1:40 P.M. EDT
MR. SPICER: Good afternoon. First off, yes, it’s true. Arby’s will officially be designated “America’s Roast Beef, Yes Sir!” After expert negotiations, President Trump will be signing an executive order this afternoon that will establish a formal marketing partnership between Arby’s and the United States of America. We hope and expect that this will prove mutually beneficial to both parties for years to come.
On a personal note I want to say that I worked at an Arby’s when I was a teenager growing up in Rhode Island back in the 80’s. We used to have quite a few vacationing gays come in looking for an affordable and delicious meal, and although most people were scared of their disease, I never had a problem with them.
I found them to be a very tidy people. You could always tell which table they’d been eating at because it was just so clean.
Anyhow, Arby’s makes the best sandwich in America, as President Trump knows, and if you’re ever driving by an Arby’s you should stop and try one of their Roast Beef Gyro’s.
The classic thinly sliced roast beef is topped with lettuce, onions and tomatoes, cool creamy tzatziki sauce, and authentic Greek seasonings all hugged by a warm pita. Nothing says “I am an adventurous eater and interesting person” like eating a gyro at Arby’s.
$4.29.
A great deal. The kind of deal that only President Donald Trump could negotiate for America.
You’d be an idiot not to buy that gyro.
A real, goddamned idiot.
On another note, drug abuse has crippled communities across this nation. In 2015, more than 52,000 Americans — that’s 144 people a day — died from a drug overdose. And a lot of those people were white. Keep in mind that this all happened under Barack Obama’s watch. I’m not saying he orchestrated this White Holocaust– although we have received a variety of intelligence reports indicating that might be the case– I’m just pointing out the facts so that you can make up your own minds.
Okay press monkeys, let’s play a game.
I want you now to imagine that terrorists killed 144 predominately white Americans each day. Imagine them in their orange jumpers. On fire in cages and stuff.
If that was the case there wouldn’t be a terrorist left on the planet under this administration. We would have killed them all. And their families. Even their pitiful animals. But as you know, you can’t always drop a bomb on your problems, perhaps even more so when those problems belong to your own people, and so President Trump is working on a joint initiative with Pfizer to create a new and safer opiate for all the despairing Americans who lost their manufacturing jobs to illegals. Pfizer, an exemplary company with revenues exceeding 50 billion per year, will be familiar to many of you in the press corps because you gobble Zoloft and Viagra like candy.
If it wasn’t for Pfizer, half of you would be on the street.
In other new, President Trump has Tweeted Direct Messages to the King of Saudi Arabia, the Prime Minister of Japan and the Acting President of South Korea concerning the United States’ military strike on the airfield in Syria, and oh, look, there’s Ivanka!
What a vision in a floral print!
Stunning, just stunning.
That Ivanka Trump line is really something else!
Let’s give her a round of applause!
Okay, we’ve run out of time and the questions will have to wait for another time! Please help yourself to the Arby’s spread at the back of the room! Thank you all very much for attending!
]]>Two years or more, probably.
Stepping out of the car at the Port Stanley beach, I was hit by the smell of deep friers and sunscreen. Beachgoers played volleyball or tried to bronze themselves for the perfection that the cities they lived-in demanded, and children, like radiant beasts, played– their happiness a wildfire burning along the surf. Overhead the gulls flew, their shadows rippling along the sand, a kind of double life,
and then, looking forward, there was Lake Erie stretching out as far as you could see until it became sky.
Like the pilgrim I was, I walked down to the water. Standing up to my knees, an oxygen tank slung over my shoulder, I closed my eyes and held out my arms, waiting for something to wash through me and lift all the scars, bruises and fears of the last couple of years free from my body.
It seemed like a perfunctory, symbolic act rather than a felt one though, and I trudged back to our towels feeling a little disappointed. As I looked around I noticed a blind woman sitting nearby. Pale, thin and out of fashion, she looked like she had been confined to an indoor life of illness and uncertainty, and that this, this outing was a step outside of the protected, comfort zone she typically inhabited. But she did not look happy. She sat in a rigid, defensive posture, her face turned away from things, her fingers worrying some rosary beads she kept clutched in her hands.
I wondered if she was praying.
I wondered if I, too, had been praying when I stood in the water.
An older woman who must have been her mother sat next to her. She looked quietly off at the lake. And so the two of them stared off at separate horizons, the silence between them hanging there like a shared, unspoken disappointment.
After about fifteen minutes had passed they got up to leave. As delicate as a geisha, the blind girl slipped her feet into the sandals her mother had bought for her, and quietly taking her arm, began the journey toward the parking lot, never a word uttered between them.
As she moved from the hot sun and shifting sand of the beach to the level cement and cooling shade under a restaurant’s awning, she would not have seen the elderly and infirm arrayed there. Sitting silently in wheelchairs, each one with an attendant behind them, they all stared off toward the water. Bodies twisted and agonized, mouths hanging open and useless, it was as if they were waiting for a blessing or miracle. And the blind girl, so quietly it felt like she could have been floating, passed through them in her darkness like a saint through flame. It felt at that moment that a message was being delivered, and that everybody there that day, summoned by something just beyond the water, were gathered to receive it, but try as we might, it would elude our mortal grasp.
Trump, even attired that way, commanded the subway like a stern and punctual marshall at a luxury golf course, and people knew not to mess with him.
Normally he would never think to take the subway, as it is a filthy and vulgar mode of transportation, but today he wanted filthy and vulgar. His legs spread out expansively, taking up at least two seats, he looked down at his most recent text from Melania and smiled:
“I am to poo you,” it read.
Melania’s English wasn’t very good, but Donald knew exactly what she meant.
It was their beautiful night together.
Every year on the anniversary on their first sex, Donald bought a fast food restaurant in the New York area, fired everybody, and then made Melania work the counter. This year, it was a Dairy Queen, and Donald, disguised as the Burger King, was going to come in and order Melania off the menu and then make her his fast food sex slave for the night.
It was a great tradition, and they both loved it very much.
As Donald sat there on the subway thinking about whether he should purchase and then and torture some of the homeless and desperate as part of fast food sex slave night, a woman approached him.
“The Burger King?” she said.
“You look low rent,” the Burger Trump retorted, “and let me tell you,” he continued, “I would rather be a king than some low rent subway hen.”
The low rent woman had full lips.
“Subway hen?”
Donald ignored her, Tweeting a threat to France.
The low rent woman looked closely at his fingers, as if figuring something out.
Suddenly, the subway came to a screeching halt. Everything went dark and Donald fell to the floor, his Burger King head spilling off and his phone skittering out of his pocket! When he looked up, he and the subway hen, also on the floor, were facing one another, their lips just inches apart– something unspoken burning between them now.
“You’re Donald Trump,” she whispered, “I knew I recognized those tiny, orange fingers!”
The stranger’s breasts heaved upon the filthy, seductive floor of the subway. He stared at the woman and she stared back, their breath hot and real.
Trump inched toward her and she inched toward him.
At that moment Donald’s phone began to ring, picking up an audible message from Melania, “Donald, it is your Queen Dairy, I have customer, and child wants me to make curl with ice cream that I cannot make. Tell her we close? Give her money? I stand by you, my man, even if ice cream disgusting. I still poo you, my king.”
Donald swept the phone away with certainty, like a Commander-In-Chief. And then the lights came on and the subway started up again. The low rent woman got up and dusted herself off and walked away, shivering, “This is the weirdest, fucking grossest day of my life,” she muttered to herself.
“Rosebud, “Donald Trump mouthed, “Rosebud.”
We’re going to make millions and millions and millions of dollars, and then we’ll probably each buy a sports franchise. This is an excerpt from that book:
The Burger King:
If you are to dream of this deformed, hybrid monster, then it is certain that dark days loom before you and that murder may soon be in your future. Take care when dealing with weapons and seek the counsel of a priest. If the Burger King of your dreams was flying and you were able to fell the creature with a crossbow, then it is foretold that a sickness will fall upon the land.
Nadia Comaneci:
If you are to dream of this darling of the 1976 Montreal Olympics, and if she is doing her adorable floor routine, you will be blessed with a new mistress. If you dream of a young Nadia and she is holding a doll of herself, it is a clear sign that one of your mistresses is sure to become pregnant.
However, if you dream of the adult Nadia Comaneci, it is a warning that your wife may soon discover one of your mistresses and you must take precautions in your romantic liaisons and limit your alcohol consumption. Best to drink only clear liquors.
God, Our Heavenly Father:
This is a most auspicious dream, full of glad tidings! It is a certainty that your enemies will be struck dead and that rapid advancement in employment will be yours to enjoy. If you and God are best friends and gossiping, then it means that useful information that you can use to your advantage will soon be coming your way. However, if you dreamed of our Lord and he was tired, just sitting by himself in his bedroom with his cat, and you got the sense that he was lonely and disappointed, it is a warning that you have been taking the pleasures of your life for granted and that homosexuality, in spite of the desires you might feel, is a sin!
Now, in the 21st century, forward thinking Klan members are looking at ways to financially exploit this successful brand, giving the organization a more corporate sheen and putting the defining racist principles that govern the organization on the backburner. In an effort to accomplish this goal, they’ve put out a broad call to agencies and individuals across the globe to help in a rebrand, and I was one of the people lucky enough to be contacted.
1. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack
A fast food franchise throughout the rural south would serve as an excellent transition business, moving the KKK from violent hate group to an affordable, family-friendly eatery in no time. Competing with KFC, but with a more authentic, regional flavour, a Klansman with smiling face exposed–but still wearing the distinctive white hood– would be the corporate logo, much like Colonel Sanders for KFC. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack would be racially inclusive, thus combating any negative connotations that might linger about the past of this emerging corporate titan.
The signature dish would be fried chicken skin crisps, and like MacDonald’s Happy Meal, KKK’s would serve The Hooded Order, which would be two pieces of chicken, an order of fries and a bottomless Coke, as well as a KKK action figure for the kids.
2. KKKSN Klu Klux Klan Sport’s Network
There’s nothing, excluding beauty pageants and guns, that’s’ more American than sports, and the marriage between the KKK and sports entertainment is a no-brainer. The network should focus on competitive eating (cross-marketing with KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack), crossbow hunting, street fighting and various rural soldier type programming. Over time, the network could expand to include more conventional sports, but to start it must specialize in that which it’s core audience loves best.
3. KKK: Guardians of the Earth
In the era of Global Warming, nothing could be more important to the public than the appearance of trying to save the environment. The KKK, showcasing their defining uniforms, could roam the land as a kind of cross between Forest Rangers and Guardian Angels, policing the public and making sure that people are not polluting, using too much hot water or otherwise disrespecting the land. One of the bonuses of this is that the KKK could still position itself as anti-government.
4. KKK Dog Walking and Pet Care
This would essentially be a corporate shell, existing primarily to keep members of the KKK in the public eye and achieving the positive association of being caretakers of the pets that American’s so love.
michaelmurrayca: We’re finally leaving the cold, dark ice cave of Toronto!
michaelmurrayca: First, passing through the Rosedale Valley of Death. The forest is looming bent and horrible over road, like tree in Poltergeist.
michaelmurrayca: Oh. All of Toronto also fleeing apocalypse city.
michaelmurrayca: Avoid highway unless you find tranquility in stillness. Move through car wash at much greater velocity.
michaelmurrayca: Red tail lights in front of us stretching from here to Mordor. # LikeDeathLava
michaelmurrayca: Time of winter day when everything is the same colour– even salt-wretched cars in traffic jam.
michaelmurrayca: Now moving like pre-twilight wolves through landscape! Oh. Never mind. Traffic jam again. #BoxingDayBestDayOfYear
michaelmurrayca: Empty, Dark Onroutes, like post-apocalyptic tumble weeds, litter the side of highway like reminder of life we once knew.
michaelmurrayca: Very hungry. #Hangry
michaelmurrayca: Port Hope Pizza Pizza is a crime scene. 40 customers, 1 employee. #ThereWillBeBlood
michaelmurrayca: Now full of McDonald Happy Meal. You know how I feel.
michaelmurrayca: Now trapped in an actual parking lot. Feel like punching things.
michaelmurrayca: Now moving as fast as flying dolphins! Our lives redeemed!
michaelmurrayca: Flying dolphins tricked into traffic jam cove! Hate tricks!
michaelmurrayca: 3 hours 46 minutes to not yet Belleville.
michaelmurrayca: My wife doesn’t so much like me playing Nick Cave in a traffic crisis.# BadTasteWife!
michaelmurrayca: Can’t believe wife doesn’t like listening to Sting! # WhoIsThisWoman?
michaelmurrayca: Now playing girl music. #MarriageTipsForTrafficJam
michaelmurrayca: Retract usage of “girl music,” meant “good music.” Very lucky to have wife like Rachelle!#MarriageProTip
michaelmurrayca: Apparently I “yell” when I speak on the phone, and ” should have gotten your (my) fucking driver’s license decades ago.”# whatever
michaelmurrayca: Stony silence for an hour and a half good for both our morale.
michaelmurrayca: Now listening to Christian motivational CD. God wants us to succeed.
michaelmurrayca: Let Jesus be your co-pilot, says voice on CD. No idea how to apply that to a traffic jam.# UselessChristianTips
michaelmurrayca: If I was King of Kings, would create traffic removal trucks instead of just snow removal trucks. #UsefulThingsGodCouldDo
michaelmurrayca: Also, if King of Kings would move Toronto and Ottawa closer together. 3 hour trip regardless of transportation method. #SoSayethTheLord
michaelmurrayca: Just didn’t expect to hit a deer while in a traffic jam. Very demoralizing, especially since deer Rachelle’s spirit guide.
michaelmurrayca: Pretty sure Christmas now very, very ruined.
michaelmurrayca: Very dark stretch of the road, like Cormac McCarthy novel only without spears and fancy language.
michaelmurrayca: Traffic loosening up after Kingston, but now icy and douche trucks everywhere!!
michaelmurrayca: We both tried to love you and the world the best we could!
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“We are very much supportive of the family — the biblical definition of the family unit,” he told the Biblical Recorder. On the radio, he observed: “I think we are inviting God’s judgment on our nation when we shake our fist at him and say we know better than you as to what constitutes a marriage.”
Instantly, there were all sorts of calls for boycotts of the chain, just as there were public displays of support for the chicken shop, most notably by vigorous heterosexuals Sarah and Todd Palin, who posed for photographs holding up big bags from Chick-fil-A.
It’s America, you know.
In an attempt to quell the PR damage that had been done Dan Cathy took to social media, fielding live questions on Twitter.
This is what followed:
*****************************************************
Rank69: Dude, if you’re so straight why is your last name a girl’s name?
DanCathy: It was my father’s name and I inherited it, so I didn’t have a choice.
Rank69: Do gay people have a choice as to whether they’re gay or not?
DanCathy: Of course, just like you have a choice to eat at Chick-fil-A or McDonalds!
Rank69: If you could choose your last name what would it be?
DanCathy: The Man.
***************************************
HelenofTry: How do you know what God thinks?
DanCathy: I read the Bible.
HelenofTry: Did God write the Bible?
DanCathy: It was more like a joint effort between the mortal and the divine.
HelenofTry: So God had a ghostwriter?
DanCathy: A Holy Ghost writer! : )
HelenofTry: But if you’re just accepting what the Holy Ghost writer says, you’re not thinking for yourself, right?
DanCathy: We make some tasty chicken!
*************************************
AAAXX3: Why is Snoop Dog changing his name to Snoop Lion?
DanCathy: I don’t know but he should change it to Snoop Chick-fil-A!
*****************************************
CuriousChristain3: There are no girls in the Godverse, right?
DanCathy: I’m not sure I understand.
CuriousChristian3: Well, God didn’t have a wife or a mother, it was just him up there.
DanCathy: The Lord is our Heavenly Father.
CuriousChristian: That’s my point, there’s no Heavenly Mother. He must have been lonely.
DanCathy: I think God keeps very busy and probably doesn’t feel lonely.
CuriousChristian: Ok, but if God made Adam in his own image and he had no reference for what a woman looked like, where did he come up with the idea of Eve?
Why didn’t she look like another Adam, only with a hole instead of a rod?
DanCathy: Our mission is to create loyal fans; we plan to leave the policy debate over same-sex marriage to the political arena.
CuriousChristian: If Eve were more like Adam, by which I mean stronger, she could have helped fight off the dinosaurs.
DanCathy: The Lord knew what he was doing.
CuriousChristian: I guess so, he was probably a billionaire like you.
CuriousChristian: Still, you’d think God could have given women 6 arms or something so that they’d be better helpmates for their husbands.
DanCathy: 6 is the number of the beast.
CuriousChristian: Right! This brings me to chickens.
DanCathy: We’re proud to make the best chicken in the world!
CuriousChristian: Well, God made the chicken, you just cook it.
DanCathy: Yes, you’re right!
CuriousChristian: How did God come up with the idea for a chicken!? It looks demonic!
DanCathy: Well, our chicken at Chick-fil-A is divine!
CuriousChristian: Was the girl (eve) chicken made from the rib of the boy (Adam) chicken? How did that work?
CuriousChristian: And what was God thinking when he made a lobster?! Man alive, those things are crazy looking!
DanCathy: We want to thank you all for your loyal patronage of Chick-fil-A. God bless America!
She looked a little bit like a turtle, and as she stood there on the platform she reached her hand back into the car, which was then received by the hand of a tiny, incredibly ancient Asian man, who also looked a little bit like a turtle. Delicately and with her guidance– his skin as thin as dried paper– he emerged onto the platform like royalty. The woman then let his hand go and hurried off into the day, her lack of sentiment somehow beautiful, even inspiring.
A thin, teenage Indian boy sat beside his mother. Plugged into his iPod, his body language was awkward and secretive, as if attempting to fashion a world that was impenetrable and separate to his square mother. He pulled out a Burger King Whopper from his knapsack and a boyish smile began to accidentally illuminate his face. His mother’s eyes– instinctively falling on her boy– began to smile. He was too skinny and needed to eat more, she thought to herself.
Nearby was a large and pretty young woman in a flesh-coloured dress that she somehow managed to spill both in to and out of. A gold necklace with the name Chloe, written in kind of perfume bottle script, hung from her neck. She had narrow, concentrated eyes and toenails painted the colour of bubble gum. Intensely focused she was playing a game on her iPhone, furiously thumbing the screen, the tip of her tongue protruding just a tad through her teeth.
At Rowe Farms on Bloor Street Rufus Wainwright was idling through the various products they had for sale, lingering on the organic milk. Which one to pick? He couldn’t decide. He couldn’t have seemed any more bored–ennui poured off him like humidity, like song.
An elderly woman was standing in front of me at the cheese shop. I asked her what sort of cheese she thought I should buy. She was utterly thrown by the question, but after she had made her purchase and regained her composure, she took the time to pause before leaving, “ You have a nice cheese, then,” she said to me.
Back on the street a beautiful young woman in a pretty pink dress was being pushed along the sidewalk in a wheelchair. It was so sunny and clear, and the light was catching her hair in ways that made it appear to glow. There was something holy in that moment, and everybody on the sidewalk seemed to understand this. Like pedestrian clutter, we all parted and stepped back as they passed, each one of us smiling and nodding, murmuring our small gratitudes.
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