The buzz all over DC is about the Presidential penis, and its description by future best-selling author Stormy Daniels as resembling a mushroom character in a video game. This mushroom is named Toad, which most people wouldn’t ordinarily call a mushroom, but hey, what do they know? About penises, not nearly as much as Stormy is the bet here.
It is the first time in this column’s memory that such a specific description of the Presidential pecker has entered the public discourse, although Bill Clinton’s most private part was also alleged to have been not notably substantial by some of the people he waved it around at. It was never said to have resembled a cartoon character, though. And, in defense of the leading citizen of Trump’s trousers, there are worse cartoon characters to have your willy compared to. SpongeBob SquarePants comes to mind.
The immediate environment of the Chief Executive’s member was described as consisting of “Yeti pubes.” Yeti is another name for the legendary Abominable Snowman, so one assumes the Trump pubic fur is long, white and lightly frosted with ice chips.
The fact is, a mushroom cloud hangs over the White House, and Kim Yong Un had nothing to do putting it there. There are two ways for Trump to go here. First, he can continue to deny having had sex with Daniels, despite him paying her $130,000 not to have banged him, which, coincidentally, is enough money to operate a mushroom farm for a year in Kennett Square, PA, the Mushroom Capital of the World up until now. It has been replaced by a certain light-colored structure on Pennsylvania Avenue. Trump can say Stormy has no way to have a personal knowledge of his private parts and continue to brag, as he no doubt has since puberty, in every dressing room he’s ever sneaked into, that his love muscle is the shapely meat sword of every woman’s dreams.
Nobody will believe him, but this has never troubled Trump.
Or he can embrace the description and point out that there are worse vegetables to have your junk compared to—a bunch of grapes, for example, or a baby carrot. Whichever course he takes, though, the damage has been done. Wherever he goes, whether it’s a NATO council, a NAFTA negotiation, or one of his own treasured rallies, people in attendance are going to be giggling, elbowing each other in the ribs and saying, “Here comes Mushroom Dick!”
Thanks to Google Translate, I can reliably inform you that “I am seeking asylum, Mushroom Dick,” in Spanish is “Estoy buscando asilo, Pene hongo,” for those of you who think knowing that would help your chances of getting over the Wall. In German, “Mushroom Dick,” is “Pilz Penis.“ That’s what Angela Merkel has been calling Trump since Tuesday, allowing for the time difference. Count on that.
The only way for Trump out of this is to send an un-photoshopped picture of his rigid endowment out over the new national texting system. Let the world decide if his fun guy is indeed, a fungi.
It will be eagerly examined all over the globe. Except by Putin.
He’s already seen pics of it.
It is the first time in this column’s memory that such a specific description of the Presidential pecker has entered the public discourse, although Bill Clinton’s most private part was also alleged to have been not notably substantial by some of the people he waved it around at. It was never said to have resembled a cartoon character, though. And, in defense of the leading citizen of Trump’s trousers, there are worse cartoon characters to have your willy compared to. SpongeBob SquarePants comes to mind.
The immediate environment of the Chief Executive’s member was described as consisting of “Yeti pubes.” Yeti is another name for the legendary Abominable Snowman, so one assumes the Trump pubic fur is long, white and lightly frosted with ice chips.
The fact is, a mushroom cloud hangs over the White House, and Kim Yong Un had nothing to do putting it there. There are two ways for Trump to go here. First, he can continue to deny having had sex with Daniels, despite him paying her $130,000 not to have banged him, which, coincidentally, is enough money to operate a mushroom farm for a year in Kennett Square, PA, the Mushroom Capital of the World up until now. It has been replaced by a certain light-colored structure on Pennsylvania Avenue. Trump can say Stormy has no way to have a personal knowledge of his private parts and continue to brag, as he no doubt has since puberty, in every dressing room he’s ever sneaked into, that his love muscle is the shapely meat sword of every woman’s dreams.
Nobody will believe him, but this has never troubled Trump.
Or he can embrace the description and point out that there are worse vegetables to have your junk compared to—a bunch of grapes, for example, or a baby carrot. Whichever course he takes, though, the damage has been done. Wherever he goes, whether it’s a NATO council, a NAFTA negotiation, or one of his own treasured rallies, people in attendance are going to be giggling, elbowing each other in the ribs and saying, “Here comes Mushroom Dick!”
Thanks to Google Translate, I can reliably inform you that “I am seeking asylum, Mushroom Dick,” in Spanish is “Estoy buscando asilo, Pene hongo,” for those of you who think knowing that would help your chances of getting over the Wall. In German, “Mushroom Dick,” is “Pilz Penis.“ That’s what Angela Merkel has been calling Trump since Tuesday, allowing for the time difference. Count on that.
The only way for Trump out of this is to send an un-photoshopped picture of his rigid endowment out over the new national texting system. Let the world decide if his fun guy is indeed, a fungi.
It will be eagerly examined all over the globe. Except by Putin.
He’s already seen pics of it.
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