Tag Archives: Donald Trump

Donald Trump Tweets Reviews of Classic Christmas Movies

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‘Tis the season for unreason! For better or worse, our new President-Elect is not shy about sharing his opinions on Twitter, whether he’s bashing Alec Baldwin’s “sad” impression on SNL or recommending that flag-burners should go to jail. That’s all good and well, but what we Americans are really looking for are some solid recommendations for Christmas flicks. After all, this is very likely the last Christmas ever.

Accordingly, we at The Danopticon dug into the Trump Twitter vault to scrounge up some previously unpublished movie reviews. Will Trump fire your holiday favorite, or will he declare it to be the very best? Take a look:

It’s a Wonderful Life

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A Christmas Story

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Christmas Vacation

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The Santa Clause

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How the Grinch Stole Christmas

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Frosty the Snowman

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Thanks for reading, and have a bigly merry Christmas!

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Ted Cruz Tries to Spin His Sex Scandal

U.S. Senator Cruz speaks to members of the Texas Federation of Republican Women in San Antonio, Texas

Hello again, America. Although my mission to become the next Republican President is going peachy keen, I’m afraid I have some disturbing news to share with y’all. It happened last night, during my twenty minutes of allotted computer time. As you know, due to strict parental controls, there are only three websites available in the Cruz household: Fox News, Christian Mingle, and Neopets.com. However, I somehow stumbled upon a forbidden website, where people were writing the most terrible things. Worst of all were the claims that I cheated on my beautiful wife Heidi with five different women.

I have no doubt that these defamations have come from nowhere else than the mouth of Donald Trump. It was a tricky play, taking my largest strength—my sensuality—and using it against me. But no matter how much Donald fears that I will seduce all the women in his life, I feel it is time to come clean about this whole mess.

Of course, I do not have five mistresses. I do, however, have fifty mistresses. That’s right, I didn’t stutter. I said Ted Cruz has no fewer than half a hundred paramours, all of whom he makes sweet, sticky love to on a daily basis.

What are the dirty details, you ask? Well, we usually rendezvous in this little place you might have heard of, called the United States of America. Sometimes I meet up with Montana up North and do it under the stars. I’m known to enthrall Maryland with my rocket’s red glare. And let’s not forget how much Mississippi digs those whips and chains.

I-da-ho? No sir, I-da-passionate-lover. Heidi doesn’t mind either; oftentimes she even joins in the fun! You see, America has been my booty call all along. I’ve done them all. Except for Washington, which was named after a dude. Gross.

So as American voters continue to flock to the polls, please do not think of me as a cheap floozy or moralistic hypocrite. Most of all, please do not talk to Carol at the El Paso PetSmart. We two have never met, and she never knows when to keep her big mouth shut.

Instead, ask any of the states about me, and they will tell you about my gentle, caring touch. Just let me have the Oval Office. It won’t hurt, I promise. At this crucial juncture, our country needs a leader who can deliver a gratifying smack both to a set of buttocks and to the illegals crossing our southern border. A leader trained in the art of the lover’s caress as well as the art of job creation. A leader who will not try to take away your guns, but may try to give you a little smooch with the world’s smallest set of lips.

That leader is me. As soon as I’m elected, you’ll already be begging me for a second term. They always do.

I’m Ted Cruz, and I’m coming soon to a bedroom near you.

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Does the 1% Dare to Spend a Night in Count Bernardo Sanders’ House of Horrors!?

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Wanna hear a scary story? We live in a country where the top one-tenth of the 1% has almost as much wealth as the bottom 90%. Making matters worse, the children of the ultra-rich are poised to inherit all of their parents’ money. We simply cannot allow this process to continue, unless those kids manage to stay in a spooky mansion for a whole night.

You know the deal, Trump Jr. Make it till dawn in the haunted house without running off or winding up dead, and you win the family jewels. Otherwise, you walk away with jack squat.

Trust me, this is the only solution. I did the math; I did the monster math. That’s why I built Count Bernardo’s House of Horrors. It’s the one reform measure guaranteed to give everyone a fair shake and make your hair stand on end. And I should know a thing or two about that—just ask my barber!

Sure, maybe this sounds like a cinch at first. But just wait until you’re shacked up with cobwebbed candelabras, eerie organ music, and a bunch of portraits whose eyes move all by themselves! There will also be tons of hidden trapdoors, symbolic of the countless pitfalls braved by the middle class every day. But they’ll be literal trapdoors too, probably leading to the cellar or something. You get the idea.

If you’re really unlucky, a gaggle of ghastly ghouls will pop out from the woodwork and bury you alive. In college debt, that is. Frightened yet?

Even if those trust fund brats aren’t rattled by all the spooks and scares, let’s see how they handle the lack of sleep! If it was me, I would just drink a little bit of nighttime cold medicine before bedtime. Knocks you right out! However, this mansion only has dusty goblets filled with a red goo that makes you see apparitions of Ronald Reagan and deny the existence of climate change.

Of course, other candidates may propose similar plans, except they’re all in cahoots with Wall Street bankers. Secretary Clinton, for example, just opened up Killary’s Clin-tomb’s Night of Frights. Sure, it’s got plenty of CGI effects, celebrity cameos, and a full raw bar, but it’s also financed completely by Goldman-Sachs. My haunted house, on the other hand, was funded by handfuls of loose change from everyday voters, just like you. It’s amazing what you can do with an old tool shed and a few strips of paper mâché.

Anyway, I better hit the road. I’ve got to catch a bus back to Montpelier. Our local joke shop is having a sale on vampire fangs. If I don’t get them by tomorrow, they’ll become possessed—by a bloated hedge fund!

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