The Day Political Satire Died: Wednesday, January 11, 2007   One of my earliest memories, not my earliest, is standing in my light blue pajamas in front of the television at our River Hills home mesmerized by the Watergate hearings. I have been a huge fan of comedy ever since.    It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I have to announce the passing of Political Satire on Wednesday, January 11, 2007. At her height, she soared in the arms of such brilliant minds as Jonathan Swift, Voltaire, George Orwell, Mark Twain, the Marx brothers, Peter Sellers, and Charlie Chaplin. In her finer moments, in theirs and thousands of others’ hands, she pulled back the veil of reality to show the absurdity of it all. She dispatched with a few strokes of the pen more kings, thugs, dictators, and politicians with Jesus complexes than any bullet or bomb ever could. Even though there was often a harshness in her tongue, she always had a smile on her face and a quick wink for those that spent their days with her.   So, it came as a great shock to those that loved her when she suddenly collapsed at the Trump Towers in New York City surrounded by reporters and journalists who struggled to understand the Kafkaesque piece of irony unfolding before them. Many close to her report that she had been struggling with some unknown health problems since June 16, 2015. Almost daily, family and friends claim, she experienced chest pains, shortness of breath, and often had a far off look in her eyes as if she knew her time was short.   Satire had to be steadied a few months earlier during a photo op at Trump Tower with fundamentalist Christian leader Jerry Falwell, Jr., his wife, and Trump as the Falwells proclaimed what a wonderful Christian the Donald is. Just behind them on the wall was a framed Playboy cover featuring the Donald in a white tuxedo shirt, black tie and pants as a porn star shimmering next to him spilled out of his black tuxedo jacket that was about to fall off of her.   She needed oxygen during the Republican Convention when Melania Trump, the third wife of the Donald, had to crib her speech from the current First Lady, Michelle Obama, that was supposed to show the American people why she loved and married him.   Paramedics and emergency responders often had to be called to her place at 3 or 4 a.m. She claimed these attacks felt like tiny little fingers punching at the keypad of her Twitter heart.   On October 7, 2016, she was found unconscious at home and spent several days in the hospital. During lucid moments, she muttered something about being presidential, a bus, and the irony that one of the guys was named Bush.   Even though in recent days, she had been under a great deal of stress with a man being appointed to head a government agency whose name he could not remember, a repeal of Obamacare, which was originally a Republican idea called Romneycare, with the promise to replace it with something better by the same congress that could not get anything done the last eight years, and the first move the Republicans tried to do in draining the swamp known as Washington was get rid of the Office of Congressional Ethics.   Still, Satire had survived George W. Bush, the impeachment of William Jefferson Clinton for tripping and falling on a chubby intern, pampered hipsters wearing Che t-shirts, and Fox News. It appeared nothing could kill her. So, her death took everyone by surprise. Some around her claim that she stared blankly at the stage and reportedly stated, “I have no purpose anymore. Reality has surpassed me.”   CPR was administered, but it was too late. A Catholic priest on hand believes it was a peaceful death. Satire’s last words were reportedly, “Presidential Day mattress sales are never going to be the same.”   Satire is survived by her family: irony, puns, jokes, cartoons other than Doonesbury, miming, pull my finger gags, and whatever is being perpetrated on what was once The Daily Show. In lieu of flowers, please send monetary gifts to the National Rifle Association. If you did not realize that it is one of Satire’s children, you have not been paying attention.   President-elect Donald Trump’s January 11, 2007 press conference appeared to be a brilliant piece of satire of every major contemporary scandal that a great writer like Mark Twain or Tom Wolfe could have written, only it was real.  No satirist even in their most creative moment could have surpassed it.  If you could climb into a time machine, go back a decade or two, and describe this hour of American history, no one would buy it. Your English teacher would tell you you’re a bit too creative and to tone the farce down.   I imagine it going something like this: “Okay, for eight years, America’s president will be the most beloved human being on the planet. He is articulate, handsome, thoughtful, will save America from one of the worst recessions in decades, will provide health care to millions of people who never had it before, will kill the biggest bad guy on the planet, will have no major scandals, and, oh, did I mention, black. Why are you looking at me like that?” “America decides to replace him with an angry, mentally unbalanced man who looks like an Umpa-Lumpa with a tumor on his pituitary gland and baby hands. I am not sure if his hair is animal, vegetable or mineral, but it’s orange.”   “Ironically, he will make his bones attacking his political opponents, often using stories that appeared on alt right websites and in The National Enquirer. I am sure you might be wondering what the alt right is. It is kind of like your dittohead uncle at Thanksgiving who no longer prefaces his political diatribe with ‘I’m not a racist, but…’ before he goes on a racist tangent as he is pouring a little too much gravy on his potatoes.”  When most of the media will not comment on stories like one of his opponent’s fathers being involved in the Kennedy assassination or the green card status of another candidate’s father, he will say things like, ‘I’m not saying it is true, but people are talking. Why isn’t the press looking into this?’ In fact, he will become a conservative darling by claiming that he has investigators in Hawaii that have dug up all kinds of wonderful material that proves our president was born in Africa. Strangely, no reporter is going to ask him over the next four years who are these investigators and where is all this information they unearthed. I am guessing that they went down with the passengers on Oceanic Airlines Flight 815 from the television show “Lost”. They all were probably equally real.”   “I know I am pushing it, but during the campaign he is going to have this strange ‘bromance’ with a shirtless former commie Russian dictator named Vladimir Putin who likes long rides on horseback, bubble baths, massages, and murdering his political opponents. At times, our Cheetos dusted future Commander-n-Chief will get almost creepy in his admiration of Putin like that ‘straight’ guy in the locker room whose eyes linger a few seconds longer than they should on his friend taking a shower.” “Well, Putie Baby is going to hack the Democrats and send that information to some guy named Julian Assange, who is going to release all that material on the Internet. I know, the Republicans hate the commies, but they love them now. They will even love this Assange guy. Assange looks like the albino murderer in Chevy Chase’s movie Foul Play, even though he released a lot of top secret military information a few years earlier that probably got some people killed. Treason Schmeeson. Conservatives are even going to believe him when he says he did not get the Democrats’ emails from the Russians, because you should always take the word of a man on the run for rape [Assange].”   “Remember the original October surprise, where Ronald Reagan’s people might have talked the Iranians into holding onto the hostages a little longer than was necessary so they could defeat Carter in 1980, and Bill Clinton’s Zippergate? Well, this is going to sound like a Mad Magazine parody of them.”   “A reliable former British spy named Christopher Steele compiled a dossier that claimed that Trump’s senior people had secretly met with Russian officials to plan election interference, that he had compromising financial relationships with several Russians, and that the Kremlin had video of the Donald in a sexual tryst with two east European hookers in a Moscow hotel that probably involved an umbrella and galoshes, not that the Donald has any attraction to eastern European women. Now, I am pretty sure this is not the plot of the next James Bond movie. This dossier was widely known about in U.S. intelligence circles and the media throughout the campaign. It was finally put into a two page summery that was given as a briefing to President Obama, President-elect Trump, and key members of Congress. You know Obama shook his head, sighed and muttered, ‘White people?’”                    “Finally, after months of knowledge about it, CNN reported that both Trump and Obama had been briefed on the subject. The websites BuzzFeed and Slate then published the two-page intelligence report. I am sure former President Bush was briefed on the subject, too. It probably involved a Raggedy Andy doll and two Raggedy Ann dolls and the words, ‘Sometimes, when two women love a man they drink a lot of coffee or water and…’”   “It needs to be asserted that there is not an ounce of proof that any of what is in the British dossier is true, but it produced the greatest press conference ever, EVER.”     Either underneath all that bronzer and those dyed hair plugs, Donald Trump is really Andy Kaufman, or political satire is dead.
The Day Political Satire Died: Wednesday, January 11, 2007   One of my earliest memories, not my earliest, is standing in my light blue pajamas in front of the television at our River Hills home mesmerized by the Watergate hearings. I have been a huge fan of comedy ever since.    It is with great sadness and a heavy heart that I have to announce the passing of Political Satire on Wednesday, January 11, 2007. At her height, she soared in the arms of such brilliant minds as Jonathan Swift, Voltaire, George Orwell, Mark Twain, the Marx brothers, Peter Sellers, and Charlie Chaplin. In her finer moments, in theirs and thousands of others’ hands, she pulled back the veil of reality to show the absurdity of it all. She dispatched with a few strokes of the pen more kings, thugs, dictators, and politicians with Jesus complexes than any bullet or bomb ever could. Even though there was often a harshness in her tongue, she always had a smile on her face and a quick wink for those that spent their days with her.   So, it came as a great shock to those that loved her when she suddenly collapsed at the Trump Towers in New York City surrounded by reporters and journalists who struggled to understand the Kafkaesque piece of irony unfolding before them. Many close to her report that she had been struggling with some unknown health problems since June 16, 2015. Almost daily, family and friends claim, she experienced chest pains, shortness of breath, and often had a far off look in her eyes as if she knew her time was short.   Satire had to be steadied a few months earlier during a photo op at Trump Tower with fundamentalist Christian leader Jerry Falwell, Jr., his wife, and Trump as the Falwells proclaimed what a wonderful Christian the Donald is. Just behind them on the wall was a framed Playboy cover featuring the Donald in a white tuxedo shirt, black tie and pants as a porn star shimmering next to him spilled out of his black tuxedo jacket that was about to fall off of her.   She needed oxygen during the Republican Convention when Melania Trump, the third wife of the Donald, had to crib her speech from the current First Lady, Michelle Obama, that was supposed to show the American people why she loved and married him.   Paramedics and emergency responders often had to be called to her place at 3 or 4 a.m. She claimed these attacks felt like tiny little fingers punching at the keypad of her Twitter heart.   On October 7, 2016, she was found unconscious at home and spent several days in the hospital. During lucid moments, she muttered something about being presidential, a bus, and the irony that one of the guys was named Bush.   Even though in recent days, she had been under a great deal of stress with a man being appointed to head a government agency whose name he could not remember, a repeal of Obamacare, which was originally a Republican idea called Romneycare, with the promise to replace it with something better by the same congress that could not get anything done the last eight years, and the first move the Republicans tried to do in draining the swamp known as Washington was get rid of the Office of Congressional Ethics.   Still, Satire had survived George W. Bush, the impeachment of William Jefferson Clinton for tripping and falling on a chubby intern, pampered hipsters wearing Che t-shirts, and Fox News. It appeared nothing could kill her. So, her death took everyone by surprise. Some around her claim that she stared blankly at the stage and reportedly stated, “I have no purpose anymore. Reality has surpassed me.”   CPR was administered, but it was too late. A Catholic priest on hand believes it was a peaceful death. Satire’s last words were reportedly, “Presidential Day mattress sales are never going to be the same.”   Satire is survived by her family: irony, puns, jokes, cartoons other than Doonesbury, miming, pull my finger gags, and whatever is being perpetrated on what was once The Daily Show. In lieu of flowers, please send monetary gifts to the National Rifle Association. If you did not realize that it is one of Satire’s children, you have not been paying attention.   President-elect Donald Trump’s January 11, 2007 press conference appeared to be a brilliant piece of satire of every major contemporary scandal that a great writer like Mark Twain or Tom Wolfe could have written, only it was real.  No satirist even in their most creative moment could have surpassed it.  If you could climb into a time machine, go back a decade or two, and describe this hour of American history, no one would buy it. Your English teacher would tell you you’re a bit too creative and to tone the farce down.   I imagine it going something like this: “Okay, for eight years, America’s president will be the most beloved human being on the planet. He is articulate, handsome, thoughtful, will save America from one of the worst recessions in decades, will provide health care to millions of people who never had it before, will kill the biggest bad guy on the planet, will have no major scandals, and, oh, did I mention, black. Why are you looking at me like that?” “America decides to replace him with an angry, mentally unbalanced man who looks like an Umpa-Lumpa with a tumor on his pituitary gland and baby hands. I am not sure if his hair is animal, vegetable or mineral, but it’s orange.”   “Ironically, he will make his bones attacking his political opponents, often using stories that appeared on alt right websites and in The National Enquirer. I am sure you might be wondering what the alt right is. It is kind of like your dittohead uncle at Thanksgiving who no longer prefaces his political diatribe with ‘I’m not a racist, but…’ before he goes on a racist tangent as he is pouring a little too much gravy on his potatoes.”  When most of the media will not comment on stories like one of his opponent’s fathers being involved in the Kennedy assassination or the green card status of another candidate’s father, he will say things like, ‘I’m not saying it is true, but people are talking. Why isn’t the press looking into this?’ In fact, he will become a conservative darling by claiming that he has investigators in Hawaii that have dug up all kinds of wonderful material that proves our president was born in Africa. Strangely, no reporter is going to ask him over the next four years who are these investigators and where is all this information they unearthed. I am guessing that they went down with the passengers on Oceanic Airlines Flight 815 from the television show “Lost”. They all were probably equally real.”   “I know I am pushing it, but during the campaign he is going to have this strange ‘bromance’ with a shirtless former commie Russian dictator named Vladimir Putin who likes long rides on horseback, bubble baths, massages, and murdering his political opponents. At times, our Cheetos dusted future Commander-n-Chief will get almost creepy in his admiration of Putin like that ‘straight’ guy in the locker room whose eyes linger a few seconds longer than they should on his friend taking a shower.” “Well, Putie Baby is going to hack the Democrats and send that information to some guy named Julian Assange, who is going to release all that material on the Internet. I know, the Republicans hate the commies, but they love them now. They will even love this Assange guy. Assange looks like the albino murderer in Chevy Chase’s movie Foul Play, even though he released a lot of top secret military information a few years earlier that probably got some people killed. Treason Schmeeson. Conservatives are even going to believe him when he says he did not get the Democrats’ emails from the Russians, because you should always take the word of a man on the run for rape [Assange].”   “Remember the original October surprise, where Ronald Reagan’s people might have talked the Iranians into holding onto the hostages a little longer than was necessary so they could defeat Carter in 1980, and Bill Clinton’s Zippergate? Well, this is going to sound like a Mad Magazine parody of them.”   “A reliable former British spy named Christopher Steele compiled a dossier that claimed that Trump’s senior people had secretly met with Russian officials to plan election interference, that he had compromising financial relationships with several Russians, and that the Kremlin had video of the Donald in a sexual tryst with two east European hookers in a Moscow hotel that probably involved an umbrella and galoshes, not that the Donald has any attraction to eastern European women. Now, I am pretty sure this is not the plot of the next James Bond movie. This dossier was widely known about in U.S. intelligence circles and the media throughout the campaign. It was finally put into a two page summery that was given as a briefing to President Obama, President-elect Trump, and key members of Congress. You know Obama shook his head, sighed and muttered, ‘White people?’”                    “Finally, after months of knowledge about it, CNN reported that both Trump and Obama had been briefed on the subject. The websites BuzzFeed and Slate then published the two- page intelligence report. I am sure former President Bush was briefed on the subject, too. It probably involved a Raggedy Andy doll and two Raggedy Ann dolls and the words, ‘Sometimes, when two women love a man they drink a lot of coffee or water and…’”   “It needs to be asserted that there is not an ounce of proof that any of what is in the British dossier is true, but it produced the greatest press conference ever, EVER.”     Either underneath all that bronzer and those dyed hair plugs, Donald Trump is really Andy Kaufman, or political satire is dead.