MSNBC Smothered Under Adorable U.S. Immigration Policy

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courtesy of William Bontrager

“Hello. My smile has been surgical pasted to my face. I am Abby Huntsman and you must have accidently broke the remote, lost it in the cushions, or are in a strait jacket because you are watching MSNBC. This is the Cycle. A show that brings you arguments from young men and women fresh out of college. We aren’t very tough, nor do we understand basic arithmetic, but we are young, attractive, and full of ambition.”

“Racist, homophobic, bigots, and sexists!” They all shout in unison.

Abby continues. “As you know we warm up with that chant before each show. We watched the Power Rangers do it and adopted it to defend against the hated GOP. Those chants are and will always remain the best arguments for debating any issue.”

Everyone on the panel smiles and nods.

They all have their own little separate screen so they look like the Brady Bunch. There is a black guy, a white woman, a latina woman, and for the sake of not leaving anyone out, an Eskimo eating a blubber hot pocket.

“As you may know, recently, busloads of innocent little immigrant children have come to America’s doorstep and asked us for help.” Abby informs in to the camera.

“Yes. They are darling little things.” The black man grins.

“Yes. Muy Bonito.” The Latina woman says.

“They have been detained in government facilities while they wait to connect with an ICE representative. The situation is critical that these little babies find loving homes to shelter their impressionable young minds. With us to report in one of these facilities is our own smirking Chris Hayes.”

“How is everything Chris?”

Chris Hayes speaks into the microphone surrounded by loud music and smoke.

“As you see I am live here at the facility with these children.”

Chris Hayes stoops down and there is indeed a little child. She has a clean face, and eating a Popsicle. Chris Hayes knocks her treat out of her hand, and then rubs dirt and grime on her. The little girl starts to wail.

“As you clearly see this child has been mistreated while she is here. Yes. That person that mistreated her was me but that doesn’t matter. These children are in desperate need of America’s help. Citizens need to reach into their greedy wallets and supply these children with food and care.”

A gang of middle aged men from Guatemala bump into Hayes. They scream at him and push him around. One mutters into the camera while flies dance around his arm pits. He has a leg of dripping duck in his other hand. Another skinny creature wearing a huge sombrero moons the camera and screams shrilly while his friend waves a dirty pistol.

“Chris. Is that a child? He certainly is cute.” Abby Huntsman replies.

“ Yes. In some places in Central America the children are men-sized and hairy, and involved in gangs apparently. That is the information sent down from the White House by Cecilia Munoz. In fact, most of them seem to resemble actor/director Dany Trejo although it is obvious they are all little children.”

“What about the little girl?” Abby Huntsman asks.

“I found her at the nearby Walmart before I came,” remarks Chris.

The cameras pan to a huge brown faced man with a lazy look of contentment. He sits on the bench. His fat greasy finger goes under his pants while he hums softly to himself.

In another area a huge cluster of men are gathered around two roosters who are pecking at each other and squawking angrily. The men are shouting and passing money back and forth excitedly.

“It appears this group of children are playing duck duck goose.” Chris Hayes says.

“Let me see if I can get an interview with one of the kids. Excuse me little boy. Can I have a word?”

Chris Hayes pokes a tall man in a ponytail and leather vest. His arms are bare, with tattoos of chipmunks being strangled. He turns to Hayes and grabs him by the tie. He starts squeezing until Chris Hayes’s face turns blue. Then he lets him go and throws up a weird hand gesture. A guy in a bandana playing cards at a table sees this and rises from his seat.

“Pollo…muchacho.” The man in the pony tail growls and pulls out a switch blade.

“Well, as you can tell in the newsroom, these immigrant kids are just looking for America to give them a chance.” Chris Hayes remarks while the blade of the knife is poking his nose.

He bumps into the guy in the bandana who pulls him close. Chris Hayes can smell tequila on his breath.

“You have underwear for us Homes.” The guy whispers.

“What?”

“ My fren…underwear my fren..” The guy in the pony tail repeats.

The two figures threaten Chris Hayes, both gesturing with their knives.

Hayes squeaks. The camera cuts back to the newsroom and Abby.

“What precious little children. Thank you Central America for giving us your best and your brightest. Apparently America has responded. They undoubtedly saw the adorable innocence of the children just now that Chris Hayes interviewed. With us in the studio is,..wow.. Michael Jordon and Mark Zuckerberg. Hello.”

Michaul Jordon smiles.

“I was moved by the broadcast. I have connections at Hanes where they provide the greatest comfort. I am going to answer the call and deliver underwear for all the children there. From the looks of the scene, we will need all sizes, including 2XL and 3XL.”

“That is wonderful Michael. The poor children need underwear. You are an example to what all of America should be doing. Thank you so much.”

“Hey. They kids. We can’t let them free ball it out there.”

“Right you are. And what are you going to do to help the children Mark Zuckerberg?”

“ I have released a documentary called “Undocumented” already. But your program stirred me up so much. Especially watching the little boy with the switch blade. I think I will make another documentary and call it the “Underwear Deprived.” I think this is a story that needs to be told. How an underwear-less culture came to this country and found they had hope in the comfort in the lasting waste band of Hanes.

“That is heartwarming.”

“And I also know that I can pay these children very low wages and make a tremendous profit off of their hairy backs.”

“Well, working with you is  reward enough. Thank you Mark Zuckerberg. You are a bastion of love and tolerance.”

“For a closing view as an inspiration for us all, let us go back to Chris Hayes.”

The camera shows men from Brazil, Guatemala, Mexico, and Beliz and they are dancing on a fiery car while others are rocking it. The guy in the pony tail knifes the camera. Chris Hayes is seen crawling away from the chaos in stark fear. In the newsroom the Eskimo retreats.

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Political Wrestling Federation: Rheumatic Rhinos vs The Teflon Trio

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courtesy of William Bontrager

Explanation: So usually I have enough ammunition to fire at the Obama administration but I would be amiss not to include the rhino republicans. Now when it comes to conservatives there are two classes. The class that sits high above, the blue blood, the old money type, who are just as bad as the liberals. They often side with them, or they simply allow themselves to get punched in the face repeatedly by not speaking up on important issues like immigration, abortion, or education. That is why I wrote this. This is Darrell Issa,(the tougher of the bunch) Eric Cantor, Michelle Bachman and John Boehner at their weakest. I portray them as Pro wrestling stars because when they make their speeches, they are full of fabricated emotion. Enjoy!

 

“Hello Everyone.” My name is good ol J.R. Jim Ross! I’ve been a commentator for the WWE for more than a decade, and I am coming out of retirement because we have a rivalry between two heated combatants that will make me run home to sweet home Oklahoma afterwards.”

“It isn’t in the squared circle this time! It is in the political arena. It is arguably a more apt place to find false characters, fake moves, and cowardly retreats than where I got my roots. At least in the world of professional wrestling there were slams that made Stone Cold crap his pants, ears twisted off from barb wire, and real coconuts smashed on skulls.”

“In Washington, everything is fake.”

“Let’s go backstage where the Republican Party stable has just recovered from another tremendous beat down by the Teflon Trio of the Democratic regime under Obama the “Executive Sheik.”

“Hello Jim Ross. This is Mean Gene Okerlund here, and I am backstage with the current speaker of the House, John the “Baby-Boy,” Boehner and his team, the Rheumatic Rhinos. There is, Eric “Can’t- Win,” Cantor, “Ice Cold” Darrell Issa, and the mousy and uninviting, “Missing Bachman.”

The, “Baby Boy,” swaggers to the microphone. His face is blue and purple. His lips are torn. His head is swollen. He is sweating profusely from the thick diaper he is wearing. He approaches the microphone like a tough guy but when he looks in the camera, his hound dog eyes water and he sobs uncontrollably.

“They beat us Mean Gene…they were so scary,” he weeps.

He is pushed aside for, “Ice Cold”, Darrell Issa. He has greasy tufts of grey hair sprouting from his chest out of the plain blue singlet he wears. He points in to the camera and growls.

“Well you know something Mean Gene! We Rhinos are getting our fill of these tricksters calling themselves the Teflon Trio. Harry “the Commie-Red Reid! If you are in the arena, I am coming for you! Not everyone in our party is a spineless jellyfish. Do you think we are scared?! Do you see us crying?”

Mean Gene gestures behind Issa with the microphone.

“Actually, the, “Baby-Boy”, Boehner is quite literally crying.” He says, grinning.

In the background, “Baby-Boy” is indeed crying. “Missing” Bachman hands him his scotch on the rocks and “Baby Boy,” is sedated, sipping contently and remarking about how the ice is, “sparkly.”

“I don’t have time for this Mean Gene! You liberal media folks are about to get a beat down, cuz Ice Cold says so!”

“Wait just a minute Ice-Cold Issa!” Mean Gene frowns talking back.

“That is some tough talk. How can you back that up? Might I remind you that Harry “Commie-Red,” Reid and his tag team party just beat your whole team merely seconds ago!”

“Let me remind you Mean Gene, that we are not defeated!” Eric ,”Can’t-Win,” Cantor steps to the microphone. He stares hard at the interviewer trying desperately to intimidate him. Mean Gene points a finger in Cantor’s chest, not afraid.

“Let me remind you Mr. Cantor, that not only has your team just been defeated, as Obama the Executive Sheik keeps fooling you time and time again, but you personally have been kicked out of your position as House Majority Leader. How are you claiming that you haven’t been defeated?”

“You look at me Mean Gene. I am “Can’t-Quit Cantor. You see my chiseled good looks? You see my physique?” Cantor brags, kissing his muscle.

“No. You are “Can’t-win.” Mean Gene corrects.

Cantor’s expression suddenly changes. “Oh. Well. I think I’ll go find Sean Handsome Hannity and form a republican boy band then. Toodles!”

“Ice Cold”, Cantor just left, and your speaker of the House is an infant and an alcoholic. How are you going to keep it together?” Mean Gene turns back to Issa.

“With this! Show them “Missing” Bachman! Show them our secret weapon.” Issa shouts.

Michelle “Missing: Bachman tweets on her phone and holds it up to the camera. The letters read. Lois Lerner. Tell the Truth. Please. The “Please” is written in all caps.

“Ice Cold” hollers and points to the camera.

“Bam! That just happened son! We are going to be tweeting all day and all night! Have you had enough yet Teflon Trio?!” He bellows.

“I don’t think Commie- Red Reid, Lois Liar Lerner, and Hot Stink Over the Hill-ary Clinton are intimidated by your tweets and texts Ice!” Mean Gene shouts.

“Well, if that isn’t enough. We always have Johnny McCain Heathen.” We can rely on him to back us up against Commissioner Sheik’s evil regime.” Issa adds with faltering confidence.

“I don’t think so. Right now the war grizzled old man is eating the stuffing from the chairs. He thinks he is back in the bamboo cages of Vietnam.” Mean Gene retorts.

The camera shows John “Insane” McCain shoving piles of furniture stuffing in his mouth. He is naked except for a belt of leaves covering his bony pale thighs. His eyes dart from one Senate Seat to the next, drooling in a thick puddle in front of the American Flag.

“Ok. I will take them on myself! I have truth on my side. We are going to get to the truth behind Lois Liar Lerner’s emails between 2009 to 2011! We are going to show the world again that the Rheumatic Rhinos still rule the political arena!”

Mean Gene opens an envelope.

“Are you aware “Ice Cold” that a letter has been delivered. It says that we don’t have the emails anymore, that they are sorry, and that they are really sorry. It says that they cannot really give a reason, that if they had the emails they wouldn’t provide them, that they dare you to do anything about it, but that you can trust them, and it says again, that they are sorry. Now that should make your blood boil if anything should. Don’t you think Ice-Cold?”

“ Actually Mean Gene…that is a good reason. I guess our rivalry about this is over. Thanks Teflon Trio. You have been most considerate. I’m sorry I had to get rough with you.” Issa smiles and walks off waving.

“You are an animal “Ice Cold”. I can’t see how you lose every time,” Mean Gene says, shaking his head.

“Back to you Jim Ross.”

“As usual the Rhinos wilt under the lights. Although the Teflon Trio and the commissioner are some of the dirtiest players in the game, the Rhinos are undoubtedly the softest. For Political Wrestling Entertainment, I’m good ol Jim Ross, going back to a sport where the hitting is real. Good night and God help us.”

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More Bergdahl?! Rupert Murdoch Breeds Media Monster in FEMA Labs

 

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courtesy of William Bontrager

“Hello. I am Rupert Murdoch.  Seeing as how all the media has joined forces and decided to run Sergeant Bergdahl stories ABC , CNN, Fox News, MSNBC,  and CBS have joined forces and with one really strange voice, and have created a hybrid reporter in a FEMA lab to bring you this broadcast. We have genetically fused some of the most popular reporters and bring Frankenstein’s monster out to an audience just salivating for more Bergdahl news.

“This reporter has everything you want in an anchor personality. It has Megyn Kelly’s legs, and Bill O Reilly’s leg hair. It has Chris Matthew’s Lego man face and raspy anger, Rachel Madow’s goose neck and sarcasm, Brian William’s sex appeal, which is none, Scott Pelly’s invisible personality, and finally Al Sharpton’s intellect.”

“We will be taking this monstrous reporter allowing it to switch personalities that best suit the broadcast. Thank you America. “Rupert Murdoch grins widely and waves a taser at the camera.

The creature that was just described thunders up to the television camera. It looks exactly like some reporters exploded to pieces and have been sewn back together. It speaks as it pounds one brown fist on the table.

“Greetings America! Sergeant Bergdahl! Bergdahl! Listen up! You all are racist! Just because Sergeant Bergdahl is an African American you all persecuting him! For shame!” The monster screams, sounding like one of Al Sharpton’s unintelligible rants.

The monster is tasered.

“Inequality! My brothers and sisters of the Bird-Dog family, all being hosed and beaten with smart phones…!” The monster screams.

The monster is tasered again, but it rages and beats its fist and needs to be dragged off. As it is being dragged off it is screaming about how the white man has taken over the NBA. Rupert Murdoch comes back on the screen.

“We apologize for the inconvenience. It is apparent that Sharpton’s personality overshadows the rest of the media personalities, and cannot be contained. As he is being dragged off and given a job with General Electric, please enjoy these best of Bergdahl moments.”

The television switches to clips of figures and their famous quotes concerning the recent events.

Bill Clinton: (Using his thumbs to make the point)

“I did not have sexual relations with Sergeant Bergdahl.”

President Obama:

“Look! I make no apologies. Except to Michelle.  She mis-heard me when I told her I can trade Sergeant Bergdahl for five Taliban. She thought I said I can trade five Taliban for a “salty burger.” Needless to say she was hard to control afterwards.”

Michelle Obama:

“I better get fries with that there salty burger!”

Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel:

“I am the lone wolf of deadly nothingness. Oh wait that is Bergdahl’s line. Someone tell me what to say? Quick!”

Sergeant Bergdahl

“I am the lone wolf of deadly nothingness.”

Senator John McCain:

“Although I knew about this five years ago, I am outraged right now.”

LeBron James:

I know what Bergdahl is going though. I walked away from my mission and those that depend on me in Game 3. Keep your head up Berg-DAHL! They aint nothing but haters!”

Sarah Palin:

“As I said in 2009, “The capture of Private Bergdahl and the bombings in Jakarta prove that we have not defeated terrorism, and that radical extremists will stop at nothing to attack Westerners and our ideals. Oh wait, I just incriminated myself.”

Finally summing up the wisdom of the age about sergeant Bergdahl and his pull on the American populace and their irresistible appetite for more of these stories, is our newly created monster, returning after his new business deal.

“AMERICA! BERG-DAHL! GOOD-BAD! YEEARGGHH!!

“Spoken with incredible wisdom. This is Rupert Murdoch with the first successful consolidated news effort launched, and hopefully will not be the last. Thank you sheep. Now go graze in the field and sniff out some more Bergdahl news. Meanwhile, we will take over the world, hahahaha.” (Evil laughter as the newscast closes)

Next: Hopefully no more Bergdahl!

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Dianne the Fein Opposes the Empire: All Choked Up

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courtesy of William Bontrager

Dianne Feinstein, or better known as Dianne the Fein, holds a chain attached to an immigrant in a princess Leia slave outfit and sludges towards the podium. The reporters are muttering questions. Cameras are flashing in her wrinkled melting face. She grunts and tries to hold her thick hands to her face, but cannot. In her ear piece, there is a sharp demand.

“Ok Dianne the Fein. You know your role in the empire. You are to express your happiness in the rescue of the last P.O.W in Afghanistan.”

“What is happiness?” Dianne the Fein grunts.

“Start out by smiling.” The voice suggests.

Dianne the Fein shakes her massive sludgy head in confusion. The reporters are waiting to hear from her. She yanks the immigrant girl in anger by her chain. A frustrated voice sounds out in Dianne the Fein’s earpiece.

“Try to raise your cheeks, by curling your lips, and lift your eyebrows to express your friendliness towards the rebel reporters.”

“Impossible.” Dianne the Fein grimaces.

“Might I remind you Dianne, that the Senator, Harry Reid has lauded our rescue of Sergeant Bergdahl. The President Puppet has as well. All of us need to work together to quell the rebel’s claims that this man was a deserter. I would encourage you to play along, or else.”

Dianne the Fein shakes the chain angrily as photographers snap pictures. She bellows in a deep voice under hanging wrinkled flesh.

“YOO DON’T TELL FEIN WHAT TOO DOO! FEIN RULE FOR GENERATIONS! FEIN KNOW WHAT IS IN WIND! FEIN POLITIC FOR FEIN’S SURVIVAL!”

“Don’t you do anything you will regret..!” The voice in the earpiece says hurriedly.

Dianne the Fein smashes the earpiece and throws it off the stage. She roars as she jerks on the chain, and leans forward against the podium threatening to spill her onto the reporters below. Security guards run on the stage and push against her pudding-textured body. Slowly they bring her back to an upright position. Dianne the Fein looks out at the reporters with contempt with pig eyes oozing. Great slimy beads of sweat roll down her forehead.

“I TAKE QUESTIONS NOW,” the Fein grumbles.

A timid reporter speaks up.

“Dianne.  In December, Obama issued a statement that said the executive branch should have the flexibility “to act swiftly in conducting negotiations with foreign countries regarding the circumstances of detainee transfers. Were you aware of this prisoner swap at all? And if not, why not, as you are the Senate Intelligence Committee Chair- creature?”

“NOOO. NO HEAR.” Diane the Fein grumbles. The podium shakes.

A security guard gets a signal in his earpiece.

“OBAMA DO, ME NO CONSENT.” She belches out.

The reporter that asks the question is snatched up by flying drones hovering overhead.

“MORE QUESTIONS. DIANE MAKE CLEAR. NO HEAR! NO HEAR!”

Another reporter speaks up, looking carefully around him.

“Dianne. You look less melty today. Can you give me your opinion on the president’s statement that he had to act fast because they were concerned with his health?”

“HEALTH GOOD OF HIM! HIM WAS EATING STEAK.HIM WAS EATING LOBSTER. HIM WAS HAVING OWN GYM.” Dianne roars. A long bubbling stream of drool drips down from the podium and forms at the slave Leia’s bare feet.

“Are you saying that Sergeant Burgdahl was not malnourished and that his captors had him eating well and exercising? Wow. What else?” The reporter asks.

“HIM WAS GOES TO SCHOOL. HIM WAS LEARNING!” Dianne the Fein bellows. She yanks on the chain angrily. Security all around her is getting antsy. They are receiving instructions in their earpieces now.

“Whoa! Are you saying that the terrorists were giving the young man an education too? How nice of them? Tell us more Dianne the Fein.” A reporter for a small publication presses the issue.

“FATHER OF HIM, TALK CLOSE!”

“And the father of the prisoner had close contact with his son’s captors? Incredible!” The reporter almost shrieks.

Other reporters gain energy from the fiery questioning. The security guards move now. Drones appear from space and blast a few reporters into cinders. Other reporters trying to get more from the self- preserving Senator rush at her with microphones in hand. They are held back by Susan Rice Wheel Droids however. The lasers fly. Dianne knocks over the stand and rushes the security guards. She swats them away and sends them crashing against the American Flag. She wriggles her way on stage seeking escape.

“Act now,” a raspy voice sounds off in the immigrant’s ear.

“Yes, senora Rice.” The immigrant responds in broken English.

The immigrant starts choking Diane the Fein with her very own chain. The immigrant in the princess Leia outfit pulls hard. Diane struggles, grabbing at her bulbous neck, but cannot find the strength to escape it. She is old and weak from the struggle.  The last breaths go out of Diane the Fein and she drops limp to the stage. She lands with a heavy splat and oozes into a pale puddle of bubbling broth.

The security guards mop her away, as the drones are clearing the area for any dissenters. The long standing generations of Diane the Fein, and her era of politicking and rule are over under the New Empire. They do not put up with dissent, even among their own. (cue Darth Vader’s music)

 

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Michelle Obama Consumes Milkshakes and Goes Off!

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courtesy of William Bontrager

CNN Newsroom, which now resembles a living room. There are no screens, no papers in front of the reporters, just two reporters sitting on a couch.

“Hello diverse Americans, and welcome to CNN, where our slogan is, “Whoa! What are the other news organizations doing now? Oh?! Then we are too.” I am a token African American individual wearing spectacles and here is a lovely white woman at my side, reflecting our tolerance and diversity.”

The white woman smiles blankly then twitches as if shocked. The black reporter smoothly continues.

“And as you see, we are taking a page out of Fox News, and have discarded our desks for these comfortable vellum couches. We have panned the cameras back so you get a lovely view of my assistant’s legs. They are very nice. Are they real?”

The woman responds automatically, “Of course they are not.”

The black reporter continues, unfazed.

“In other news, our queen, Michelle Obama, visited a high school in Topeka to celebrate Segregation Remembrance Day.  The students thought that it was going to be a typical graduation but instead was once again enlightened by our inspiring, and very charming First Lady.”

“Yes. She created such an atmosphere of love, warmth…well, just listen to it and feel the sunny vibes.”  The woman rambles a response before remembering to cross her legs.

The cameras take us to a High School in Topeka, Kansas. Michelle Obama stands at the podium. There are empty McDonalds and Arby’s containers littered at her feet, and all over the stage. She is sweating profusely, banging her fist in frenzy.

“And my ancestors were in chains, beaten and bloody, and crying, screaming, “why, White people?! Why did you take us from our family and homes, and why are your descendants doing the same thing in this day, in this state, in this school, in this very auditorium today? Why white people?!!”

Some teens are crying in the audience. The teachers nod in vapid agreement. The school counselor in the audience looks down at his feet ashamed of his actions, which he wasn’t aware that he committed until just then. Michelle continues, trembling and pounding her fists on the podium, cracking it.

“I see it everywhere! I see it in the soda machines in your cafeteria. I see the product Yoo-Hoo being consumed with no thought. Don’t you know that the brown in that drink is what makes it delicious, and something that would taste wonderful with a cheeseburger and French fries? Yet the white distributing company doesn’t call it by its ethnicity. He doesn’t name it “yo, whassup!” He names it,”yoo-hoo, and takes credit for the chocolate’s labor! Yoo-Hoo is a slave name!” The First Lady bellows.

A woman runs away screaming, and calls to some janitor to start pushing over the soda machines. Other teachers and students are stirring to action. Some listen as if hypnotized.

“And look at the white paper you students write notes on? Look at the lined paper you conduct research with, scribble love letters with! It is white paper! Look at the pages in your textbooks? White paper! Oh, you read the black letters, but look how those black letters are enslaved to their white environment around them?! Yes, that’s right. Brown vs the Board of Education did not go far enough!”

Michelle looks around. They are drawn to her words majestically.

“Now observe your beloved, Game of Thrones. All of those people of color, the Dothraki, and they are being led by a single white person! You have George R. R. Martin profiting off the sore brown backs of this fictional race!” She roars. Sweat streams down her forehead.

She is visibly trembling now…in full rage. All around her white people are crying, other races of children are confused, and the teachers are nodding with tears in their eyes, or hanging their heads in shame.

Trembling, she takes a McDonalds chocolate milk shake from her purse, tears off the lid, and slurps it down like the way Stone Cold the wrestler guzzles beers. Then she lets out a satisfied burp, crushes the cup and tosses it on the stage.

“Now act on what I just said!” She moans, feeling strange from her fifteenth consecutive milk shake today.

Chaos erupts all around her. Teens start fighting amongst each other. Teachers are sobbing in fetal positions. Some are smashing windows, tearing textbooks, and trying to angrily tweet George R. R. Martin. She looks at this satisfied, and feels herself calming from the artificial sugars and chemicals in her milkshake. She calls it a “shake stupor.”

“We are done here gentlemen. I need to gets me a McGriddle! Holla!”

Michelle Obama lazily strides off the stage. In the distance two teachers are clawing each other and ripping each other’s hair out.

Back to the CNN Newsroom

“What an inspiring speech by the first lady. My heart is breaking. What about you token black reporter wearing spectacles?

“I am moved beyond words, mindless white woman. By the way is your heart even real?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you, diverse Americans, for making CNN your fourth, fifth, sixth, or eighth choice of where you get your news from. Good night,” he says.

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Ditsy State Department Decree, Jane Psaki vs Common Sense

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courtesy of William Bontrager

Explanation:

I wrote this after watching a press conference from the U.S. State department spokeswoman, Jane Psaki. She spent the whole hour and a half dodging questions as usual and once again proves that this is the least transparent administration despite our president’s claims. When you read this I encourage you to go to CSPAN and watch. Notice that this parody is very close to the actual events. They use semantics to dodge questions like a pro. I also poke fun at Chris Matthews. He has spent his career sucking up to the Clintons and the Obamas,  and defends this administration like a man with a gun to his temple. Enjoy.

“Hello. I am Chris Matthews for MSNBC, and I am really mad for no apparent reason! The conservatives have done it again! The tea party, Clint Eastwood, and sexist light bulbs…” Chris Matthew bellows.
A cow Taser comes out and prods Matthews. He foams at his desk..
“Thank you. I needed that. The latest news brings us to the State Department where spokeswoman, the lovely and completely honorable, Jane Psaki is fielding questions concerning… Whoa!! Wow! Did you guys feel that? Did someone just touch my leg under the table? No? Oh I see. I was thinking about sipping champagne with the president in a paddle boat on the Italian Peninsula!”
“We are taking you live right now where Matt Lee is interrogating the beautiful and innocent radish. Doesn’t she look like the girl from Frozen? What a sweetheart.”

Location: Washington D.C. Press Conference: State Department Room. It is a stale little place, with flies buzzing incessantly around a dead dog rotting in the aisle.

Jane Psaki is standing at her podium smiling vacantly.
“Our position as the State Department in accordance to the White House is this; we should stand by our position in the region of Ukraine.”

“And what is that position?” asks Matt Lee, a burly reporter leaning over his desk with a notebook.
“Our position is remaining in a  position that states we are not making a designation at this time.” The spokeswoman replies cheerily.
“But you just said before this press conference that you have a position. In fact, that is the title of this conference. The State Department’s Position on the Ukraine, you said.”
“That is right Matt. It is a position that we are not making a designation at this time Matt. As if!” She tosses her hair back and giggles.
“Well, you do know that a position means, you take a side, or you are taking a stance, or making a determination.”
“Those are just words Matt. Ok Mr. “Use-words.” I can use words too. Look at Matt’s dumb tie everyone. See Matt. Words are words. We use words too. Words, words, blah blah…,” she laughs and blushes. Her eyes cross then go back to normal.”
“Well are you aware of the effect we project to other nations when we allow Hunter Biden, the vice president’s son, on the board of a gas and oil company in the Ukraine? You do realize how bad that looks right?”
“He is a private citizen that was raised by Siberian mercenaries on request of Mrs. Biden. She felt her husband was not not ready to be a father at the time. The son and father have hardly met. That is all I know of Hunter Biden.”
“Yes, only the first part of that is true but nonetheless, “Matt continues, “Hunter Biden is going to sit as a chairman in a company in a nation which we are supporting against Russia. Doesn’t that smell of cronyism?
“Why thank you Joe! That is my new perfume. It is called “Crony Lips” by Beyoncé. And speaking of which I think there is an emergency and I simply have to take this call!” She shrieks.
“You aren’t holding your phone,” Matt plainly states.
“Yes. I hear you and I’m on my way. Please avoid that dead hound on your way out! We are in no position to move the dog to a further position at this time.”
Back to the MSNBC Newsroom
“And that is that ladies and gentlemen. This is Chris Matthews again, and now you realize that we have nothing to worry about from the peaceful, gentle soul that is Jane Psaki. Nothing to worry about at all. Right, John Kerry?” Chris Matthews blurts.
The television screen splits and John Kerry is shown drinking blood from a skull. He looks up, furrows his eye brows, and smacks his lips before dashing off in a hiss.
Chris continues, “More news. Obama …whoa-ohh! Just saying his name is sweet ecstasy… addresses the American tragedy of Jay-Z assaulted on an elevator. We are going to be playing that for the remainder of the evening, as we see if race was the factor behind Jay-Z’s attack, and if it was indeed the reporter Matt Lee behind those nefarious acts.”
“Be sure to check out the charity, “Clinton for Kittens”, where the madam will breast feed nine sickly alley cats back to health. Go Hillary.This is Chris Matthews, going back to the asylum.”

(end Broadcast)

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Obama Eats Poodle Droppings at Spielberg Event

obama

courtesy of William Bontrager

  MSNBC NEWSROOM

“Hello. I’m Rachel Maddow, and my face always looks scrunched up like an anus because my views are so powerful, they have permanently twisted my face. Our story brings us to sunny L.A., where the president is about to enter the Holocaust museum courtesy of Mr. Spielberg. We see the president arriving now. Michelle, the first lady is following him. She is fussing at her assistant. Oh! It looks like she has a McGriddle in her hand, and she is unwilling to let it go. Now,…ok. She released it. Whew! That could have been bad.”

“Attending this prestigious and well- deserved event for the president, are media moguls, David Geffen, Rupert Murdoch, Disney Chairman, Alan Horn and Moloch the Owl God..OOPs, I didn’t say that on air did I?”

“No. You must not utter the dark lord’s name!” screams a voice off air.

“We will blame it on the Tea Party. They hijacked the set”, Maddow titters.

 

LOS ANGELES

         “Mr. President. Thank you so much for coming here,” Steven Spielberg approaches.

“Well…I…can’t pass something like this up. There isn’t much happening..in D.C. Joe Biden is having a sleepover.  LOOK!”

“Isn’t that sensational?! I hope you didn’t get offended by the signs out there. They don’t reflect our views.”

“What signs? Oh yes…those offensive signs. Eric Holder is on the job. We can’t have racism like that.  He is taking care of it”.

“Uh..what do you mean Mr. President?”

“Never-mind that. Is that caviar?”

The president takes a finger and swirls it in a black puddle on the table, brings it to his lips, and slurps it up. He chews thoughtfully.

“No…Mr. President! Those are droppings from Barbara Streisand’s toy poodle. The dog is always in her purse and must have went number two on the table. We’ll get someone to clean it up.  Boy!Oh, Boy!” Spielberg calls out.

A fresh faced youth emerges and starts to clean up the mess. Actually it is Kevin Hart, dressed as a sailor, wearing a halter top and a pair of really short shorts. There is a look of quivering fear on his face.

“Kevin. Clean this mess up quickly. And Kevin, please do it on your hands and knees,” Speilberg says with a wolfish grin.

“Mr. Spielberg, sir, uh. It is on the table. It don’t require me to be in that position, uh sir. I would rather..,” Hart begins to mutter and weakly protest.

“You know. I hear that Sinbad is making a comeback. Maybe I will call him up for that cop role with Justin Timberlake.”

“Hands and knees, it is. Thank you sir.”

“Look. I don’t know what you put in that caviar…but ..I want more of it delivered to my table!” Obama cheers.

“Yes. Dog feces delivered to your table, very good. Anyway, thank you Mr. President. We have your instructions here. It simply states that you will  mention that we are not benefiting in any way financially from this event. We in Hollywood, are doing our part to maintain a moral outlook while delivering high quality and original programming and cinema that encourages independent thought.

With that everyone around them laughs uproariously.

“I should go. I think Nancy Pelosi has drowned herself in the punch bowl,” replies Speilberg, and exits hastily.

Soon everyone is in their seating area.  Two armed men are carrying Nancy Pelosi, who staggers, hears the ceremonial  music, and then starts dancing like the lady in Pulp Fiction.

“Come on Travolta,” she slurs.

The object she grabs and tries to embrace is not John Travolta. It is a house plant.

“How many drugs did you give her this time?” an assistant asks Harry Reid.

“Her normal suitcase,”  Harry Reid flippantly responds.

Obama stands up and waves to the crowd from the podium. Valerie Jarrett is in his ear piece and in an underground area and shouting orders to the president. The president gets frightened and a puddle forms around his hips. Kevin Hart is quickly there with a mop. He grins to the audience, and half the directors in the crowd smack their lips and run their tongues across their mouths. A single bead of sweat drips off Hart’s temple and he retreats.

“Distinguished guests, celebrities…ahh …Look…affirmative action…hard working Americans….let me be clear…can’t wait for Congress to act…have to move…Look…Bush did it…thank you,” Obama says, holds his award in his hand, and walks off.

“What an orator!” the crowd exclaims in intoxicated and drugged awe.

“He tells the bare-bones truth!” yells Bruce Springsteen playing the air guitar.

Meanwhile Eric Holder and Al Sharpton are roaming the streets of California  fixing offensive street signs.

“Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, Hollywood…all white people names! I aint watching that show Friends!” Al Sharpton bellows, drooling over himself and sniffing incessantly. There is some white powder on his nose.

“For now on, Hollywood will be called Haywood, Santa Monica will be called Church Girl Monique, and Beverly Hills will be called, Black Folks Be UP IN HERE NOW. I enjoy my job!” Eric Holder exclaims.

“And we just getting started!” Sharpton rejoices. The wire he is wearing springs from his suit jacket and he tucks it in again, sniffing…

 

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