political humor and satire

Make Rape Great Again: Day 7 of Trumpapocalypse

Headlines: Dictionaries around the world ratify “Trumpapocalypse” as a real word.

Also in line for approval:



Trumpassistic         (meaning narcissistic)

Trumpapath           (meaning psychopath, sociopath)

Tritrumpharent      (meaning triumphant)

Trumpiminal          (meaning criminal)

Trumpyrant            (meaning Tyrant)

and What the Trump?  (from: What the Fuck?)


I have some suggestions:

Trumpist (from racist)

Trumpsogeny (from misogyny)

Trumpsoginist   (misogynist)

Plus, Trumpidiot:

for anyone who voted for him, especially if you are a white woman. You deserve a special term all your own but I haven’t figured out a word bad enough. I will have to invent a new word for women who vote against their own interest and that of their daughters because there was plenty of warning about what that would mean.

Right now I’m stuck with a very clunky phrase: I, Your Mother, voted for you, Daughter, to have your Pussy Grabbed, Raped, and Impregnated and forced to have the child because you don’t deserve to have any rights or respect. Yeah me! Make Rape Great Again!

This phrase just isn’t catchy at all. It doesn’t roll off the tongue. For another, it just wanders around inside horror, all casual, like it’s ordering some really nice Rape Me Now blouses and You Haven’t Groped Me Yet, What’s Wrong? skirts from L.L. Bean, or buying some nice Victoria’s Secret underwear with the embroidered phrase: Make America Rape Again on it, in case your spouse or boyfriend forgets what the establishment endorses and accidentally treats you with respect.

 Maybe an acronym using this phrase is in order? Oh yes, I have one:


Okay, that could work, but it isn’t really descriptive of the voter, only the victims of the white female majority vote (53% in case you think I’m full of shit).

I need a word bad enough for these misguided voters: Those that now have forced me to wear a T-shirt saying: It’s a bad time to have a uterus. Hysterectomies for everyone! (Before we loose Obamacare).

Maybe in the next 1448 days before the next election, I will find a term bad enough.

Oh but here’s a word that might do in the meantime:

Trumptor.   (Meaning traitor).


Not-Laughing Coyote Reporting



Categories: feminism, political humor and satire, sexism, Trump Presidency | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Satan Denies Voting for Trump: Day 4 of Trump Apocalypse


In an exclusive interview with Dumbfounded Magazine, Satan reports, “I just couldn’t get behind Trump. He’s just too evil. I might have endorsed him if he hadn’t had the support of so many vile GOP leaders and half the population of the United States, but under those circumstances, I just couldn’t go through with it. It’s just too vile, even for me. He’s giving the Devil a bad name. In fact I’m thinking of leaving this field altogether.”

Satan went on to say that Hillary is not and never was evil. “She didn’t meet the criteria. The most she ever suffered from was some minor league-bad and that’s mainly because she married a man and tried to reform a sexist society. Look I know bad, and she’s no bad.”

Satan continued, “Most sociopaths I know didn’t vote for Trump either. Your basic serial killer/psychopath took a long look at him and his organization and said, ‘Whoa, wait a minute. I don’t want any part of this. I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it. What do I tell my children when I come home from a long day of ripping off pensioners and killing people with knives? I just couldn’t do it.”

Apparently, narcissistic personality disorders, and other personality disorders, have started seeking treatment in droves. One well-established narcissist explained, “With Trump at the helm, there’s nothing for us to do. He’s cornered the market on psychopathology and sucked all the air out of the room. There’s no benefit now to actually being a garden variety narcissist: he’s sucked up all the selfishness and so the rest of us might as well get into treatment and sign up for the Democratic Party, so as to give our lives some purpose and meaning. Trump has being a selfish bastard all locked up and there’s no more room for us personality disorders. As part of my treatment, I plan to work a Crisis Hotline at least until the mid-terms.”

Not sure if this is the silver lining we were hoping for, my brave friends, but maybe it’s a start.

It’s Day 4 of Trump-aggedon. Only 1451 days to go.

May we all have the good fortune to be saved by a sociopath.


Laughing Coyote

Categories: mental health, political humor and satire, psychology humor, religion, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Day 3 of Trump-apocalypse

How I got through Day 3, Year 1, AT  (After Trump)


Oh god, I woke up with yet another Trump Hangover. Nothing that an hour in the bathroom couldn’t handle.

  1. Installed a vomitorium in my home. (On sale in the same stores that brought you the bidet).
  1. Burned yet another Trump piñata left over from Halloween in effigy.
  1. Decided to open a company specializing in Trump piñatas because burning things in effigy is going to become very popular and I’m going to be rich selling this shit.
  1. Took a quick online certification course in Voodoo.
  1. Went to Hobby Lobby and got several Voodoo Doll DIY Home Craft kits.
  1. Marveled that such a Christian company that loves God so much is okay with selling voodoo doll kits. (Then I realized the equipment was meant for pro-choice and LGBT people.)
  1. Spent the next three hours sticking pins in the Trump and Pence dolls, focusing on the genital regions since the brain area is obviously not relevant
  1. Went back to get more Voodoo dolls from Hobby Lobby when I realized I needed to do the whole cabinet and the majority leaders.
  1. Spent the rest of the day on the internet waiting for news of a mysterious set of illnesses plaguing the new administration requiring quarantine on the planet Mars for the next eight years and how we are going to have to borrow a rocket from the Russians to get them there.

What did you do to get through Day 3 of Trump-apocalypse?

Post here (scroll down to the end of the blog for comments), post on FB or write to me at dreamspinning@gmail.com.   I plan to post other people’s ways of coping when appropriate and will do it anonymously unless you ask me to post your name or pseudonym.

Hang in there everyone,

Only 1452 days to go.

-Laughing Coyote


Categories: mental health, political humor and satire, Trump Presidency | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Day 1 of Trump-apocalpyse

Also known as Day 1 AT (After Trump). We now no longer use the Gregorian Calender. 2016 stopped November 8, 2016 AD.  So its DAY 1  Year 1 AT (After Trump). Everything prior to today will be referred to as BT (Before Trump) replacing the hackneyed and tired BC.

Sorry folks. Jesus no longer matters.

It’s a very weird day when I realize I’m a better Christian than the right-wingers because I didn’t vote for the sociopath. Alas now that I’ve achieved a personal milestone in my Christianity, I can no longer use the time tested B.C./A.D., because we’ve been taken over by an Idiot and a squad of right-wing and broken-winged morons. There goes the alphabet!

That’s okay. I was tired of using letters to communicate anyway. It’s much easier to grunt and point at the nearest civil right and then consume it like its some giant delusional cookie treat, never to be seen again, but boy wasn’t that a fabulous five seconds of Neanderthal goodness!

It’s the first time I have felt glad about my upcoming hysterectomy-there will be no possible way to get pregnant after that and be forced to have the baby because I will no longer have the right to get an abortion at age 50. And believe me the fucking baby would want it too if it got a look at me on any given Sunday.

That was the bright spot of Day 1  AT,  dear diary, so glad I won’t have a womb very soon.

Several unthinking people told me today, “Have a nice day.”

I wanted to punch them in the fucking face.

That’s how I survived Day 1, well that and still being drunk when I woke up this morning.

Only 1454 days to go.

Reporting from the Heart of the Trump-apocalypse

Laughing and Heart-Broken Coyote

Categories: political humor and satire, Trump Presidency, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wandering Uterus Votes for Hillary; Trump Whines about Voter Fraud

(full transcript of blog posted under “Ovarian Emails” after this video)

Categories: political humor and satire, Sexual humor, Uncategorized, women's health | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ovarian Emails

Ovarian Emails

I got an irate email from my ovaries the other day that said, “Where the hell is our uterus? We are getting reports from stranded ova that after they ovulate there’s  nowhere to go. Can you imagine what that feels like? You wait fifty years for your chance to leave the room you’ve lived in with all the other unripened eggs—you know everything about everyone—their hopes and dreams, their nasty habits, the rumors about the ova who live in the other ovary being smarter and better looking than your lot of listless, shallow and self-absorbed eggs, who are content to post selfies on Body-Book and worry about their weight. And imagine that you’ve experienced all the tiresome competitions between the Left Ovary and the Right Ovary in the Successfully Released Egg Contest, and read all the research and opinions about who deserves to ovulate, and then endured the monthly ups and downs of the Ovarian Selection Process (which is only slightly less complicated than a Supreme Court confirmation). Yet you are always living with a nagging question in the background: Where do we go when we leave this ovarian life? What happens to us? And then finally you ovulate and nada.

I was shocked. Not just because my reproductive system knows how to e-mail but to find out that their sex education system is possibly worse than ours, especially in Ovary-Right. Apparently the eggs don’t know what happens to most Ova: disappearing into a toilet or tampon somewhere, lost and anonymous with the blood that was once part of the uterine lining—all hopes dashed. But who would agree to ovulate if they knew of that probable future? Finishing the email, I realized that my Ova were also not prepared for the other thing that can happen: turning into a human being. Perhaps the ovaries weren’t equipped to handle large scale panic.

My phone beeped, interrupting me. I had a message. It was from Eva the Ovum. She wrote, “We’ve been trying to call you, since typing is hard without fingers and the voice-to-type thing sucks, but you never answer the phone. Some of us think you are a Millennial, but I disagree—I suspect you are simply a curmudgeon who hates talking, but I thought you might respond to a text.

“I want you to imagine what it’s like to be me. Finally liberated from Ovary-Right, I arrived at the end of the fallopian tube only to say, ‘Where the fuck is the uterus?. . . I know there’s a uterus. Right before I ovulated, I was notified about the difference between a fallopian tube and a uterus and this is no uterus. I can’t possibly embed here. I was specifically warned against that kind of behavior. But here I am and it’s basically a door without a house and even the door is missing. I felt disenfranchised. ‘Is this all there is?’ I asked the silent tissues.

“Nothing in Ovary-Right had prepared me for the possibility of the uterus going missing. I dug into the end of the fallopian tube and tried to remember more about the briefing I’d had before ovulation. Does the uterus leave the pelvic floor and come back? Had there been any instruction on what to do if the uterus is late? Should I wait here? Does the uterus have a phone number or an App? If it travels, where does it go? Around the body like some kind of weird inter-organ Uber? Wait a second, didn’t I hear about that somewhere. . . in history. . . the wandering uterus?. . . that causes-yes that’s it- Hysteria, when the uterus wanders around the female body creating problems for the GOP.

“What were those symptoms? Moodiness, hysterical regulation of pregnancy, delusions about birth control and abortion, and a special kind of neurasthenic paralysis of the hands that keeps the Senate from voting on Supreme Court Justices? Yes, that had to be it

“I decided to make an temporary fallopian encampment hoping the uterus would take a break from abusing mankind and come back to pick me up.

“And….nothing happened. A month passed. And here came another Ovum, Olivia, and I reached out to grab her because unlike my slow careful meander through the fallopian tube, she was tearing through it like an egg on a mission. I thought maybe the woman we live in-you-was having sex and making everything slippery and turning us upside-down, which ruined my encampment, dumping the tent over that I’d managed to scrape together out of tissues and the bits of some cancer-causing Johnson and Johnson’s baby powder. Unfortunately, my fellow egg slipped out of my grasp in the bedlam, sailing off into the abyss and then falling and falling until I couldn’t see her anymore. I was horrified.

“Then the questions started up: What is the ovum without the womb? What is a uterus without the possibility of a baby? What is the purpose of an unemployed and undereducated egg? What skills did I really have? Shortly thereafter, I decided I had been alone and self-aware way too long—us ova are not generally good at solipsism or solitude. Obviously some action needed to be taken. ‘But what should I do’ I asked myself. ‘I can’t possibly live here the rest of my life. It’s like a train station for round tiny slugs. I’ve studied Feng Shui and these conditions are not good for me. Plus I feel the danger of dying without a purpose. Parts of me already seem to be disappearing when I sit still too long. Anyway, I was promised a uterus and I want to know what happened.’

“I decided it was no use waiting around for the wandering uterus to come back. In fact if I was a uterus and could move around the body why would I come back to the pelvis where I’d been trapped my whole life? Why not hang out in the left triceps? Or the knee? I hear the face is great this time of year if you know how to handle it.

“Then I remembered some gossip that some Uteri (which is the plural of Uterus) feel that being a receptacle for human life is not always what it’s cracked up to be, which is maybe why the Ovarian Committee told us nothing about it until right before Ovulation. Evidently some Uteri resent being seen as only useful for pregnancy. We’d dismissed this as propaganda because it leaked from Ovary-Left and involved science, which for us on Ovary-Right was just a misspelling of Scientology.

“Subsequently I recalled more talk about our uterus being involved in a Fibroid Ring that she couldn’t get out of that was making her pay in blood and pain.  Maybe she had every reason to get out. Shit, what if our uterus had left the building entirely in order to escape from a Mafiosa of Fibroids? Maybe our Uterus wasn’t in Our Woman’s body at all anymore, but had applied for a passport to places unknown. Perhaps she’d had plastic surgery of some kind and was hiding in plain sight. In fact she could be anywhere or anything, like a fancy scarf, or a small purse, possibly even a man’s face in the form of a mask. Wow that would be really something. I wondered if I should slip out of the body and go look for her, but I had no idea which way to go. There were no signs saying: This Way Out.

“I had to get back and tell the others. I owed them that.

“I found some fibers that no one seemed to be using and, like the Salmon, that I’d read about on the Ovarian Internet, climbed my way back up to the fallopian door, took a running jump at the canyon of gap between the fallopian tube and Ovary-Right and then clung to the outside and threatened to turn into Ovarian Cancer if they didn’t let me back into the Ovary tout de suite.

          “But we’ve never had an Ovum come back,” said the GateKeeper. “Our revolving door only revolves one way.”

Ignoring that Sarah Palinist logic, I said, “I have the Johnson and Johnson’s talcum powder pointed at your head. Get out of the way and I will solve the enigma of the revolving door as well as the mystery of the missing uterus!”

“And so I told my story to the Ovarian Committee, and then, after learning how to write, which took another month, we composed an initial email and then I decided to text you this testimonial. Please tell us what is happening with our uterus.”

And that is how I found out that you should always notify the Ovaries of a major shift in Uterine Policy so they can prepare to fall to the floor of the empty pelvis and be absorbed into whatever tissue happens to be there—a death perhaps better than being carried out of the body on a sludgy river of blood and letting the ovaries know that the hidden dream of becoming your own body through the miracle of gestation and birth is now over.

Did I really want to tell them I chose to have a partial hysterectomy to remove a uterus infested with many different kinds of fibroids, most inoperable, causing pain and digestive problems that would only get worse with menopause still years away? I didn’t know I had to warn the remaining organs and set up a psychological support system. Furthermore, it had never occurred to me that I could email my reproductive system. Think of the conversations I could have had if I’d only known! On second thought, maybe not.

How was I going to explain all this? Was I going to say, “Look ladies I had them excise the uterus, but I left you alive, never mind that now all of you are doomed for reabsorption in remote and unknown pelvic areas, never before seen by other Ova.” Would that spin of me saving them so they could be Pelvic Pioneers be a sufficient consolation prize? What would happen to me if all my remaining ova got mad at me at once? What about sad and depressed eggs? Would they be more inclined to just throw in the towel and cause cancer? What if the ovaries decided to start wandering around my body weeping and carrying protest signs about the oppression of Ova and the murder of Uteri by women? Worse, what if they accused me of being a Republican, who could do ridiculous things, like vote for the GOP from 2001 onwards and decide that putting a Pussy Grabbing Male Presidential Candidate into office was somehow better than choosing the “evil” e-mailing Hillary.

As usual, the threat of even looking remotely Republican galvanized me into action and I began to think hard. Where would a uterus go once she leaves the body if she could? Mine would go fucking vote for Hillary.

So I did what any self-respecting democratic woman would do when texting her ovaries: I became a politician.

I texted back a headline to Eva the Ovum. It said, “Hysterical Wandering Uterus Votes for Clinton.”

Eva the Egg texted back, “Our uterus is out voting for president?”

I wrote, “Yes. In fact I think my sex organs have been plotting this for a long time: the fibroids being an excuse for voter autonomy. It is the Year of the Hysterectomy: GET OUT THE FUCKING VOTE. Female sex organs are so excited to vote for Hillary who is a Woman’s Woman, not like that shit-for-brains Sarah Palin, who finds plastic Ziploc bags confusing, and totally different than that morally bankrupt, talking penis-puppet Condoleezza Rice—who has all the morality of a cockroach despite her IQ being four times that of G.W. Bush. Women are out voting for Hillary Clinton with all their reproductive organs—vaginas, wombs, ovaries and brains, and no one can stop it!”

I added, “Last night Trump held a press conference and whined and screamed and said, ‘We need to crack down on Illegal Wandering Uteruses Committing Voter Fraud. We must keep female reproductive organs from rigging this election and getting away with it.’ But no one’s listening to him anymore and he can’t stop it. Apparently it’s too much pussy for even him to grab.”

Eva the Ovum wrote back: “Wow.”

I wrote, “Your sacrifice, Eva, just might save our Democracy.”

A day later I got a text from Eva the Ovum. “I was so inspired by how our Wandering Uterus is trying to save the world that I’ve convinced all of us in Ovary Left and Right to ovulate all at once behind Hillary Clinton. After all, we are Stronger Together! Come on Girls! Let’s go fill out all those ovals!”

I sat back with a sense of a job well done. No more periods and a female president! What a great time to be alive!


The Laughing Coyote

Categories: Health, political humor and satire, Sexual humor, women's health | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

New Mental Illness that Strikes only Democrats Discovered by Psychologists and the CDC

Psychologists, working alongside the CDC in Atlanta, have discovered a new infectious, politically induced, psychological disorder,  that apparently affects only Democrats (and possibly their pets).

This disorder has been identified as Bernie Sanders Support disorder, or BS-S.  Although it is too early to make a complete determination (research results are still pending), this appears to be an organic brain disorder that becomes active in white, liberal, educated Democrats who listen to Bernie make idealistic speeches that no thinking humanitarian person could possibly disagree with—Let’s end poverty! Let’s raise taxes on the Rich! We need to save the Middle Class—Wall Street Bad, American People, Good!

The first sign of the disorder is when the Democrat mistakes those beautiful words for actually being a practical plan forward. BS-S does two things to these hapless Democrats—induces the delusion that Hillary Clinton is evil, forgets about the sexism that runs rampant in both parties, and fails to recognize that Bernie is functionally the Trump of the Democrats with a nicer vocabulary and better intention, but the result—polarizing the parties—is the same.  Sometimes the BS-S’rs don’t realize that their syndrome induces delusions that could result in stubbornly not voting for the non-Bernie Democratic nominee thereby rendering the entire nation vulnerable to the rampant idiocy and greed that is the GOP. No one wants a Cruz-Trump, Ryan -Cruz or Cruz-Rubio ticket.  When the even GOP wants Bernie to win the nomination, people infected by Bernie Supporter Syndrome, fail to take that red-herring into account.

Even humorists and comedians can be affected with BS-S Syndrome.  One very well unknown comic (interviewed yesterday by a journal that has almost no distribution and doesn’t want to say who they are because of an outbreak of BS-S among some of the editorial staff) told a story about inadvertently coming down with BS-S.

Comedian X told her story:

“Well, you know, last Tuesday night I was feeling a bit idealistic, and I just thought it was fatigue, or a touch of cold, flu, allergy, or delirium from working too hard inside the U.S. school system, or maybe I had  “a touch of the insurance,” which is fever, chills, and headache brought about by paying into any kind of U.S. insurance policy; but by the time I woke up the next morning, I had a full on case of The Beliefs.

But instead of running to the bathroom, I found myself running out into other people’s yards and compulsively planting Bernie posters, and then posting pictures of Bernie and the Bird obsessively on the internet and singing songs from the Feel The Bern musical.

Even though I was alone at the time, it was embarrassing when I started congratulating myself for simply saying things well, and I even got two podiums, one for the living room and one for the front yard, before the BS-S really kicked in and I found myself with even more Beliefs and Emotions and Heart and Caring. . .and I went around my house and started throwing out my whole FACT Collection because Hillary uses them all the time.

I found myself thinking, “Oh my god, Hillary, that evil bitch who was so unappealing and mean that Bill Clinton had to cheat on her in public in order to feel loved, uses FACTS! Get them off me! It burns; it berns!  Aaaagh!”

We had a bonfire that night, me and the neighbors who weren’t inside with the shades drawn praying to the Virgin de Guadalupe in Spanish that the crazy, white,well-educated, liberal, Democrat, academic, and teacher wouldn’t bring over another Bernie cake with leftist frosting, with the letters Eat The Burn inscribed on the top. anyway, those neighbors who agreed with me and/or those who were  too scared to say ‘I’m with Hillary or Trump, or God forbid that Ted Cruz Freakazoid,’  were out with me burning PRAGMATISM, because both Obama and Hillary have used it, from time to time, and look at the burning shit storm we’re in now? We chanted Feel the Burn, Feel the Bern, Feel the Bern.

Before the bonfire burned out, we raised our fists and said, “Who needs Practicality when we Believe things. We believe our government is corrupt. We believe the establishment is corrupt. We believe it is time for a change. We know our great BS will save us!”

But even we were taken aback when the Tea Party guy down the road joined us and then said, “You aren’t Tea Party? Shit, sorry man. Sounded like it. My bad; my bad,” and then he backed away with this hands raised for about 100 feet and then ran away.

Then the fire department came and put out the wildfire fire fueled by our lack of remembering to bring some water. Who needs water when We Believe We Can Change…oops the world is on fire? Did anyone bring a hose?

And then the next phase of the virus kicked in, and I realized that feminism isn’t important in this election and neither is sexism. I found myself calling everyone I knew and babbling about “how. . .you know. . .we are just people. You know? People.  Male people, female people, sometimes male and female people, but people.” My best friend hung up on me when I said, “Animals are people too.”

My friends called the police. And the social-worker on call for Santa Fe county. And the mental health crisis intervention unit, also called BSS, the Behavior Services System. ….my head was spinning with acronyms. I thought Bernie sent them. I told them I was just fine and converted them promptly. I really didn’t understand how ill I really was.

Running a 99 percent-er fever (which is really 104. 3 in thermometer terms) made some of the details of that day fuzzy. I don’t really remember this but I apparently I was texting also and sending Hillary supporters private pictures of my ideology, hoping to persuade them the same way Anthony Weiner did his constituents, or at least the women he was hoping to fuck.

Somewhere in there, I think I tried to stop.  I remember thinking, “Even my going too far is going too far,” but even though I didn’t want to think about The Urn, sorry, the Bern, anymore, I couldn’t stop. I started searching the internet for answers and recording my symptoms in a journal, which is why I have such a good description of various events.

I knew I was really sick when I found myself happily clapping along and mouthing the words of Bernie’s grump speech, I mean stump speech (sorry, like a migraine and stroke, Bernie Supporter Syndrome can affect word-choice, even weeks later, like when you say “Wall Street,” instead of “Isis,” and “free college,” instead of  “realistic economic plan,” and “revolution,” instead of “foreign policy,”  and “gender doesn’t matter” instead of “GENDER FUCKING MATTERS.”  And saying “I will benefit America because I’m pure and idealistic,” instead of “selfish quasi-democratic opportunist.”)

When I started getting invitations via FB and email to join some other BS-S’ers for dinner even in my addled state, something felt off.

During a brief respite from The Beliefs, I knew I had to dial 911 before I became incapable of sensible speech which would turn my call for the ambulance, “Please help me. I’m infected with emotionally based idealism and don’t have long before my brain turns into ideological Left-wing jelly,” into  “Come and get me ambulance and let’s go vote for Bernie in whatever state he’s in today.”

The ambulance came and took me to the Infectious Disease Treatment center, which out here in New Mexico, consisted of a cabin out in the middle of nowhere staffed with nurses, an online library with streaming video, and a TV. It is underfunded. It’s a BS-S recovery program for people who believe things without checking with Rachel Maddow first.

They left MSNBC, alternating with NPR and the BBC (and occasionally FOX!) on all the time as my fervor rose and fell over several days. When I heard that the Koch brothers’ PAC threw some money and support behind Bernie, I felt the siren song of the What the Fuck? And I slowly came out of my ideological delirium.

What? The Koch brothers are on Bernie’s side? I grabbed all the medical staff I could and they spent the next twenty-four hours reading facts about both campaigns and their respective political history.  I came to my senses and realized Bernie is simply another politician trying to make his mark in whatever way he can, just like the acutely politic Hillary, and all those GOP screw balls. Say what you will, they are all politicians of one stripe or another. Since when do we elect politicians who are pretending not to be?

Furthermore, it dawned on me that the cure for BELIEF  is not more BELIEF.  I sent a friend to go rescue my FACT collection.

I have fully recovered from the Bernie Supporter Syndrome now, thank you.

During my two-week recuperation, I studied up on the syndrome, so I can help others.

Unlike most psychological disorders, BB-S appears to be contagious, even over the internet, and is related to another set of syndromes the CDC is calling BSS, or Bernie Savior Syndrome. Researchers are unsure if BS-S causes BSS or if BSS causes BS-S (it’s the usual chicken and bullshit question), but the probably scenario is that Bernie himself suffers from Bernie Savior Syndrome and is running around the planet triggering both BSS and the Bernie Supporter Syndrome (BS-S), kind of like the difference between HIV and full blown AIDS. (And despite the overwhelming evidence, people still like to argue that these diseases/syndromes don’t really exist.)

Psychologists believe that people can be carriers of BSS without knowing it. Witness the befuddled white masses—liberal, can think, but don’t, obviously ready for a Savior with white hair—where have we seen that before? The difference between the types of BS, is that Bernie Savior Syndrome is a closely related, but typically more unconscious, psychological disorder  in many white, well to do, sexist liberals who went to school but could only loosely be said to be educated, and want a father figure, and/or a preacher, to save them. Nice to see that Christianity isn’t dead on the Left. The GOP underestimates Democratic secularism.

I understand this in anyone who is under 30—you have not yet gotten over the idea that there is such a father-figure Savior, but as soon as you hit 31, unless you’ve gone to graduate school, you know that if there is a Savior, He ain’t a politician! (I learned to spell ain’t correctly in grad school).

Look if Obama couldn’t do it with all the momentum he had, and old white man with a socialist/Christian god-complex, who is left of Left, will not be able to do it either. What the hell is wrong with us? Do Democrats have to fight and question at the wrong time? The Boat is sinking, with Captain Trump D. Bligh too near admiralty for comfort, and we’re going to whine and fuss about the proper way to protest the The United States Titanic of Government, instead of just practically finding the nearest Hillary and sticking her in the god damn hole?

She’s prepared. She knows where the hole is, what shape it is and who else to stick in it, when she needs a break, in order to make it to port and then, amidst a ridiculously partisan inquiry, made slow steps towards replacing the Titanic with a more socialist-democratic container ship, and Bernie can help. Maybe they can use the CIA/FBI/NSA/NBC/CBS to assassinate the current crop of Super Right Wing Christian Ideological Terrorists and we can get a new crop of Republicans who aren’t as crazy and adolescent.

People have asked me how I caught BS-S. I don’t know. Maybe one of my democratic liberal friends is a secret carrier?

And it may be a species-jumping psychological virus. Perhaps I caught it from my cats, both of whom are staunch Demo-cats, who were watching Bernie on TV one night. I thought they were so cute, I filmed them. I had no idea what was happening. They could have gotten infected by the BS-S and then given it to me when they licked my hand or drank out of my water glass.

So, I rewound the video in my iPhone and watched it again.

Then I realized what they were doing. They were watching the Bird, not the Bern.

Of course. They are only cats after all.”

That concludes this report. Thank you to comedian X for sharing your story.

chasing-your-tail (1)







Categories: political humor and satire, psychology humor | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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Jaguar House: Dreamwork and Shamanic Counseling Services

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