Written by KRS

Friday, 7 September 2018

Hey!

The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

If you wish to back out now, please click here to go back to the home page.

image for The Hunt for "Deep Thought" A Swine and His Dog

This morning before dawn, the doorbell at my home chimed. When I stumbled to the door, no one was there, but an envelope was laying against my door.

I took it into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee before opening it, but curiosity reigned supreme. Inside I found the document inserted below on White House letterhead stationery, emblazoned with a watermark spelling out “CONFIDENTIAL” obliquely across each page.

I leave each reader to make up his or her mind regarding the authenticity of the transcript, but I must highlight I was given a phone number to call to verify the legitimacy of the transcript.

I called the number, a New Yorker answered the phone and asked my name. I asked why I was given the phone number and I was told I either had to give my name or the party on the other end would hang up and discard the “throw-away” phone.

I gave my name and the editor identified himself, gave me a set of code words and said the transcript I received was genuine.

As further proof, I was to call the NY Times and ask for Paul Krugman and when he picked up my call, I was to just repeat the code words, “Deep Thoughts.”

I did as directed and after repeating the code words, Paul Krugman told me the transcript was genuine and the source was credible and worked in the West Wing.


The Hunt for “Deep Thought”
White House Transcript


Setting: Oval Office,The White House Washington D.C. Sept.5th, 2018
Participants: Donald Trump, his secretary, and Vladimir Putin


TRUMP: Rosemary, get Cambridge Analytica in here to install a Moscow Hotline App on my phone – I’m tired of having to come down to the Oval Office at all hours in the morning to talk to Vlady.

SECRETARY: Sir, my name isn’t Rosemary – Rosemary Woods died years ago.

TRUMP: Whatever; Rosemary, Stormy, Marla… I don’t give a shit – just do it.

SECRETARY: Sir, Cambridge Analytica is no longer in business. Its former CEO Alexander Nix is under indictment in Great Britain and its former Vice-President, Steve Bannon was fired by you last year, so you probably shouldn’t be speaking to them. Plus the Moscow hotline is an encrypted and scrambled communication line and no App exists.

TRUMP: Goddammit, just get Vlady on the fucking phone, then John Gotti, Gordon Liddy, my great-great uncle Josef Mengele, and Eric Prince. I need a few chores taken care of.

SECRETARY: Yessir, but John Gotti, G. Gordon Liddy and Dr. Mengele are not available – they’re dead.

TRUMP: Dammit, I don’t have to take lip from a god damn flat chested, menopausal secretary making less than $100 K/year! When I told Roy Cohn to get something done, it got done without a fucking word!

SECRETARY: Sir, Vladimir Putin is on hold – he called in before you summoned me and is waiting to speak to you.

TRUMP: Shit, that was fast – how did you know? (Picking up the red phone). Vlady, Agent Orange here, your No. 1 borrower calling from La Casa Blanca. I have a problem that I need some help with.

PUTIN: I know dipstick – I called you. Which problem Herr Drumpf, there are so many. You want me to dust Mueller or take him to tea? Maybe arrange for Mikey Cohen to accidentally fall out of a high-rise window? Send Sessions back to the Emerald City? Swoosh Omarosa over to human traffickers in Morova – they pay in cash! Put an ice pick in Michael Avenatti’s ear? Need Woodward to fall off a subway platform? Man, you really do need to drain your swamp – you’re up to your ass in kraut eating alligators! You know you still owe me for the hacked emails and neutralizing the FBI pests.

TRUMP: Thanks Vlady. I’m sending you some steaks, but it’s simpler than all that. Right now, I just want the head of the ratfink in the West Wing, going by the name “Anonymous,” but it must be neat and clean. No scars lost body parts or casts. I’ll text you later.

PUTIN: First Herr Drumpf, you’re tardy on your most recent billing. Second, “Anonymous” is not one person – it is a composite of five different people collaborating on the editorial. Also, I keep telling you texting is not secure – use the big red phone on the right side of your desk, with the masking tape label in Marks-A-Lot that spells “Vlady.” Or just speak up clearly wherever you are – I’ll get the readout in seconds. Later, Herr Dude.

TRUMP: Vlady, I appreciate the great service and a wire transfer from Wilbur Ross’s bank in Cyprus is in the works. CRAP, five freak accidents is gonna be a problem. I am up to my neck in coincidences. Let me think about this for an hour or so, but off the top of my head, could you put a great white shark in Avenatti’s bathtub? A few more small requests while you’re on the line. Can you find Carmen Sandiego for me and get the recipe for the Jack-in-the-Box secret sauce… I can’t get enough of that shit. I owe you man. Need a condo for the weekend that comes with a really hot blond with big tits and will blow your brains out for seventy-two hours? David Pecker has an unbelievable black book and if he ever loses his day job at the National Enquirer, he can probably make more money as a pimp. But what kind of schmuck keeps a name like Pecker? Porn star, maybe. I used to know Johnny Wad, but his real name was Hieronymus Schmidlapp and his “hands” were bigger than mine. I called him “Hero.” One last thing; for a few extra boxes of steaks and a case of my world-class wine, could you clear out that squealer Pecker’s safe for me?

PUTIN: Herr Drumpf, don’t you remember the stuff I showed you in Helsinki? By the way, pecker means schmuck, schmuck! We cleaned out Pecker’s safe years ago, leaving him excellent copies, but I have the originals, which I showed you. I like his style though – he’s a better blackmailer than a capo in the Bonanno family or many of my subordinates in the GRU. He could teach some of my oligarch friends the high art of extortion. Make the steaks New York strips, but you can keep your swill – it tastes like Yak urine. Who buys that crap? I rejected drowning Litvinenko in that piss as being inhumane. As compensation, I will accept a night with Ivanka at my dacha and if Jared has any complaints, just say to him “666.” If that doesn’t silence him, we can go behind some woodshed and discuss it. Lastly, never forget who works for who!

THE WIRED STREET URINAL
REPORTER: KR Schwartz
DATELINE: September 6th, 2018

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

If you fancy trying your hand at comedy spoof news writing, click here to join!
More by this writer
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story
View Story



Go to top
49 readers are online right now!
Globey, The Spoof's mascot

We use cookies to give you the best experience, this includes cookies from third party websites and advertisers.

Continue ? Find out more