Archive for June, 2017

Jules is known for his uncanny ability to communicate without words.

Washington is abuzz with the announcement White House press secretary Sean Spicer will be stepping aside and mime “Jules” will be replacing him.

“Sean did a great job,” White House spokesman, Andy Lomack told The Lint Screen. “He will be sorely missed, but we think he can serve better serve this administration by scrubbing the fleet of Presidential vehicles. With Summer heating up, the number of bugs smashed into the windshields and grills of cars and SUVs is absolutely incredible. But we’re sure Sean’s the man to get the vehicles looking like new. Spicey just needs to apply some good old-fashioned elbow grease and American know-how!”

Lomack had little to say about Jules and his background or qualifications. “The President speaks for himself through Twitter, and the role of press secretary is pretty much for show only. Nonetheless, we’re confident Jules will do a great job!”

Jules then came to the podium and pantomimed a man trying to walk into a severe wind. The amused press corp gave polite applause.

Then, Jules pretended to be trapped in a small box. Was this a metaphor for the mime assuming a no-win position as press secretary, or, was it a sly statement on Jared Kushner’s effort to achieve peace in the Mideast?

Finally, the mime pretended to pull a rope. His arms strained visibly as he tugged and tugged. Was this a comment on the United States striving as it goes it alone in world affairs?

The press corps gave the quiet man a standing ovation and cheered.

One thing is certain, White House press conferences will be more informative and entertaining with Jules.

An early draft of Comey’s Valentine’s Day dinner with Trump shows the ex-top copper has true writing talent.

In a blockbuster exclusive, The Lint Screen has obtained some notes from the first draft of former FBI Director James Comey’s written testimony. It follows

“It was a dark and stormy night. Dark as ink in a windowless closet, wet as a drunk underwater. The President invited me to dinner. He said he wanted to invite my whole family, but he thought there might not be enough ice cream to go around. ‘Screw them,’ he said. ‘Come solo.’

I walked into the Green Room where a small table was set for our satiating needs. Hunger is like a hunger that eats us from within. Delicious irony, how I love thee!

At the table, there were two seats. The lights had been dimmed and four candles illuminated the room warmly. I recalled it was February 14, Valentine’s Day. The President asked me to sit. He winked and pulled my chair out for me.

I sat. He sat. Curious behavior. Obviously, he was mirroring my actions. Why?!!! Immediately, the appetizer was served. Unfortunately, it was not loaded potato skins–– Lordy, how I love me some loaded potato skins, they’re so yummy!

Alas, no skins, it was soup. Soup in a bowl, a bowl round in shape.

The President did not use his eating utensils. He shoveled soup into his mouth with his hand and asked me to pass the bread. I did. I wondered if the butter had been softened. It had not!

Hard butter, a problem.

He asked me if the FBI was investigating Michael Flynn. I said, yes, we are. He said, ‘Flynn is a good guy. Spectacular man. Tremendous talent.’ Then he cupped his soup hand to his mouth and whispered, ‘I hope you can let the investigation go. Look the other way. Take a dive. Forgettaboutit, capiche?’

I said nothing. He said nothing. It was quiet, no talking–– like a mute parrot. The silence enveloped us like a sheet of soft silk over an anvil. It was soft, yet hard.

‘You know,’ he whispered, as he touched my hand with his wet soup-eating hand, ‘I admire you, Jim. I crave your loyalty and I expect it. I need your loyalty, Jimbo. I need it so bad. I’ll give you an extra scoop of ice cream for your undying loyalty.’

I said, Mr. President, I can give you honesty. He said, ‘Honesty’s nice, but loyalty’s nicer.’

I said you will always have my honesty.

‘Screw honesty,’ he bellowed, as his soup fist slammed the table. ‘I’m the boss, and I demand your loyalty!’

I was quiet–– quiet as a church mouse with laryngitis.

I stared at him. He stared at me. We locked eyes for the next 48-minutes. Neither of us blinked. Four eyeballs in a shoving match in which none would yield.

Optic nerves with nerves of steel.

Finally, Mike Pence entered the room. The Vice President was dressed in cowboy pajamas and announced that Hannity was on TV. The President rose and dismissed me. Skeedaddle, he said.

I left. Hungry.

On my ride home, I wondered if the butter had softened. Lordy, how I hate hard butter.”