Homeless Man to Adopt Twins

homeless

HOMELESS MAN TO ADOPT TWINS

trumpworld
TrumpWorld: Post Election Daymares Amazon ebook. Trump is homeless in an alternate universe. http://TowerReview.com/trillionaire.html

In other McNews, The Psychopath Whisperer is back on Fox. Here’s a partial transcript:

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Welcome to my talk show. Of course you know we don’t say much in public anymore, or even at Starbucks, except to order a Venti Carmel Massi-Ego before getting on our laptops to see if Kim Kar-smash-again or Kim Jong-fun made it into the playoffs at Yahoo Trends. By the way, libraries now look like Starbucks, too! Except for the restrooms, where homeless people gather to bathe and discuss The Walking Dead. With all the TV game shows and Valerian type movies we broadcast into the galaxy, featuring screaming fan/addicts and doomsday deathmatches. It’s no wonder why space aliens want to kill us so badly. Okay, first question. Let’s hear it.

What is a psychopath, and do they whisper too?

Ha ha. Well, psychopaths don’t generally whisper. They shout orders while pointing weapons. Or they read you the riot act, whatever that is. My job is to disarm them, and then take them to a remote location once used to waterboard taxpayers to cough up more receipts. There we gently instruct them in the Laws of Murphy, which, like the Law of Attraction, states that if anything bad can happen to you it generally will, given time and temperature.

You said “we.” Who is “we.”

It’s not the A Team, it’s more like the Z Team. Like zombies, only worse, they’ve been lobotomized by watching too much TV, their eyes stuck open with Crazy Glue. In a different location, over where they film B movies with D-List actors and game show hosts. Anyway, what was your question?

What is a psychopath?

Oh. That’s someone who ruins a company before bailing out of the boardroom with a golden parachute and backpack full of bonus money. Honey. No, wait, that’s a CEO. Psychopath. Any politician who’s first order of business in Washington is getting re-elected. Or any football fan who owns a CRAZY BOY. That’s a special deluxe Lazy Boy model featuring heated and refrigerated coasters, a voice activated mini bar, a retractable cheese fountain, and a defibrillator.

kids

Can’t Read This? Can We Have Your Autograph?

Breaking News
“Breaking” Newz

Ignorance is bliss, they say. It’s also sexy and trendy. For years rappers have bragged about being illiterate while eating money on camera. Add to this boxers, Hollywood screen writers, NASCAR fans, and now politicians. Our game show host President has even broken precedent, according to those few not currently posting Flat Earth videos on Youboob. As Kanye once put it, “I’m a proud non-reader of books.” Examine that statement. One word sticks out: proud. Yes, there is pride, and not just bliss, here. Add to that money and fame. You too can be a god by burning any books you do come in contact with…go now to whatever reading materials you find, light a match, and bring them to 451 degrees of separation from you. You will be happier, and richer for it! Why waste time and money reading anything, anyway, when there is Spectrum and Directv and NetFlix? (By the way, Flix is a Catalonian town in Spain with a controversial chemical plant containing toxic waste.) Still reading? Stop it! That’s a direct order from Directv. By the way, did you know that not only doesn’t Trump read, but his neighbor in Palm Beach—James Patterson—can’t write. That’s right, folks. He doesn’t write, he “co-writes.” Translation: he employs dozens of little known writers to do the work while he serves High Tea to bookstore owners and the press. In fact, one of the few top writers who actually writes—Stephen King—was target for him in a co-authored title, “The Murder of Stephen King,” cancelled at the last moment due to fear of IT. (Whatever “it” is.) What’s the moral of this story? I don’t know. What’s “moral” mean? It has been expunged from the Pictionary. All we know for sure is that the apes are winning, along with the Chinese. Time to go see The Emoji Movie. No, wait. That’s next week. Okay, how about Deplorable Me III?

China

Impossible Burgers calls Mission Impossible Cast

Meatless Meat

Trump: “I believe this is fake news. Science is for losers. Who would eat this crap, anyway? We have to think about all the cattlemen in danger of losing their jobs. Hey, these people voted for me. I made very, very good promises! These nutjobs need to be silenced very, very soon.”

Putin: “I love the smell of burning blood in the morning.”

Tom Cruise: “No comment.”

Trumpcare

Tycoon Otto Rolfing once owned three sweatshops in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Newark (New Jersey). His thousand employees worked around the clock manufacturing and stockpiling micro mini-skirts in anticipation of their sweeping return to fashion. Non-union sweatshop workers were paid ten dollars a day for sixteen hours, plus meals {which consisted of rice with fish heads.} Otto’s general manager was Klaus Brunner, reputed cousin of Adolf Hitler. One day over a bucket of Extra Crispy Chicken with Otto, Klaus claimed that his cousin was still alive, and a fisherman in Argentina, but had totally forgotten his past life in Germany, being quite senile.  “It’s hard enough,” Klaus confessed, “for him to bait a hook.”  Naturally, documentaries didn’t raise an eyebrow.
–Soon afterward Otto ran out of money. First to be cut off were the telephones, which really didn’t matter as the phones never rang much anyway, except in New Jersey, where Immigration officials called, hoping someone answered with a Mexican accent. Next to go was the gas. Again, even in New Jersey this didn’t matter except on three or four days in mid summer when inside temperatures rose far enough to trip the thermostat, which was permanently set at 141 degrees. It was only when the power company delivered a threatening note to Otto’s trailer with the euphemistically worded phrase “an interruption of service” that the end became apparent. It would have been nearly impossible to operate sewing machines in total darkness. After all, the warehouses were windowless to maintain secrecy in the event that Ivanka or Ralph Lauren Jr. found out what they were up to. (Even the sign outside read: Otto’s Buttondown Shirts to throw off the media elites.)
–So Otto suspended operations, offering each of his employees, both male and female, a mini-skirt as severance pay. He could afford to be generous as he had manufactured, by then, enough micro mini-skirts for everyone east of the Mississippi, with a few left over for the west coast as well. What he needed now was a vacation.
–After selling their respective trailers, Otto and Klaus hopped a cruise ship bound for the ominously Virgin Islands. As if on cue the ship then mysteriously sank somewhere between New York and Miami. To make matters worse a terrorist, swearing he was from Iran despite his blond hair, blew holes in all the life boats but one, and with a compact grenade launcher he’d managed to smuggle on board because ship’s security had mistaken it for a lifesize Miley Cyrus doll.
–In the water now Klaus and Otto worked frantically to lash together the few remaining ping pong tables into a kind of raft. These, however, were quickly seized by the ship’s captain, performer Andrew “Dice” Clay, and Jimmy Kimmel. Then, as Klaus began complaining about circling sharks, Otto lapsed inextricably into a numb recitation of the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. Luckily, about then a Ouija board floated nearby, and their spirits improved immeasurably. Unfortunately, it was noon and they couldn’t distinguish east from west, and so paddled their Ouija board in the wrong direction. Soon the two crossed the 200 mile boundary into international waters {not seeing the buoys}, and were instantly picked up by a surfacing Soviet sub. Not just an ordinary day to day Soviet sub either, but a Typhoon-class model carrying 140 warheads capable of obliterating any country within 5000 miles.
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The sub’s captain, an amiable if slightly nervous chap of 19, understood English well, having been kicked out of several Welsh boarding schools. Ultimately he succumbed to Otto’s tale of misfortune, embellished with opinions on how the overweight citizens of the United States would probably die of heart attacks as soon as the DOW collapsed again anyway. Remembering all the fast food ads he’d seen, the young captain agreed and ordered the sub be taken to Argentina where, according to Klaus, life was simpler and the fishing was still good. He then permitted Klaus to use the deck cannon to scare Dice and Jimmy a bit.
–The trio now lives with Adolf in a little fishing village south of Mar Del Plata, while the sub, piloted by a 20 year old female, glides aimlessly in and out of Cape Cod, looking through the periscope for sights of a Kennedy heir. Adolf himself has undergone an operation, and now resembles Mother Teresa . . . in a micro mini-skirt.
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Quiz:  1}  Do you believe this story?
 2}  Do you finally perceive real life as boring, yet you’re too afraid to take the red pill or join a book club, and instead prefer ESPN and TMZ?
 3}  Do you watch Entertainment Tonight religiously?
 –If you answered yes to any of these questions, Spy Dish Network will be contacting you with an offer you may soon be unable to refuse.

healthcare

 

How to Become the Next James Patterson

James Patterson
“Are ya talking ta ME?”

Step 1)  Start by thinking in short sentences. (Turn corners sharply. Make entrances sudden. Exit quickly and quietly. Think scary thoughts. Laugh with sinister glee. Slurp your food.)
 Chapter 2)  Develop a demented philosophy of life—if only to express to your alter ego—while staring into the mirror. Begin by repeating this:  “Nature is cruel. I am cruel. I am fulfilling Nature’s purpose. Does Nature care about individuals, after all? We’re nothing to Nature or Putin, except as drones who trip in the dark and die. Do I want to be a school teacher, or to burp babies, or to have an affair with my boss? Doesn’t matter. Who cares. I know I don’t. Nor does the Universe, far as I can see. So just get off my back, okay? Go collect postage stamps, join a bowling league, drive around at 2 AM with your car stereo blasting. You will anyway.” Chapter 3)  Stop eating oatmeal. Try prunes instead. 
Chapter 4)  Avoid using big words like “mellifluous” or “dysphasic,” which might make critics happy, but won’t keep you on anyone’s recommended beach reading list. (Realize that actually having something to say is somewhat less important than churning out two or eighteen books a year.)
 Chapter 5)  Stop blinking.
 Chapter 6)  When all eyes are on you, wink.
 Chapter 7)  Buy a large, shiny knife.
 Chapter 8)  When you go to the post office, imagine actually going postal.
 Chapter 9)  Develop a taste for organ meats.
 Chapter 10) Hire a successful agent and nine co-authors.
Finally, realize that the brain is just another organ meat. Prior to cooking realize that, as an organ in the head, the brain is said to contain who we are, the mysterious “us” that we believe should oppose and compete with “them.” Also, it’s the least used organ, particularly by hockey or NASCAR fans. Meanwhile, the most used organ is often referred to as having “a mind of its own.” (Now, many say that sex is mostly in the brain, but of course the people saying this don’t really want to play with their brains. Actually, our brains are only three pound clumps of jelly, which you could probably hold in your hand for at least a few seconds before freaking out. A side benefit of grasping this is in also realizing that for much of your life you’ve been worried about what some other clump of jelly thinks about your own clump of jelly. Meanwhile, at various locations across the country there are three pound jellies who recognize the shell holding your clump, and your clump wonders how these jellies are “doing” or “feeling,” too, and if they are coming close to yours next year for what is termed a “holiday,” and if the alignment of electrical impulses inside your jelly mold can ever “forgive” or “love” or “respect” or “whatever” them again. Or even if you should. Feel better now? If so, you are now ready to become either a mystery writer or a serial killer. Flip a coin. (In either case, please seek help soon.)James Patterson Zoo

BRONZE MEDAL– The medal usually won by Olympians who go into bars and no one knows their name. The most bronze medals ever won is credited to Carl Jablonsky who won his 50th consecutive semi-annual Bronze in the Dallas Chili Cookoff, yet all he could do was cry in his beer at being defeating again (and again) for the Gold and Silver by numerous rivals who placed ahead of him previously. “I’m truly ashamed of myself,” he said. “I’ve lost my self worth, my dignity, my savings, my family, and my will to keep on cooking.” Bobby Flay never called him for a Throw Down, although he used humane grass-fed beef instead of the Gold winning Nazi-fed beef from the Texas Longhorn Extermination Camp. Today, bronze medal winners are required to rent from EconoCar, since they don’t merit Avis, whose new slogan is, “We buy silver!”
CELIBACY is the restraint from sex for moral or personal reasons. Unknown in the NBA. Okay?
C.E.O. stands for Chief Executive Officer. That’s someone who ruins a company before bailing out of the boardroom with a golden parachute and backpack full of bonus money. Honey.
CEREBRUM–  The front part of the brain, rarely engaged by WWF fans in favor of the primitive stem area (which also monitors bladder control.)
CLIMATOLOGY–  The study of wind, rain, hail, tornadoes, hurricanes, and other weather related catastrophes (ie. inconveniences) known to delay games.
COKE— An addictive substance known to endorse every politician, sport, emotion, ideology, color, creed, and war. Its market is everyman, its global conquest total, its commercials ubiquitous, and, like North Korea, it rigorously protects its territory and its secrets…albeit not with weapons, just propaganda.
CRAZY BOY– A special deluxe Lazy Boy model featuring heated and refrigerated coasters, a voice activated mini bar, a retractable cheese fountain, and a defibrillator.