“Number one, I am the least anti-Semitic person that you’ve ever seen in your entire life,” Donald mumbled.
He sprinkled another spoonful of crushed Viagra over his cereal and watched the blue specks float in the milky lagoons between archipelagos of deep-fried bran flakes.
“Number two, racism, the least racist person,” he said. He stared at his spoon.
“Did you say sometink, Douh-nuld?” his wife asked.
“Donald. Don. Ald. Ald. You’ve been in the fucking country long enough to learn American,” he spat. He slammed his spoon down into the greasy mess in his bowl and it splattered all over.
Melania backhanded his glass of orange juice to the floor and stomped away from the table.
“THIS IS LIKE SWEDEN ALL OVER AGAIN!” he screamed after her.
“Menopause is going to be rough around here,” the hat said. He was perched on a small hothouse watermelon.
Donald threw his cereal bowl and spoon into the orange juice soaking into the carpet.
“Call the concierge and have that cleaned up,” he said to a Secret Service agent in the corner. The man made the barest of nods.
Donald snatched his hat and hair off the dining room table and stalked off.
“Least racist, dammit. I’m the least racist person that has ever lived,” he grumble, fumbling for his phone, ready to Twitter. He jammed the hat and then the hair onto his head to free his hands and lurched blindly through the halls trying to find The Oval Office.
“An Executive Order declaring myself the least racist person to have ever lived will do it,” he muttered, working the keys of his Blackberry. “Let’s see Suck and Fuck Schumer try and overturn that. Judgment proof! Easy D!”
As the bizarre figure in the bewigged hat shuffled past offices, the shadowy minions of THE DEEP STATE took note. Some even snapped surreptitious pictures, filing them away for the next counter-offensive.
A few even felt sad for the addled old clown as he yelled “Winter White House!” to no one in particular.
Holy shit. SugarFree is writing the ARTICLES here?!?!
Sugarfree IS the articles here!
It’s the end of the world as we know it…
This is what true freedom looks like.
Maybe the Commies were right.
I am glad that the hat is a recurring figure in the story of this administration.
I’m liking the addition of the Deep State. Bravo.
I am shivering in anticipation of the next installment.
Or is that shudder?
Quiver or Frisson?
Or more of a squirming sensation?
I’m kind of imagining a cross between the Morghul and the Rats of NYMH.
Or Skaven. They could be Skaven.
That SugarFree stories are now articles makes this site entirely worth it.
Now if y’all could recruit Agile Cyborg over here and let him write articles, I’d start making my yearly Reason Webathon donation to this place instead.
We tried to contact Agile Cyborg’s representatives and all they replied with is a gif of Lena Dunham playing ping pong in granny panties. We aren’t sure what it means, but we are afraid.
Please tell me it wasn’t Thailand ping pong she was playing with the panties on her head. That’s what I envisioned and wished I hadn’t. [shivers]
Obviously Crusty is intercepting his communications.
If that Crusty 2 is the original Crusty he turned really mean
You know the internal struggle he faces, brother. Two palms are outstretched before him, but he can’t make a decision.
Lobby the Trump administration to make AC the Poet Laureate.
They might have to skip some of the background-check stuff. Like drug tests.
He would the the best addition to the late night posts on this site. Cause thats the only time it makes sense, and thats when the aliens transmit their daily report to Zarkon.
Though I’m not sure the Poet Laureate position is drug-tested.
Robert Frost smoked more dope than Bob Marley.
And Robert Penn Warren was also the official taste tester of the Jack Daniels company.
(Source: Don’t badger me about my sources, man!)
How about JATNAS’s daily Just a Thought?
Numbered, of course.
He’s curled up in the fetal position trying to figure out whether to restart the numbering sequence here, or continue it from TSWSNBN.
??????
only if Seth MacFarlane reads them in the style of Peter Griffin’s regular TV Spot “You Know What Grinds My Gears?”.
Agile Cyborg’s latest posts on TSTSNBN, while still trippy as Hell, are gaining structure and refinement. I’d bet that he is preparing to make the leap here as a contributor.
Or the posts have gained sentience and are evolving in pursuit of some horrific scheme.
Hey! You’re holding back, SF. Why is my breakfast still in me?
If I always give you want you want, you’ll get bored and leave.
It’s like DIET Sugar Free. GET IT?? ??????
There definitely is notable lack of fuck swings and moobs with cleavage so deep that you need pitons and rope to get out of should you manage to fall in.
Have some patience. SF is an artist. He is clearly building tension, which will surely climax with something truly horrific.
Hey! You’re holding back, SF. Why is my breakfast still in me?
You clearly haven’t read all the comments in this thread yet.
/continues to wipe at film of vomit on monitor
I see the Deep State having it’s own spin off. Once again Sugarfree, you enthrall and horrify us. Thanks.
My God! So simple, so brilliant! SF for Chief of Staff!
Wow, Mike M. was Donald all this time?! Mind blown!
Wow, Mike M. was Donald all this time?!
It would explain a great number of things.
Come on, that’s not near enough shitty punnery for Mike M. I’d be something more like Fuck Bloomer or something.
When will The Donald call Janet Yellin into his private office for a heart-to-heart?
I don’t know, there’s something about openly publishing Sugarfree stories as articles that make them less transgressive. It takes some of the fun away.
What happened to you man? You sold out.
I became part of the machine.
Or, as they said back in the day when Big Media was recruiting from the blogosphere, you “took the Boeing”.
With SugarFree subsidies and trade protectionism it was bound to happen sooner or later.
Even when I knew it was coming it’s still traumatic. Great job, SF.
Beautiful *wipes tear from eye*
The Deep State is a great addition.
He has carpeting in his kitchen! What a monster
Your writing is the way I sort out who my friends are.
That’s . . . . ambiguous.