Basket of Discrumboobylateds

“What’s the matter, Red? You seem befuddled.”

“When you’re a star … you can do anything.”

“I ain’t even been around any fudd f’r days, Cope! And I done showered twice since then. Sos if I’m anything, it ain’t befuddled!”

“Calm down, pal. All I mean is … you seem distracted. Not your usual self.”

“I gotta own up to feelin a tad discrumboobylated. I juss need to sit down for a spell an warp my mind around somethin I been hearing on the news all day.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Donald Trump, does it?”

“How’d you know dat?”

“It appears a whole lot of Republicans are trying to
‘warp’ their minds around the same thing, Red. Like … ‘How in holy hell can I continue to tell myself I’m a decent human being and still vote for that vile crud?’

“Gull durnit, Cope! He ain’t done nothing all us other hombres ain’t done one time n’r another. You know what can happen, don’t tell me ya don’t! A feller gets a snootful under his belt an he goes to thinking he’s God’s gift to women? … an the next thing you know, you done embarrassed the bejezus outa yourself and you got a woman what might o’ been a good friend before you went and did that, and now you can’t look her in the eye for all the rest o’ your life! Don’t tell me you ain’t never got that way! You knows? … where your brain quits working real good and your little Jack-In-The-Boxers takes over an does the thinkin for ya?”


“Er … uh … that’s what my wife calls him. Not me! I ain’t never called him that ‘cept for this one time. So quit y’r snickering, Cope! An that’s not the point, any hows! Juss don’t tells me it never happened to you at some party or barbycue or Super Bowl shindig, where you got to swilling them peppermint schnappsusses until you forgot hows a person is supposed to behave hisself.”

“Red … yes. I’ve gotten that way. I’ve gotten stupid and done things I’m not proud of. Behaved like a  … a … “

“Like a drunked-up horny galoot hound-dog what just come across a female f’r the first time in his life?”

“Uuuuh, well … yes. I guess that’s as good a way to put it as any.”

“So hows come ever’body is roughing up on ol’ Don Trump like they never heard of it happening before, huh? How’s come ever’one’s picking on him juss acause he might be the Pres’dent o’ the U. S. of A!”

“Maybe it’s because the rest of us hombres … you included, Red, because I can tell from the way you talk about it … aren’t proud of what we did. Maybe it’s because we’re ashamed of what we did. And embarrassed, still. And maybe even now, all these years later, we cringe down deep inside when we think about it, and hope we did no permanent harm to the girls with whom we behaved so … so drunked-up horny galoot hound-dog-ish.”

“Wull your right about that much. Ever’ time I think ’bout how I acted with Betty Lou Bender that one night back when, I shrivel up like a dried prune from my belly-button down to my … er … “


“Quit it, Cope! An what’s any o’ this got t’ do with Donald, any how?”

“Maybe it’s because when we heard Trump brag about how he acts … openly, nakedly brag about it, over what he’s been doing all of his life, by all accounts … we don’t hear even the slightest hint of remorse. Of embarrassment, or shame, or concern about how it might have affected the victims of his swinishness. And Red, remember … he didn’t have a ‘snootful under his belt.’  This isn’t something he did under unusual circumstances. It wasn’t impaired judgment or youthful indiscretion or any of the usual excuses. No, this is what he does. This is what he is. You can bet that he has never, ever shriveled up like a dried prune over anything he ever did to someone else. There is no conscience in the man.”

 “Wull … wull, uh … might’n it be that’s what wes oughta be lookin for in a Pres’dent, Cope? … a feller who won’t get all tripped up in conscience afore he has to do somethin hawrble f’r the sake o’ lib’rty an justice f’r all?”

 “I’d say that’s something you Republicans are going to have to figure out for yourselves, Red. I already know the answer.”

“Ooooh, Cope! Sometimes you can be such a smug … uh …”


“Quit it!”

Lucky for the lass, this was the day she’d dropped her pussy off at the Pussy Play Park.



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