Bored mingling is suddenly interrupted by an almost familiar woman moonwalking into the White House press room with her middle fingers extended and aimed at the gaggle of journalists.
“What’s up, jerks?”
When she gets positioned behind the podium, the woman poses as if beseeching the harsh lighting to be kind and bellows in a deep, guttural baritone:
“The Base’ has spoken. Caaan yoooouu dig it?”
The woman faces unfazed stares and some yawns.
“Plant your soft butts, pipe the hell down and pay attention, you societal rejects that have no better place to be. Take the sandwich and/or Snicker bar out of your shirt pockets. I will start this presser with an important statement regarding our greatest President and ⸺”
“Who the hell are you?” demands the correspondent from Westwood One.
“The woman standing at the podium glares hot fourpenny nails into the forehead of the reporter and barks, “I am President Donald Trump’s press secretary, Stephanie Milhous Grisham, so take the pencils out of your nose and shut your trap.”
“What’s a presser?”
“His Grace found me in a discount communication bin, if you must know. I’ll take some stupid fake questions after I read this short statement.”
Cough. “President Donald J. Trump and his 2020 re-election campaign wish to announce that Abraham Lincoln was a sucker and ran with the wrong crowd. That is just one of the general sentiments of the Trumpanistas.”
“And we’re full to the rim, so don’t come here from any $hithole countries or regular hole nations that supply our recreational drugs — we need you to keep producing. Send a postcard instead.”
“This isn’t Bulgarian History 101, is it? Where are my books? I have no pencils.”
“You’re having different nightmare, dude.”
“Finally, it shall be true that the Supreme Commander will no longer squander a single calorie worth of effort to be honest in any way. This is a core value of Trumpism as pre-ignited by St. Sarah Palin. His Highness may identify himself repeatedly by name, Trump best, Trump loves the uneducated, Trump is the greatest, which is true as far as any of you mutts know.”
“Trump is humble.”
“The enemies of the people are responsible — that’s you creeps — for this policy adjustment as ordained by God and the maestro of misinformation Steve Bannon. Bannon and Stephen Miller are lettermen on the varsity racial resentment team that garnered a ton of votes in 2016.
“The Golden One feels he has been persecuted very unfairly because of his authenticity and eagerness to expose all enemies of the United States of Trump. The traitors, the scum, the hoax masters and all others who would presume to impede his plans to rebuild the nation destroyed by the Kenyan Muslim bushman known as Barack Obama will be pushed into the sea.
“You evil bastards have done nothing but slow his Lord’s roll and mock the complicated tactic of using fictional events and slanderous adjectives to keep his adversaries off balance. Our Father’s deceitful methods work best when unquestioned. Polling bears this out.
“But you loudmouths ruin everything with your constant criticism. Who cares if Sir never flushed his own toilet, changed a tire or paid a bill? I don’t. The White Nationalists don’t. The skinheads don’t. The paranoid patriot militias don’t.
“George Bush lied to the country from the Oval Office on the sacred night of 9/11, and you clowns missed it. Wouldn’t it be neat if someone had written a book that documented Bush’s behavior during and after the terrorist attacks?
“You’re terrible very dishonest people. Our dear leader, who could drone strike the lot of you, simply wanted to provide an alternative for the people who don’t read, aren’t curious and feel victimized by everyone, especially selfish immigrants, uppity women, libt@3#s, scientists, the educated and deep thinking elites.
“The pasty-faced Florsheim licking Sen. Kevin Cramer of North Dakota extols the right to have an ‘ignorance is bliss’ attitude. The royal pucker always says, ‘I always say about Donald Trump and his tweets and his communications style ‘take him seriously, not literally.’
“It’s too late for you people to do the right thing and jump on Mr. Trump’s lap like Cray Cray, though.”
“In retribution and imminently, President Trump intends to put all of the nasty fact checkers out of work and back on the streets to live out their lonely days with the rabid racoons licking empty tuna cans.
“All of you bottom feeders, and your fact-obsessed friends, will know that everything melodically leaving Sir Donald’s pouty soft lips will be false.
“There will be no reason to check facts because there won’t be any. The media can quit with the constant curiosity. We don’t need you anymore, you stupid picky freaks.
“His holiness pledges this on a stack of blini.
“End of statement. Urkel?”
Puzzled group, “What?”
“The guy who looks like Urkel,” shouts the delicate Miss Grisham. “Second-row black guy? And no impeachment hoax crap. You had your hand up, go.”
“This sounds like a trick. Is this a trick?”
“Does it look like a trick, you stupid Urkel-looking bastard? You can’t stop the big man, if that’s what you think. Lying is totally legal, and that’s no small asset for a compulsive liar. Not just anyone can do that without liquor. I mean hammered.
“Trump lies about whatever he feels like — OMG! What a scoop. So type your cute little stories. Oh dear, what will thine boss ever do about your vicious little fake news word piles? The ‘Greatest Ever,’ will have his flying chimps bury the world in bull$hit.
“Not everyone is fully equipped with a bull$hit detector that has a Donald Trump or raging @sshole aversion chip installed. Many in this blind spot group have been fed the same baloney for decades, and look what popped out. Only the best president ever. The cult will not care that I called them a cult. Go ahead, ask them. Take a poll and drop dead.”
“Look lady, we’re getting a little tired⸻”
“Biggest everything ever. Period. Hedgehog eyebrows? I’m not going to learn your names. Hedge, you know who you are. Let it rip, Missy.”
“This forehead fur is hereditary! Frida Khalo. Remember her, you cranky daft cow?”
There’s a startled pause. Some people duck.
Hedge grabs a scalpel and dives for Grisham’s jugular with a wishful mic drop followup. “How does this new 100 percent lying policy differ from what Mr. Trump is doing now?”
“About 20 percent,” answers Grisham flatly. “Hardy har har. The base doesn’t know a caramel apple from a cannon ball, and they don’t care, badger brow. More lies will thrill the rally crowds. You’ll see. I know that wasn’t very satisfying to your ego, you conniving evil witch. What’s your question ugly man?”
Another startled pause.
“I’m not sorry, but I should have said ugliest man. Spit something out before you decay any further.”
The second ugliest man says, “I’ll go. You’re a mean lady, Steffi. Whatever. Aren’t lies a bad look for a politician? Cherry trees and the like.”
“You would think that wouldn’t you? But it doesn’t matter. And don’t call me Steffi, Steph or on the phone. You may refer to me as Fräulein Grisham, if you must refer. Gopher face?”
“That’s me, isn’t it? My question, under protest of your poisonous personality; ‘Is the president upset that more people believe a shady character like Lev Parnas than trust his excellency when it comes to the truth?’”
“I doubt if thee knows about that,” said Fräulein Grisham with an eye roll. “Who’s going to tell thou? You? I dare ye. The president is proud to be mentioned in the same breath as Lev Parnas. Are you kidding? LP’s a Hobbit, you know. Grant you; he is exceptionally big for his age, but Lev is a worldwide legend in certain circles. But as my pal Kellyanne says, ‘Remember, people who go on TV are never under oath.’”
“Do you know which certain circles?”
“Yes. Next. You. I’m pointing right at you, toots. This is your big chance to avoid the embarrassment of a Grish smackdown. OK, it looks like blondie is going to make me say something true. Are you sure? OK, then.
“Farrah Fawsett, the terrorist lover crouching behind ‘widebody Bob’ over there, used to work at a Lady Footlocker in Milwaukee on the side to pay for her tanning bed addiction.”
“You guys should talk,” fires back FF. “How many layers of lacquer does it take to give every inch of a beluga the ‘Trump Tone?’ It’s not a real color.
Nobody even knows what this guy looks like. Who wears that much makeup? ‘Blue Man Group?’ Bank robbers?
You could at least imagine an unpainted image of Tammy Fay Baker. What would we see if Trump sanded off the paint and putty? The ‘Crypt Keeper?’ Is that what’s holding him together? Chinese cosmetics?”
“Well you lose your turn for that outburst, missy. I should have Steve shoot you in the gizzard for that display of disrespect. He’s polishing his piece over there by the donuts as we speak. The nerve.”
“Ah, a guy I recognize. You go.”
“Oh, OK, Fräulein. The president seems to have an unnatural focus on coal miners. Is there a reason why Mr. Trump doesn’t think miners can’t handle a surface job?”
“The president believes there are 17 different types of people in the world, and the coal miners fall into one of the underground category holes. If these workers are on top too long, the fresh air will boggle their noggins and they’ll tip over. It’s a nightmare for employers.”
“Fräulein, Fräulein, why would God send us Donald Trump, as many supporters believe? Did Earth get downgraded? We scored a blood relative in the last coming. Trump is a profoundly bad human. It doesn’t add up.”
“If you have a problem with God, you loser atheist heathen, then walk off a cliff and fall fast to the jagged rocks close to hell. Take a stab pelican nose.”
“Do you have a comment on Ukrainian they found dead in front of Trump Towers? The corpse looked suspiciously knowledgeable.”
Grisham flips. “The White House will never confirm anything that might affect the 2020 election. Cough up $200,000 to join Mar-a-Lago if you want to talk to the president. Green fees aren’t included.
“I’ve had it will you slimy reptiles. Bow your heads for the Trump prayer. BOW!”
“Division is swell. Zero tolerance is your pal. Patriots absorb the carnage and conspiracy theories like an extinct sponge from a reef bleached by acidic carbon dioxide seas. Grievances are us. Trumpism rules the Republicans and gullible sorts. Cruelty, cage ‘em, stick ‘em with a lie. No tweens DACA, no University of South Carolina Gamecock sophomore football cheerleader on the lawn DACA, pass the grub and bless the Dapper Don. It’s a bit clunky, but it is our best copyrighted prayer draft. Amen.”
Grisham makes a break for it in the midst of hollered questions.
“Are you part of the right-wing deep state, Stephanie?”
“Who told Mr. Trump that the water around Puerto Rico is deep?
“How many confiscated brown kids has Trump lost?”
“Why does the United States turn away legitimate asylum seekers?
“Why wouldn’t the president admit that 11 soldiers were wounded in the Iran missile attack on U.S. bases in Iraq? Is it because he is afraid of responding with massive force as he had promised?”
“Where can we find this famous 15 flusher?
“The harlot could be in Virginia by now, you morons,” yells Jonathan Karl of ABC News and president of the eternally damned White House Correspondents’ Association. “Cut it out. Let’s go snort some Ajax.”
Accidental Republican readers: If the shoe doesn’t fit, don’t wear it.