“Let Them Eat Steak” Trump Victory Ends in Blaze of Dyspepsia

Excerpted from Town and Country Bumpkin March 11, 2017

By Oliver D. Berger @oldberger

After another stunning sweep in the Republican primary, front runner Donald Trump decided to put his money where his mouth was.

“So Mitt [Romney] says all my businesses go belly-up?” Trump raged at the post primary press conference. “Well, how about this Mitt: six of you press people have been selected (check your program for a golden ticket) and will be allowed to come aboard the new flagship of Trump Airlines !”

I was fortunate enough to receive one of these tickets. Here is a firsthand account of the events that transpired on Donald Trump’s aerial victory lap. he had managed to acquire.

“I got it for a song,” Trump said as he stooped to enter the chest-high passenger door of the Soviet-era Tupelov Tu-154, emblazoned on the side with the Big Man’s name. “Best. Deal. Ever. Go ahead, go ahead. Sit anywhere ya like. Now, who wants some Trump Steak? Brett, you got those old Trump steaks out of deep freeze?”

Brett Boot, Trump’s head of operations, answered in the affirmative, indicating that he had also brought some Trump Wine for the celebration. We were to be feted like royalty, it would seem. 

“Heheheh, how you like that folks?” Trump asked. “Steak. And. Wine. Bee-a-ootiful. Am I right? Let me tell you something, you’re never going to taste a better Steak. Or. Wine. Than what I’ve got for ya today.”

While we were choking down the steak and chumming the wine–more vinegar now than vin blanc–Trump demanded that the provost of Trump University, Historian Eloise Brand, deliver a stirring victory encomium in his favor.

Professor Brand stood and uttered the following, though she was admittedly a bit wobbly on her pins.

When the Queen of England stood atop the battlements of the Taj Mahal and looking down on the German settlers of the Cincinnati River Delta in 1884 and said: “Let Them Eat Steak.”  One of the tired, the weary, the bemused, refused to accept the insult in stoic Teutonic silence. 

“Remembers the Alamo!” Grandpa Drumpf declaimed, knowing in his Master Race heart that Steaks and Freedom would one day be his descendent’s battle cry. 

At which point she stopped. She looked up, a terrible blank expression in her eyes, a twist to her lips, and suddenly a terrific ripping sound came from her skirt.

After two decades of Trump holding on to the last of his steaks, it had only taken two minutes for them to ruin the digestive system of every man, woman and child aboard the plane, and within moments everyone on board had done “ye olde” watery business in their shorts. 

Barely in control of my faculties, I nonetheless could not ignore the fact that, in response to our screams, the airplane began to rotate.

The pilot, who earlier Trump had boasted had received his piloting license from Trump University, addressed us over the intercom: “I’m panicking so I’m going to try and save us by doing something I saw in a movie.”

Needless to say, the 180 degree roll did not improve Trump’s victory party. 

As I hung from my seatbelt, I saw Donald Trump wresting the sole golden parachute from Brett Boot’s trembling hands.

“Listen Brett,” Trump said as he strapped the chute on. “You let these sonfabitches on this plane know that if they try to sue: Donald Trump doesn’t settle! I always wiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn….”

And then our erstwhile host was gone, plummeting towards the earth.
*This article has been updated:

It has been reported that Donald Trump survived the incident, but is not expected to appear at the University of Chicago, owing to the psychological damage. 

THIS POST IS SATIRE! 

Robo-Rubio Upgrade Too Late?

Faust Company Issue 203

Lisa Ipswich @lipswich

image

Robo-Rubio has proven that he is ready for the big leagues.

But is it already too late?

An aide close to Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell confirmed that the original design team at Reblican Establishment Enterprises had been fired after the android suffered an apparent breakdown during the crucial February debate.

The writing was on the wall: it was time to call in the big guns.

Olaf Erickson, of Lund, Sweden, remembers that he was watching the National Hurling Championship when he received the call:

“It was Mitch [McConnell]. He’d just pulled the plug on the American programmers and was looking abroad. Somehow he got wind of my team.”

Erickson, the world’s leading expert on simulacrum design, wasn’t surprised to hear that Robo-Rubio had broken down during the debate.

“Trumps nonsequiturs, his logical fallacies and boorish manner would distress the protocols of even the most sophisticated robots,” Erickson explained. “Only my design team can write the proper algorithms to weather the hot air of a gasbag like Donald Trump.”

Anit Chowdhury, of Lahore, Pakistan, the team’s lead algorithm designer chimed in: “Robo-Rubio required a whole new level of sophistication. Gone are the days of the the ‘aw shucks’ congeniality protocols, for example, of the Ronald Reagan model, which, quite frankly, a chimpanzee could have written.”

Lead behavioralist, Yuri Gregorovich, or Kiev, explained that he had inculcated 110 communicative gestures of a male Silverback gorilla into the Robo-Rubio’s motherboard to help the android interpret Trump’s bizarre body language.

Gregorovich was pleased that after extensive coaching Robo-Rubio now behaved: “…like an anal retentive prick with severe Aspergers. You’ll also notice that when Robo-Rubio gets caught in a feedback loop, he repeatedly accuses Donald Trump of repeating himself until he can reboot.”

Though Robo-Rubio’s performance has improved thanks to the hard work of these H1-B visa holders, there is worry at Republican Establishment Enterprises that it may be too late.

“We turned up his vitriol and basically obliterated his common sense protocols,” Gregorovich said. “But the average Republican voter still perceives Robo-Rubio as aloof and over-educated.”

“Mitch wanted me to turn his rhetoric down to Third Grade level,” Erikson said. “But we couldn’t get any lower. Mitch worries that Robo-Rubio is still more articulate than Trump, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

The truth is a hard pill to swallow:

Despite Robo-Rubio’s upgrades, after Super Tuesday’s disaster the Republican Establishment android may be destined for the scrap pile.

This post is SATIRE.

Thanks to Bill Draheim for providing the photography. You can find more of his visual art at billdraheim.com

Cruz Predicts Apocalypse If Not Nominated

The New End Times, February 15, 2016 

J.P. Augustine, @augustine

At the evangelical Church of the Seventh Crossroad in Padua, South Carolina, Texas Senator Ted Cruz fired up a group of supporters.

With the promise of Hellfire.

“Obviously, if I lose, everyone loses.” Cruz observed matter-of-factly. “Because the Big Guy Upstairs is not going to be happy. No sir.”

Cheers came from the crowd, many of whom had attended the event in fire retardant suits and gas masks.

“But, by Jesus, if there is a crowd that is ready to face God’s wrath HERE IT IS!”

A clamor ensued as the throng thumped Bibles with gauntleted fists.

When asked by a young girl of twelve if it was really true that the world was going to hell in a hand basket, the Texas Senator replied:

“Oh yes, sweetie. Undeniably. Let me just say, that if I’m not nominated, well…,” he paused to think of a suitable consequence. “Have you seen that movie with that bald old guy and the guy who’s going to play Batman and that rockstar’s daughter, the Elf Princess… What’s the name of that movie again, honey?”

Cruz looked around for his wife, who was nowhere to be found.

“Anyways, that movie about the asteroid that hits the earth and almost kills everybody?”

The girl shook her head, eyes wide with fright.

“That’s what will happen, oh yeah.” Cruz continued, “The Big G.O.D. has promised me a shitstorm of brimstone and ashes if the American people don’t wise up. Are you going to wise-up, sweetie?”

The girl, Trilby McCaulster, had just returned from Jesus Camp where she had been stripped of her self-respect, and thus nodded her head in mute acquiescence.

“Can I get a hallelujah!” The usually lackluster Cruz shouted shrilly.

This Post Is Satire.

 

Ben Carson Discovers Missing Lobe

from The American Journal of Pseudoscience, January, 2016

In an effort to bolster a flagging presidential campaign, Dr. Ben Carson chose an unusual tack: in front of a crowd of supporters, he attempted to demonstrate his skill with cutting-edge neuroscientific technology.

His subject? None other than the good doctor himself.

“Everyone says that you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to lead America,” Carson announced in his typical dead-pan manner. “But you should have to be a brain surgeon!”

There was desultory laughter. The crowd seemingly unable to discern whether he was joking or not.

The presidential hopeful then attached a pair of diodes to his temples and flipped a switch on a strange looking new-fangled device.

“This device, the Oscillatrix will demonstrate that I, Dr. Ben Carson, am the smartest of the Republican candidates!”

Carson’s desperate gambit did not go as planned, however. Instead, the state-of-the-art Swiss-built contraption unveiled a startling revelation: the doctor was missing his frontal lobe!

When asked what might have become of it, Carson replied: “I don’t know. My past is a mystery to me.”

Dr. Cole Blankenpate, founder of the Neuroscientology Consortium, and a man Carson describes as: “almost as smart as me” conjectured that the missing gray-matter could be attributed to a condition known as cerebral marasmus.

“Basically the brain just starts to waste away,” Dr. Blankenpate said when reached by phone. “The consequences can be terrible.”

When pressed for details, Blankenpate offered a list of potential mental stresses: “Delusions, definitely delusions. Patients often mistake fiction for fact, for example adopting strange theories about ancient edifices that have been debunked by every expert on planet earth. Other things of that nature.”

Back at the rally, Carson seemed undeterred by the hole in his head.

“I’ve gone for who knows how long without my frontal lobe,” Carson said. After a lengthy pause, he continued. “How many of the other Republican hopefuls can claim that?”

*This post is satire.