Hey, Mike Pence, Here’s My Schedule

The feds are keeping tabs on the press, so I’m volunteering my daily itinerary.

It was recently revealed that the Department of Homeland Security is compiling a database of professional journalists and “top media influencers” so the department can monitor what the journalists are putting out to the public.

Without vast frivolous ruckus involved, my name could quietly be muttered as a “professional journalist” in certain Houston venues that serve alcohol. And you, my dear friend, are certainly a “top media influencer.”

Luckily, through the miracle of modern WikiLeaks and Congressvarmint Trey Gowdy, purveyor of lavish gossip and hearsay, I have discovered that it would be far easier and cheaper if we media moguls just sent our daily itineraries to vice president Mike Pence for his pleasurable bedtime reading. Lord knows that man needs some pleasure, especially at bedtime. Anybody who calls his lover “Mother” is either having a really great kinky time in bed, or no time at all. I’m going with the Nope option.

So, being a plucky American and always wanting to help, here is my daily media schedule for tomorrow, which Vice President Pence will surely want to send to the Department of Homeland Security:

• Spend two hours trying the decide what to order from DoorDash. Research the theory that all the food comes from a Cisco truck stuck in traffic on 610 near a Styrofoam plant in Pasadena.

• Check my Walmart receipt to make sure that a Fully Automated Luscious Russian Communism surcharge isn’t on it.

• Call up random members of the Houston architect’s society and ask them what they are doing. Try to write it down without overusing the phrase “not much.” (I will report a mini-scoop from hip inside-the-loop architects: wide is out and tall is in. If you can’t do a parachute jump from the roof of your one-bedroom condo, you ain’t upscale-living inside the loop.)

• Visit Numbers nightclub. Try to figure out what the hell these people are doing besides not-damn-voting.

• Make up ratings and reviews for restaurants in the Heights. Call them all “Houston’s best-kept secret.”

• Check my Walmart receipt to make sure that a Fully Automated Luscious Russian Communism surcharge isn’t on it.

• Fantasize about what Rachel Maddow is wearing under her desk. Okay, it’s jeans. She’s wearing jeans. So there goes 15 to 20 seconds of my life, wasted on unfulfilled dreams.

• Look for even more evidence to prove the theory that the only reason we don’t throw Donald Trump in the Potomac is that we’d have to skim off the nasty for a month.

• Research the possibility that whatever school gave Greg Abbott a law degree could legally be declared an Arby’s.

• Can’t we scientifically classify Sean Hannity as a pompous ass, be done with it, and move on with our lives without assuming he plays in the Homosapien league? Hell, we could have a ceremony and everything.

• Call the supply company in Austin and inform them that if I ordered a trainload of sumbitches and they only delivered lieutenant governor Dan Patrick to my door, I’d accept it as a full shipment.

Be well, my friends, and I wish you good luck this month trying to decide if Mother Nature is trying to steam or parboil us.

And, never forget the difference between left-wing and right-wing rage: Right-wing rage gave us the KKK. Left-wing rage gave us the weekend.

This article appears in the August 2018 edition of OutSmart magazine. 


Susan Bankston

Susan Bankston lives in Richmond, Texas, where she writes about her hairdresser at The World’s Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc., at
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