This is just too good not to post: a Donald Trump urinal “art piece.” Now, I’m not entirely sure if this is real or just a concept. The Rolling Stones-inspired urinals are from a bar in Paris. When I Google them or do a reverse image search, the urinals always come up sans Trump. Sadly, I’m going with my gut and concluding this is just a fun Photoshop job. I really wanted to believe, though.
It’s definitely worth your time to watch “Hail to the Trump,” Vanity Fair’s darkly funny Team America-esque glimpse of what a Donald Trump presidency might be like, performed by marionettes.
Produced and directed by Condé Nast’s Rachel Samuels and written by longtime Vanity Fair editor Bruce Handy, the marionettes were operated by a fellow named Scott Land. The first episode debuted on YouTube on November 9th with the latest installment coming out today.
I like how they parachuted into this with an outgoing President Barack Obama welcoming President-elect Trump to the Oval Office. It’s even more of a satiric gut-kick picturing Obama, of all people, having to play nice with the short-fingered vulgarian “birther” billionaire before his swearing in, because you know damned well Trump probably would act just like this.
After the jump, President Trump gets into a Twitter-war with the Kardashians and HATES his Secret Service code name…
“I predicted terrorism because I can feel it,” Donald Trump announced this week (exacting publicity and self-praise—who would have predicted that—from the massacre in Paris). “I can feel it like I feel a good location,” he continued, tastefully contrasting mass murder with picking a winning spot for a casino-hotel complex. “I really believe I have an instinct for this kind of thing.”
“Ha ha ha”, said everybody about Trump’s “superpower” of sniffing out terrorism (at least on the rational side of the American electoral brain). But not this writer! On the contrary, when Trump made this declaration, I was in the midst of writing an essay (about two thirds of which follows), on the very subject matter of the Republican front runner’s uncanny, alarmingly accurate instinct.
No shit, I’d even used the word “instinct” seven times (the very seven times that proceed) without having heard Trump use it once himself.
Instinct, then, is an interesting, mysterious quality, and one possessed by most of history’s biggest players. By “biggest players,” I mean those that took advantage of circumstances to seize radical power (as opposed to boring old figurehead-of-the-establishment-type power): the likes of Napoleon, Julius Caesar, Adolf Hitler. Typically, such figures consider themselves possessed of some sort of second sight, a phantom patron (or perhaps “daemon” is the word I’m looking for?) that whispers in their ear (and theirs alone). Hitler, for instance, once told a journalist about how as he stood having a smoke one day behind the trenches during WWI, he heard a voice telling him to move: he did so, and then, having taken a couple of steps, a shell landed right where he’d been standing.
Many of Hitler’s associates remarked upon his incessant monologuing. Indeed, Hitler referred to himself as the “messenger from nothingness.” Neither did Hitler ever write his speeches down—he was winging it, ever loyal to his instincts, which led him from being considered a national laughing stock with shit hair to a position of absolute power.
“I go on my way,” he declared, en route to turning the world inside out, “with the ease of a somnambulist.”
When Trump first lashed out at Megyn Kelly, recall that his chief adviser Roger Stone instantly resigned in dismay, because the billionaire wouldn’t listen to “reason.” And indeed, who doubted that, with his misogynistic and absurd smear against a Fox New personality, Trump hadn’t pitched his campaign off a cliff? Trump’s instinct, however, whispered something else in his ear: that he could get his revenge on Kelly (no small matter to such a tumescent ego) without risking his popularity. This flew in the face of all received wisdom – and yet once again, Trump was absolutely on the money.
It’s happened time and time again.
Trump’s pious regard for his instincts is further evidenced in his approach to speeches. He improvises (just like Hitler did in his speeches, the ones Trump’s ex-wife said he liked to keep near the bed). When he attacked Carson last week, at the tail end of a ninety-minute unscripted speech, Trump clearly hadn’t given it any more forethought than a note written in ink on the palm of his hand to “remember to attack Carson.” In the immediate wake of the speech, commentators—slow to learn—were quick to call it the “beginning of the end” for TRUMP 2016. The latest polls show him now pulling well clear of his nearest Republican rival, the soft spoken, befuddled brain surgeon.
What else is improvisation but the purest possible adherence to instinct? “You don’t want a scripted president!” Trump told an Iowa audience a few months back. “Look at all the cameras blazing there. This is live, all over the place. We’re on Fox, CNN,” he went on, before brandishing an invisible script. “Look, there’s nothing” (Another messenger from nothingness?)
There is, I would suggest, a kind of theology at the heart of all this, that of any improviser—from Lenny Bruce to Charlie Parker to Adolf Hitler—the belief that the best decisions are made in the moment. Excessive premeditation, or consultation, these only blunt the cutting edge of genius, which expresses itself (in certain select souls) via instinct and cunning.
Yes, a vote for Trump is a vote for divination – for this is precisely what he is alluding to what he spoke of “good locations” and having a “feel” for the timing of significant global events. Here is a man convinced of the magical acumen of his intuition. It has after all already made him billions upon billions of dollars, and it is this intuition—this abnormal winning faculty, as he would have it—that Trump offers in lieu of policy, political affiliation, character, or any of the other usual ingredients that go into a presidential pie. He might be out of his depth, sure, but he’s got his instincts!
When Trump holds his invisible script, he is mocking the existing political alternative—everyone else—a Washington made up of lobbyists, focus groups, special advisors, academics, public relations… a kind of collective antithesis of instinct: premeditation, forethought, rationalization, logic. In dominating the Republican race as he has, furthermore (doing so, indeed, at minimal expense to himself), Trump is explicitly offering the voter an example of his ability to make successful moves which are invisible to everyone but him.
What’s for good for Trump, of course, is by no means what’s good for the rest of us, but the thing is, his instincts really are impressive, and you don’t have to think he would make (as he might put it) the winningest president ev-er, to concede as much.
Yes, Trump is doing a disconcertingly effective job—thus far—of improvising his way from being considered a laughing stock with appalling hair to the most powerful man in the world.
From Mein Kampf to The Art of the Deal? Such a phenomenon would not be entirely without precedent. It’s just like Karl Marx predicted “History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce.”
Earlier this year Sen. David Vitter (R-LA) made a fucking idiotic attempt at “humor” by tweeting that it was a “Chick-fil-A kind of day” after the Supreme Court’s ruling on same sex marriage. Louisiana, if you go from Bobby Jindal to this goddamn fool, you’ll have gone from utterly terrible to someone far, far worse. Don’t do it.
During Tuesday night’s Louisiana gubernatorial debate, Sen. David Vitter, the GOP candidate criticized his Democratic opponent John Bel Edwards—an Army Ranger—for releasing a “vicious, negative” political ad that Vitter contended, was offensive to veterans.
Louisiana gubernatorial candidate John Bel Edwards (D) didn’t need to utter the word “prostitution” for viewers of Tuesday night’s debate to understand that he was hitting Sen. David Vitter (R-LA) over his involvement in the 2007 “D.C. Madam” scandal.
“Hundreds of veterans have contacted me,” Edwards said, “and they wanted to know that you were missing out on your public performance of your duties in Congress in order to engage in those extracurricular activities that you don’t want to admit to.”
Vitter had just criticized Edwards, a state representative, for releasing a “vicious negative ad” that he said offended veterans. The ad was released last week and juxtaposed Edwards’ service as an Army Ranger with the claim that Vitter “answered a prostitute’s call minutes after he skipped a vote honoring 28 soldiers who gave their lives in defense of our freedom.”
“David Vitter chose prostitutes over patriots,” the ad’s narrator intoned. “Now, the choice is yours.”
Vitter must not have seen the same ad I saw because frankly I can’t imagine even a single vet being offended by Edwards’ ad. I can quite easily see them being highly offended by Vitter’s shenanigans, but not so much at Edwards for pointing that out so… well, viciously and negatively. I mean how do you gingerly mention that your political opponent has a hooker problem? And why would you care to downplay it or tiptoe around it?
The amazing thing, to my mind, is that Vitter has never really had to answer to this… er… shit before. Being a proud “family values” Southern Republican, naturally Vitter professed “regret” for his “very serious sin” (actually crimes in both Louisiana and Washington) in a 2007 press conference with his wife beside him and I guess Baby Jesus just up and hosed all of that sin right off ‘im. He’s apparently Teflon-coated, because over the years Vitter has paid very little political price—as in nothing whatsoever—for his very public prostitution scandal. The Democrats have tried, oh how they have tried, but nothing ever really stuck to the Senator like a poop-filled diaper should.
I thought I’d seen a few vicious political ads in my day, but this one is unique. Watch “The Choice” below:
After the jump, a previous attempt to get the word out to Louisiana voters about David Vitter’s “messy” prostitution scandal from 2010
Bowman, South Carolina (population 968) is home to the “UFO Welcome Center,” possibly the best/worst roadside attraction in America, which mainly consists of a dilapidated, ramshackle spaceship cobbled together from scrap wood and various repurposed construction materials. It’s one of my favorite places on the planet, and I’m lucky as a South Carolinian to get to visit it quite often. I treasure my meetings with the man behind the saucer, “UFO Man,” the adorably kooky Jody Pendarvis.
The giant UFO Pendarvis built in the front yard of his trailer home is in somewhat less than flight-worthy condition and is usually inhabited by a dozen or so feral cats. But if you ever find yourself in Bowman, Jody will gladly give you a tour of the ship and the philosophy behind the UFO Welcome Center, which is essentially a beacon for extraterrestrial visitors.
Jody Pendarvis. Photo: Bickel
“UFO Man” made the local newspapers this week with his endorsement of Presidential hopeful Jeb Bush. Bush seems like a good candidate for endorsement from the UFO people. Trump has made his stance regarding aliens quite clear (he’s against them), and Ben Carson has attempted to deny the hard work of aliens in building the Egyptian pyramids, claiming that the pyramids were built by Biblical Joseph to store grain—which is clearly insane. Bush is the clear choice for those of us who build giant wooden flying saucers in the front yards of our trailers.
We’re quite sure the Bush campaign will get a huge bump from this crucial endorsement.
For more on the “UFO Man,” check out Vice’s excellent short documentary on the UFO Welcome Center:
Here are a few pre-Bush-endorsement photos I took during my last trip to see Jody and the spaceship, three months ago:
I have to admit I kinda love this. In honor of Guy Fawkes Night, a giant paper sculpture of a naked David Cameron with a decapitated pig’s head will go up flames tonight on Lewes bonfire, in East Sussex.
Apparently #PigGate is still not over. Fuck him. The Prime Minister I mean, not that poor defenseless pig he (allegedly) molested
(Once we get footage of the burning “pig fucker,” I’ll add it to this post.)
As the dreaded holiday season inches ever closer—and the next Republican debate is tonight—a developer named Tim Bornholdt has created a Google Chrome extension that changes instances of the name “Donald Trump” to “your drunk uncle at Thanksgiving.” In other words, the extension changes news stories so that they are no longer about the obnoxious real estate developer and billionaire TV celebrity, but that dear old drunk uncle who you’re going to have to deal with in a little less than a month.
You can get the extension at the Chrome Web Store. It’s cute, but what America really needs is a Chrome extension that makes your drunk uncle at Thanksgiving into Donald Trump so everyone can borrow money from him/them.
Just think, in an alternate universe, there exists a web browser extension that IS turning all of our drunk uncles at Thanksgiving into Donald Trumps and there are MILLIONS of him and each and every one of them is running for President.
There’s a Donald Trump sex doll called the Blow Up Trump which is made 100% in CHINA and sells for $39.00. Now I’m not seeing any, um, er, orifices, so perhaps this blow up Trump would make an awesome pool float?
Political leaders are our own personal sex dolls. We need them to fulfill a certain undisclosed pleasure. We purchase a humbled vinyl body and blow it up into a leader.
With each breath, we exhale expectations. With each expectation, we exhale power. Then that power shapes into a figure.
As we stare directly into the painted eyes of our new saviors, we realize that they cannot see us. Although we’d like to think more of them, our blown up leaders are filled with nothing but air, and they are a needle POP away from going back to the hollow vinyl exterior they once were.
“I’m putting the people on notice that are coming here from Syria as part of this mass migration. If I win, they’re going back” Donald Trump stated during an evening rally held in Keene, New Hampshire.
I can honestly say I’ve never been aroused by the thought of having sex with a politician. Not just because most politicians are middle-aged guys with halitosis, bad hair and ego problems, but because politicians are on that “no fly zone” of occupations (along with dentists, proctologists and genitourinary doctors) who for me can never ever be hot, sexy, or remotely attractive. I know, I know, it’s my loss, but you know, I don’t mind—I can live without their alleged charms.
However, it would appear that I am in a minority—as there are many, many people out there who do fantasise about politicians and how they’d like these SOBs to fuck ‘em till they bleed, or reciprocate by tonguing and fingering their oval office. If that’s the party you’d vote for, well three cheers, for there’s a place where you can cast your vote and ‘fess up your secret political desires.
Once it might have been an App, but now it’s a Tumblr—this time a page called Playing Dirty, where peeps anonymously share their “Dirty Political Confessions.” These secret soundbites are plastered over a suitable image of the fantasy object and posted for everyone to..er…enjoy. Admittedly a lot of the naughty secrets involve British politicians like Prime Minister David Cameron—even after all that pig-fucking nonsense—and Margaret Thatcher (apparently someone’s idea of a “MILF”) but there are plenty of unbridled fantasies about Mitt Romney, George W. Bush, “Tricky Dicky” and Hillary Clinton.
It begins with me being hired to have sex with Bush Jr. I discreetly enter his hotel suite where I find him laying in bed wearing nothing but his socks. I start by tonguing his sweaty taint and asshole until he can’t take it anymore and shoves his cock down my throat, calling me a slut while I gag on his forceful plunges. He then throws me on the bed and fucks me in various positions throughout the night.
I want to sit Hillary Clinton on the desk of the Oval Office and make her come with my tongue and fingers so many times she wouldn’t know her own name any more.
Paul Ryan is a sexy beast. The moment I laid eyes on him I wanted him to fuck me. The way he fights for control and resists his angry urges is a huge turn on. I want him to tie me up in shackles and whip me, bite me, and fuck me till I bleed.
More wet dreams of our noble leaders, after the jump…
There were two blink and you missed ‘em moments on both CNN and Fox News after the Democratic debate last night that I wanted to call to your attention while the memory is still fresh…
Who “won” the debate? We know who didn’t win it—everyone not named Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders, but of the two of them, who was the winner in the eyes of the Democratic electorate?
The narrative, according to the mainstream media, at least, was that Hillary Clinton was “back” and had scored significant points, while Bernie Sanders more or less held his own, but was unlikely to have picked up many new fans.
Welllllll mainstream media, not so fast there. Voters must’ve watched a different debate. Sanders picked up a lot of new fans. And money!
To wit: On Fox News, evil Republican genius Frank Luntz did his familiar polling routine where a preselected group of informed voters, not wildly for one candidate or another, were hooked up to some sort of galvanic skin response detector and watched the debate wired to gauge their emotional responses.
Probably 90% of the mainstream media called it for Hillary, but even on Fox News, the voters had a much different notion of who had really won the debate. Watch this, it’s fascinating: