Thursday, March 30, 2017

What Blowjobs Look Like From Outer Space

The photons that bounced off of the bobbing head of Monica Lewinsky as she serviced the forty second president of the United States, in theory, should still be progressing across the Universe, at the speed of light- since photons make up what we call light. 

The paths of the photons could be straight since even our crowded galaxy is still over 99% empty; or their paths could be deflected, bent or even absorbed by planets, moons, asteroids, meteors, cosmic dust clouds and black holes. 

The super secret NASA/Air Force Extraterrestrial Communications Unit released to Satire1 (no better place to keep secrets since absolutely nobody reads it) that both a number of intelligent life forms and idiots very similar to ourselves across the Universe have been enjoying the pornographic political show but are disappointed with its cancellation and replacement with the more Evangelical Monogamy Bush program. The Obamas haven’t even made it to Zaytar X52 yet.

Which leads us to the question: if a head drops on a lap and no one else is there does it make a sound?

There were six scientists who were said to fully understand Einstein’s theories and eight today that might be able to explain how the Universe works with String Theory. Newton was beaned by an apple. Galileo dropped a feather and a cannon ball off of a tower at the same time. Monica dropped her head and lobbed off Hillary’s crown twenty years later.

The fallout of those six blowjobs blanketed the surface of the globe and is still radio and television fodder twenty years later. Monica’s hum jobs are the most celebrated and berated oral sex in history but people didn’t vote for Trump because former first couldn’t take care of business.

Satire1 goes to 42cd Street and First Avenue 

“I didn’t get any ass after 1995 let alone blow jobs and I was still in my forties. I think she was giving Bungalow Bill my blow jobs.”

“There are a finite number of blow jobs possible at any given time. I’m a sexual statistician for the Pentagon and though the number of blow jobs fluctuates over time with the 1970’s under Carter being the blow job blow out of the century down to the meager lip wisps and tickles that pass for fellatio today, it is more than possible- I might even say likely- that Monica’s head could only be in one place at one time.”

“I’m a Second Amendment guy- NRA all the way- and I prefer a woman to suck my guns.”


“You saw Barry Sanders wife? Happy woman, right? You know he dives for crabgrass.”

“In my heart, I believe that Billy Clinton is Billy Clitoris. I think he eats women like the Big Macs we are. I believe he licks us like ice cream, huffs us like heroin and slaps that big ole boy tongue around like he was spanking every mare in the stable with it. I love him for that and kneel down and nod yes, Mr. President everyday in his and Monica’s honor.”

“I’m almost certain that if Monica blew every politician in D.C. there would never had been an impeachment.”

“It was one of our country’s greatest moments. I have no doubt about that now. I mean, nobody’s gravestone says I got too much head.”

Don Arrup
Satire1

Thursday, March 23, 2017

I Bugged Trump Tower

I, Don Arrup, placed a “thimble pinch” bugging devise purchased decades earlier at the Spy Shop on First Avenue across from the United Nations where I was a waiter to bug my roommate and former girlfriend Donna W---. Fortunately, I came to my senses before installation and decided to save it in case a TV star billionaire took over the country in the next millennium. 

Watching Donald T rise like a boil out of the pack of Republican presidential candidates called me to action. I contacted the catering director at Trump Tower who I had worked with at the UN years before and asked to be put their on call list for executive room service. 

For months they had no need for a fill in until a heavy snowfall on March 10 of the election year shut down the MTA and I was called as the closest on the list to Trump Towers. Super Tuesday and the New York State primaries were still ahead but I sensed that Donald Towers was unstoppable.

After walking forty blocks through heavy un-shoveled snow I reported in to a closet office in the back of the kitchen on the Grand Ballroom Annex level. My UN alum shook my hand and fit me for a short waisted, chain button, extreme peaked lapeled, coffee and cream colored jack and bow tie.

There were fourteen lunch requests and six rum runs which I caught up with just before three. Then the call came. I was stacking plate covers for the dinner round when I heard the service phone ring and I knew from the first chime it was Donald.

A ham and ham sandwich on toasted Christian rye, white mustard, mayo aioli mommy and horseradish cream. In the Midtown delis the combo had for two decades been known as a “Realtor’s blowjob” regular Coke, Mesquite Barbecue Dirty Chips and double dill pickle quartered length wise.

I jotted the initials DT slash RBJ on the order and nothing else. In six minutes the Chef, Executive Chef, Kitchen Manager, Floor Manager, Head of Security and Secret Service were bent over my cart. Go time. Elevator waiting we rolled top floor. I had to make a quick calculation. This was a simple drop off lunch. There was no need for me to stay and serve the sandwich and pour the Coke so Donald would probably wave me off. 

I figured I could probably just go immediately to checking his Coke bar. Donald famously doesn’t drink alcohol. Just check up on his sodas, waters and snacks. I had the thimble pinch in my right pants pocket, I could only hope he had his refreshments near a phone. 

I had been practicing taking the bottoms off of phones at my other catering gigs. Security took my Leatherman when I entered the building. I was down to a wine key, my apartment key and pen. I held the thimble pinch in a little marijuana dime bag in my mouth until I got to the kitchen. I had considered holding it in the other end. 

Big D was on the phone when I entered. The service elevator opens a little to the right of the huge doors his secretary lets guests and clients through so I rolled right into the liar. Without ever turning to me the boss waved me over to his table. He was turned in his chair looking out the window and placating a client or official. I placed the lunch plate and Coke behind him and was looking for his dry bar and other phone. Just as I saw it was just to the right of the service elevator I came through Donald turned to me and asked if I could stay a minute. 

I nodded affirmative.

He was mostly listening. Like all really powerful people he is a good listener. When he finally signed off he turned and apologized and asked if I minded his asking me a few personal questions.

Again, I nodded in the affirmative. 

He asked me if I was a registered voter but not who I was voting for. He wanted to know if I had ever waited on the other Republican candidates. I named four of his rivals. What did I think of Ted Cruz’s haircut? I thought the Texas Jellyroll suited the shape of his face. Were Jeb Bush’s hands smaller than his? Yes, and noticeably so even from across a room. Did Marco Rubio wear shoes at formal dinners? Never, black Cuban slippers with a wingtip design in silver. 

Then he wanted to know about Hillary. He didn’t ask if I had waited on her or knew her. Every cater waiter in New York knew their former senator. What did I think of her do? An insult to scissors and peroxide. Pants suits? Worse than Merkel’s if that was possible. Handling of the Middle East crises? She screwed it up about the same as everyone else who goes there.

Finally, he got to Bernie and asked if he sounded too much like him. Bernie is selling ice cream to kids while you’re selling yesterday to people who don’t have a future. He liked that answer. He said the past is the great untapped resource in American politics and that only Reagan and himself understood that.

He asked me if there was anything I could do for him and I told him that I had a problem making out what he ordered and since he has such a clear and articulate voice it must be the service phone and would he mind if I took a look at it. He said certainly and turned back to the widow and picked up his outside line and asked his secretary to get him the mayor. 

I was able to place the devise quickly under the plastic molding after attaching the wires. Though I rarely listened to the intercepts after the first month since I don’t speak Russian or Farsi and stopped recording after the CIA was bought out by People’s Republic of China, I will, on occasion, open the line in the background for my friends to enjoy at lunch time. No one orders sandwiches for his guests like Donald.

Don Arrup
Satire1 

Wednesday, March 1, 2017

Trump Pledges To Liberate Sweden

In last night’s Address to a Joint Session of Congress, President Trump promised the besieged state of Sweden that the United States military would drive out the godless blue eyed Muslim Mexicans who have invaded and conquered the Scandinavian stronghold. 

Referring to the enemy as the M&Ms, Trump recounted a war of infiltration, penetration, subterfuge and peroxide as bleached blond devils used fake passports and sing song accents to smuggle stolen American companies like IKEA, Solvatten, Saab and Volvo into Sweden so that they might grow like a cancer into their economy. The infiltration was so successful that many younger Swedes actually think of them as Swedish companies.

“I’ve spoken to the president of Muslimico and told him in no uncertain terms that I will direct the greatest military the world has ever seen in primetime to the fjords and saunas of Sweden where our Admirals and Generals have orders from their president to kill any blond under 5’6” who answers to como estas jihad.”

When asked by numerous reporters why there were so many blonds in Sweden to begin with the president replied: “Everybody wants to look like me. It’s a burden I’ve lived with since I blossomed into the world’s most handsome man.”

When his handpicked press pool asked for the Pentagon’s reaction to his pledge, Trump waxed philosophical. “Nobody hates war more than generals. They brought up a number of concerns- some of them legitimate- we like hot climates, we’ll have to change our pants, oranges cost five bucks there, the girls whack men off with golf clubs. The usual bellyache. So I told the generals that it was Sweden or Canada but we’re going to have it out with the M&Ms somewhere before Sweeps Week in May.” 

When asked about the cost, President Trump was quick to fire back. “I’m sending the whole bill to Brussels. The EU- yes, you! is picking up this tab. We’ll take the risks, shed the blood but the European Union for once is going to pay to preserve our precious freedom, sweat rooms and white meatballs.”

Don Arrup
Satire1