Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Friday, June 24, 2016
Rumsfeld Endorses Donald Trump
As Trump's semi-official Poet Laureate, it is my obligation to provide a poem to commemorate this unquantifiable occasion. I have rendered my verse in Mr. Trump's favorite feet and meter. Please hold hands and sway gently from side to side:
The Twenty-second of June, In the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Sixteen
by M.W. Thomas
Did Rumsfeld endorse Mr. Trump pertinently?
Or was it perhaps inadvertently?
That far could he pass
His head up his ass?
Possibly, probably, certaintly!
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Friday, June 17, 2016
Bernie Sanders Announces for 2017
In other news: Republican Chairman confirmed that Donald Trump remains the presumptive nominee for his party in 2016, and announced that House Speaker Paul Ryan is under twenty-four hour suicide watch by the Capitol Police. "It's no big deal," he said. "The important thing is that we be united, even if it's in the afterlife."
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Former First Lady Laura Bush May Vote For Hillary!
Rumor has it that former First Lady Laura Bush may cast her vote in the 2016 Presidential poll for Democratic candidate Hillary Clinton. In our polarized politics, partisan reactions
have been predictably violently opposed. On the Trump side, it is seen as nothing short of treason. On the Hillary side, it is ‘meh’. Either way, we must agree there are only two
possible explanations:
1. The First Lady is not a white supremacist, or
2. She’s on the rag.
Because there is so little difference between the two, it is very
difficult to get to the bottom of it. But
I will walk you through it. As Trump
would point out, the latter observation is too easily misconstrued as a
misogynistic insult. But think about
it. Would you want an all-menstruating
jury to decide your handicapped parking dispute? You are accused of purloining a handicapped
spot and you are on trial for your life. What kind of jury should you want? Certainly neither rag heads nor rag bottoms. Furthermore, we all know that a drooling
plaintiff in a wheelchair doesn’t count as “white,” really. So an all-white, non-menstruating jury is
really the way to go, if you expect a judgement in your favor. You see what I mean.
Now, the Founding Fathers were five fifths human beings and our
African Americans were three fifths human beings. Do the math people. Okay, skip the math; it involves fractions. But trust me, it says White Supremacy. It is what our nation was founded on, Patriots. It’s in the Constitution. To say exactly the same thing in other words,
women were created by cloning them from man’s rib as recorded in Genesis. We would know a little bit more about which
end of the rib this bleeding thing originates from, except that “scientists”
are too busy forcing abortions on women who don’t want them in order to
exterminate Donald Trump voters (see the Internet for proof: start here, here,
or here, using search term ‘Hillary bitch face.’)
So why might Laura Bush vote for Hillary? Why, because she’s bleeding from her wherever
on Election Day and is blind to the sacred trust of being white. People of color are counting on us, as white
people, to look after them, like pets. It all comes together like chocolate and peanut butter. Like the white creamy center in a Little Debbie
chocolate cake. That is what Donald
Trump is all about. That is his
wisdom. Laura: don’t bleed on my parade.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Hiroshima: A Love Letter to Ann Coulter
 |
| The way to a woman's heart is through a Hiroshima-style bomb blast... if she's worth having. |
Our beautiful bomb
exploded over Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Six-year-old Sara was at school, a mile away from the detonation. An absolutely perfect distance for the
artistic mutilation we the righteous visited upon her. The pressure wave stripped her school uniform
off her body and the intense heat raised her skin temperature to 280 degrees Fahrenheit
for several seconds, well down into her dermis. A brief vacuum was created inside the building, causing a second
backwash of intense pressure in the opposite direction to rip her eyes from
their sockets. They hung loosely at her burning
cheeks. It was magnificent.
Debris waved violently back and forth within the room. Sara’s deserving mother suffered a similar
fate as her daughter’s, her dress about her in tatters, her skin
blistered. A part of the wooden frame of
the chalkboard had broken loose and turned into a missile. It pierced her jap belly and tore her open
from top to bottom. Just as might be
prayed for in the most eloquent Psalm.
All those that were in that school room were justly burnt
and gravely injured, under the pleased smile of Jesus. The air was opaque with dust. Sara cried with her charred lungs. She discovered she could see through her
disembodied eyeballs, since her optic nerves were still attached, though her
vision was very blurry and misdirected. She
tripped over dead school mates. She
heard cries from teachers that seemed to come from far corners. “Mama!” she gasped.
Mama’s intestines were gathered in her arms, covered in soot
and charred debris. A shaft of light
illuminated them through the broken wall. Mama urged her daughter to come with her into the light. Oh, Ann, how must we laugh at this
hubris! How more undeserving can these
sub-humans be of any relief? What
delight we take in the disdainful toss of the head they get from Jesus!
For Jesus remembers Pearl Harbor. That’s when the yellow-belly japs attacked us
for absolutely no reason whatsoever. What
right do they have to salvation?
Yet Sara and Mama crawl through the debris and make their
way down to the river. Sara finds that
by holding her eyeballs gently, and by applying a little pressure in certain
places, she can slightly improve her eyesight.
They arrive at the bank of the river. Mama wades in and begins washing her
innards. She tries to flush the ashes
and coal from her floating intestines. Her bowels pull loose and the blood and feces confuse her. Sara thrashes as others approach.
Two men drag Sara’s mother to the shore and cover her with a
tarp. She is dead. Another damned jap rid of. Two women bundle Sara in filthy towels and
carry her away. Sara survives and
becomes an anti-nuke protestor in later life. She’s the worst kind of self-apologizer and anti-American complainer.
Anyway, no apologies owed to that WWII dirt. Hopefully we’ll get a chance to do it again,
to those Arab Islamic sand ticks.
I know you’re with me when I say we should round up the ones
we’ve got and have us a little 21st century auto-da-fé American
style with a YUGE mushroom cloud. We can
re-open the old above-ground test sites in Nevada and shred the skin right off
their terrorist bones. And let’s include
the idiots who want to defend them too.
We’re peas in pod, you and me. Hatred and cruelty are always mocked by the people
who deserve to die. We must set it right. We’re overdue for a death march.
Want to do lunch?
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