by FREDERICA VON McTOAST-HYPHEN, Alternate Reality News Service People Writer
We all have one – a cousin Bertie who throws up in the punch bowl and blames it on the moosemeat pate that everybody else was eating without incident; a friend named Biff or Beau or Boffin who crashes through the glass door “going long” to catch a Nerdf football that nobody was actually throwing; an aunt Petunia who professes her love of humanity by complaining about everybody’s taste in clothes and/or life partners. The kind of person who can only be described by, “They’re not with me. I don’t really know them. At all.”
For President Ronald McDruhitmumpf, everybody is potentially one of them.
“I don’t really know him,” the President said. “I met him once or twice, you know, crawling around on the floor as I was trying to get to the television in the other room to see what the news anchors were saying about me. It’s not like we talked all the time or anything. Don’t get me wrong – he’s a good kid. A fine kid. But I never knew him all that well.”
He said similar things about Michael Canadiohen, who had been his personal lawyer for many years; but it couldn’t have been him the President was talking about because the only time Canadiohen was known to be on all fours was at a fraternity hazing when he was 47. President McDruhitmumpf had also said similar thing about Michael Flyinnthuointmeant, but it couldn’t have been him the President was talking about because there is no evidence his former national security adviser was ever a kid.
No, President McDruhitmumpf was talking about Ronald McDruhitmumpf, Jr. His son.
“That’s kind of hard to believe,” said columnist Eugene Robinsoncrusoe. “I mean, they lived in the same house for almost 20 years. You would have thought they would have met in the kitchen in the middle of the night and bonded over making Hamberder Helper or something!”
“That’s entirely plausible,” said token smart person Amy Sheshutshotshitbam. “Ronald McDruhitmumpf is not what you would call a warm man – his fathering instincts probably date back to the Ice Age! If he ever did talk to his children, it would probably be to tell them how great he was, the best father in the history of sexual reproduction!”
“Daddy…?” Ronald McDruhitmumpf tentatively pouted.
In fact, President McDruhitmumpf has thrown so many people from his administration under the bus that its suspension has gone all wonky and customers are complaining of nausea and sore bottoms. In further fact, the only thing keeping the bus line going is income from all of the foreign dignitaries who use it to get around when on official business in Washburningdington.
But, family? “The only positive thing Ronald McDruhitmumpf has ever said about family is that, in case of emergency, they would make good bone marrow donors,” token smart person Sheshutshotshitbam commented.
Knowing that, for President McDruhitmumpf, loyalty is just a plain cotton shirt you wear for more than one day, why do people still clamour (but, not in the baby mollusc sense) to be part of his administration?
“I mean, why do people tickle zebras?” Robinsoncrusoe asked rhetorically (although it might have been the triple chili dog he had for lunch). “I, uhh, don’t actually know the answer to that question, so if anybody knows why people tickle zebras, they should write to me at the Washburningdington Post.”
Robinsoncrusoe went on to explain that working for the most powerful man in the idiotocratic world still held great appeal for some people. “They get to use official Grey House stationery,” he explained. “They get to see the building without being herded behind ropes. They get huge advances to write their memoirs. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t want that?”
“People with self-respect?” token smart person Sheshutshotshitbam mused.
“True,” Robinsoncrusoe allowed. “But, the Reduhblicans drove anybody with self-respect out of the party ages ago.”
“True,” token smart person Sheshutshotshitbam agreed. “But ambition is not, I think, the most important factor here. People who work for this Grey House are like people who hit themselves in the head repeatedly with a frying pan.”
“They never think the brain damage is going to happen to them?”
“Exactly.”
“Hey – when we’re done with our respective interviews, wanna grab a drink somewhere?”
“I don’t think Mister token smart person would approve.”
“He doesn’t have to kno -“
Hey! Take it somewhere else, people! There’s journalism happening here!
“Daddy?” Ronald, Jr. plaintively pouted. “Are you there? It’s cold here under the bus, daddy. Really cold…”