It’s Miller time!

Food for thought.

For your Monday-morning amusement I present my breakfast impression of the smirking xenophobic white-nationalist Orange House Chief of Staph, He Who Squats Beside the Throne, Sniffer of the Imperial Farts.

To create the work, I used a tortilla and honey, both from New Mexico; butter from Ireland; cinnamon from Vietnam; and prunes from Dog only knows where. I sourced them from the bulk bin at Sprouts Farmers Market, headquartered in Arizona.

I call it “D Composition.”

Note the pale complexion, predatory beak, and dead black eyes, twin portals to Hell, where his true Master eagerly awaits his arrival.

“Hell isn’t half full,” said the Father of Lies. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a bitch to manage. I could use a deputy who knows how to make the trains run on time while standing on his head in a flaming sewage lagoon.”

First blow, then snow

"Forget about that California dam, hon', we got a real problem right here at home."
“Forget about that California dam, hon’, we got a real problem right here at home.”

Well, it ain’t much of a snow. But the blow more than made up for it. We had to corral wandering bits and pieces of lawn art yesterday, which beats watching Stephen Miller lie on the Sunday shows like a creepy baldheaded teenager caught with a spank mag under his mattress. (“Uh, I read it for the articles? And anyway, the terrorists put it there!”)

Where does Beelzebozo find these alleged people? If you saw Miller lurking around a school playground, you’d probably call the law, amirite? The only video of this penis with ears should come from a vice cop’s lapel cam.

“Hands where I can see ’em, pally. And let’s get the mouse back in his house, a’ight?”

Meanwhile, the National Security Council is taking on Stooge-esque overtones, and not of the Iggy variety, either. Who knew we’d still be dealing with Russian stooges 53 years after “Dr. Strangelove?”

“Sir, you can’t let him in here. He’ll see everything! He’ll see the Big Board!”