Name Your Cut

The president serves up another slice of stupid.


Hey, Train Wreck! This Isn’t Your Station.

Donald Trump found himself in church in Ala-damn-bama after some storms came through that did more damage than a hurricane with three eyes. For the sake of dignity (and maintaining America’s place among first-world nations), they did not let him throw paper towels at these disaster victims.

But they did let him autograph Bibles. You know, the Word of God. He signed them. It was like breaking the seal on a brand-new giant industrial-sized 55-gallon drum of nope.

Trump signing Bibles is like John Wayne Gacy signing Boy Scout manuals, or Jack the Ripper doing an infomercial for cutlery.

The first Bible went up for sale on Ebay the next morning. I imagine that God is pissed he’s not getting his 10 percent agent’s fee. 

Old White Baptist Ladies Who Want to Hurt You

Vice president Mike Pence has a wife named Karen, who is an art teacher. The private school where she teaches art has up-and-decided to ban all gay students and parents. The name of the school is Immanuel Christian School, and I think we should be able to sue them for false advertising because Christians are supposed to follow the teachings of Jesus. (Spoiler alert: They ain’t doin’ that, Honey.) 

I think there are some things that should be banned from school, but I don’t think people ought to be one of them. So I came up with a short list of things that should be banned at Karen Pence’s school, instead of gay people. For example:

  All those Trump-autographed Bibles that Karen stole from hotel rooms.

• Kinky heterosexual marriages where the female wants the male to refer to her as “Mother” in front of other people.

• Those shoes. Where the hell does she get those shoes?

• Her homegrown collection of tarnished halos.

• Piped-in Muzak from Joan Jett.

• Poledancing classes in the gym.

• Naming your football team the Tawdry Cougars.

• Stop making every Friday “Jimmy Swaggart Shirt Fridays.” Replace it with “Guava Lamp Thursdays.”

Save the Words!  

Donald Trump can never admit he’s made a mistake, no matter how small. He was holding a panel discussion on the teevee, and accidentally referred to Apple CEO Tim Cook as Tim Apple.

Simple mistake. The kind of mistake that most of us make every day. No big deal. If we had said it, we’d make a joke about it and say something like, “Sorry, my tang got tumbled up.” All in all, it was an amusing brain fart.

The next morning, Trump carefully explained that he actually said “Tim Cook, of Apple,” but he enunciated the “Cook, of” very quietly and the microphone didn’t pick it up. No, he’s wrong. It’s obvious from the teevee recording that that didn’t happen. But Trump can’t leave it alone. He cannot admit that his tongue slipped a gear.

People kept making fun of it because the excuse was funnier than the mistake. One of the people making fun of it includes Tim Cook, who changed his Twitter handle from @tim_cook to @Tim followed by the Apple symbol.

Trump then decided he needed an even better explanation. So he waited a couple of days, and then unholstered his Twitter finger to explain it even better. Way better:

“At a recent round table meeting of business executives, & long after formally introducing Tim Cook of Apple, I quickly referred to Tim + Apple as Tim/Apple as an easy way to save time & words. The Fake News was disparagingly all over this, & it became yet another bad Trump story!”

Thank you, Donald Trump, for saving all of those words. America was damn close to running out of them.

Just the week before, Trump had given a two-and-a-half-hour CPAC speech, and came close to making words an endangered species. 

And because we are helpful, kind, and charming people, we will participate in Trump’s quest to save words: from now on, we will all refer to the president as Donald Collusion.

You’re very welcome.

 It’s April. There better be some damn flowers pretty soon. Yes, crepe myrtles, I’m looking at you. 

This article appears in the April 2019 edition of OutSmart magazine. 


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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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