The Latest Press Gurgle

     Seriously, folks, I tried to write about this public jerk off from last Thursday in a timelier manner. I had thought and thought in between my other duties and responsibilities, wondering how I'd approach this in a fresh and engaging way. I have to say, even though I saw the entire presser from a local coffee shop, Trump defeated me this time. I'm speechless. It's like the deathly silence that follows the first few seconds after a mortar or bomb blast, that blessed second of painlessness just before your nerve endings register a severe burn.
     You could do one of three things: You could either read Rolling Stone's article listing the 18 lowlights from Trump's presser, you could watch ABC's Youtube video of the entire debacle or you could simply admit defeat like yours truly and accept the fact that Trump has successfully defeated scores of wouldbe satirists and late night comedians.
     Whichever option you choose, one must admit that Trump's second press conference as our so-called President was everything we expected and more. Blast the press for reporting only fake news: Check. Brag about his YUGE margin of victory on Election Day: Check. Deny any involvement in Russia either politically or financially despite mountain ranges of evidence to the contrary: Check. Deny being racist or anti Semitic: Check. Blame the black guy for this mess despite the Dow hovering at just under 20,000: Check.
     What he barely did, and what was his main reason for spontaneously holding this presser (a decision he'd literally made on the spur of the moment in the Oval Office. "Let's hold a press conference today," he said because, you know, he comprehends things so much better than anyone else, he don't need no prepping from his shrill, strident press secretary MiniTru Spice.), was to mention for any significant length his replacement for Andrew "Yes, I did stop beating my wife" Puzder. (It's R. Alexander Acosta, in case you missed it).
     Instead of giving Mr. Acosta the national spotlight for the first time, he couldn't resist gorging himself on the attention of the press that he despises like a straight sailor gobbling twink cock on a 12 hour liberty in Manila. He hates the act, hates the taste but he's gotta get his shameful fix any way he can. Nom, nom, nom. Ew. Nom, nom, nom. Spit.
     So for 75 minutes, Trump kneaded his withered phallus with those tiny hands and tried unsuccessfully time and again to spooge all over his unused teleprompter that was two feet in front of him as he vainly tried to get the press corp, and horrified American witnesses, to believe he won the election bigly, that the nation of Russia was "fake news", that he had no ties to Russia and then, after having already thrown Michael Flynn under the bus, backed up over his battered, broken, forgotten body several more times.
     It was the single most inartful, incomprehensible, stumblebum speech/presser, perhaps, in American history. Think of George W. Bush's worst pressers and compare it to Thursday's spectacle, that losing two out of three falls with a ten minute time limit wrestling match with the English language. Do it and I'm positive you will walk away from this post sure in the opinion that he made Bush's worst malapropism-riddled press conference sound like Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech by conspicuous relief.
     Essentially, Trump has morphed into Mack North, the Congressman-elect played by Will Ferrell on SNL in 1998. Even after winning a Congressional election by a good margin, Ferrell's North launches a trilogy of attack ads against his vanquished opponent, even stalking him and his family at a shopping plaza to rub his defeat in his face.
     Ladies and gentlemen, Will Ferrell is obsolete, as is the entire staff of the Onion. Andy Borowitz had to be talked off a 50 story ledge yesterday.
     He didn't once reach the teleprompter with his watery spooge but you gotta give the man credit for trying (Those tiny hands can only cover so many millimeters of the Presidential penis). But we are beyond parody, beyond satire. So, the only weapon we have remaining to us is our tried-and-true standby: The truth and non-alternative facts.