2.7.17
SKEWERED AND PLATTERED

Shattered. Splattered. Scattered. Battered. Tattered. Skewered and plattered. Barely mattered. That was the Democrats after November’s election. But surely in the months since, they’d come together to stand aligned in the face of the flaky imperiousness of our so-called President. You’d think. And ripe bananas make a fine masonry grout.  

The Democrats have lost their direction so completely they need a compass to wipe their butts. Incontestably, incontrovertibly and incredibly… useless. We are not speaking of a trifling of uselessness here. “Totally and utterly and unconditionally useless”- barely scratches the surface. The exact extent of the uselessosity exhibited by Democrats right now is breathtaking in its magnitude. Mythic. Destined to be immortalized in song and dance.

During last year’s campaign they skirted the periphery of worthless and ineffectual and futile and just plain lame, but the degree of uselessness they have recently achieved is best measured in AUs, astronomical units. As evidenced by their reaction to Donald J. Trump’s first unstable weeks in office. Or lack of reaction. They make listless look downright rigid. Limp is their rock.

As useless as an ejection seat in a helicopter. Mudflaps on a turtle. Pistol range in a bouncy house. Costume designer on a porn flick. Solar powered night scopes. An ashtray on a Harley. Glass piñatas. Triangular wheels.

Oh sure, they strut and pose and squawk and stamp their little impotent feet but so far have accomplished nothing. Less than nothing. Negative nothing if that’s even a thing. And no, you’re right, it isn’t.

Our new President celebrates Black History Month by comparing himself to MLK. Goes to a National Prayer Breakfast and asks the assembled to pray for Arnold Schwarzenegger’s ratings on the television show he produces. Picks a fight with Australia. Australia for crum’s sakes. Home of the Koala Bear. We’re about to go to war with Koala Bears. Come on, America, that’s not who we are. Tasmanian Devils maybe.

Falling back into their familiar role as punching bag in an abusive relationship, the Democrats’ squeaks of protest can’t be heard over the sound of the body blows being absorbed. Instead of trading punches, the left responds with splenetic poems and pussycat hats. Going to change the world through rhyming couplets and creative crochet.

Nancy Pelosi displays a look of perpetual surprise but can’t bring herself to do anything but wag her finger and shake her head. Bernie Sanders? Zero. Zip. Nada. Nothing. He hasn’t even threatened to give the President a stern look. Okay, a sterner look.

Barack Obama has left the building. No, really. He’s gone fishing. In Chicago or Hawaii or Kenya or somewhere. Hillary Clinton is no help at all, she just keeps laughing. John Lewis and Elizabeth Warren are the only isolated voices in the wilderness, two lonely figures fighting on the balustrade trying to wave away swarms of raptors. Getting the same support from their compatriots as bulls get from squirrels.

Heads need to roll. Hurdles must be leapt, rivers portaged and careers sacrificed. Loins girded. Photos of administration members in flagrant delicto with livestock have got to go viral. It’s time for Democrats to kick off the Birkenstocks and strap on a pair of football cleats. Lose the mandolin music and download some Led Zeppelin. Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Snarling.

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out his website: willdurst.com, to find out about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, "The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing."
 
2.2.17
INVISIBLE PEOPLE

Donald Trump is the political reincarnation of Tina Turner; like her, he doesn’t do anything nice and easy. Also, they’re  both Type A personalities who expend a lot of energy but hardly move at all. And famous for high-maintenance hair.  

Since his January coronation, the New York City real estate developer turned Leader of the Free World has partied like its 1939, issuing polarizing edict after polarizing edict. The surprising thing is Fox News hasn’t started to refer to him as Chancellor Trump. Or Gropenfuhrer. Yet.

Traditionally, a newly elected, first-time president hits the ground running with hand outstretched in a gesture of sociability, solidarity and camaraderie. Not Donny John. He hit the ground whining, with a fistful of disdain for everyone he slapped upside the head: Democrats, Republicans, the media, Iran, Mexico, Great Britain, the media, his own Cabinet appointments, refugees, the media, the NSC, TSA, and National Park Service. And don’t forget the media.

Experts theorized the weight of the White House would settle him down but alas, no such luck. He’s still up till all hours tweeting out a barrage of alternative facts, choosy truths, questionable veracities and marginal actualities that reflect a reality only he can see. As fluid and murky as the Potomac River.

What little presidential honeymoon he enjoyed ended long before the cake was cut. The groom ditched the bride and boogied across the floor alone performing a solo victory dance in front of a mirror. As graceful as an angry anvil.

You could describe his movements since as jerky, spasmodic and frenzied, like when he obsessed over the election being stolen. Ignoring the fact that he won. Even 46’s own staff is having problems negotiating his tricky hairpins turns. Not only does the emperor have no clothes, his skin is really thin and kind of blotchy.

According to the most aerodynamically coiffed president in history, 3 to 5 million undocumented aliens illegally cast ballots for Hillary Clinton causing him to lose the popular vote. It’s the only possible answer. Because how could Donald Trump not be associated with whatever was most popular? It’s unthinkable and unpresidented.

President Trump loves his invisible people. And there’s tons of them. The invisible people who cast fraudulent ballots- totally different than the invisible people who came to Washington to be part of the largest crowd ever to witness an Inauguration but conveniently vanished when aerial photographs were taken. Maybe they’re shy.

And neither of those two groups of invisible people should be confused with the thousands of invisible people who celebrated in New Jersey after the World Trade Center came down. Which only he saw. Maybe it’s a Sixth Sense sort of thing; “I see non-existent people.” No wonder Bruce Willis supported him.

During the rest of his first term, we can expect an expansion of Trump’s hallucination theme. Much time will be spent discussing ghosts and leprechauns and sprites and phantoms and pixies and the vast legions of his invisible enemies.

Turns out Donald Trump doesn’t just have a vision for this country, he has an X-ray vision for this country. He’s like Clark Kent only less buff and way blonder. It was bound to happen: America finally has its first super hero President. Erratic-Man.

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out his website: willdurst.com, to find out about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, "The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing."
 
1.24.17
The First 100 Days

As extraordinary as it sounds, Donald J. Trump is now the 45th President of the United States. Which is mind-boggling. Like making John Goodman the cover model for this year’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Kim Kardashian-appointed chief scientist at the Atomic Energy Lab. Colin Kaepernick in charge of WikiLeaks.

The liberals’ last best hopes were dashed on Inauguration Day when the Mango Mussolini put his hand on the Bible and didn’t burst into flames. The preacher said the rain that started to fall as DJT took the oath was a good omen in the Bible. Yeah, tell that to Noah.

The speech was darker than the Cleveland Browns’ offseason. Kind of a cross between Nixon and Voldermort. “It’s Mourning in America.” Trump will be a president for all Americans except the Muslims, Mexicans, losers, whiners, idiots and nasty women, especially the fat disgusting ones.

But now our attention turns not to the real estate developer’s vitriolic tweets but his diabolic feats. What is the agenda of the Tweeter of the Free World? Here’s what might go down over the rest of the first 100 days of the Donald Trump Experience.

January 31. Day 11. Trump trademarks “White House” and banks a royalty every time the press shows or mentions it.
February 12. Day 23. Congress repeals Obama Care and replaces it with Trump Care, which covers nobody but is advertised as “much more incredibly tremendous.”
February 21. Day 32. An Executive Order makes it illegal to use the words “climate” and “change” in the same sentence.
March 7. Day 46. The President tweets a major nuclear reduction pact with Russia.
March 8. Day 47. The President tweets a major boost in our nuclear arsenal to intimidate Russia.
March 9. Day 48. The President tweets a major merger with Russia. The two countries will now be known as the USSSR East & West.
March 12. Day 51. The White House™ press is moved to the basement of a bar in Bethesda, Maryland.
March 18. Day 57. Eric and Donald Jr. are apprehended shooting pandas at the National Zoo with RPGs. 
March 24. Day 63. California Governor Jerry Brown authorizes barricades at all state entrances and begins to charge a $15 cover and a two-drink minimum to enter “Golden Land.” 
March 29. Day 68. After Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Sonia Sotomayor are arrested, Trump fills 3 vacancies and the Supreme Court rules abortions illegal and determines voting to be restricted to white male landowners.
April 1. Day 71. The President authorizes a nuclear strike against Ottawa but Secretary of Defense Mad Dog Mattis pulls the plug after figuring out it’s an April Fool’s joke.
April 3. Day 73. President Trump tries to throw out the first ball at a windy Washington Senators season home opener but the ball and his hand get stuck in his hair due to an excess of product.
April 26. Day 96. The Pharmaceutical Industry reports record first quarter profits.
April 29. Day 99. Trump holds a contest among his Cabinet members to see who can sell the most Subway sandwiches in three hours on the National Mall.
April 30. Day 100. Trump tweets that he is bored and wants to quit. The nation is stunned.
May 1. Day 1. Mike Pence succeeds Donald Trump as the 46th President of the United States.
The nation recoils.

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out his website: willdurst.com, to find out about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, "The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing."
 
1.18.17
2017 Resolutions

All right everybody; time to slap on a happy face and start thinking positively about the upcoming twelve months. And none of that, “You want positive? Okay. I’m positive this year is going to suck big beige banana slugs from Mars,” stuff, because that, my friends, is stinking thinking.

Usually when a year goes down as gaggingly awful as 2016, folks frantically try throwing a monkey wrench into their continuum, vowing to make audacious behavioral alterations in an attempt to change the status quo. These adjustments often go awry and end up belonging to the “cut off your nose to spite your face” variety. Also known as the Voldermort Maneuver.

Another problem is most resolutions are as unique as a white sweat sock in a junior-high, boys locker room. Always the same old, same old; lose weight, learn a language, eat healthy, work out, not live under totalitarian regimes, construct a scale model of Trump Tower by bending paperclips. But what about other folks? Let’s waste some valuable time worrying about the important resolutions they probably haven’t made but definitely need to consider.

2017 RESOLUTIONS PEOPLE SHOULD BE MAKING.

• Ivanka Trump pledges to find a foundation color for her father that reads less summer squash and more tequila sunrise.
• Colin Kaepernick vows to kneel for the National Anthem, stand until his Forty Niner offensive line deteriorates, run, then kneel again before kissing the ground.
• Chris Christie promises to perfect his lean and hungry look.
• Rick Perry plans to study up on the Cabinet department he is about to head and is determined to remember its name.
• Mike Pence will insure his people employ the latest strobe technology at press conferences to give the appearance of movement.
• The 115th Congress resolves to supersede the successes of the 114th Congress’ by accomplishing less than nothing.
• The TSA finally solves the most dangerous of all security problems by banning passengers.
• To allay conspiratorial fears, Vladimir Putin will drink a glass of water whenever Donald J. Trump speaks.
• Paul Ryan vows to delineate conditions for a plan to replace Obama Care. The major condition is the buildup of frozen water in and around Hell.
• Donald J. Trump is determined to make increasingly outrageous wacky zany statements until Saturday Night Live finally recruits him as a cast member.
• PBS pledges not to do anything to tick off the new Congress and gradually morphs into the 24 hour Thomas the Tank Engine Network.
• Kellyanne Conway vows to purchase Botox by the gallon jug to insure she betrays no actual emotion except her default mask of smug self-righteousness.
• Anthony Weiner promises to purchase a one-way ticket on the Clue Train to an unknown destination and then stay there.
• Hillary Clinton vows that no matter what happens she will never utter the words “I told you so.”
• Bill Clinton, not so much.
• Angela Merkel will take acting lessons to learn how to keep from snickering when discussing international relations with an orange clown.
• Reince Priebus pledges to outline the administration’s plan to fix the Social Security problem once and for all. Unfortunately, it involves raising the retirement age to 90.
• Mad Dog Mattis vows to open his Congressional confirmation hearing with “Who wants a piece of me?

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out his website: willdurst.com, to find out about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, "The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing."
 
1.9.17
Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

It is our fervent hope here at Durstco that all you loyal readers join us in welcoming the elixir of opportunity that is 2017 and pray that it goes down smoother than that most recently departed year whose name has been wiped from our memory banks. Might have had something to do with a one, a zero, a two and a six. Not necessarily in that order.

“The Year That Shall Not Be Named” sucked like an industrial strength vacuum cleaner designed to inhale rocks the size of Saskatchewan. Leaving a stench in its wake like a twelve-month moored garbage scow with none of the attendant charm. It was a Mt. St. Helens, Jamestown Flood, Titanic, Hindenburg, Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kind of a year.

On a major league suckage scale of one to ten, the previous annum would rate at about four thousand nine hundred and thirty seven. It was to suck like sewage is to stink. The suckiest of the sucky. Suckalicious. Suckatosic. Suck-O-Rama. With a sucktosity able to strip the chrome off the back bumper of a 57 Thunderbird.

Maybe it was that extra leap day that tipped the balance from the merely sucktastic to the sucklandish. Turning ordinary ugly into grievously heinous. But those 366 days of death and destruction and disaster and desolation and disease and despair and diabolical and discombobulation was only tempered by the fact that we survived. Barely, and not all of us. But then, the most fiendish always leave a few alive to tell the tale.

Or could Star Trek’s James T. Kirk have gone back in time thoroughly messing things up again, causing a rift in the space-time continuum? That would certainly explain the Cubs winning the World Series, an orange clown becoming President, a third Kung Fu Panda film and Spam musubi on cauliflower rice.

The year that bridged 2015 and 2017 was to happy times what banana daiquiris are to reinforced concrete support beams. What barbed-wire wrapped bats are to panty hose. Inspector Clouseau and calm analytical judgment. Marbles and scissors.

Queen Elizabeth once referred to a particularly bad year, as an “annus horriblis” and the 31,622,400 seconds we recently escaped was exponentially that, with one of the “N’s” removed. The threat of another 52 weeks like the one we just endured makes you want to build a bunker in the back yard and fill it to the brim with Little Debbie Snack Cakes and bourbon. Not necessarily in that order.

Or perhaps the calendar most recently ripped off the wall was a plot by the Pharmaceutical Industry to sell more anti-depressants. Anyhow, whatever you want to call what recently sunk into blessed oblivion, almanac-wise, good riddance to bad rubbish. Don’t let the doorknob hit you in the butt on the way out. Get while the getting’s good. Even though it’s way too late.

And a big fat wet sloppy kiss on both cheeks to 2017. Come on in, take off your coat. Sit down a spell. Put your feet up. We’re counting on you to take the chill off the air. No pressure. You have some awfully tiny shoes to fill. But hey, Star Wars 8 come this December already puts you halfway to the good.

The New York Times says Emmy-nominated comedian and writer Will Durst “is quite possibly the best political satirist working in the country today.” Check out his website: willdurst.com, to find out about upcoming stand-up performances or to buy his book, "The All-American Sport of Bipartisan Bashing."
 
 


AboutFront PageThe Vault