Podcast: "I Feel Snitty"
Episode 25: The Drumpf That Stole Christmas
Premiere Date: 1/8/20
Length: 5:43 (870 words)
Link: https://ifeelsnitty.podbean.com/e/the-drumpf-that-stole-christmas/
Transcript:
Welcome to I Feel Snitty, episode 25, entitled, “The Drumpf That Stole Christmas.” I’m your host, Craig Rozniecki.
Sooo, Happy New Year! Can I still say that, especially as two days into the new year, Donald Trump basically declared war on Iran? Alas, let’s focus our attention on a less crazy time, shall we? Let’s go back to December 24th of last year. Here’s how I envision Donald Trump spent his Christmas Eve - reading his own rendition of Clement Clark Moore’s “A Visit From St. Nicholas.”
“T-was the night before Christmas, when all through the White House
Not a creature was tweeting, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by my African-American with care,
In hopes he places only the best clean coal in there;
The children has Nestles all over their beds;
While visions of magical gummies danced in their heads.
You see, the Nestles they stole were from mommy and daddy’s room. These Nestles were special, prescribed by the best doctor in the world - Dr. Pepper - with a magical ingredient called Marry Juan. In case you’re wondering, Juan is legal. We don’t need to build a big, beautiful wall to keep him out, okay? …and I’m not marrying him. I’m not one of those, you know, woo-hoos. There’s nothing I like more than vagina. Okay, so where was I, kids? Ah, yes…
And mamma with her ketchup, and I with my bucket,
Had just readied our bodies for a long winter’s, eh, duck?
When out on the lawn there arose such a ratter,
I moved my bed with a remote control to see who was the tattler.
Away to the window I pointed to my bodyguards,
Told them to open the shutters and look at stuff.
The moon on the fake breasts of my illegal wife,
Made me remember what I love about life,
When what to my bodyguards’ three eyes did appear,
But an old man with a moustache that went from ear to ear,
With a bigly book he kept calling ‘The One,’
I knew it had to be that stupid wanker, John Bolton.
More rapid than blind beagles on a non-functioning scooter he read,
Losing his place on a number of occasions, before raising his voice and then he said:
‘Now, page one! Now, page five, and nine! On, page eleven! On, page twelve and on twenty-two, you’re screwed! To the top of the cell! To the top of your wall! Now resign!
Leave! Something that rhymes with wall!’
As throat-clearings before the old dentures fly,
When they meet with any plant, that plant shall die;
So down to the lawn my bodyguards charged
With their hands full of tasers, really, really large,
And then, in a sprinkling, I heard on the lawn
The shocking and burning of a very old mon,
As I recorded from my smartphone, or at least I thought I was,
Bolton’s book was on fire, as was his moustache,
He was wearing a shirt which said, ‘I Like War More Than You Like getting a Piece,’
His pants looked like a hybrid of John Daly and Jesus,
A bundle of books he had flung on his back,
And he looked like one of those nerdy Asian kids, who had just smoked some crack.
Now, kids, that might have sounded racist, but it’s not, for while all Asians are nerds, not all kids are Asians, so yeah, moving on…
His glasses - how they broke! His wrinkles, my God, he’s old!
His cheeks were like ovens, his nose like a stove!
His stupid little mouth could barely move,
And the beard, on his chin, was obviously removed
He had a beard, right? Didn’t he have a beard? I don’t remember. Okay, he did. He did. I have the best eyes and memory, kids; believe me!
The table of contents he held tight in his teeth,
Until my bodyguards shouted, ‘Give that to me!’
He had a dumb face and a stupid belly
That wasn’t as flat as mine - mine’s like lots of covfefe jelly.
He was thin and ugly, like a stick-person with no face,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the Mace.
You see, kids, I hadn’t used my Cheeto-skin-altering lotion that day, or night for that matter, so when my wife, Melanie, saw me, she didn’t recognize me, and sprayed my face with Mace. No questions. We’re almost done.
Constant blinks of the eyes and a quick twist of the head
I started to wonder if he’d soon be dead;
He spoke not a word, but started playing charades,
And raised many fingers, before touching himself and making funny sounds,
Four words, first word is ‘you’re,’
‘You’re going to,’ ‘you’re going to’ bore?
No. That’s not it. Why’s he keep touching his hair?
Gel? ‘You’re going to gel?’ That makes no sense.
I then heard him yell; he can speak again - it’s a miracle!
Merry Christmas to all, especially since I guess I’m going to gel!”
That’s it for today’s episode. I’ll see you again next week. Until then, check me out on PodBean, Twitter, Amazon, and Blogpsot. This has been I Feel Snitty with Craig Rozniecki. Take care.
Episode 25: The Drumpf That Stole Christmas
Premiere Date: 1/8/20
Length: 5:43 (870 words)
Link: https://ifeelsnitty.podbean.com/e/the-drumpf-that-stole-christmas/
Transcript:
Welcome to I Feel Snitty, episode 25, entitled, “The Drumpf That Stole Christmas.” I’m your host, Craig Rozniecki.
Sooo, Happy New Year! Can I still say that, especially as two days into the new year, Donald Trump basically declared war on Iran? Alas, let’s focus our attention on a less crazy time, shall we? Let’s go back to December 24th of last year. Here’s how I envision Donald Trump spent his Christmas Eve - reading his own rendition of Clement Clark Moore’s “A Visit From St. Nicholas.”
“T-was the night before Christmas, when all through the White House
Not a creature was tweeting, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by my African-American with care,
In hopes he places only the best clean coal in there;
The children has Nestles all over their beds;
While visions of magical gummies danced in their heads.
You see, the Nestles they stole were from mommy and daddy’s room. These Nestles were special, prescribed by the best doctor in the world - Dr. Pepper - with a magical ingredient called Marry Juan. In case you’re wondering, Juan is legal. We don’t need to build a big, beautiful wall to keep him out, okay? …and I’m not marrying him. I’m not one of those, you know, woo-hoos. There’s nothing I like more than vagina. Okay, so where was I, kids? Ah, yes…
And mamma with her ketchup, and I with my bucket,
Had just readied our bodies for a long winter’s, eh, duck?
When out on the lawn there arose such a ratter,
I moved my bed with a remote control to see who was the tattler.
Away to the window I pointed to my bodyguards,
Told them to open the shutters and look at stuff.
The moon on the fake breasts of my illegal wife,
Made me remember what I love about life,
When what to my bodyguards’ three eyes did appear,
But an old man with a moustache that went from ear to ear,
With a bigly book he kept calling ‘The One,’
I knew it had to be that stupid wanker, John Bolton.
More rapid than blind beagles on a non-functioning scooter he read,
Losing his place on a number of occasions, before raising his voice and then he said:
‘Now, page one! Now, page five, and nine! On, page eleven! On, page twelve and on twenty-two, you’re screwed! To the top of the cell! To the top of your wall! Now resign!
Leave! Something that rhymes with wall!’
As throat-clearings before the old dentures fly,
When they meet with any plant, that plant shall die;
So down to the lawn my bodyguards charged
With their hands full of tasers, really, really large,
And then, in a sprinkling, I heard on the lawn
The shocking and burning of a very old mon,
As I recorded from my smartphone, or at least I thought I was,
Bolton’s book was on fire, as was his moustache,
He was wearing a shirt which said, ‘I Like War More Than You Like getting a Piece,’
His pants looked like a hybrid of John Daly and Jesus,
A bundle of books he had flung on his back,
And he looked like one of those nerdy Asian kids, who had just smoked some crack.
Now, kids, that might have sounded racist, but it’s not, for while all Asians are nerds, not all kids are Asians, so yeah, moving on…
His glasses - how they broke! His wrinkles, my God, he’s old!
His cheeks were like ovens, his nose like a stove!
His stupid little mouth could barely move,
And the beard, on his chin, was obviously removed
He had a beard, right? Didn’t he have a beard? I don’t remember. Okay, he did. He did. I have the best eyes and memory, kids; believe me!
The table of contents he held tight in his teeth,
Until my bodyguards shouted, ‘Give that to me!’
He had a dumb face and a stupid belly
That wasn’t as flat as mine - mine’s like lots of covfefe jelly.
He was thin and ugly, like a stick-person with no face,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of the Mace.
You see, kids, I hadn’t used my Cheeto-skin-altering lotion that day, or night for that matter, so when my wife, Melanie, saw me, she didn’t recognize me, and sprayed my face with Mace. No questions. We’re almost done.
Constant blinks of the eyes and a quick twist of the head
I started to wonder if he’d soon be dead;
He spoke not a word, but started playing charades,
And raised many fingers, before touching himself and making funny sounds,
Four words, first word is ‘you’re,’
‘You’re going to,’ ‘you’re going to’ bore?
No. That’s not it. Why’s he keep touching his hair?
Gel? ‘You’re going to gel?’ That makes no sense.
I then heard him yell; he can speak again - it’s a miracle!
Merry Christmas to all, especially since I guess I’m going to gel!”
That’s it for today’s episode. I’ll see you again next week. Until then, check me out on PodBean, Twitter, Amazon, and Blogpsot. This has been I Feel Snitty with Craig Rozniecki. Take care.
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