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Stacey Abrams/Pete Buttigieg.

Trust me.
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Today's special guest is Connie Staccato, who has just announced her candidacy for President of the United States.

Underemployed:  So, you're running for President.

CS:  Yeah.  Why not?  Everybody else is. 

Underemployed:  Ms. Staccato - excuse me, is that Ms.?  Or Miss?  Or Mrs.?

CS:  It's definitely Mrs., and believe me, I've earned it.

Underemployed:  Okay.  Mrs. Staccato, are you running as a Republican or a Democrat?

CS:  Neither.  I'm running as a Vera.

Underemployed:  I'm sorry, I've never heard of the Vera Party.

CS:  The Vera Party is named for a woman envisioned by the writer Dave Barry.  If I remember correctly, in Mr. Barry's perfect world, the President has to get permission from Vera before he can do anything.

Underemployed:  Can you provide an example?

CS:  Sure.  For instance, the President would have to go to Vera and say, "Vera, can I spend 5 billion dollars on a border wall, when there are half-a-million homeless people in America?"  And Vera would say, "No."

Underemployed:  So you're a Vera.

CS:  Damn skippy.

Underemployed:  And what platform are you running on?

CS:  I'm keeping it simple.  I want to focus my energy on the two issues that are going to make this country a better place.  The first one is Paid Leave for Menopause.

Underemployed:  What do you mean by that?

CS:  When I say "leave" I mean leave.  Like leave the country.  Fully funded by the federal government.  Anywhere you want to go.  You come back when it's over.  Trust me, your family won't miss you.  And you won't miss your husband, unless you need somebody to kill a spider or something.

Underemployed:  And the second issue?

CS:  National Naptime.  Do you watch the news?  I think we all need a nap.

Underemployed:  Mrs. Staccato, you have my endorsement.  And my vote.

CS:  Thanks.  I'll be back in the United States in time for the election.  Maybe sooner, if I see any spiders.




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Dear Congressman Cummings,
You are the best in us.
Thank you,
Underemployed
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Underemployed Is the New Organic by Underemployed1 - 4M ago
Dear Individual1,

I dunno.  If I were Michael Cohen's father-in-law, I would be thinking that you're threatening a witness.  Right out in the open.  On TV, and in writing.

And if I were Robert Mueller, I'd be thinking the same thing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying this.

Keep that genius stable,

Underemployed


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Underemployed Is the New Organic by Underemployed1 - 4M ago
Dear Lindsey Graham,

sophomoric:
adjective
"pretentious or juvenile"

Sort of like your little stunt during the Kavanaugh confirmation hearing, no?

Just saying,

Underemployed


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Underemployed Is the New Organic by Underemployed1 - 4M ago
Dear ex-Governor Christie,

I was checking out the news yesterday, wondering what new species of slime Robert Mueller had lately uncovered in his beau geste, and - lo! and behold! 

There you were.

On the SAME DAY that NumbNuts Giuliani dropped the hint that there MIGHT have been some "collusion" with foreign governments conducted by the Trump campaign (but not Trump, never Trump, oh no),  I was treated by excerpts from your new book (for lack of a better word), depicting the wailing and gnashing of teeth over your "friend Donald" (the never-colluding Mr. Trump) being used and led astray by a nefarious gaggle of - what were your subtle sobriquets? - 

"...amateurs, weaklings, grifters, convicted and unconvicted felons..." in the White House.

Shocking.  What's an illegitimately-elected pseudo-President to do?

If only you were there to help him realize his glorious vision of a newly-great America.  One that would give new meaning to the phrase - let me finish - "Soviet Union".

Am I reading that right?

Antipathically yours,

Underemployed




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It's New Year's Eve, and per request by a member of my fan base (40% of all Americans, according to a Rasmussen poll), I am offering a prediction for 2019.

I have looked into my crystal ball (yes, I have one, and it works), and it tells me that the FBI (now that they have all their equipment fixed) is going to find a veritable TREASURE TROVE of text messages, exchanged by:

None other than Robert Mueller and Kellyanne Conway.  

Shocking, no?

A sample:

Hey, Bob.

Hey, K.  Whatup?

With me?  Same old.  This guy's fucking crazy.  Dude, could you put your ass in gear?  I'm tired of being the village idiot.

How's Sarah holding up?

Not well.  She found out about that 'false witness' commandment at her bible study class and now she thinks she's going to hell.  Actually, she thinks she's already in hell.  Not lying, I think she's right.

Have her talk to Pence.  He'll spin some bullshit about 'the greater good' and how Jesus has this big plan for a Pence Presidency, and she'll get a job and a new wardrobe and maybe even a haircut.

Shit, we all want haircuts, but The Cheeto has a rule about how everybody has to try to look like Ivanka.  And fail.  Have you seen Melania lately?

What's going on with Steve Miller?

We've got him locked in a closet in the Lincoln bedroom.  But we have to open the door once in a while to feed him, and sooner or later he's gonna make a break for it.

Might be for the best.  "Clinically insane" seems to resonate with voters.  Does Trump know?

Nah.  There's no TV in the Lincoln bedroom.

Giuliani?

Hangs upside down in the closet with Steve.  We don't feed him.  We're hoping he eats Steve.

Jared and Ivanka?

Looking into a real estate deal.  They want to buy Israel and sell it to the Saudis.  I think Ivanka might be dating Putin.

Junior?

On vay-cay with his new girlfriend.  We bought her a leather bikini for Christmas.  That'll keep him busy for a while.  Though how much longer is unclear.  She's threatening to bolt, unless we give her more money.

I'll send you more.  Eric?

Please.

Betsy DeVos and Ben Carson?

Who?

Okay, what else?

Oh, Lindsey Graham's always sniffing around.  He REALLY wants to be in the Cabinet, but he doesn't look enough like a Muppet.

Yeah, he does.

Okay, yeah.

Just sayin'.

What do you want me to do next?

I like it when George tweets shit about Trump and you pretend to fight with him.  Keep that up.  It might be just the thing to drive Mr. Sillyhair over the edge.

Dude, that train's already left the station.  At this point, we're hoping that his 'base' revolts en masse once they realize that The Wall might dry up their opioid supply.

Well, hang in there.  I appreciate all your help.  And give my best to George.  Tell him I'm glad he didn't marry Laura Ingraham.

I'm not.  

Have another drink.

I'm already on my third.



Just a little something to look forward to.  

And Happy New Year.


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Hear any good jokes lately?

Me neither.

Unless you want to count Nikki Haley's farewell lovefest, where she promised to campaign for "this guy" and waxed poetic about Jared Kushner's "hidden genius" (good Lord, I hope we've seen the last of her, but I'm not optimistic).  And possibly Trump's call for decorum was funny, or would be funny if it weren't so freakishly bizarre coming from the calumnious mouth of President Surly.

Actually, it was pretty funny.  So maybe it's me.  

It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to find the silver linings of humor amongst the clouds in Trump's brain.  Likewise for the bottom-feeders who encourage him.  His supporters are funny only when you turn off the sound and look at what they're wearing.  And the only thing funny about Jeff Sessions (besides his ears) was Kate McKinnon.

I have Trump Fatigue.  With any luck, it's contagious.

So I'm winding this down.  I don't want to degenerate into just another sour, angry voice.  And I have confidence in our newly elected Democrats in Congress.  This is NOT to say, however, that I won't be back if Sarah Sanders runs off with Kellyanne Conway's husband.  Or if Donald Jr. runs for Senator of Alabama.  

I'll leave you with two things.

First, I have the perfect solution to Russian influence in our elections.  Get off of Facebook.  And Twitter.  And whatnot.  Now.  No excuses.  Easy, right?  And remember, the Internet is for one thing:  shopping.

And secondly, this shocker from a biography of the Trump family which my husband gave me to read for research purposes (and which, thank God, I no longer need):

Eric is the smart one.



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Beware of snowflakes in pink hats.

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Dear Mr. Trump,

It warms the cockles of my heart to hear you label something you heard on "Fox & Friends" as Fake News.  And it's about time.

Could this be the start of something beautiful?  Like Republicans turning on themselves in an orgy of mass self-cannibalism?  And it all started at a Trump rally.  A good omen.

Wishfully thinking,

Underemployed



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