Leaked Excerpt from the Working Screenplay of the Steve Bannon Reboot of The Ten Commandments


And finally, thou shalt not covet. Write this down. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's house. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife, or his male or female servant—"


One sec. A point of clarification if you will.




When you say covet . . . .

MOSES reads from his tablet.


When you say, and I quote, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife," specifically, my question is, is it OK if we just grab her by the pussy?


That's a great question. I'm glad thou asked. Yes, yes, it's OK if thou grabbest thy neighbor's wife by the pussy, thou can even go so far as to move on thy neighbor's wife like a bitch, as long as thou dost not covet her.




Shall I continue?


More like cuntinue am I right?!


A Villanelle for Day-Drinkers

Do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.
Corn syrup can’t fizz your troubles away.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

Next to a yapper on a twelve-hour flight?
When you get bumped by the beverage tray,
do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.

Suffering Bears fans whose team is a blight
do not despair over games in Green Bay.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

Good parents whose babies fight sleep all night
hit hard stuff like whiskey at breakfast; they
do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.

Your job’s a prison, your boss a smug shite?
Know, as you plot how to get through the day,
day drinking sets all your troubles aright.

Go get a real drink, just not one that’s lite.
Fuck what your neighbors or in-laws might say.
Do not settle for a Pepsi or Sprite.
Day drinking sets all your problems aright.

May 19, 2017: Shadow Trumpers and AFATS: A Serious Problem

"The news couldn't get more depressing,"
she said as she started undressing.
"The MSM
's unfair to him!"
And Emily* started redressing.

*Emily (not her real name) canceled her Tinder account in the taxi (that's right, a taxi, a taxi not an Uber because "Emily's" not a fucking tool) on the way home. The next day she met a man, an actual man, in real life, at a bookstore (not Barnes & Noble or one of those fucking Amazon monstrosities but a real fucking bookstore), and they soon fell in love. Due to her near-fuck with a Trump supporter she was unable to engage in physical love with her new boyfriend for nearly eight months. She tried, Lord knows she tried, but as soon as she started to undress she'd be racked with stomach cramps and overcome with nausea and rage. Her doctor informed her she suffered from AFATS, or Almost Fucked A Trumper Syndrome. AFATS is a serious condition affecting hundreds, possibly thousands depending on how drunk they were, men and women across the globe. Emily was lucky. Through hard work, intense therapy, and the support of her family and friends she was able to overcome her Trumper-induced aversion to sex. She also became involved in the movement to require so-called Shadow Trumpers to make their affiliations known before pursuing potential romantic relationships and is rightfully regarded as a hero. Morality, if not always the law, demands that people who have HIV/AIDS disclose their status to potential sexual partners; the same holds true for those suffering from Trumpism.

April 21, 2017: In Honor of Earth Day, A Serious Dialogue Between Sarah Palin and Donald Trump

"The Earth is now fucked, that's for certain."
"It's ourselves we really are hurtin'."
"Let's just ignore
it and argue more
'bout which of has the oranger tan."

Note on pronunciation: you have to put a lot of emphasis on the last syllable of "oranger" and almost elide the middle syllable to get this one to sound right.

A note on who's talking: it doesn't matter which one of them says which lines.

Author's note: even I'm getting tired of the spraytan jokes. On the other hand, Trump can go suck a colostomy bag like it's one of those fucking applesauce pouches my children are so crazy about.


If you want to know what's wrong with American society, consider the following incident. Seven or eight years ago I heard a crash and a man crying "My leg! My leg." I looked out the window of my second-floor apartment and saw that a man had been hit by a car. I ran downstairs, while my wife called the police. The driver and a hipster whose hacky sack game had been interrupted were, when I arrived, trying to convince the man, whose leg had been knocked off in the collision, not to call the police. The leg was fake. (I fictionalized this incident, taking what details would work for me and inventing new ones, in a short story called "One Man's Trailer Trash," which you can read if you want to take your mind off what's wrong with American society, but it won't work, it will just make you feel worse.) The man had been riding his bicycle on the sidewalk, and the car had come out of the alley without honking. The driver said to the cyclist, who was trying to strap his leg back on, that riding on the sidewalk was illegal and the police would probably give him a ticket. I said, "You hit him with your fucking car." The hipster said, "OK, no one needs to be an asshole." I said, "Fuck off," which he did, back to his hacky sack game.

Is the problem that we don't have enough people who are willing to stand up for legless cyclists? Is the problem hipster diplomacy? Is it that people pull out of alleys without honking? The problem is that if you're poor, you're not shit. If you have one leg and you ride a bike because you don't have enough money for a car and you look a little homeless, you're not shit, and when you get hit by a careless driver it's going to be your fault. The problem is that even with me on his side the cyclist was convinced the police would give him a ticket, so he put his leg back on and rode away, and the driver got back in his car and drove away, not too far, though, because remember my wife had called the police and describe the car. It's not like he went to jail or anything; one of the only hit-and-run incidents in which the police actually catch the driver and the victim is gone. I probably should have ran up to the car and told the officer everything I saw, although I didn't actually see the collision, instead of laughing.

That's the problem, and I don't know how to solve it other than by saying "Fuck off" to most of the people I meet, which I know doesn't help.