FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS THE WHITE HOUSE GIFT SHOP IS OFFERING A FREEDOM DISCOUNT ON ALL PRESIDENT TRUMP MEMORABILIA!!
THAT’S RIGHT.
FREEDOM SAVINGS OF UP TO 15%!!
DON’T BE A LOSER, ACT FAST WHILE THE SAVINGS ARE STILL AT DEFCOM 5!!!
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NORTH KOREA PEACE SUMMIT COMMEMORATIVE COIN
This beautiful, exquisitely crafted, luxury coin commemorating President Trump’s historic meeting with Kim Jong-un has been slashed from $24.99 to $19.99!! Nothing says, “Screw you, elites!” like money, so get out there and buy some today!!
PRESIDENT TRUMP “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN” BUCK KNIFE
This is a limited production of 25 knives only and features inlays of genuine Blue Lapis, and Red Jasper, with USA and the American Eagle engraved in polished brass bolsters, with a mirror polished blade and “TRUMP” Make America Great Again engraved in the handles. Comes to you in a beautiful Red White and Blue display box equipped for wall hanging.
Buck Knife $149.99
PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP LIBERATING AMERICA FROM ROBOT TYRANNY BASEBALL HAT
Who can forget that fateful day when President Trump defeated Robot Supreme Commander ACLL-98 in a pay-per-view hand-to-hand spectacle that pulled in the greatest ratings of all time!?
Baseball hat with patch $49.99
Patch $ 9.99
“MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN” ONE PIECE WOMAN’S BATHING SUIT
Make a huge splash poolside or at the beach this summer in this classy and flattering, little number!
Swimsuit $55.00
PRESIDENT TRUMP FIRING MEATLOAF FROM CELEBRITY APPRENTICE THROW CUSHION
Remember where you were when Donald Trump fired Meatloaf from Team Backbone! Commemorate this great moment when all of America swept aside their partisan differences and came together as one to watch as the man who would become the greatest President America has ever seen– under tremendous, huge ratings pressure– do the right thing for free enterprise and fire Meatloaf, with a luxury throw cushion or fridge magnet!
Throw cushion ( Bat Out of Hell background) $24.99
Throw cushion (Red, white and blue) $20.99 SOLD OUT!!!!
Fridge magnets $5.99
“FAKE NEWS” BRASS KNUCKLES
These beautiful and effective puncture-spiked brass knuckles are platinum plated and come with the words “Fake” and “News” etched into the receiving end of each one. Fight back against the tyranny of the media, while supplies last!!
Platinum plated “Fake News” Brass Knuckles $1999.00
NSFW “GRAB HER BY THE PUSSY” COMMEMORATIVE COIN
This sexy and stylish NSFW coin is a must have for all Playboys and students of history out there! President Trump, projecting the fun and flirty spirit of the Kennedy years, doesn’t just Make America Great Again, he makes her Swoon again!
Commemorative NSFW coin $49.99
As it turns out, fortunes are being made reviewing consumer products on-line, and with that in mind I have launched a site ( The Sanitarium) which I hope will dominate the Hand Sanitizer Review landscape and make my family obscene amounts of money.
This is my first review:
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Welcome to The Sanitarium!
How do you think you’re going to die?
Terrorism?
Sex accident?
Wasting disease?
Climate catastrophe?
The truth is it’s possible you might die from any one, or any combination, of the threats listed above, but according to science we are most likely to perish from some super bacteria that will come like a thief in the night and kill all of us who had not been properly eliminating infectious agents from our hands.
It’s no stretch of the imagination to say that not only is choosing the right hand sanitizer a matter of national security, but it’s also a matter of life or death.
Choose carefully, my friends!
Sanzer Hand Gel
Wow!
The first thing I noticed about this hand sanitizer was just how amazing the ad is! It’s almost as if Sanzer isn’t promoting good hygiene at all, but is instead offering serial killers some great and fresh tips on how to dismember and store victim parts. It really makes you wonder what it would feel like to chop off somebody’s fingers and put them on display, you know? No matter, regardless of intent, Sanzer sure knows how to get your attention, but still, I had to find out, is the product as good as the ad?
Experiment:
Remove the raccoon that is trapped in the garbage bin in the alley with my bare hands, apply Sanzer hand gel, and then wait 48 hours to see if I get sick.
Notes:
- Sanzer Hand Gel really stings when it comes in contact with any open wounds.
- Sanzer Hand Gel does not remove the choking stench of raccoon and blood from your hands, clothes, hair, memory or glasses.
- Sanzer is flammable, and if squirted while holding a lit barbecue ignitor directly in front of it, will work as a kind of flame thrower. Unfortunately, fire is of little use in deterring raccoons, so Sanzer’s effectiveness as a weapon is not universal. ( This product may not meet your Apocalypse Bunker Hand Sanitizer needs)
- Fourty-eight hours after the application of Sanzer Hand Gel, my hands and arms were still swollen and oozy, but my fever was under control and the violent and dark thoughts had begun to subside, thus earning the product a solid 7 out of 10.
Today I have given the Blog over to Heidi, our Miniature Dachshund:
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Heidi like to party.
It true.
No big deal, just how Heidi unwind and have good time! Sometimes booze or drug act as social lubricant so Heidi can have sex with anonymous dogs.
Very exciting! Very, very hot!! Heidi love that, fun times!
Heidi always in control, though. Heidi could stop partying anytime she want. Heidi not on drug and alcohol leash, Heidi have dextroamphetamine on leash! Heidi always in charge! But then one night Heidi partying and Heidi begin to dig hole. Dig, dig, dig!! Heidi could not stop digging! Heidi crazy with digging! Would not notice if cheeseburger fell on Heidi’s head! In some sort of dig trance! And then suddenly Heidi come to and realize she have no idea why digging! Heidi not even know where she was!
Later, video of Heidi digging hit YouTube. Heidi not look right. Collar hanging all loose and stained, tail wagging strange and jerky. Heidi feel shame, Heidi bad dog that night.
Made Heidi stop and think.
Did Heidi have problem?
Heidi consider.
It true memory getting bad.
Always forgetting where bone is.
Sometimes have blackout and no remember how end up covered in mud. So embarrassing. Feel irritable all the time, especially if have to do stupid trick for treat! HEIDI HATEHATEHATEHATE THAT! AND WHEN TWO-LEGGERS MAKE HEIDI WEAR CUTE OUTFIT?!! HEIDI WANT TO DESTROY AND RIP TO SHREDS!! HEIDI WANT RIVERS OF BLOOD TO FLOW!!
Maybe Heidi have anger problem and not party problem. Maybe anger root and party only tree. Heidi take quiz to find out.
Q. How often do you become angry in a normal day?
Not all bark angry bark, but probably 3, 500 time a day.
Q. Do other people comment on your anger?
Heidi told BAD DOG all the time! MAKE HEIDI SO ANGRY COULD BITE BABY FACE OFF!!
Q. Do you believe you are critical of yourself and others?
No, Heidi good dog, very good dog. Two-leggers moron. Birds morons.
Cats morons. Bugs morons. Squirrels morons. So many, many morons!
Q. Do you tend to blame others for your bad luck or unhappiness?
Heidi have to say yes, it very true observation!!
Q. Do you frequently find yourself starting or participating in arguments?
Stupid question! Heidi stand up for what right! Twitter bring out troll-stupids and Heidi have to set them on fire!! You no want to get in flame war with Heidi!
Q. Have you damaged property during an angry outburst?
Yes.
Q. Have you ever physically harmed another person during an angry outburst?
Of course, Heidi great warrior! Heidi Dachshund! Whole point is to kill, it why Heidi go for neck!!
Q. Have you ever been charged with a violent crime?
Heidi no answer this question. Pass.
Q. Do you keep any weapons at home?
Heidi is weapon, motherfucker.
Heidi deadly weapon.
She bring you close with her velvet ears and coco bean eyes, then game over!
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Hello America!!
I am Melania, the luckiest woman in the world, and I am so happy to be here before you!
Why, you might ask, am I the luckiest woman in the world?
Is it because I am beautiful?
Is it because of my gorgeous dress and luxurious jewelry?
Is it because I am like champagne?
Is it because I am so very rich and famous I never have to wait in line?
Is it because I speak five languages?
Is it because I am white?
(Wait for enthusiastic screaming to subside)
NO!
It is because I am married to the greatest man in the entire world, Donald Trump.
Donald is the perfect husband. He has bought me so many wonderful things! He is so smart and such a great negotiator, and he loves America so much! He wants America to be the best, like him. He wants America to be #1 again!
(Wait for applause)
Thank you for your applause, you are such a classy audience, so very classy!
(Wait for applause)
Some people, some very bad people, say that I copied my last speech from a black woman. This is monkeyshines! I would never do such a thing. I am innocent and I will sue!
(Wait for cheering and celebratory gunshots to cease)
Thank you America, thank you!
Donald Trump, the next President of the United States and author of the hit bestseller The Art of the Deal, is not just my husband, but also my lover.
Yes, and let me tell you, he is as good at making love as he is at making deals!
(Crowd goes wild)
My lover is also tough on terror!
He will not tolerate it!
He will fire it like a bad apprentice!
With Donald you will always feel secure because you know that if any terrorists, or some loser country, were to try any monkeyshines, he would destroy them.
(Pretend to be a sexy cowboy/stripper shooting a gun)
He would. It would be no joke.
(Wag finger)
Let me ask you beautiful Americans, who does Hillary Clinton reminds you of?
Ha, yes, she does remind me very much of an old Jew!
Who else does she remind you of?
Yes, a lesbian for sure! She has no fashion sense, no class. She dresses like a box.
A hag robot! Yes!
And of course, yes, a serial killer. It is in her eyes, the killing.
So many horrible things she reminds us of, so, so many horrible things!
In closing I want to say that Donald Trump is a beautiful, beautiful man. So rich and so successful and so sexy. Not only does he live the American dream, he is the American Dream, and he will restore the American dream for all of you beautiful patriots.
I love you, America, open carry for all, and remember to follow the next President of the United States @realDonaldTrump!
Once upon a time, as an American Patriot set off for market, he asked each of his three daughters what she would like as a present on his return. The first daughter wanted a brocade dress, the second a pearl necklace, but the third, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and sweetest of them all, said to her father:
“All I’d like is a gun for self-defense!”
When the Patriot had finished exploiting the free market, he set off for home. However, a sudden storm blew up and progress was slow. Cold and weary, the Patriot lost all hope of reaching an inn when he suddenly noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near, he saw that it was a castle. He drew his gun.
His weapon, an AMT Automag II, made him feel safe and powerful.
When the Patriot reached the door, he saw it was open, but though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Taking the safety off his weapon, he went inside. Wary of an ambush while calibrating his optimal kill zone and putting on his night-vision goggles,
he called out, hoping to flush his target from hiding.
Nothing.
As he continued his room-to-room search, he came upon a great hall where a splendid dinner lay served. The Patriot shouted for the owner of the castle, but no one came, so he sat down to a hearty meal.
Exploring his new surroundings, the Patriot ventured upstairs where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting, so the Patriot lay down, carefully put the safety on his weapon, placed it beneath his pillow, and fell asleep. When he woke next morning, a mug of steaming coffee and some fruit were by his bedside.
The Patriot had breakfast and went downstairs to have a look around when he saw a beautiful, unlocked gun collection. Remembering his promise to Beauty, he reached in to the display case to pick out a great semi-automatic he thought would be appropriate for his favourite daughter. Instantly, a horrible beast wearing splendid clothes appeared from out of nowhere. Two bloodshot eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep and a terrifying voice growled: “Ungrateful man! I gave you shelter, you ate at my table and slept in my own bed, but now all the thanks I get is the theft of my favourite semi-autmatic! I shall put you to death for this slight!”
These were the last words the beast ever uttered.
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
Blam!!
The Patriot, shooting in a controlled manner and ever conscious of maintaining a tight kill circle on the beast’s chest, emptied his entire clip into it, killing him on the spot. Any man or beast careless enough to leave a gun collection unlocked deserved whatever he got! The Patriot, knowing that 9/10th’s of the law is possession, moved his family into the grand castle and enjoying the high ground and excellent site lines from the turrets, lived happily ever after, sparing his daughter, through savvy gun ownership, of ever having a relationship with the beast.
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It sounds official, like it has a bureaucracy and a headquarters with marble pillars. It sounds like it’s been around longer than you have. Still, when you hear it, you have absolutely no idea what it might mean. It has the effect of sounding like something but conveys no meaning.
Their broad-shouldered leader, Ammon Bundy, exuding the calm and steady manner of a high noon cowboy, announced the name on Fox news.
His heavily armed group, who up until that point had been called patriots, terrorists, activists, militia men and Y’all Qaeda, had taken over the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge headquarters in Oregon as a blow against government “tyranny” a few days earlier on January 2nd.
Their storming of the federal building, it should be noted, was clean and lightning-quick; as it being January, the charming, cottage-like structure that gave out free maps during tourist season was entirely abandoned.
Nothing much has happened since their occupation began. Bundy’s men, some of whom who are not camera ready,
have been brandishing copies of the Constitution for the cameras and making YouTube videos from their trucks for their now abandoned families.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbGdMKpHDDE
All over Oregon, wives must have been rolling their eyes, just as they did when these same husbands took off for their annual paintball weekend. It all looked very much like a Fantasy Camp for revolutionaries, and it was clear nobody was taking them seriously.
If any group other than white men had done such a thing, well, it’s reasonable to expect a different response. Imagine what would have happened if a bunch of heavily armed campus radicals took over the headquarters, or to inch closer to armageddon, black protestors or some frustrated Muslims? What would happen then?
We have a pretty good idea, I think.
No matter, what seems to be happening now is that a long-simmering and predictable feud over grazing rights has morphed into a movie-of-the-week. The white guys want the government to hand over land it owns so that they—The People—may use it as they see fit, using it for grazing, mining, logging or opening up paintball camps. As far as I know, the First Nations of America have yet to be consulted.
The Citizens for Constitutional Freedom are not impoverished. They’re not persecuted, marginalized or threatened in any sort of coherent way. Frustrated by their perception of diminishing entitlements, they want to fight back against the forces that impede their ascent, even if they have no idea who or what those forces might be.
They’re easy enough to make fun, these men. Asunder in a rapidly changing and globalized environment, they try to live as heroes in a mythic past, a place where their big sky ambitions could blossom unfettered by government, minorities or environmental regulations.
It’s sunset in the only America these men have ever wanted to live, and so they tilt toward windmills, deserving of our pity as much as our scorn.
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Tall, powerful and with flowing, blonde locks and a fastball that exceeds 100 mph, he has the distinct aura of the divine about him. He had a tough time early in the game, but seemed to gather confidence and strength as it wore on.
David Wright, veteran third baseman and captain of the Mets served as his human interpreter at the press conference after the Mets victory:
Alice Gwyn, Yahoo Sports: “Thor, you seemed a little confounded on the mound out there as the game started. The Royals kept getting hits off you no matter what you threw. How did you adjust?”
David Wright, human translator:
Thor says, “I could not believe that even as I shattered their puny mortal weapons, sundering them like match sticks with my offerings, they still managed to get little, dinky hits! It was black magic, I tell you! I looked to my captain and said, “What dark arts are these? Surely Loki is behind such enchantments!”
But in truth, never once did I stop believing in my mighty immortal powers, powers which you can see were reflected in the final score.”
Joe Ainsley, New York Post: “Good effort out there, Thor. The first pitch of the game was quite an eye opener. Was the high and tight fastball that levelled Royals lead-off hitter Alcides Escobar meant to convey a message and change the tone in the series?”
David Wright, human translator:
Thor laughs heartily! He throws his golden locks behind his head, saying, the pitch was meant to convey that Alcides is a pitiful mortal and I am the immortal Thor! The Royals, a team that little changeling girl Lordes wrote a song about, needed to know they were in New York now and that things are very different in New York. I smote him. He will not be a factor in this series again. The pitiful human mewling from the Royals dugout after that, little kittens scared of a thunder, made Thor laugh. Verily, it was a good time.”
Benedict Summers, New York Times: “Thor, I have to say, it was good to see the God of Thunder so in control of things tonight, and wow, you are really, really crazy numinous tonight, blinding. Anyway, what would you say was the single most important thing to you being able to pitch such a gritty, consistent and powerful game?”
David Wright, human translator:
“Being a God and immortal status, for sure. I just reached deep into my well of divinity and kept throwing pitches of fire that I knew mortals would not be able to hit. Just stuck to my game plan. Also, the presence of the great Billy Joel at the game, and the playing of Piano Man,
was both touching and inspirational! It was like I was back in Valhalla at the hall of Bilskirnir! Thor, God of Thunder, thanks you all very much, but he must now go and feast and ice the immortal arm!”
( Thanks to Yael Friedman for the idea!)
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His silence during this time had fueled all sorts of speculation, with some people believing he’d been in Switzerland to attend his girlfriend giving birth, while others thought he was ill, had power seized from him or that he might even have been assassinated.
Well, he appeared hale and hearty on Monday morning, and it turns out that Putin, utilizing the survivalist training he learned as a KGB operative, had spent the last week camping on his own. These are his private journals from that trip:
Day 1:
As spring approaches, the burning comes hard and fast.
I shudder with the unnatural urges and I know that I must, once again, remove myself to the Bialowieza Forest and make peace with the natural world.
My mind, as if fevered, returns again and again to that Sikh cab driver as he stared out his car window on Shkolnaya.
For a moment, our eyes, like magnets, found one another, and we were two beautiful, masculine animals locked to one another, our breathing becoming so urgent and alive, and in such perfect and furious unison as to be inseparable. We would to be just one, all flesh, muscle and luxuriant and mysterious beard. Ah, but this moment lived only in our hearts and minds, for we never met or spoke, just two rugged ships passing in the fading light of a tired Moscow day.
In the Bialowieza Forest there are no seductive cab drivers with strong, Indian features. No, here there are berries. Here there are cold streams in which to cleanse impurities from one’s naked body! Here there are animals to kill! Here there are so many places to unleash the rage and to let the echoes of pain take flight!!!
Day 2.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am heterosexual.
I am Dear Shirtless Leader.
I am a powerful, heterosexual leader.
I am ruthless and without pity.
I am heterosexual.
Day 4
I use rocks to pound my hands. The pain reminds me of how much I love women and not men. Rocks are my friends. I will incite my people to throw them at the homosexuals when I return from my purification!
Day 5.
I spent the day in penetrating, decontaminating meditation.
The cold of the March forest felt good on my naked body. It was like being caressed and then handled roughly by the indifferent hands of an anonymous man looking to satisfy his own primal needs. I was an empty and willing vessel, a village waiting for to be led by its mayor.
I then ate two birds that I knocked out of the air using my belt. They are part of Father Russia now.
Day 6.
Today a young stag approached my camp while I made weapons from the beaks and talons of the birds I ate. This buck looked at me with both certainty and curiosity, and as a confident as a bear, walked right up to me and licked my bare chest.
I could have torn him apart with my horrible weapons, but I did not. He continued to lick– he must have been starved for nutrients and minerals—and I took his beautiful head in my powerful hands– and then he began to lick me in an intimate spot. The forest was a beautiful canopy above us and the sunlight was falling like gold coins all around, and for a moment there were no other living creatures in all of the universe, and then I twisted his neck and killed him, and there was but one living creature left, and it was then that I knew I had won and was ready to return to society.
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He’s receded from public life and many have been wondering what he’s been doing. As it turns out, one of the things he’s been doing is applying to attend an Icelandic Writer’s Retreat in April. The application required that you write a short story or essay based on the following photograph of the Harpa Concert Hall and Conference Center:
This is Doug Ford’s entry:
Sometimes a guy can go to a pretty black place. That can happen after you lose an election. When your whole life has been about winning, and winning hard, losing feels like a sucker punch to the gut. Not even football or pornography or yelling at people can fill the hole. Sometimes a guy has to go to therapy.
Therapy is for the weak, and Ron Ice, a very successful businessman and philanthropist, was not a weak man. He was a powerful man, a man who was a shot put champion at his high school.
Girls used to gather around to watch him throw the shot put. Ron was like a Nordic god and he did very well with the ladies, thank you very much. Those were good times for Ron, but now, with all the critics and small people yammering away at him after the election, all the people who don’t understand how to run a business, he realized he needed to clear his head, even if it was the weak thing to do.
Ron looked deep into his soul and realized that he wanted to broaden his horizons.
Iceland.
Iceland was the territory that Ron always started in when he was playing Risk.
It had access to markets in both the east and west, had plenty of challenging terrain to hide in and there was little pollution. Ron would move to Iceland and start his empire there!
People loved Doug Ford in Iceland. He stood a good six inches taller than the rest of the population, and as he still looked like a Nordic god, people began to worship him, “Look!” the villagers would cry, “The prophecy is true and the Ice King now walks amongst us! Ron Ice took the country by goddamn storm.
One day ISIS terrorists took over the Harpa Concert Hall and Conference Center where they planned to burn Christians in cages. Ron Ice would have none of that. Ron drove down there in his jeep, got out and just walked into the place. People were in awe of what big balls he had. When the terrorists saw him they all started yelling and getting excited in that language of theirs. They waved machine guns around, but Ron was as cool as ice.
He just stared at them, a penetrating hate stare, and then he began to yell, his mighty eyes bulging, and when he did they all put down their weapons like subservient kittens and were arrested.
Ron Ice walked out of there, got back in his jeep and drove up to the misty green hills of Norðurland vestra, where he had some property and a condo, and from where he would soon launch his internationally successful printing business Ice King Labels and Tags.
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This is the battle that ensued:
Greasy, loner neighbour: U DON’T KNOW HOW TO LOOK AFTER A DOG
Me: YOUR MAN BUN IS VERY BRAVE.
Greasy, loner neighbour: AT LEAST I HAVE HAIR
Me: YOU’RE SHAPED LIKE A PEAR & WE CALL YOU CINNABON
Greasy, loner neighbour: YOU LOOK LIKE MR. BURNS
Me: HAVE GONE OFF MY MEDS. FEEL UNPREDICTABLE
Greasy, loner neighbour: ADVANCED TRAINING IN NGUNI STICK FIGHTING. NOT SCARED
Me: VIDEO GAMES DON’T COUNT
Greasy, loner neighbour: YOU’RE ON DISABILITY, RIGHT?
Me: YOU LOOK SHARP IN YOUR BEST BUY T-SHIRT, CINNABON.
Greasy, loner neighbour: U LOOK WEAK & ALWAYS SEE YOU IN HOUSECOAT. CREEPY
Me: ALLERGIC TO GRAINS AND HAVE ASTHMA. WHY I KEEP GUNS
Greasy, loner neighbour: JUST KEEP YOUR DOG QUIET, OK?
Me: NO
Greasy, loner neighbour: WILL CALL ANIMAL SERVICES
Me: THEN WE WILL STICK FIGHT, BUT I WILL HAVE GUNS
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