally first sergeant who had scams operating all over the post. The role called for someone with charm and a twinkle in their eye. However this paticular casting director required something a little extra.

You see he was gay. Most of Hollywood was gay. Just closeted in the sixties but still he made his preferences known. So when he saw Uncle Herman and the bulge in his pants he immediately tried to sign him for the sitcom. Unfortunately he was not much of an actor so he lost the role. To Forrest Tucker. Which was only because they couldn't get Milton Berle.

It was a real shame. I really think Uncle Herman could carry a sitcom.

Friday, September 29, 2017

You think I am trapped here with you....you don't understand....you are trapped here with me!

Welcome Back Kotter .........In reverse







I have opened up the blog to all comers. So play nice.

I went down a memory hole and I can't get back.....



Binges. Binge eating. Binge drinking. Binge watching. Binge reading. I like binges.

Since I have to watch what I eat and I can't really drink anymore I have to satisfy my craving by bing watching shows on Hulu and binge reading on my Kindle.

Lately I have been reading the novels of Griff Hosker. I found him on Amazon and started reading some of his series. They are like peanuts. You get one and you just want to keep going. I thought it was a good research project. Read someone who is a very successful genre writer that most people have not heard of but is still earning a great living. This dude is a couple of years younger than me and has published 90 novels! That's right 90! They all go for less than five bucks and seem to be pretty popular. Now don't get me wrong. They all sort of seem the same. Or the the same themes. He repeats himself a lot. The action scenes in paticular. But if you are a Game of Thrones fan and aren't into rape and incest it is decent escapist reading.

He seems to specialize in medieval England with series devoted to the Saxons, Normans, Vikings and the Plantagenets. A decent way to spend some time.

Recommended for what it is. A good value for the money.

Hey it's time to take a Poll....it's been a while

Whose your favorite:

Walk like a Man!


To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of

Things change. Change is in fact the only constant. I was away for awhile. Now I am back.
Things have changed a lot in my life so I am changing things up. The reason for keeping the blog private have ended so I am opening it up again. At least for a a time. Lets see how it goes.
I hope that those of you who commented here will come back. I hope new people come as well. I don't how often I will be posting. I will try for at least one a day. I think I can confidently say that is possible. 
Strap up. It is going to be a bumpy ride.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

Hipster Holocaust



She loved Brooklyn like a fat kid loved cake. She loved the feel of it.  The smell of it. The taste of it. Every single thing about it.

She had always wanted to live in the city. When she was a kid upstate she would see movies and TV shows based in the City and want to move there to get out of her hick town that was more of a prison than a home. She would watch reruns of shows like “Friends” and “Caroline in the City” and she would dream of coming to New York to be an artist. The problem was she wasn't particularly talented. She couldn't sing or dance or draw. A mediocre student she just didn't have the skills. But she didn't let that stand in her way.

Instead of Manhattan like Rachel and Monica she found her way to Brooklyn. It was much cooler than Manhattan. Cheaper too. Not by much but enough to get by.

When the time came she moved down to Bushwick with a couple of her friends from high school. They all got bullshit jobs to pay the rent on the shoe box apartment they had in a dilapidated brownstone. Jobs in retail. Waitressing. Temp work. Make work. Just enough to get by while they searched for what they were looking for. If they could figure out what the fuck they were looking for.
They all wore a uniform. Not the fast food uniforms that she wore in McDonald's up in the little shit hole town outside of Utica where she grew up. A different kind of uniform. The hipster uniform. After all she had to display her tribal markings. It was the only way to belong in the big city.

So she had the ragged haircut. Dirty hair under a dirty knit cap. The ripped jeans. Tattoos. A nose and lip piercing. An i Phone. A bike that she rode to work. And an entitled attitude that flowed before her like the stink off a homeless guy’s asshole. She was a hipster and she was making no bones about it. It was their time. Get out her way when she rode her bike down Court St.

The date with this dude she met on Tinder was just not working out. He was your typical pajama boy Peter Pan hipster. Older than her for sure. In his thirties. He was wearing the uniform too. Male division. Well the quasi male division. Dirty jeans. Ratty retro shirt. Thin vest. Beard like a misplaced Amish farmer or the bassist in ZZ Top. And an attitude. That he was all that and a bag of organic gluten free kale chips. Another wasted night.

They had met for a drink at a little bar right off the bridge on Carroll St near the Gowanus Canal. They had a drink. He had a craft beer. She had a mojito. He paid. So far so good. At least he wasn’t a cheap douche nozzle like the last five guys she had dated. They chatted awhile. Superficially of course. Without giving too much information. Just feeling each other out. She didn’t think they would be feeling each other up. It just wasn’t happening for her. Sometimes that’s how it works out.

They decided to go for a slice of pizza at the pizzeria on the corner of Third Avenue. They had gluten free slices which was unusual. She figured she would get a bite and then walk back to her bike that she had chained up in front of the boutique that she worked at. This way she could brush off this dude and get home safe. She definitely didn’t want him to take her home. In fact she insisted on paying for the pizza so he didn’t get any proprietary impulses. It would be best to shut that shit down as fast as possible.

When they finished they said goodbye on the sidewalk. Totes awkward. A quick hug and a peck on the cheek and she scurried off down Carroll Street back to the store. She hustled along. She wasn’t afraid. She was never afraid. Her bosses at work couldn’t believe that she lived in Bushwick. They thought it was a war zone or something. But she was of the generation that hadn’t lived through the crack wars and the crime waves of the ‘70’s and 80’s. That Nazi Giuliani had cleaned it all up and she had no reason to be afraid. She could go anywhere and do anything and never looked over her shoulder.

The street was a little dark. It seemed that the streetlight was out right in front of the bridge. The smell was enough to guide you. The turgid water glowed from the chemicals in the Canal. They had been cleaning it up for decades. It was even a superfund site. But the Canal at Carroll Street was particularly bad. They had installed huge fans that pushed the water out of the canal and into the ocean. Unfortunately the fans were on the other side of the bridge so the water never moved on this side of the Canal. It was basically just a stagnant, putrid pool of slop. She quickened her step so she didn’t have to smell it.

There was a shadowy figure standing on the bridge wearing a hoodie. She wasn’t apprehensive. Well not really apprehensive. What was going to happen to her two blocks from her job? Just as she got close the guy turned and she could see his face in the moonlight. Shit. She know him. She relaxed. It was so stupid to be worried.

“Hey how are you? What are you doing over here?” She said. She smiled at him. He was always very shy. So she didn’t want him to feel bad. She never wanted anyone to feel bad if she could help it.
He didn’t reply. He just sort of ducked his head down. And took his hand out of his pocket. It held something shiny. What was it? A cellphone. No a knife. A knife?

He took the knife and slashed it across her throat in one swift practiced gesture. She couldn’t even scream. She just started to gurgle as her life’s blood spurted out in a rush. He grabbed her. Held her up. Making sure he was out of the path of the blood. He looked into her terrified eyes as her life was rushing out of her body. He pushed her against the rail. Over. Her last thought as she died was how bad she was going to smell. She didn’t feel anything as she slid beneath the water.

The shadowy figure looked around. No one was out. He folded the knife and put it in his pocket. He walked away.


One.

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Rest in peace Aridog.



As some you might know a valued contributor to this blog has passed. Richard Thompson who went by the handle Aridog passed after a long illness.

You will have remembered many of his no nonsense posts. Dick was a veteran and a hard headed realist.  But with all of that he was an idealist and had vast compassion for others. Especially people of other cultures and faiths. Sometimes when I would go off on a rant he would comment and make me stop and think about what I was saying. He was one of the view commenter's who was worthing listening to because he had walked the walk.

Getting to know someone on the internet can be tricky. Some people presume to know you and what you think. What you are. But we all many things. Not all of them are displayed in blog posts or comments. Don't get me wrong. You can tell a lot about a person. For example you can tell that Dick was a gentleman and a patriot. I especially loved  his stories of his time in the Service and his hard won experiences.

Dick was a generous and loyal friend. A family man. Above all a patriot. He will be sorely missed. There is one phrase I always think of when I think of Aridog: "We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm."

Rest in peace my friend. God bless you and your family.

Monday, May 30, 2016

The Fighting 69th Rouge Bouquet clip


In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet
There is a new-made grave to-day,
Built by never a spade nor pick
Yet covered with earth ten metres thick.
There lie many fighting men,
Dead in their youthful prime,
Never to laugh nor love again
Nor taste the Summertime.
For Death came flying through the air
And stopped his flight at the dugout stair,
Touched his prey and left them there,
Clay to clay.
He hid their bodies stealthily
In the soil of the land they fought to free
And fled away.
Now over the grave abrupt and clear
Three volleys ring;
And perhaps their brave young spirits hear
The bugle sing:
“Go to sleep!
Go to sleep!
Slumber well where the shell screamed and fell.
Let your rifles rest on the muddy floor,
You will not need them any more.
Danger’s past;
Now at last,
Go to sleep!”
There is on earth no worthier grave
To hold the bodies of the brave
Than this place of pain and pride
Where they nobly fought and nobly died.
Never fear but in the skies
Saints and angels stand
Smiling with their holy eyes
On this new-come band.
St. Michael’s sword darts through the air
And touches the aureole on his hair
As he sees them stand saluting there,
His stalwart sons;
And Patrick, Brigid, Columkill
Rejoice that in veins of warriors still
The Gael’s blood runs.
And up to Heaven’s doorway floats,
From the wood called Rouge Bouquet
A delicate cloud of bugle notes
That softly say:
“Farewell!
Farewell!
Comrades true, born anew, peace to you!
Your souls shall be where the heroes are
And your memory shine like the morning-star.
Brave and dear,
Shield us here.
Farewell!”

Sunday, April 17, 2016

New York Stories


Jerry walked down the steps. It had been a hard day. Working as a bookkeeper in a furniture store was not exactly exciting. It was a few extra shekels. Making ends meet in 1976 was not easy. So $50 is worth a day’s boredom and frustration. It was just a pain in the ass to trek all the way out to Forest Hills and then back to Borough Park. But at least it was a straight shot on the F Train.

The platform was deserted as usual. Even though it was a cold winter’s day it still reeked of urine. The tile walls were covered in graffiti. It had never been this way when he was a kid. People were proud of their neighborhood. They kept things up. Forest Hills was an expensive place as far as those things went. That didn’t spare it. These “artists” came to every station and spray painted their tags everywhere. It made everywhere look like a slum. Maybe they did it so they could feel at home.
The F train pulled into the station. Oh no. It was one of those new R-46 models. Supposedly it was graffiti proof. All hard plastic seats that were easy to scrub unlike the older trains. The only problem was that the doors were locked. So you couldn’t go from car to car. You needed to have an escape route. Everybody knows that. If you weren’t ready you were a victim.

Jerry walked on to the train and put his head down. It was empty at his end of the car. He pulled out his pocket Talmud and prepared to study. He had a long ride and he would have time to be ready to talk with his friends that night.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Meeting of the Falsely Abused Women’s Club Sitting around talking when the Rainbow Is Enuf!




“Welcome to this episode of the Meeting of the Falsely Abused Women’s Club Sitting around talking when the Rainbow Is Enuf! I am your host Greta Nussbaum and tonight’s special guest is Michelle Fields who as you know was victimized by a Nazi. Welcome Michelle.”

“Thank you Hedda. You are an inspiration to all of us.”

“Thank you Michelle. But then I was actually abused and not making stuff up. Never mind. Let’s go to our panel. First up Twana Brawley.”

“Michelle I can’t believe that the racist po po dropped the charges against that chalk faced skinhead that be so nasty. Isn’t it just like the white man’s justice to take the evidence of a videotape and a lack of physical bruising instead of a woman’s feelings into account? Let me axe you. After this experience don’t you feel like you were shit faced and in the bag?”

“Errrr actually no. I felt bruised battered and violated. I mean I know I was poking Trump but who is he to object to that. And who is his campaign manager to pull me away just because I had no right to talk to him at that time and was within the security zone that the Secret Service always mandates for Presidential candidates. I am a member of the news media. More importantly I am a women so the rules don’t apply to me.”

“Very true Michelle. I used to tell Steinberg that all the time. Then he would break my nose. Next up Crystal Magnum.”

“Chile I feel for you. There is nothing worse than not being believed when you is full of shit. It’s damn frustrating. I means they believe you whens you tell them theys got the biggest dick you ever seen but when you says fourteen lacross boys be raping you then you don’t gets paid. I though Obama was gonna fix that shit. Anyways why didn’t you flop on the floor and start to cry and moan. That always worked for me when my man came to collect his just due.”

“That is beneath my dignity as a journalist and a woman. Plus it didn’t work that time I tried it on Allen West so I went with the dignity ploy this time. It didn’t work. Trump has no dignity. So he didn’t cave.”


“Very true Michelle very true. We will get to our other panelist and more questions but first a word from our sponsors Planned Parenthood. We want you to be a part of us and we will take care of your fetus and want parts from them. We will be right back.”

Sunday, February 14, 2016

Laura Bush's Diary

February 14, 2016
So Jenna and Barb and I were sitting on the back porch sparking up a couple of splifs while we were watching the NBA All Star game festivities. We just love to watch muscular black men running around without a lot of clothing. Reminds me of my days working in the Peeps on the Deuce. Memories

Anyhoo just as we were all just getting nice and mellow we heard a crash and some loud obnoxious cursing coming from the Family room. It was W’s Mom. Again. She was always starting a freaking ruckus and smashing stuff. I don’t know why. I mean it wasn’t time for the wrestling yet so I don’t know why she was acting out. She always got real agitated when one of her favorites started to lose. Especially the midgets. Babs loved the midgets. 


"Jenna could you go into the house and see what is up with Gram’s?” “Oh Momma I can’t. I did it the last three times. Let Barb do it for once.” “On no..no…no” Barbara said as she rocked back and forth and twitched. I swear she gets more and more like the retarded sister on Downton Abby every day.

“Shitfire I guess I have to in to find out what’s up with the bug eyed twat.”

You see I have never seen eye to eye with Babs. She has always hated me ever since W brought me home to meet the family. She even tried to stop me from getting the “First Lady’s Traveling Underpants” but luckily Hillary gave them to me which is why we have always had a soft spot for her. Now Babs is getting meaner and meaner. Poppy Bush is getting feeble and it is impossible for him to keep her in check anymore. And now that her favorite Jebbie is running she is insufferable.

When I got to the family room I had to step over broken glass and spilled beer. It seems that she had been drinking PBR and watching a reply of last night’s debate and just lost her shit. She Elvised the TV by throwing a bottle through the screen. Perfect.

“So Babs what’s up?” I wanted to keep it light. “What do mean you idjit. Didn’t you watch the debate? That animal Trump is ripping poor Jeb a new asshole again. He even went after your husband saying he lied to get us into Iraq. Not that you care. You always liked Trump that Atlantic City asshole. Just like my idiot husband. You traitor.”

“Now Babs you know that is not true. W and I are fully behind his little bro. Way way behind but whatever. Here have a couple of these nice aspirins for your rheumatiz.” I gave her a couple of downers and she zoned right out. It was the only way to control her when she got like that. You had no idea what she might do. She bit a maid in Venezuela one time. Took her ear clean off. That was hard to cover up.

W walked in. “Oh no Laura. Is Mom acting out again?” “Yeah she is. I drugged her up. She was pissed about what the Donald said. She even mentioned Atlantic City. You better have your shit together if you are going to South Carolina. You know the Donald might bring up your Dad and that Don King thing.” “Crap. That damn Jeb always lands me in it.”

You see back in the day we were all good friends with the Donald. Both W and his Daddy liked to gamble a little. They would fly into Atlantic City for the fights or just for the weekend. Boy’s night out. I didn’t care. I trusted W. But it burned Bab’s ass. She was always bitching and moaning and crying whenever they went to AC. Now Poppy would bullshit her and tell her they were visiting Trump to collect the pay-offs for the Trilateral commission. But she knew that was bullshit.
Anyhoo this one time they flew in for a Tyson fight. I think he was fighting Alex Stewart in the Convention Center. Don King was promoting it and invited Poppy and W and the boys to check out the fights and stay at the Plaza. Of course Jeb tried to pussy out because Consuela wouldn’t let him out of her sight. But Poppy forced him to come. You see he wanted to make a man out of him.

When the boys get to AC the Donald had laid it all out for them. A suite at the Trump Plaza. Front row seats at the fight. Tickets to the after party. Which was always a hell of a party in those days when Tyson was unbeatable. He bitch slapped Stewart in one round and then the party started. Now Trump had just started screwing around with Marla Maples in those days. She was a hot young thing. She was at the party with a bunch of girls. Some actresses. Show girls. Cocktail waitresses. A hooker for Tyson to rape. You know. The usual suspects.

The unusual thing was that the Donald had invited Lola Falana. Now Poppy Bush was infatuated with her beyond all reason. He loved to watch her on Dean Martin and would rub one out when Babs wasn’t lookin’. So it was an extra special treat that she was there at the party. My old friend Joey Heatherton was there as well and W was catching up with her and talking about the old days. The problem was as it always is: Jeb.

You see Babs had called Jeb on his cellphone and wanted to know what was going on. Little did we know that she had flown into AC and was planning to surprise Poppy. She badgered Jeb and demanded to know where they were. He folded like a cheap suitcase. Even though Trump had invited Charo for him. He told his Mama the Room Number and everything. And of course she barged in.
Now it was quite the scene as W described it to me. Trump had Marla on his lap. And Poppy was getting a lap dance from Lola Falana. Don King was fingering Della Reese. Tyson was banging some video ho on the table and everyone else was cheering him on. That ended right quick. Old Babs waded in and went bat shit crazy. Hit Tyson over the head with a giant ashtray. Punched Marla Marples in the snoot. Pulled off Lola’s weave. Gave Poppy a shiner. It was a giant mess. It took forever for the Secret Service to break it up. And that wasn’t the worst part.

You see Babs is a vindictive old beyotch. As soon as she got home she dropped a dime to Ivana Trump. Called up and told her all about Marla. You see she had the FBI give her a copy of her file and sent it over to Ivana so she could use it in the divorce. There were photos and tapes and everything.  Donald never got over it. He has hated the Bushes ever since. Especially Jeb. The stoolie.


This is not going to end well.