Devil asks God for a Summit …

Summits are in vogue … everybody wants one … even the Devil … in his case, with God.

Location … heaven …  God at his desk … bright-red-hot-line phone pulsates … destroys God’s moment of Zen … ringtone’s “There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight!”

He presses “Talk” and says, “Whaz-zup, Beelz?” … playing the black hipster this time.

The Devil sighs at God’s little joke.  “We gotta meet.  Call it a ‘Summit’ … or whatever.”


God’s leg’s jiggling a mile-a-minute as he waits impatiently for the Devil.  He picked Altitude Sky Lounge, a rooftop bar in San Diego, based on Yelp reviews.

God likes to support His creations … He thought Yelp was a good one.

In strolls the Devil … sporting a full-length animal fur … anyplace out-of-Hell is freezing to Beelzebub … besides, he loves splash and spectacle when he comes out to play on earth.


The Devil says nothing … sits and glares.  He hates that God can be anyone, anywhere, anytime … and always seems to enjoy Himself … so cool.

“I’ll come right to the point GD” … the Devil always refers to God as “GD” … as in God Damn … which he loves because when God damns someone, it’s another one way ticket punched for Hell.

“I need more space.

“The way things’re going on earth, we can’t keep up.  I’ve got a crisis on my hands down there.  You gotta create about 25% more space for me just for the current US government.”


“C’mon, Beelz … you can’t be that close to capacity.  I know it seems a bit out of hand now, but don’t you think Mueller’s gonna make a dent in things?  And we’ve got the midterms coming up.  Give it a little more time.”

“Are you crazy, Old Man?  At the rate Mueller’s going and the GOP’s not going … BTW, I love that baby snatching … Trump’s got some balls don’t he?

“I’m expecting an influx that’ll make border crossings look like a snail parade.

“And these folks are complainers … c’mon.

“Manafort’s already pissy about no sheets for his jail cot … that twerp Pruitt … not to mention that complete A-hole, Corey Lewandowski!

“And I haven’t even gotten to pundits and GOP congressional leaders.

“I really think I’m too old for this shit.”


“Funny you should mention that,” replies God.

“I was just thinking that we might switch you out for some fresh blood … so to speak.

“Someone who’s really despicable … someone like …”

“The 45th President?” interrupts the Devil.

God smiles … “If you’re ready, I think we can snag him.”

The Devil smiles and asks, “How soon?”


Just sayin’ …

Let’s Blame Walt …

The Royal Wedding’s come and gone … and the tabloids already have the Princess pregnant!

In spite of America’s blue collar-ness … lift me up by my own bootstraps-ness … work my way to the top-ness … we seem to have a penchant for believing in princess fairy tales.

And the idea of another American Princess got the crack “Princess Research Team” of Seriously Absurd busy lookin’ for the facts … just the facts!


You might think that American Princesses are rare … but then you’d be wrong.

Prior to Meghan Markel, there have been 11 other real-life-human-American princesses.

We all know about Grace Kelly … but did you know Rita Hayworth was also a “for real princess?”


Thanks to Walt Disney, the creator of the “I’m-A-Fake American-Princess-But-I-May-As-Well-Be-Real” … the total number of “American princesses” is in fact twenty-three.

Walt and his Disney Marketeers brought 11 Disney princesses to life from their celluloid world to reign in the dream world of countless little girls.

His fairytale princesses promoted female stereotypes … they lacked color, ethnic diversity and strength … and were all rescued by their Prince Charming.

Another unintended consequence?  Disney princesses literally did “live happily ever after” … and after.

But the reality is that real princesses often disappoint … plus there’s no guarantee of that “happily ever after” crap.  Our mortal princesses die off … some sooner rather than later.


The Duchess of Sussex, AKA Meghan Markel, is actually America’s 2nd princess of color.

The title of first belongs to “Post-Walt’s” Disney, Tiana, an African-American role model who debuted in 2009 … only 72 short years after Snow White’s American premier in 1937.

So, Black girls aspiring to princess-dom finally have a real-life princess as a role model, the Duchess of Sussex … as well as “The Duchess of Disney,” Tiana.


Though Walt’s campaign to “princess-ize” America remained sparkling white and limited girls to stereotypical roles … the world does and did change.

And fortunately for us, so has Disney’s continued “princess-izing” of American girls.

More recent Disney princesses include women with strong athletic skills, traces of feminism, ethnic diversity (Asian, Black, Native American), and you can add a fierce independence with Princess Merida … the first to not have a “prince” in her life!


Hopefully we can add the British Royal Family to that sea of change … Meghan and Harry definitely plan to leave their stamp on Buckingham Palace.

Now if we could only teach our daughters that real princesses create their own “happily ever afters.”

Just sayin’ …

“High Noon” … a remake?

The Scene …

Manhattan … 5th Avenue … the watches in Tiffany’s, clocks in Bergdorf’s and Abercrombie all read 11:50 AM … approaching twelve P.M.

The “Ballad of High Noon” blasts over speakers strung along the designated block of 5th Avenue.

“Do not forsake me on my darlin’ ….”


Media vans and emergency vehicles line the Avenue … a “yuuge and biggly” crowd sits in makeshift sidewalk grandstands … lottery winners who ponied-up 5G’s to witness.

The press gallery’s jammed with representatives from around the world … only PBS and Telemundo declined.


At one end of 5th, a tall rather orange looking man struts … catching the wind, orangey-blonde-hair-wisps reveal his hidden comb over … squinty eyes peek between face-lifted creases as he stares down his nemesis.

At the other end of the block, a taller, thinner, lanky and relaxed man stands … arms loosely dropped at his side.

His eyes cold and blue … fixed on the pacing bloater … relaxed in the knowledge that he’s been trained in the use of his trusty Glock-9.


“Unfair,” yells L’Orange.  “Unfair.”

Glancing down at his spanking clean oil-glistened NRA issue AR15 clenched in itty-bitty hands, he bellows, “I don’t know how to use this thing!”

“They didn’t teach you how to fire a weapon in your ‘military school?’  Maybe you shoulda signed up for the FBI … weapons training’s mandatory,” says the Lanky One, a trace of a smile on his face as he strides forward … closing the gap between them.

“Also negotiating … required training … wanna try talking your way outta this?  Rudy and Cohen still on your speed dial?

“Lordy … I’d say you’re in a pickle … I’ll let you go first … go ahead.”


L’Orange whips the AR15 to his waist and yanks the trigger.

In 45 seconds 100 rounds of 5.56 NATO hollow points strafe the street … dust, asphalt and cement chunks leap into the air … windows blow out from the stores on 5th Avenue … media vans and emergency vehicles’re riddled … smoking and hissing.

Finger locked on the trigger … L’Orange hears nothing but click-click-click.

As the dust settles two reporters, a TV cameraman, three cable news pundits and sundry GOP ticket holders are victims … just collateral damage.

An unscathed slow moving silent silhouette continues forward.


The crowd’s still …  cameras rolling.

A shot’s chambered with an ominous click of a Glock-9.

Slowly the Lanky One raises his arm … aims and gently rests his finger on the Glock’s trigger … the front of L’Orange’s cammo pants suddenly darken … totally soaked as a round strikes the pavement inches from his combat boots.

The Lanky One smiles … pivots … waves to the crowd and exits …

Just dreamin’ …

She’s Baaaack …

Roseanne’s gone.

But, never underestimate the power of money and greed filling the troughs of media capitalists.   Her critically acclaimed TV series may continue.

ABC got a glimpse of just how marketable Trumpists and Trumpism is in today’s USA … and will not retreat quietly into the Trump Night.

The high octane hate fuel of Trump and his “Believers” means money in ABC’s coffers.

The problem with “Roseanne” the show was … Roseanne, herself.

The crack TV research group at Seriously Absurd discovered ABC’s new approach to keep the spirit of the “Roseanna-dannas” alive … without exposure to Rosanne.


The pitch has been made to ABC execs.  The 300+ person Roseanne troupe’s clued in and they’re openly excited about keeping their jobs.

The idea was not rejected out-of-hand.

SA’s been told that ABC leaders sniff a money stream that can be resurrected.  Though not at the level of shouts … murmurs of “yowza, yowza, yowza” were heard in the executive suites after an initial meet with writers.


Simple plot fix … the problem with “Roseanne” was not the topical nature of the scripts or the dialog carried by the dysfunctional Connor family.

“All we needed to do,” mentioned an exec … on condition of anonymity … “is to get rid of Roseanne.  Everyone loves the family.

“We’ll write her out … opiod overdose … we already introduced that in season one.”

Writers described a funeral scene and subsequent sorrow filled flashbacks of her more acceptable TV widower, John Goodman.  Even her rabid “Nasty Woman” sister could shed a few tears as she eulogized an approachable more humane Roseanne.


“We can appeal to the groups we’ve alienated,” said an overly enthusiastic writer.

“After this ‘Roseanne BS’ blows over, we’ll bring her back … as a ghost … cameo appearances.

“Hell … ABC’s got Whoopi Goldberg under contract.  We’ll get her to play an eccentric psychic … just like her Oscar winning movie role in ‘Ghost.’  She’d be the buffer … a Black, liberal female … the perfect foil with an ally in Rosanne’s sister, Jackie.

“Whoopi could offer Rosanne guidance … you know … make her a softer-gentler version of herself.  Hell, maybe we give Whoopi an occasional soliloquy … kind of a spiritual medium’s “socio-cultural-but-not-too-liberal-soapbox.”


There’s always a way you can capitalize on what’s wrong … and make some money while doing it.  Hmmm … wonder if Sonofi … maker of Ambien … would be a sponsor?

Just sayin’ …

“This just in …”

Now that ‘45 has scuttled the North Korea summit, we at Seriously Absurd international headquarters wonder about the following:

Will the Nobel Peace Prize score card remain at … Trump zero, nada, zilch, a big empty bag of windy threats … Obama one?

Word in DC is that Kim canceled the meeting several days ago … ‘45’s “Dear Kim Letter” is a feeble attempt to save his wrinkly, orange, face-lift-face!

Will Trump Enterprises put the commemorative “non-summit” coin on EBay as a   “yuuge” and “biggly” deal?  A tasteless grand display in the lobby of the Trump International D.C. would work, too.

‘45 claims that any war in Korea … which is now inevitable … will be paid for by Japan and South Korea … they’ll be billed as soon as he collects from Mexico.

Michael Avenatti displayed a new commemorative profile coin of Trump & Stormy!  According to Avenatti, “Finally, the Orange Blob in the White House had a good idea!”

‘45 demands new Nobel category … “Tweet Lit!”  Calls for his immediate nomination … and, to close further names for consideration.

Eric and Junior already in talks with Kim for new Trump Towers in Pyongyang.  For Trump Deplorables … that’s the capital of North Korea.

Did Trump confuse Kim Jong-un with that “other Kim” … Kim Kardashian?

Trump books golf foursome for June 12th in case Kim wants to reschedule … he’s already booked!

What do we do with the 18 dumbest members of the House who nominated our “Grand Diplomat” to the Nobel committee … who now stand with Nobel Egg all over their collective faces?

Where’s Dennis Rodman, the true “Kim Whisperer,” when we need him?  Maybe Rodman should’ve penned that “Dear Kim Letter” … it would’ve been more coherent!

Word in from Norway … there’s a popup street party tonight … wild celebration led by the “Nobel Peacers!”  Trump to be burned … unfortunately in effigy.

Without a summit meeting, ‘45 has plenty of time, between golf outings, to meet with Special Counsel, Robert Mueller.  Rudy’s ecstatic … eyes bulging and crossing more than ever as he paces and chants, “He’ll sit … He’ll sit … Praise the Lord, he’ll sit!”


But wait … Breaking News from the Looney Tunes North Korean leader!

The Trump-Kim Mega Nuclear love fest may be … could be … sorta possibly be on again.  Who knows?

Could the “No Nukes-Yes Nukes” reality show be renewed?

Stay tuned and expect a “You’re Fired!” from either side in the season finale … and hope it doesn’t involve nuclear missiles.

Just sayin’ …

Message for Paul Ryan … “Don’t tug on Superman’s cape!”

I sure am glad GOP Speaker of the House, Paul Ryan’s slinking off to the hills of Wisconsin at the end of his term.  I just wish it were sooner.

In the meantime … here’s a bit of advice, Paul.

As you leave DC before the door hit’s you in the ass … “Don’t Mess Around with Jim” … as it says in Jim Croce’s hit song:

“ …. You don’t tug on Superman’s cape
You don’t spit into the wind
You don’t pull the mask off that old lone ranger
And you don’t mess around with Jim ….”


The House Chaplain’s name is Father Patrick Conroy … not Jim

But for Ryan and the rest of the GOP, it’s the lyrics that contain the message … not the name.

Unless you really know what you’re doin’, you don’t screw with Jesuits … and you sure don’t mess with God.

But that’s apparently what happened when Saint Paul sent his emissary over to “fire” the House Chaplain.


Way to go Paul … I guess you were auditioning for a spot on “45’s” sayonara episode of “White House Reality” by saying “You’re Fired” anyway but in-person.

Technically, Gutless Paul didn’t actually fire the Chaplain … he just asked him to resign based on some cockamamie accusations by the Evangelical Right Wing Tribalists in the House.

The move by Ryan … just months before the end of the Chaplain’s term … created open warfare between the Catholics and the Evangelical Protestants in the House.

We’re lucky that Martin Luther didn’t commit a “Walking Dead” cameo and hammer his “95 Theses” on the House Chamber doors!  You might recall that some folks think that was the beginning of the Protestant Reformation.


But … instead of retiring quietly into the night, the Reverend-Father-High-Holiness Conroy sought advice … which led him to quickly withdraw his letter of forced resignation.

As if we didn’t have enough problems to deal with!

Saint Paul, who earlier tripped over his own “you-know-what,” quickly surrendered and withdrew his request … which may have averted a Holy War!


Who among us even knew the House had a Chaplain?

Who among us knew his only stated duty was to open each session of the House with a prayer?  BTW – that’s only 135 days a year!

Who among us knew his office staff and operating expense costs us almost $800,000 a year … of which $172,500 is his salary?

Who among us knew the cost to the US taxpayer is almost $1700 per prayer?

I want his job!

Just sayin’ …

Trump Receives long awaited “Take Home Exam”

Rudy Giuliani’s joined the “Prison-Orange-Is-The-New-Trump-Orange” … so we gotta keep Trump outta jail crack legal team.

As he prepares for a first date with “I-Don’t-Kiss-And-Tell” Bob Mueller … Rudy’s new organization, “InfoLeaks,” replaces WikiLeaks as the primary source to help formulate ‘45’s legal strategy.

True to Rudy’s role as “The Grand Leaker,” a study guide of possible questions for Trump’s exam date made it into the news this past week.


Even receiving the questions in advance, Vegas odds on Trump’s success haven’t budged … 50-1 that ‘45 will not bother to prepare for this test … 100-1 that he’ll “Fake it” and fail miserably.


Seriously Absurd’s go-to investigative team perused the complete list of proposed questions and quite frankly … we’re terribly disappointed.

So, it’s time to step up to the swamp trough and present our own questions …   questions we’re all dying to have answered.


President Trump …

Free Association:  What in God’s name makes you think you’re going to escape this mess and remain the President of the United States?  We’re just curious …

Twitter Spelling Bee:  What is the difference between “a Special Council and a Special Counsel” … “Roll and role” … “Coverage and covfefe” …  “Unpresidented and unprecedented” … “Lightweight choker and leightweight chocker?”

Relationship with Vlad:  Can you reveal when and where you and Vlad had sex with each other, and whether Attorney Michael Cohen drew up the NDA for Vlad?

Medical Records:  Is Admiral/Doctor Ronnie “Soon-to-be-Unemployable” Jackson eligible for payoffs for his efforts to expunge any references to STD’s or syphilis in your medical records stolen from Dr. Harold “I-am-not-a-Stoner” Bornstein’s office?

More Sex:  Is it true that in a 2017 Cabinet meeting, you asked Steve Bannon, as proclaimed by Anthony Scaramucci, to demonstrate how he could “perform unnatural sex acts on himself?”  Perhaps these photos provided by Stephen Miller might help.

Marital Relations:  Why does Melania slap your hand away when you reach for hers’ in public?

Middle East Multiple Choice:  How many days will it take for the US military to completely destroy Iran now that you’re sure they’ve violated the terrible, deplorable and useless Iran Treaty … (A) 6 days … (B) 0 days – they’ll surrender before the war starts … (C) Forever – Once started, it will never end … (D) All of the above which gives me total latitude to do as I please.

Attorneys:  How sorry are you that you did not hire Michael Avenatti before Stormy Daniels did?

Just sayin’ …

The Fall of the Romaine Empire

I’ve exchanged recent emails with friends … Ha, I have some … about the calamity of our Romaine-E.coli national panic … and the “Fall of the Romaine Empire!”

In those exchanges, it became clear that I’m rather rigid in my expectations of what should be in a salad … some have even called me a “Salad Nazi.”

And, I’ve been forced to admit … I’m way beyond the garden variety “kale hater!”


I’m sure there are worse things to hate … but I find myself now wrought with guilt because kale has done nothing to me.

And … just for the record, I did make what I would call “a valiant attempt” to have a relationship with kale.

I just could not get past the kaleness of kale leaves … and “Pardon me!” … I’m not a “Smoothie-kinda-guy!”

So, these days I find myself searching for substitutes for my beloved Romaine … without having to resort to the dreaded kale.


Let’s be clear about one thing … I insist on a certain level of “crunchiness” to my salad greens.

Ergo, I eschew spinach leafs … whether new born or craggy old adults … and other “limp green leaf varieties” as an insult to my male sensibilities.

I wonder if it has anything to do with the descriptor: “limp.”

So I’ve fallen back on that old standby … crunchy iceberg lettuce … which except for the outer leaves of “the berg,” looks less and less appetizing as you venture into the washed-out-pale-green “heart of the head.”


If not carefully monitored, salads easily become boring.  The next thing you know, you’re secretly glopping store-bought 1000 Island Dressing on your greens.

And, “Yes, Virginia” … there is a place called Thousand Islands … it’s an archipelago of 1864 islands in the upper Saint Lawrence River between the US and Canada.

To offset “Salad-Boredom-Syndrome” … or, SBS … I’m prone to be a leafy green experimenter.

When I buy fresh carrots, beets and radishes, I save and rinse their green leafed  tops to “spice up” my serving of crunchy greens.

They’re a bit bitter … but that’s offset with properly ripened tomato, occasional hearts of palm, and selected olives.

Stuffed olives aren’t just for Martinis!


In addition to absolutely refusing to eat raw kale, no raw mushrooms ever touch my salads.

A word to the wise … with a raw mushroom, you can never ever rinse, wash or scrub enough to erase the fact that it’s grown in s**t.

Just sayin’ …

The HitchBot’s Guide to the USA

I’m 10 years old.  Mom’s looking down at me saying, “Never … never ever hitchhike, Dickie.  There’re bad people out there who will pick you up, torture you, and then kill you.”

From that point … I’ve never stuck my thumb out to bum a ride.

Now my worst fear’s come true.

We have proof positive what happens to hitchhikers in the USA.  Just ask HitchBot …


Enter the Canadians … our seemingly carefree neighbors who gave us the Royal Mounted Police in their bright red coats and dorkie hats … half of Niagara Falls … hockey, ice cold Molson Beer, and Justin Trudeau.

They kept free healthcare for themselves … and still laugh at us.

But they did give us, for a brief period of time … HitchBot … and taught us the dangers of hitchhiking in the USA.


HitchBot … the creation of two slightly bent Canadian university scientists with a streak of moral turpitude … had limited language skills … could answer basic questions with whoever picked it up … a TV screen face … flexible legs and arms … and bunches of other digital crap that “robot-o-sists” know about.  It looked more like a Legoman than a robot.

The scientist team planned to have it hitchhike and create a socio-cultural record of its adventure(s).

And hitchhike it did.


Hitch first journied across Canada … over 10,000 miles in just 26 days … without a “hitch.”

Europe was next and Hitch hitched throughout Germany with a bonus trip to The Netherlands, focused on Amsterdam … lucky Hitch.

A US cross country trip was planned … why not?


Hitch left Boston with stops in several Massachusetts hot spots … then bopped down to The Big Apple where he survived the streets of Manhattan before heading to the “City of Brotherly Love” … Philadelphia.

Love those Philly Fanatics.  The City of Brotherly Love showed just what could happen when attempting to “bum a ride.”

HitchBot abruptly quit transmitting and was ultimately found … dismembered in the gutters of Philly.


Many felt this attack was the result of angry Philadelphia Eagle fans … this happened in 2015 … not 2018, their Super Bowl win year.

Some offered that it was a “Hate Crime” directed at … gulp … Canadians.

Others surmised that it was an “act of patriotism.”  Clearly this makeshift “robot” was just an inferior-digital-Tinker-Toy foisted on America without a valid visa … and, therefore, deserved what it got.


Me?  I think it’s another of those life lessons my mother tried to teach me … one that took only 65 years to learn.

Just sayin …

Michael Cohen … Legal Eagle … Welcome to the Big Time

It’s a legal thriller John Grisham couldn’t write.

Welcome to Trump World … a dystopian fantasy land for all those living in the crowded nightmare of Trump’s never ending criminal investigations.

How lucky do you think “The Mooch” feels?  In-and-out of Trump World so fast he didn’t even get an autographed “You’re Fired” poster!

Thanks to the FBI, the Southern District of Manhattan DA, and Special Counsel, Trump’s personal attorney, Michael “I’m-His-Fixer” Cohen, was visited by the “real-law-and-order-vets” this week … and was “fixed.”


While most of us live in a Technicolor world, Trump’s spent his life living in his own not very creative underworld of lies, deceit, payoffs and cheap gangster movies.

He’s demonstrated at best, his life’s been … and will continue to be cheap B-movie material earning zero Rotten Tomatoes.

Michael Cohen’s finally met real attorneys, law enforcers and a pile of legal shit that he’ll live in for the rest of his life.  His days as Trump’s Fixer are over … kaput … finished.

He’s the sucker, who in those poorly plotted movies, ends up in the trunk of the mobster’s car missing body parts and wearing cement shoes.

Spolier:  Watch Cohen hang from Trump Tower while the Manhattan South DA skillfully flays and then fillets him into choice cuts of defunct and funky smelling Trump Steaks.


Trump knows that Cohen knows where “all the bodies are buried” … and they’re not far from Trump Tower.  To date, Cohen’s tough guy persona has been earned by harassing out-funded and poorly legally represented terrified women.

“Hey Mikie … How do you like facing an “A-Team” of attorneys?

Cohen’s life as the crack attorney for the Trump Crime Family shows that his Five-and-Dime law degree matches his complete lack of intelligence.

A simple enforceable nondisclosure agreement seems to be beyond his capability.


To pay his own legal fees, Cohen’s taking out a third mortgage on his home.

“Hey Mikie … Here’s an idea … Ask Trumpie to pay you what he owes you.”

If you hear anything on the other end of your new burner phone, it’ll be silence … or maybe heavy breathing.

What it won’t be is … “Sure, Mikie.  Give me your bank account number and I’ll transfer funds right away!”

Cohen’s only hope to save his skin is to execute a Greg Louganis “Olympic- Gold-Medal-3-Meter-Dive” … and call it the “Spill-the-Beans-Back-Flip.”

Just sayin’ …