The Caucasian-in-Chief swung into action this week, swiftly defending the Confederate memorials all over the country, but in particular, the statue of Albert Pike, the only Confederate general memorialized in Washington, DC, whose statue had been pulled down by protesters over the weekend. Trump vowed it would be restored, and assigned US Marshals to protect all statues that those antifas and Biden voters might be targeting in the future.
The US Marshals are particularly important to me, because my last name is Cahill and there is an ancient John Wayne movie titled “Cahill—US Marshal,” so when I introduce myself to people circling the drain of dementia, they sometimes call me “US Marshall,” or “John Wayne.” I reply that that is a shitty joke that, had they reflected on it for even a nanosecond before they let it drool out of their mouths, might have realized I must have heard it already more times than I can count.
It is not really possible to do this very politely, but I work on it every chance I get.
Apart from that I don’t know much about the US Marshals, but I expect they think of themselves as steely-eyed, tough law enforcement professionals and are not wildly enthusiastic about safeguarding hunks of rebel marble from people armed only with placards and slogans, and are currently using the legally mandated portraits of Trump in their offices as dartboards, if they weren’t already.
In the meantime, the coronavirus cannonballed into the summer waters of Florida, Texas and Arizona like the fattest kid at the pool, laughing at all the people he soaked by its edge, then running off to get another Nutty Buddy. Trump’s response was to cancel federal funding for virus testing, on his oft-repeated theory that it’s testing, not the fact that you can’t cure disease on Twitter, that’s making him look bad.
I intend to use this reasoning myself, the next time the cops pull me over. I mean, first I’m going to say, “How can you smell my breath through this facemask?” but then, if they persist, I’ll say, “You know, if you guys wouldn’t do so many field sobriety tests, there wouldn’t be such a drunk-driving problem.”
In the meantime, in Albert Pike, Trump has picked a strange hill to die on. Pike was one of the Confederacy’s shittiest generals. He resigned in 1862, while the Confederacy still looked like it might win the war, rather than send his troops into battle, and ran away into the boonies of Arkansas rather than face charges of embezzlement.
What Pike was better at, and why his statue was in Washington, was being the Grand Hoopadoodle of the Order of the Masonic Lodge, or something like that, and he wrote a book about Masonry that all young Masonic recruits think is more important than lesbian porn. His statue depicted him geared up in Masonic duff, not in a Confederate uniform, which shows you, among other things, that those antifas do their research.
The Masons, as everybody knows, are in league with the Illuminati, who are trying to bring about the New World Order at the behest of George Soros. Soros was just a young man when the Civil War began, but was no doubt behind enticing the innocent Pike into joining his conspiracy.
So, I say don’t put that statue back up. I'm serious. It’s probably loaded with 5G.
The US Marshals are particularly important to me, because my last name is Cahill and there is an ancient John Wayne movie titled “Cahill—US Marshal,” so when I introduce myself to people circling the drain of dementia, they sometimes call me “US Marshall,” or “John Wayne.” I reply that that is a shitty joke that, had they reflected on it for even a nanosecond before they let it drool out of their mouths, might have realized I must have heard it already more times than I can count.
It is not really possible to do this very politely, but I work on it every chance I get.
Apart from that I don’t know much about the US Marshals, but I expect they think of themselves as steely-eyed, tough law enforcement professionals and are not wildly enthusiastic about safeguarding hunks of rebel marble from people armed only with placards and slogans, and are currently using the legally mandated portraits of Trump in their offices as dartboards, if they weren’t already.
In the meantime, the coronavirus cannonballed into the summer waters of Florida, Texas and Arizona like the fattest kid at the pool, laughing at all the people he soaked by its edge, then running off to get another Nutty Buddy. Trump’s response was to cancel federal funding for virus testing, on his oft-repeated theory that it’s testing, not the fact that you can’t cure disease on Twitter, that’s making him look bad.
I intend to use this reasoning myself, the next time the cops pull me over. I mean, first I’m going to say, “How can you smell my breath through this facemask?” but then, if they persist, I’ll say, “You know, if you guys wouldn’t do so many field sobriety tests, there wouldn’t be such a drunk-driving problem.”
In the meantime, in Albert Pike, Trump has picked a strange hill to die on. Pike was one of the Confederacy’s shittiest generals. He resigned in 1862, while the Confederacy still looked like it might win the war, rather than send his troops into battle, and ran away into the boonies of Arkansas rather than face charges of embezzlement.
What Pike was better at, and why his statue was in Washington, was being the Grand Hoopadoodle of the Order of the Masonic Lodge, or something like that, and he wrote a book about Masonry that all young Masonic recruits think is more important than lesbian porn. His statue depicted him geared up in Masonic duff, not in a Confederate uniform, which shows you, among other things, that those antifas do their research.
The Masons, as everybody knows, are in league with the Illuminati, who are trying to bring about the New World Order at the behest of George Soros. Soros was just a young man when the Civil War began, but was no doubt behind enticing the innocent Pike into joining his conspiracy.
So, I say don’t put that statue back up. I'm serious. It’s probably loaded with 5G.
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