Many people are saying Trump choked to death on a hot dog yesterday

Ever since God — or someone; who knows? — called Mike Pence home when he was supposed to be flying to New Hampshire to give a talk on opioids yesterday, speculation has run rampant about what really happened.

And, yes, I know that lede has a double meaning — making it sound like Pence was scheduled to give a talk “about opioids” and also give a talk “while on opioids.” But both can be true, right? Honestly, though, why would Pence give an opioid talk. It’s way too ironic, even for this administration. The dude is opioids, FFS.

But that’s not the point of this diary.

Donald Trump is dead … I heard.

I’m hearing.

People are saying.

Many, many people.

So here’s what happened: Tomorrow’s big reveal was supposed to be that the federal government was commandeering the annual July 4 Nathan’s Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest and moving it to the National Mall as a fitting warmup for Trump’s Super Blowout Independence Day celebration. Because this is America, goddamn it.

And Trump was going to be the headliner. But while practicing yesterday, he choked to death on a footlong.

That’s what I’m hearing, anyway.

Something is going on … I don’t know what.

I mean, the guy hadn’t been seen for a while and was tweeting like a near-facsimile of a normal person last night, so what are we supposed to think? It’s not like we ever get straight answers out of these people.

Now, lots of people are speculating that the administration is going to try to pull off a Weekend at Bernie’s scenario. Sure, I guess … but the the past two and a half years have been a Weekend at Bernie’s scenario — in that we’ve all been pretending we have a real live human being in the White House instead of a giant, supernaturally animated smegma golem.

But I don’t think they’ll go the Bernie route. They’ll have an imposter, and he’ll be at tomorrow’s Salute to Trump festivities, even as the pr*sident’s purpling corpse lies mouldering in an industrial formaldehyde barrel somewhere inside the deep, labyrinthine network of catacombs underneath Area 51.

All they really have to do is slap Oscar Mayer pimiento loaf slices on Gary Busey’s face and stuff cheeseburgers in the pockets of his suit coat until he’s indistinguishable from Trump. Easy-peasy. In fact, they could coast along like that for another year and a half without ever telling anyone Trump is dead.

Which he is.

I heard.

So enjoy your Fourth of July knowing that Trump is dead and Pimiento Loaf Gary Busey is now president. It’s a huge step up, believe me.

And sorry, Vice President Pence. False alarm. Your services are no longer needed. You can go back to your regularly scheduled opioid party.




Is Trump still singeing your sphincter? Dear F*cking Lunatic: 101 Obscenely Rude Letters to Donald Trump and its breathlessly awaited sequel Dear F*cking Moron: 101 More Letters to Donald Trump by Aldous J. Pennyfarthing are the salve you need! Reviewers have called these books “hysterically funny,” “cathartic,” and “laugh-out-loud” comic relief. And you can get them for less than the price of a cup of coffee … or a black-market Xanax … or five minutes of therapy. It’s time to heal, my friends. Buy now!

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