Wednesday, March 21, 2018



at McDonald's, a roundtable is shaping. Kim sits at the kiddie table rubbing knees with the Chinese President who is at the adult McDonald's table with the serious fern in the back next to President Bump.

Chinese President: i guess you can call me Sun Sultan or something from now on, thought it's weird cos i'm still an atheist and don't claim to get this power from a descendant god or anything.

Bump: we really should try that over here. no more disruptive election cycles and endless news cycles and turnover of people and parties. it would all be so neat and simple, just let me handle it, America, and you go about your day.

Kim: i don't get it. i do exactly what you're doing, Father Chinese President, but i'm made out to be the bad guy, the spoiled out-of-control wayward son. meanwhile you do it and it's somehow all cool and Chinese. i want to be cool like you, my two dads.

Chinese President: it's the suit, son i mean Kim. i wear a suit you wear a Halloween costume. i even wear a suit at McDonald's.

a loud snorting noise crashes the drive-thru. Putin clicks his tongue.

Kim: you making fun of my language and my people?

Putin: wouldn't dream. that's my war rhino trying to find a parking space. i'm just turning the alarm off.

Bump: me, i've finally found the First Pet. hello, folks, pull up a booth.

Putin slaps the hamburger bun on the pattie and smushes down.

Putin: this is not Siberian deermeat. i'll take Caspian deermeat at this point.

Squidward: we serve food here, sir.

Putin: i'm outie. see you in six years.

Bump: wait, Vlad, why do you always keep me on read? it's rude. i try to text you and...

Jared is slumped over a table in a pile of Mini Deal wrappers.

Bump: what are you doing, son? here?

Jared wakes up and the Value Meal wrappers are ketchuped and mustard'd to his face.

Jared: *scrolls his instagram* working on a bitch.

Bump: you look gaunt, sil. speak softly and carry no stick.

Jared: i can't afford to eat anymore.

Bump: have my last two fries, they're the saltiest. let me steal your instagram? i got a RSVP to RS-VIP. et al. after all, i paid for this Parade.

Avenatti: you won't be going anywhere, sir, you'll be tied up in court. i can send a racing car to pick you up.

Bump: oh hello. as i said pull up a McDonald's high-chair. the high-chair is for your lady's tits. though you are quite the natty dresser yourself, sir. see? i can look at other things, take the temperature of the room. i like you. you look like Lex Luthor, a man i admire.

Stormy Daniels: i passed.

Bump: you sure did. and i'm very particular when it comes to affairs. what is a fine woman like yourself doing in a joint like this?

Stormy Daniels: how do you think my tits got this big? it wasn't from fish. there's a steady diet of chocolate milkshakes swimming in these jugs.

Bump: i find if you bread the fuck out of the fish it's easier to swallow down.

Stormy: it's me. Stormy.

Bump: oh now i see. i knew you by a different name. when i was a different name. yeah i see you spread all across the fractured media landcape. but it's a bit much, don't you think? we don't need all the grisly details. there's only so much truth the average American josephine can handle. have my last two fries, i love them both equally, i can't choose.

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