Ye Olde Scribe Presents: HELP! Line

Int-MOE-duck-tion

“I don’t know Scribe. I’m dead. Don’t know what I’m doing here. But he thought I’d be able to reintroduce a comedy pundit who used to post here. While we all wait for the press of the end of the world button by who YOS refers to as the the present ‘Presidential Orange Turd’, maybe he’ll make you laugh with a, ‘NUKE… NUKE… NUKE?'”

Ye Olde has been absent for far too long. Here’s a brief start to a new round of satire, parody and Scribe

FUN!

“Washington Suicide Line.”

“I need help.”

“We’re the suicide line.”

“I’m can’t deal with someone anymore, but I have to. He insults everyone.”

“You’re considering suicide over that?”

“No, I mean he can’t help being inappropriate, insulting, threatening and outright vicious. I HAVE TO live with it day after day.”

“Go on.”

“Everything revolves around him and I can’t get away from him. My job requires me being submissive. I have to work closely with him and be supportive.”

“What kind of job requires that?”

“Political.”

“This isn’t a crank call is it?”

“No, I just can’t handle it anymore. The NATION can’t take it anymore…”

Phone rings in background.

“Hold please, I’m also working another line today. Washington Help Line.”

“I don’t need help. I’m AH-MAZ-ZING! No president has done more than I have in just 11 months! Everyone around me needs help.”

“Really?”

“They won’t obey me! They have to obey me! I’m da boss! My win was bigger than any in history! Crooked Hillary! Obama’s birth certificate is FAKE! Any news that doesn’t tell how great I am is FAKE! Every won knows how great I am.”

“Could you hold please? I have someone on the Help Line who might want to help you do what’s best for the nation.”

Fini

Ye Olde Scribe lives in the hinterlands of of New England in his private bunker. Or not. No zombies, clombies, union busters. Keaton, Busters (as listed in phonebook almost a century ago) allowed. Scribe is powered by mirth, his slight over sized girth, solar, furnace powered by right wing brains the size of molars, and making fascists like the Orange Turd into cheese curds. WORD!