Author Richard Cahill's Website--Living By Our Motto:"There Are No Stupid Questions, Just Stupid People Asking Questions Everybody else already knows the answer to."

Just consider—if Clinton had won in 2016, she’d be the Democratic candidate this year. It would have been a bruising four years. She’d have been opposed by a Republican Congress the whole time. There would have been no “blue wave” in 2018. Nancy Pelosi would have thrown her hands up and retired after that.
 
The Republican House would have impeached her at least twice, the first time for her emails and Benghazi, the second time when she let the coronavirus kill 15,000 Americans before she got it under control. The Republicans would have considered that utterly unforgivable, and as Americans went back to their beaches and ballparks last summer, another impeachment trial would be playing out in the Senate.
 
She wouldn’t have been convicted either time—it takes 66 votes in the Senate—but the Republicans would weep about the blood on her hands and cry electoral vengeance.
 
Meantime, Trump wouldn’t have gone anywhere. The Justice Department would have declined to prosecute him for conniving with the Russians, even though there was plenty of evidence that he had, in a spirit of national unity. Fox would make sure we had no such thing as national unity. Stormy Daniels would still be as anonymous as most porn stars.
 
He'd win the Republican nomination again, just by calling the rest of the candidates pussies, like he did last time. Of course, there would be controversy about his age. “He’s 74,” the desperate Democrats would sneer. “It would be like us nominating Joe Biden.”
 
The votes of American guys, deeply disgusted by being ruled over by a strong, competent woman, would carry Trump to victory. So instead of the nightmare we’ve all lived through since January of 2017, our nightmare would just be beginning next year.
 
Instead of being over. Keep your fingers crossed, and vote as hard as you can.

The death of millionaire pedophile Jeffrey Epstein while in federal custody last week so far has been ruled an apparent suicide, which nobody in the United States or the world believes because his death was just so goddam convenient, especially for himself.
 
Epstein was taken off suicide watch even though he recently tried to commit suicide. He said he hadn’t tried to kill himself—other inmates had attacked him and left a nasty, ring-shaped bruise around his neck. He apparently talked his way off suicide watch. “I’m in a hella good mood,” he told his jailers. “Looking at a minimum 45 years in the pen and getting every dime of my fortune sued away might give some people pause, but I look back on a lifetime of accomplishments. Hey, I even got Alan Dershowitz laid! Why would I want to leave this earth? I mean, sure, some people think you get 72 virgins when you got to heaven, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already had at least 72 virgins, so what’s my motivation?
 
“Of course, I’m in federal custody, in a correctional system directly under the supervision of Donald Trump, so if I end up possibly murdered in my cell, the only logical person to blame is Hillary Clinton. I’ve always admired her skills. As the runner of a pedophile ring myself, I can only stand in awe of a fellow pedophiliac who can run her ring out of the basement of a pizza joint with no basement. And when I offered to fly Bill Clinton to my special Lolita island in the Caribbean, he turned me down. ‘All the teen cooch that Hillary’s been getting me has me worn down, dude,’ is what he said. So, we just flew to Africa to try and cure AIDS, but there’s your motivation right there. Hillary has always been afraid that Bill might prefer my sex slaves to her sex slaves.
 
“Trump, on the other hand, would never have me killed because we have been really solid bros ever since we tag-teamed that thirteen-year-old that filed suit against him, only to drop it later when she found the severed head of her gerbil in her girly pink canopy bed. When you’re beheading a pet rodent, I’ll tell you what really works—bolt cutters. So, I’d much rather be here, in federal custody, than at my mansion—under the protection of my President, rather than being exposed in my own house, with nothing but an ankle monitor to keep me from ending up like Seth Rich.
 
“I tell you who else I worry about getting to me—Putin! I’ve been worried about him ever since me and Trump watched the pee tape on his giant HD TV at Mar al Lago. Putin likes to poison, so when you bring me my Wheaties in the morning, would you also bring a Geiger counter so I can make sure they’re only normally radioactive?
 
“The other thing that makes me feel safe and comfy here is that if somebody should kill me and make it look like a suicide, which I definitely would not commit, promise, promise!—it would be sure to be investigated by Bill Barr. That dude is my kind of Attorney General. If he wants to get to the bottom of something, he gets to the bottom of it. And if he doesn’t want to get to the bottom of it, well, there probably is no bottom. And I’m sure he’d love to investigate something that really probably might happen, like Hillary leaving Scarborough to kill me in jail.
 
“So, don’t worry about me. Looking at a life sentence of being broke behind bars, with the closest thing to a teen sex slave I’m ever going to have again is a 19-year-old guy who calls himself Juanita, is not the kind of thing that gets a man like me down! Watch the other prisoners. Just leave me with some clothesline to hang these wet jeans on, will ya? And can I get an extension cord? I like the nice, thick yellow ones.
 
“And that belt you guys took away? Can’t find that silly thing anywhere.”

Conspiracy theorists claim that an abandoned homeless camp near Tucson, Arizona, was the site of a child sex slavery ring organized by the Clintons, George Soros and the Rothschilds. News item.
 
At first blush, this seems like an entirely plausible claim. Anybody who owns as many pantsuits as Hillary must also keep sex slaves. She has a taste for them, like her fondness for hot sauce and emails. She was known to keep sex slaves in the basement of a pizza joint in DC but had to move them out of there when the business was discovered to have no basement. George Soros, whose last name begins with an "s," like both "sex" and "slave," and the Rothschilds, who are Jews, helped her herd them out in the dead of night to the Arizona desert.
 
All this was discovered by Veterans on Patrol, a group where you don’t actually have to be a veteran to join. Just owning a gun and having an inclination to fuck with people qualifies you for membership. The Veterans discovered an abandoned homeless camp in the desert, which contained an underground tank where they think sex slaves were held prisoner and a “rape tree” with straps attached to it, where children being sex-trafficked could be tied up and have the predictable thing done to them.
 
The Tucson police investigated the scene and immediately started covering up the evidence of Clintonian sex crimes. They claimed that the straps were just used to tie tarps to the trees so the homeless people could have some shade. Shade is a heavily desired commodity in Tucson in the summer, where daytime highs can reach a nice even 115 degrees, at which point Tucsonians will grin and brag that it’s still three degrees cooler than Phoenix. The cops also ran a cadaver dog over the premises, and found no cadavers, which just proved to the Veterans that all the sex slaves were moved out of there alive.
 
All this makes sense to the group’s millions of adherents on Facebook and YouTube. Where did Loretta Lynch and Bill Clinton have their famous meeting to bury Hillary’s email crimes? Arizona, so they could enjoy some sex slaves afterwards. Why was Anthony Weiner sexting underage girls? Because Huma cut him off from the sex slaves, because she was mad at him for claiming he had to be a Congressman instead of attending her mother’s birthday party. Why did Hillary lose Pennsylvania and Wisconsin? Because she didn’t bus in enough sex slaves to vote for her in either state.
 
The burning question is, where are the sex slaves now? They were at the recent G-7 summit, because Merkel and Macron’s wife are known to have an older woman’s desire for lots of sex slaves, just like Hillary does. Trudeau was there too, shamelessly being the Prime Minister of Canada despite the fact that he was raised as a sex slave, and a particularly adorable one, too.
 
And Canada is close to New York, where Clinton used to be Senator. New York is so full of trees that at least some of them have to be rape trees. George Soros and the Rothschilds are known to have landed in New York in airplanes. It all makes sense, if you can connect the dots.
 
So, grab your gun and go looking for abandoned sex slave encampments near you. Apparently, Hillary’s too cheap to keep her sex slaves indoors. And ignore your friends and family when they tell you you’ve “drunk the Kool-Aid.”
 
Tell them you’ve eaten the pizza instead.

So, this, the most sordid election in living memory, will be decided tomorrow by the actual voters, instead of the Russians and the FBI. The public will have the choice between a candidate who is embarrassed by some of the emails she and her buddies exchanged, and a candidate who usually speaks in this formulation. 1. Lie. 2. Make promise he can’t possibly fulfill. 3. Brag about how well he's done something. 4.Threaten to sue somebody. 5. Lie outrageously. 

The choice seems obvious here, but the polls, which were  rigged a few weeks ago when one candidate was far behind, and have returned to accuracy now that he is closing the gap, say this is going to be a very close election, just like they said the last time, when Obama was supposed to win by a whisker and instead he won by 5 million whiskers.

So, Democrats can take some comfort there, but even if the majority of America’s voters choose a man who doesn’t pay taxes, give a dime to charity, shortchanges everybody he does business with and has probably paid for more abortions than Planned Parenthood, some things won’t change. Likewise, if Hillary pulls through, and gives Congress the treat of investigating her for the next four years instead of doing any actual governing, these truths will remain eternal. Here are the Top Ten of them:
 
10. Cubs still won the World Series.

9. Everybody will get to keep their guns.

8. Paul Ryan will still be obsessed with “entitlement reform,” which is code for taking money away from poor old people so billionaires can have lower taxes.

7. The Pope will remain Catholic. Bears will still defecate in the woods. Pigs' asses will continue to be composed of pork.

8. Taco trucks will be seen on selected corners.

6. Canada will start having a younger, better-looking leader than the US.

4. Jesus will not return.

3. A kiss will be just a kiss. A sigh will remain a sigh, as four years go by.

2. A stadium beer will still cost more than the hourly wage in most US cities.

And the Number One thing that will happen no matter who wins?
​
The First Spouse will be a whore.

The news last week that the FBI has a bunch of Hillary Clinton’s emails and won’t tell us what’s in them, or if in fact if they are allowed to read the emails themselves, has send followers of the 2016 election into a tizzy, in an electoral event that already had achieved stratospheric heights of tizziness.

The emails were not found on Clinton’s server but on a device that former Congressman Anthony Weiner used to send penis portraits to underage girls.

How the possibly classified emails turned up next to Weiner’s collection of underwear selfies is assumed to be the fault of his estranged wife and Hillary's bottom lady, Huma Abedin, who communicates with Weiner by email because, like everybody else Weiner wants to have sex with, she doesn’t want to be in the same room as him.

What worries me is that the FBI might have my emails, too, because I’ve sent a few to Huma. Yeah, I admit it. I think she’s hot. What attracts me most to her is that she is an empowered woman, a major player on the world stage, who still has an absolutely despicable snot for a husband. I always feel that I have a shot at any woman with those kind of low standards, so I might have sent her an email or two hinting that I was available for hookup purposes.

Now the FBI may have them, and I’m worried. I don’t need the Feds to know “I’ve never slept with a Muslim girl,” which I may have written to Huma. Also, I might have typed, “Now that you’ve secretly founded ISIS, I bet you’re thinking about kicking back in San Diego,” at one point in our relationship.

That doesn’t sound too stalky, does it? I don’t need the FBI on my case. I’m still trying to repair my relationship with the local police, after I “accidentally” rear-ended the jitney belonging to the meter maid who wrote me that chickenshit ticket about not having my wheels turned sufficiently towards the curb.
​
But that’s neither here nor there. I did cc Huma on an order to my local liquor store, pointing out to her that in addition to my regular weekend stock-up on beer and Jägermeister, I had added a couple bottles of Lebanese wine, in case she wanted to swing by.

In my opinion, that’s just being thoughtful.

When I asked her if she was bisexual, it wasn’t to pry—a couple of my friends just wanted to know. The FBI probably does, too, so if she had answered that email, they would. I’m already cooperating with the investigation, see?

Well, it’s time to bite the bullet, and see what’s really there, before I have to read about it on the news…

Wow! I just checked my sent mail folder, and it turns out that all this time I haven’t been writing to Huma at all. I’ve been writing to George Clooney’s wife, Amal.
​
Sorry about the mix-up, George.

Hillary accidentally told the truth, then immediately apologized for it last week. This uncharacteristic burst of honesty from the Democratic candidate for President occurred when she described half of Donald Trump supporters as belonging to a “basket of deplorables” because of their racist, misogynistic, homophobic and xenophobic views.

Although public polling shows that Clinton was exactly right, she immediately walked back the comment, as her campaign had no immediate plans to be honest about anything. The Trump campaign immediately went on the offensive, saying that Clinton had attacked “millions of hard working Americans.” Snotty Trump spokeslady Kellyanne Conway added “Of course our supporters are hard-working. Nobody’s giving away Confederate flags for free.” When pressed about Klu Klux Klan spokesman David Duke, a fervid Trump supporter, Conway could only say, “Only David Duke knows how hard David Duke works.”

Although Clinton was unavailable for comment for health reasons, a senior spokesperson for her campaign explained “What we really regret was the choice of words. ‘Basket’ is not usually a word Americans usually use to describe a group of people. Hillary should have used a more common expression, like ‘crew,’ ‘posse,’ ‘wad,' ‘crap-ton,’ or 'buncha.' Likewise, instead of ‘deplorables,’ there are many more easily understandable phrases the candidate now realizes that she could have employed instead. ‘Swamp-dwelling meatheads,’ ‘redneck retards,’ ‘alcoholic yick-a-doos,’ or ‘opioid-addled trailer trash' might have brought her point across better.”

When questioned about the other half of Trump supporters whom Clinton admitted were not deplorable, and why those people wanted to be associated with ignorant scumbuckets, the spokesperson just shrugged and said, “Beats me. Maybe they just like chilling with racists. I've heard they tell better jokes.”

​I decided to do some investigative reporting last week, so I stopped by the Hillary Clinton campaign headquarters in my hometown of San Diego.

It was located in a cavernous warehouse in an industrial park and it was just as I expected—rows of desks manned by political geeks staring at computers and wearing headphones. When I asked who was in charge of the Clinton campaign, though, they just looked puzzled. Finally, they pointed me to a desk in the corner, where a man with the pallor and gut of a perpetual indoor worker was fast asleep.

‘Hrumph,” he said when I woke him. “Is it five o’clock already?”

Not yet. Is that when you go knocking on doors for Hillary?

“Hell, no. Nobody needs to do that. You rescuing a winning lottery ticket from brush fire is likelier to happen that Hillary losing California.”

What are all these people working on, then?

“Making pot legal. That vote’s going to be closer. I need a coffee. Come on, I’m buying.”

We went to a coffee shop and he paid with a credit card. “It’s from the Clinton Foundation. My boss said I could put anything on it,’ he explained.

Wait—isn’t that a campaign law violation?

“Who cares? We’re so over worrying about little details like that here in Hillaryland. Just the other day we got a memo saying we could cc all our emails directly to WikiLeaks. Save them the trouble of hacking us. You want to see the beta version of Hillary’s latest campaign commercial?”

Absolutely. That would be a huge scoop for me.

He played the video on his phone for me. When it was over, he asked “What do you think?”

I think you played me the wrong video. This one had Hillary sitting in bass boat in the Ozarks in cargo shorts and a sports bra. She had a fishing rod on her lap while she beer-bonged a sixteen ounce PBR.

“No, that’s it. We decided that we didn’t need to make any more TV commercials, so we put the crew we already hired to work filming her vacation.”

Hillary’s on vacation?

“Yeah, the election’s so in the bag she decided to take a little break.”

But she’s still under attack. Just last week Rudy Giulani agreed with Donald Trump that she was one of the co-founders of ISIS.

“Rudy! What a great mayor! Let me show you this pic of him. He and the Clintons were at a summer party in the Hamptons a month ago. Long story short, there was a lot of drinking involved, and instead of listening to chamber music, the guests all decided to have cage-wrestling matches instead. Here’s a shot of Hillary holding Giulani in a scissors grip. If you look closely, you’ll see he’s wet himself.”

And you’re keeping this under wraps?

“Not really. We’re just waiting for Huma Abedin to come back from delivering weapons to the Nusra Front to post it to her Tumblr account.”

So you’re waiting until September to mount an all-out campaign for the White House?

“Naw, that sounds like a lot of work. September’s made for slackin’ is what upstairs is telling us. Hillary herself plans to spend the whole month sexting with George Clooney. It was his idea, and what red-blooded woman wouldn’t jump at that chance?”

Maybe not if I was running for President.

“Relax. It’s so a done deal. They can release all the emails they want, link Hillary to everything from the Taliban to putting LSD in GMOs and by the end of the day, Trump will have said something so boneheaded that she won’t lose a single vote. Bet the trend, as the gambling guys say. Didn’t you notice that after they started all those ‘Lock her up!’ chants she let herself be photographed wearing an orange jumpsuit? Talk about an F-you.”

Of course, she actually can’t say “F-you.”
​
“You don’t think so? Wait until the debates is my advice. Orange is the new White. House, that is.”

The on-again, off-again rumors of ex-NFLer Tim Tebow speaking for Donald Trump at the Republican convention had the media in a frenzy earlier last week. Only on Friday did Tebow squash the speculation by announcing he definitely wasn’t going to Cleveland.

This column is in a position to reveal the story behind Tebow’s dalliance with destiny.

The Christian quarterback was in his Florida home, packing his bags for Ohio, when Jesus appeared to him.

“Jesus!”  Tebow exclaimed. “I haven’t seen you in years!”

“Just here to give you the Word, Timmy. Got any beer?”

“My Lord, you know I don’t sully the temple of my body with alcohol.”

“I was hoping you’d changed your mind about that. If you’d keep a cold sixer in the fridge, I might drop by just to chat once in awhile. As it is, I’m here on business. Ix-nay on Cleveland, my child.”

“Jesus! Don’t say that! Speaking at the Republican Convention is going to be the beginning of my political career. I need another job, since it is Your will that I don’t get any more tryouts with NFL teams so desperate for a quarterback they’re willing to take a chance on a white guy who tosses the ball like it was a cinderblock.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you to try the CFL, Timmy, but I haven’t got around to it. Being the Redeemer of the World keeps me busy sometimes, if you can believe that.”

“That sounds like sarcasm, oh Jesus. I didn’t know that was allowed.”

“With Me, all things are possible, Timmy. So let’s cut to the chase. Keep your butt out of Ohio.”

“But My Lord! The Republicans are the party of God.”

“My Dad hasn’t voted Republican since Eisenhower, Timmy. And that’s not going to change this year.”

“Does that mean you support Hillary Clinton, oh Jesus? How can you? What about Benghazi? Whenever I think of Benghazi, I imagine how those poor victims felt. Alone and helpless. I felt the same way when I was traded by the Broncos and cut by the Jets and the Eagles. Nobody came to rescue me, either. Hillary Clinton slept right through those tragedies, too. For that reason alone, I couldn’t vote for her.”

“Um, yeah, Timmy. Well, you still don’t have to…”

“And what about the emails, oh My Lord?”

“What about them? I hate email. After spending all eternity listening to people’s prayers, you think I want to start reading all their emails? Email is a creation of Satan, Timmy, and his most insidious one since he invented cable TV. Every time you open your inbox, you’re opening the gates of Hell.”

“But Jesus, everyone says Hillary is a secret lesbian.”

“So what? My Father created lesbians for His own reasons. Lesbians do many important things in this world. For one, porn would be a lot less interesting if it weren't for lesbians. But you know that, Timmy. Don’t look so surprised. I know everything, including your browser history.”

“I always pray for forgiveness afterwards, My Redeemer,” the quarterback said shamefacedly.

“And I always give it to you. But chatting up the Republican National Convention is another matter. Everyone who attends it is going to Hell. Not just the obvious ones, like Melania and Newt Gingrich. Everyone. My Father has made up His mind.

“But if I refuse, the Donald might Tweet something nasty about me, My Lord.”

“Hell, Timmy. Hate to see you there. Especially after you’ve been sucking up to me publicly for all these years. Sends the wrong message.”

“I don’t want to be called ‘sad’ or ‘pathetic,’ Jesus.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re out of football, Timmy. That’s Me working in mysterious ways again. Are you feeling Me now? But I’ll open another door. If Trump loses, and they have another season of Celebrity Apprentice, you can go on it again.”

“Thank You, Lord.”

When you cast your vote in November, be sure to consider that one of the knowledge-nuggets we Americans are going to get if 2017 starts with Clinton II instead of Surgical Comb-over I is the truth about UFO’s.

That’s because John Podesta, former advisor to President Obama, says his biggest regret about his last government job was not being able to declassify the government files pertaining to the existence of alien visitors and the abilities thereof. He wanted to before, but when he suggested to Obama that the American people were ready for the truth about UFO’s, the President snorted and said “You think they’re going to believe what I’m saying about UFO’s when they don’t even believe in my birth certificate? What the f*ck have you been smoking, John?”

But Podesta’s bound to get a job in the Hillary White House, even if it’s just the Main Man in Black, and the American public will find out what the government has been hiding about flying saucers all these years.

The truth is out there, and hopefully we’ll find out benevolent aliens are on the verge of swooping in and giving us all eternal life and free energy, once we’ve proved we deserve it by voting Democratic. With all of the world’s social and economic problems solved by the ET’s, not to mention polar bears and coral reefs saved because the aliens show us how to turn down the planetary thermostat a notch, mankind will embark on an era of endless peace, prosperity and tranquility as we prepare to become members of the United Galactic Planets Full of Nice Beings.

Haw! Just kidding. It won’t be like that at all. For one thing, if those aliens don’t bring Jesus with them, there’s going to be hell to pay, as the Bible-believing citizens of the world will promptly recognize the ET’s as a bunch of Antichrists. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth, as mentioned in the Bible, plus the breaking of the Internet, which isn’t, as all seriously Christian souls start arguing among themselves about what time is ordained for them to set their alarm clocks for the Rapture.

Plus, people will try and kill them. The aliens, not the Christians. That’s what humans do when they encounter new creatures and America, as one of the most heavily personally armed nations on Earth where there’s not a for-real current insurgency, is bound to be in the forefront of standing its ground against extraterrestrial trespassers. The ETs can try to come in peace all they want, but they’d better not land near anybody making shine or grazing cattle on government land. Or Oakland.

And it’s highly unlikely that the aliens are going to come all this way without bring some weaponry of their own. Advanced beings are not going to make a quiptillion light-year trip only to slap their huge brainy foreheads and say “Damn! I left my AR-15 propped up against a tree on that last planet!” when they arrive. They’ll be packing alien heat, weapons so advanced that they not only kill you, but turn you into a mindless obedient sex zombie before you hit the ground, capable only of uttering the words “Probe me. Oh, God, probe me hard,” over and over again.

So we’re talking world-wide shootout, and humanity will run out of ammo first, because the aliens will have the capability to make bullets out of sunlight.

After the war the aliens will probably be saying to themselves “Hey, there’s just a bottomless sea of pricks down there. Forget the live-forever pills. But as long as we’re here, we might as well enslave them,” and our descendants will be picking crops, nannying alien babies and scrubbing alien toilets, which are nine feet high and filled with feces that attack you, for every generation until the sun burns out.
​
That’s what you’re getting with Clinton, sheeple. So wake up and vote Trump. We need a Wall in Space.

​PAUL RYAN: (entering a secret chamber in the basement of the Capitol and addressing JEB BUSH, MITT ROMNEY and JOHN KASICH) I’ve just come back from my meeting with Donald Trump and I have great news for all of you. Trump is willing to release all of his delegates at the Republican convention!

JEB BUSH: Yay! That means I can be President!

JOHN KASICH: Or me!

MITT ROMNEY: Or me!

PAUL RYAN: (Severely) Or me. There’s a catch, though—in order to get Trump to release his delegates, we have to have a National Donald Trump Appreciation Day.

JOHN KASICH: I don’t see a problem with that. Already Hillary Clinton appreciates him. She’s so excited about running against him I hear she has to change her granny panties three times a day.

JEB BUSH: That’s pretty disrespectful of women, John.

JOHN KASICH: If I’m going to replace the guy, I have to adopt at least some of his positions. Listen to me. Great piece of ass. Disgusting breast feeders. Bimbos. You know I’m sounding like a winner now, right?

JEB BUSH: (ignoring KASICH) I don’t see a problem with that. It would be like St. Patrick’s Day, I’m thinking. Except with orange hair instead of green hats, and everybody forgets about it the next day.

PAUL RYAN: He’s asking for a little more than that. I mean, obviously the details have to be worked out, but the first one is nobody else in the US can Tweet anything during DT Appreciation Day.

MITT ROMNEY: Impossible. People can’t live without Twitter.

PAUL RYAN: They can re-Tweet anything he posts, so there’s a little breathing room there. Second, Trump gets to carry the nuclear “football” all day.

JEB BUSH: Impossible. That’s solely the President’s job. I mean, my brother let me touch it a few times…

MITT ROMNEY: (sotto voce) Fondle it, you mean.

JEB BUSH: But he never gave me the launch codes.

PAUL RYAN: Fortunately, he doesn’t want the launch codes. He just wants to hold it on his lap while Megyn Fox interviews him, which I think is reasonable. The unexpected thing is, Trump doesn’t want Trump Appreciation Day to be all about him. He wants all rich guys over 65 with hot foreign wives who wouldn’t lay one hooker-looking manicured fingernail on them if they weren’t wallowing in greenbacks to be able to buy anything they want without paying sales tax all day. I mean, your jewelry, yacht and private jet sales are really going to take off during DTA Day, so a genuine boost for the economy there to help it recover from the way Obama's ruined it.

JEB BUSH: I think that’s a small price to pay for Bush III.

MITT ROMNEY: The nation’s first Mormon President will proclaim it. Once a year.

JOHN KASICH: Schlonged. Pig.

PAUL RYAN: There’s another problem. The candidate wants Donald Trump Day to occur more than once a year.

MITT ROMNEY: Unprecedented. Nothing happens more than once a year. At least that’s what Anne tells me, when I want to have sex with her.

JEB BUSH: Under the new, improved, Bush Administration we’re not going to go off our rockers in the Middle East again, promise, but we will be happy to honor Donald Trump spring and fall. Or winter and summer. Or the day before Christmas and after 4th of July. Whatever.

PAUL RYAN: Donald actually had a tighter schedule in mind.

MITT ROMNEY: What? Monthly?

PAUL RYAN: He’s actually thinking Donald Trump Appreciation Day should be held every Monday that’s not already a holiday. When there’s already a holiday, he’s willing to bump it to Tuesday.

JEB BUSH: (Holding his fingers in front of his face as if he was looking through binoculars) I could see a certain political scion with glasses and a Hispanic wife presiding over a Monday-less America.

MITT ROMNEY: Me first, loser.

JEB BUSH: You were the first loser!

PAUL RYAN: Actually, I was the one with the conference with The Donald, so I was the first one to agree to his terms. Start thinking about President Ryan, bitches.

MITT ROMNEY: (snarling) You ungrateful whelp! (He assaults Ryan. Jeb Bush jumps in, too. Shouts of “Watch the glasses” from Bush and “Watch the hair” from Romney ring out as Ryan attempts to put both of them into Altar Boy Submission Holds).

JOHN KASICH: Pre-nup. Fat menstruating animal. Hey, this is fun.