Hot Trailer Park Sex in the White House!

Last spring, President Trump welcomed to the White House three of his most avid celebrity supporters, the alleged musician Ted Nugent, former Alaska governor Sarah Palin, and trailer trash icon Kid Rock. The three posed mockingly in front of a portrait of Secretary Hillary Clinton, the corrupt liberal monster Mr. Trump had vanquished some months before, but not yet locked up. Mr. Trump then showed them one of the very important documents he is required to pretend each day to have skimmed. Mr. Trump, who rarely compliments other men on their wives or girlfriends for fear of their thinking themselves superior to him, told Mr. Rock, “I’d have hit that, like a bitch,” referring to Mr. Rock’s short-term spouse Pamela Anderson. Most observers assumed that after lunch — two Big Macs, a Filet-o-Fish, fries, and a chocolate malt for the president, moose moussaka for Gov. Palin, venison tartare for Mr. Nugent, and beef jerky and a quart of Olde English 800 for Mr. Rock — the famous threesome let Mr. Trump get back to the important business of restoring America’s greatness, but Mendel Illness has now learned differently. 

Mr. Trump displays his important documents.

It's widely known that the White House has a number of guest bedrooms named after such presidents as Abraham Lincoln, Gaylord Perry, and Ronald Reagan, but until now only a few insiders have been aware of the existence of two erotic playrooms in which the president is able to “let off steam” after an exhausting morning of declining to read very important documents and being rimmed by Vice President Pence. 

The older of the playrooms, apparently installed by President Chester A. Arthur during his brief, undistinguished presidency late in the 19th century, is named after the Marquis de Sade. The newer, a condition of Laura Bush not leaving husband George W. after he invaded Iraq, was originally known as The Naughty Room, but Karen (Mother) Pence has renamed it The 50 Shades of Gray Room. Both facilities are equipped with big Costco-sized jars of lubricant, handcuffs, rope, riding crops, vibrators of every conceivable size and shape (all manufactured in America, course), and showers. The de Sade, the “heavier duty” of the two, also has a selection of violet wands, which President Nixon is understood to have enjoyed Secretary of State Kissinger's using on him in the stress-filled days before his resignation. 

President Trump’s three celebrity visitors opted for the de Sade, Gov. Palin’s understanding being that the prose in 50 Shades of Gray was dismal, and its theme ungodly, and seemed to believe that the de Sade had been named after the Nigerian British jazz-ish singer to whose Diamond Life album Gov. Palin and future husband Todd had enjoyed “making out” back when Gov. Palin was one of the University of Idado’s hottest airheads. President Trump told Mssrs. Nugent and Rock that he could have a carload of underaged poontang, to use the Nugentian locution, delivered within the hour, but it turned out that the two putative musicians could hardly wait to get their hands on Gov. Palin. 

President Trump is commonly likened to the fictional hero of the book and movie Being There, Chance the Gardener, and, sure enough, asked his guests if they’d mind his watching them “party” through the Vice President Dan Quayle Peephole. “Dude,” Mr. Nugent is reported to have chuckled, “your house, your rules!” He and Mr. Rock then spit-roasted Gov. Palin at some length while Mr. Trump groped Mr. Nugent’s young wife Shemane Deziel — whose name suggests transgenderedness — Gov. Palin’s lovely imbecile daughter Willow, and Mr. Rock’s brunette fiancee, whose name no one caught. The younger, even lovelier, Palin had only weeks before emerged from a Twitter shitstorm after her handsome older brother Track was arrested for kicking the bejesus out of handsome father Todd, and I once amused the late Creem writer and wit J. Kordosh by bemoaning the Palins not having twin boys named Trig and Calculus. 

While living in Los Angeles in 2013, I briefly conspired to start a country band to be called The Violet Wanderers, and composed, as its debut single, a Loretta Lynn-styled lament called “(I Can Taste) Her Pussy On Your Cock”, the demo of which I’ll be pleased to send those who provide their email addresses.