Stale Flower

She wept for those hardened from their failures, her wisdom written in the eroded walls of her stale flower.

She wore her dick years with pride, her cavernous nethers decorated with the salty stalactites of lovers lost.

She smelled of moldy blackberries, a whore’s sweet scent. Sound out a warning, I’ve fallen inside.  Blown out and oblong, she sheathed me in her rotten essence. Who am I to laugh in the face of opportunity?

 

 

I’m Sorry I Sent You a Picture of my Poop

 

[REDACTED],

I am sorry that I sent you a picture of my poop.  Will you still be my friend?

I thought you would enjoy a selfie of my sloppy stool, but unbeknownst to me, you have matured.  Please do not rescind our friendship, a bourbon-soaked friendship forged in lechery, deceit, and riffing about butt stuff.

You’ve kept my holy secrets.

You cured me of my clitoral ignorance.

You held my pubic hair back when I barfed from too much drink.

You taught me how to boof.

Was our companionship not rooted in more than degenerate tendencies and frank referendums on our emergency excretions?  You don’t want my poop, but tell me you still need my love.

We ate Pretzel Crisps from the same trashcan.

We went halfsies on Plan B.

We bought matching negligees for our unrequited loves.

I made you trolls out of construction paper when you were cuckolded.

Our safe word is “Adamantium”.

Are we not brothers?

You are a man now.  You didn’t want my human waste to pop up at work on your Facebook messenger.  I understand that now.  But you are growing up so fast.  I was petrified that you were leaving me in the dust, so I provided the impetus.  An impulsive exercise in self-loathing.  Look at my shit.  I am shit.

I stand naked before you, desperate for redemption.  What do I need to do to get back in your good graces?

I’ll shave the hair on your back with a Lady Bic, thankless work, to re-enter your Inner Circle.

I’ll grow my toenails out until they become weaponized.

I’ll eat out a shark.

I’ll do whatever it takes, Friend.  So pretty please, forgive me.

Love,

Toodlepeens O’Shaunessy

Donald Trump’s Republican Nomination Acceptance Speech: leaked first draft

Degenerate Nation’s mole in the Trump campaign blew a guy, who blew another guy, who had a copy of Donald Trump’s original draft for his notorious Republican nomination acceptance speech:

 

Cleveland. Great city.  Wonderful people.  Hard workers.  Lebron James.  Make America Great again.

I am standing at the precipice of tremendous power. Nobody bought my steaks.  They were great steaks.  Best steaks.  But soon I will have the nuclear codes, my large hands poised to press the red button.  We’re going to make America safe again.

I am a sexual being. I love women.  Not as people, but as objects.  As flesh.  Best flesh.  Women love me.  They scratch and claw at each other for the opportunity to be groped by my large hands.   I know women.  I’ve owned beauty pageants.  I enjoy judging women solely on their appearance.  I penetrate my wife.  Isn’t she beautiful?  My daughters, too.  Very sexy.  Best daughters.

Immigrants are ruining this country. My country.  I’m telling you, we have too many immigrants.  They’re taking our jobs.  Their children are dumb.  They’re crowding our schools.  They’re rapists and murderers, and some, I assume, are mariachi singers. 

We’re going to build a wall, not to keep the Mexicans out, but to insulate white America from anything and anyone different. Different is dangerous.  And by the transitive property, Mexicans are dangerous.  We’re going to build a wall.  And trust me, I know building.  Hotels, towers, resorts, golf courses, a giant, gaudy wall with outdoor advertising.  And Mexico is going to pay for it.  Possibly in blood.  If you see a Mexican today, kick them.  Give them a good hard kick.  There’s no room at the inn, Maria. 

(pause for “Build That Wall” chant)

You guys are great. I draw the best crowds.  Beautiful people.  Passionate.  Boiling over with hatred.  Sweet, sweet hatred. 

Let’s talk about my penis. I gotta tell you, I am well endowed, OK?  There are no problems with my penis.  Girthy, high performance.  Best penis.  I gotta tell you, it’s presidential.  This is a penis you can trust. 

We’re going to save the second amendment. They want to take your guns.  Let me tell you, not gonna happen.  I will save your guns.  In fact, I’m starting a gun manufacturing company, right here in Cleveland. 

(pause for Applause)

We’re gonna have the best guns.    

China. China is killing us in trade.  We’re going to make them pay a king’s ransom to export their goods here.  You’re going to be buying products made in America, by Americans.  Unless it’s my clothing line.  Do not let my empty rhetoric deter you from purchasing my clothes.  I own the best sweatshops.  Children with tiny fingers, expertly stitching.  I gotta tell you, I can’t sew like these kids can.  My fingers are too big.  Big fingers.  See?

A lot of my critics, they say, what is your platform? Make America Great Again is not a platform, they say.  They’re right.  It’s an ethos.  Making America Great Again is jobs.  It’s banning Muslims, keeping us safe.  It’s setting traps for Mexicans.  It’s assigning merits to women solely based on their subjective outward appearance, and systematically demolishing their self esteem.  It’s setting more elaborate traps for Mexicans in case the first traps malfunction.  We’re going to Make America Great Again.