Good evening, America,
In a blatant contradiction of basic journalistic ethics, SF Weekly has graciously agreed to let me write a follow-up to my anonymous New York Times op-ed from earlier today, because I need to clarify a few things. The West Wing was in complete chaos this afternoon, sending the president on a rampage — and this is the last place he would ever look.
First off, some of you are convinced that I’m Vice President Mike Pence. Bless your hearts, I’m not Mike Pence. I know there’s no way to anonymously prove a negative, but let’s just say at least I can pee three urinals away from another senior administration official without my dick falling off. I can also ride in the same motorcade as a woman who isn’t my wife without having to cry to Jesus about it. That’s because the Veep is a true believer and I’m a sociopathic ghoul with no moral lodestar whatsoever.
I need to clarify what I meant when I said I was in “the resistance.” I definitely didn’t mean the glib, easy #Resistance, like working tirelessly from the ground up to rebuild a shattered Democratic Party against fierce plutocratic headwinds before democracy implodes worldwide. No, I meant I spend my days subverting the president’s agenda courageously and with honor, by leaking petty gossip to Maggie Haberman to get the upper hand over John Bolton for the span of one news cycle. I’ve also been known to soothe the president’s nerves by reading five-star Yelp reviews of Ivanka’s casual separates while a helpful intern named Svetlana changes the nuclear launch code from “pa$$w0rd” to a random string of 23 Cyrillic characters. And remember that time when it was reported that the president pronounced Nepal as “nipple” and Bhutan as “button”? Man, Jim Mattis and I had to double-dog dare him not to stare straight at the eclipse in order to keep him from finding Niger or Uruguay on the map. Holy shit, the president is such an unbelievably stupid and malevolent asshole, but out of respect for the office, I won’t name him.
I am definitely a genuine patriot who believes in our robust military, not some RINO squish like Lindsey Graham. Once, when Steve Bannon got a little suspicious of my purity, I had to make my cover even deeper. So I donated 50 bucks in his name to Ted Cruz’s re-election campaign even though we both know Ted Cruz is a reptilian space lizard who molts in the Senate cloakroom before consuming his freshly shed skin. Because we can’t allow some skate-punk like Beto O’Rourke to represent the Lode Star State.
Still, I’m as pure a right-winger as they come. For instance, I would never even think of feeding my red-blooded kids left-wing garbage like Gorilla Munch or Barbara’s Puffins. Feel triggered, libtard? Well, I beg your pardon. Hey, did you know that all Sheriff Joe had to say was “I beg your pardon, Mr. President” and he got one on the spot? Just kidding! I don’t know how I would even know that because I’m not even real, just a manifestation of impotent liberal desperation.
Anyway, I know my op-ed got a little pushback, but you wouldn’t believe how hard this job is. It’s like 1984, where Oceania is at war with Eurasia until the next instant, when it’s always been at war with Eastasia. You know, one day you’re calling in a favor with some black-hat shitlord to help Michael Cohen turn his worthless taxi medallions into crypto on the dark web and the next, you’re drunk-dialing Judge Jeanine to get him disbarred.
And you can’t imagine the conspiracy theories I’ve had to swat down. I’m not talking cool ones about Pentagon ufologists or jet fuel on 9/11. I mean, deep down, the president really does believe that a trillion-dollar infrastructure program would put people to work and make the country stronger and more competitive. What kind of Republican wants to build bridges? Me, my soul writhes in anguish just thinking about cost-effectively easing ordinary people’s daily commutes. That’s why it’s vital that I selectively undermine the tyrant I nominally serve whenever his fitful populist impulses contradict GOP orthodoxy. There’s at least a handful of us in D.C., all hoping the swamp doesn’t get drained too much, exposing our lodestars.
Anyway, the whole point of today’s op-ed was as a trial balloon for our eventual rehabilitation, because obviously Mueller’s closing in. When it’s all over, we heroes of the true resistance can unmask ourselves and write tell-all books and chat with Ainsley Earhardt about them. Then we can leap back into the private sector to enrich ourselves as lobbyists while Hannity convinces Trump’s supporters he was robbed. The Republican Party represents everything good about our way of life, so it must be saved at all costs, and that includes publishing anonymous op-eds that I can maybe later use to save my own ass if I get subpoenaed. Once I remind enough batshit-crazy white people that former New York Democrat and serial liar Donald Trump was never really one of us, the country can forget all this ever happened and go back to worrying about Benghazi and the emails.
The work of ‘guerilla’ street art was installed on Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley.
By Richard Cowan This article was originally published on Blue Ribbon Hemp. To view the original article, click here. Consuming CBD…
'On My Way' is built for rumination, rather than ecstatic dance-floor catharsis.