Dallas in July — other than it being just too damned sweltering to continuously endure our Orangutan L’Orange’s latest soul-sucking hijinks every single waking moment of our lives, how much patience do we really still possess for suffering the daily cacophony of this buffoon’s amoral bombast and his shrill, never-ending assaults on plain decency?
For 80 solid years now he has, inexplicably, been flourishing on a devil’s toolkit of eternal lies, grift, sex scandals and self-enrichment at the public trough — only to (hallelujah!) finally be undone by (of all unanticipated tipping points) our Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool?
Nobody predicted this: A shallow, rectangular pond of unkillable algae proving to be the final thread of L’Orange’s public unraveling?
His deplorable legacy’s defining showcase: American-flag blue scum!
Never trust a man who has no sense of humor. L’Orange, like all good brain lesions, manages to consistently destroy more neurons within our collective heads than any street narcotic could ever hope to. More than even family, money or sex — combined!
He is a true tsunami of toxicity. He is fentanyl incarnate!
In a recent Truth Social video post, L’Orange AI-generates himself (again!) into yet another field for which he possesses not a single qualification. This time, he’s a doctor waxing ever more histrionic about TDS (Trump Derangement Syndrome) whilst treating his roster of A-list clientele: Robert De Niro, Julia Roberts, Whoopi Goldberg. (It’s impossible for any mentally-stable human to make this stuff up.)
Originally coined as a roast of George W. Bush by columnist, Charles Krauthammer, Bush Derangement Syndrome (as it was first spoofed) is described as “The acute onset of paranoia in otherwise normal people, in reaction to the policies, the presidency and the very existence of Bush” — a banner that L’Orange subsequently swiped from Dubya and galloped downhill with.
“The symptoms can be relentless,” scowls Trump’s AI-generated avatar, sporting a white lab coat. “Thankfully, I’m Dr. Trump, and I have a treatment plan.”
Wait for it. Da-dum-dumb: “Stop watching the fake news,” Dr. T. advises.
Sweet readers, this kind of batshit ain’t just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill crazy.
You may have seen that our fake-doc president also just unveiled his commemorative, limited-edition American passport design featuring his snarling mug, naturally, along with the inexplicable slogan, “Welcome, but be good.” He calls it “the most patriotic U.S. passport ever.”
Uhm, sorry to break it to you, Prez, but have you ever actually owned a passport, prior to Airforce One idling at your beck and call? U.S. passports, sir, are for our own citizens visiting abroad, not the other way around. So, who are you welcoming, exactly, with your stern warning to be good?
And what the hell is wrong with that flapping McDonald’s piehole of yours? Every day, you vomit forth a stream of sludge against anyone and everyone you perceive to be uncomfortably purgative, bestowing upon them a litany of inappropriate and uncalled for labels: “scum, evil, cuckoo, crazy, retarded,” all plentifully interspersed with variations of “sht, fuk, cu*t” … And on down the sewer you swirl. News agencies say 90 percent of your speeches are laced with vulgarities. A 14K gold toilet installed in an outhouse doesn’t imply what you dump in it won’t stink. Just ask that foxy blonde who carries your diaper bag.
You adorn yourself in foulmouthed coarseness as if it’s priceless bling.
Children look up to you, sir. You’re the president of the United States of America! Even before your first term began, you assured us all, “Just wait, I can be so presidential.”
Well, we’re still waiting. Waiting for years now. When’s it gonna happen?
Sir, you occupy a position of respect envied by all other leaders throughout the world. Act presidential, for once! How classless can you be? I am sickened to my very bone marrow with your eternally reactionary, obscenity-laden, Tourette Syndrome, feces-spewing, Coprolalia-infested, white-trash potty mouth: Mr. President, just zip it . . . the . . . fuck . . . up!
(See what I mean, it ain’t pretty, is it?)
By the way, has it never once entered your head why you’re being given cognitive tests, at the level of preschoolers? You already knew about your onsetting dementia well before even running for a second term. Problem is, you ran anyway. And that doesn’t fly with me. Now, our entire nation is stuck — both with you and the fallout of your vindictive racism.
Where do you get off canceling life-saving HIV medications for an entire continent? For less than one measly dollar per day, U.S.AID was saving untold lives — people with families, friends and futures. You destroyed that. Instantaneously. Nobody sane would ever do such a thing.
Personally, I’m angry we’ve spent millions upon untold millions to save the whooping crane.
I’m totally indifferent that we’ve brought this beautiful fauna back from the brink. The same for right whales, spotted owls and the snail darter. I never previously knew of their existence to begin with. But that doesn’t mean I would have held hostage The Endangered Species Act (which was passed by a Republican, I might add: Richard Milhous Nixon). To the contrary.
And, why? Because I’m sane, you wretched ass!
Minimally, you deserve impeachment — for the third time. Even your MAGA cult is finally grasping they’ve followed the wrong pied piper, as your petty dramatics come home to roost in their Mickey D’s drive-thru bill. Prez, your lemmings aren’t pain pigs, and they’re about ready to revolt.
Pass the word along to Vance, would you? Should your next impeachment again die on the vine, he’s gonna have to rally the troops and invoke the 25th. Yes, we’ve now reached that fork in the road, with your vice-president straddling the difference between our democracy being murdered or placed on life-support.
Mr. President, you have singlehandedly brought us to this. The onus rests solely on you, alone. Our capsized nation can’t endure another thirty months of your greatness tonic.
Triage is the only hope we’ve got. Your malignancy must be expunged in order America survives. Drain The Reflecting Pool, Donnie.
Sir, you must step down. It’s that simple.
Everybody, enjoy the rest of your summer: “Welcome … but be good!”
—Howard Lewis Russell
Oh, lordy, guys! Hazy, crazy August is almost upon us; inevitably, something globally heinous always lifts its hind leg; politically, late summertime always proves “challenging.” Nonetheless, for any of y’all raging MAGA Bolsheviks absolutely determined to reach me, skid marks be damned, here you go: AskHoward@dallasvoice.com.