Our Next President
Whoever our next president turns out to be, that person will be the President of the United States. “Of course, he will, ‘Puter. That’s just a statement of fact”, you respond wisely. Maybe so, but you’d not know it from speaking with some of ‘Puter and GorT’s relatives.
‘Puter’s lost count of how many times when referring to President G.W. Bush one of his liberal relatives has referred to Bush as “your president” or “not my president.” Some conservatives issued similar stupidities under the Clinton administration. This is immature, foolish and unbecoming. If your candidate didn’t win, man up and be a gracious loser. The winner of the presidential election will be the President of the United States, whether you like him or not.
Of course, there’s nothing preventing you from being part of the loyal opposition if your man doesn’t win. Just be respectful of the office because sooner or later your party will be back in it.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.