Donald Trump

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The Week’s Most Embering, Dismembering, and Novembering Headlines

OCTOBER SURPRISE? MORE LIKE OCTOBER COW-PIES
Americans need a refresher on the concept of “October surprise.” For some bizarre reason, the phrase has come to mean a successful last-minute electorate-influencing reveal.

In fact, the term was coined after Jimmy Carter, facing an uphill reelection battle in 1980, tried to do something and failed. Carter had hoped to bring home the American hostages in Iran right before the election, but he didn’t, and he lost.

“October surprise” means failure (Carter’s backup surprise, to beat another drowning rabbit to death, was a no-go following protests from Greenpeace).

In the final stretch of election 2024, activists for Kamala and Trump have promised “October surprises,” and true to tradition, they’ve failed so spectacularly, Carter himself drooled in cursive on his applesauce bib, “You idiots.”

First the Kamala krazies tried another groping accusation against Trump, forgetting that Trump won following the “grab ’em by the pussy” tape. Groping favors the man. So then Team Cackle tried “Trump is Hitler!” while acting startled at the accusation, like it was novel.

Kamala has a rubber face that makes Rowan Atkinson look stoic, but even she couldn’t convincingly feign a “surprised” look.

Meanwhile, on Team Trump, Poso (or was it Cerno? During election season they merge into one, like Transformers but retarded) promised an “October surprise” against Walz, then he farted and flew out the window. George “I cannot not tell a lie” Santos promised an October surprise that would “end Harris,” then he lied about farting and flying out the window (he took the stairs). Finally the mega-MAGA influencer “Black Insurrectionist” tried two different October surprises against Walz and Harris, only to be exposed as a white guy who made everything up.

Morons going down in flames. These are not so much “real-live nephews of their Uncle Sam,” but real-live nephews of I Am Sam.

THERE’S NEVER A SHANK WHEN YOU NEED ONE
Rolling Stone reports that as pre-op tranny look-alike Steve Bannon was serving his four-month sentence for contempt of Congress, he made himself useful in prison by teaching civics lessons to fellow inmates.

And to Bannon’s credit, he one-upped the Underpants Gnomes from South Park, whose business plan…

Phase 1: Collect underpants
Phase 2: ?
Phase 3: Profit

…is nothing compared to Bannon’s:

Phase 1: Start a GoFundMe
Phase 2: Keep the money
Phase 3: Get pardoned by your friend the president

Bannon’s plan didn’t resonate with the other inmates, especially those from L.A., where Soros minion George Gascon appears likely to lose, thus robbing black criminals of their own personal “pardoner.”

Bannon’s fortunate to be alive, after he tried to “crowdfund” a month’s worth of cigarettes for his cell block, only to spend the money on hair gel and girdles. But even in prison Bannon had a kind of immunity, affiliated as he is with the Aryan Brotherhood in their quest to keep members of Nuestra Familia from taking all the tables in the lunchroom (Bannon calls it the “Great Replacemat”). Not that Bannon is racist or anything; when he ran for bookmobile captain, he promised his followers that he was totally going to win the Black Guerrilla Family vote.

While in prison, Bannon was unable to continue his War Room podcast, but he did spend two hours a day banging a metal cup against the bars, which actually managed to produce less annoying audio. Now that Bannon’s free, he’s been fielding questions about his time on the inside, including a query from a Shawshank Redemption fan who was curious if Bannon “crawled through 500 yards of shit-smelling foulness.”

“Nope,” Bannon replied, “sadly I had to skip most of election season.”

ROOT ROOT ROOT FOR THE HOME-IES
As the Dodgers faced the Yanks in game 5 last week, Angelenos silently prayed to the Almighty, “Please let the Dodgers win, and let it be at an away game.”

L.A. has a problem with home-turf championship wins. It’s a decades-long tradition for L.A.’s young blacks and browns to circle the venue, be it Dodger Stadium or Staples Center, and pelt the exiting vehicles of fans. It’s a way of telling the well-heeled liberal attendees who spent $2,500 on tickets, “I hope you enjoyed the game; I also hope you enjoy your dented Mercedes courtesy of the ‘diversity’ you always vote for.”

This is a tradition of such deep import to the city, the LAPD pretty much lets it happen. After all, what can they do? Members of L.A.’s criminal guild, Destructive Undocumenteds Medium Build Shaved Head, Incriminating Tattoos, Scars, outnumber the cops 1,000 to 1.

When the home team wins out of town, the fans don’t have to deal with the headache of next-day emergency car repairs, much to the chagrin of the city’s union of crooked auto repairmen, Arab Service Scammers Heavily Overcharging Loaded Egalitarian Suckers. Still, Angelenos weren’t about to let an opportunity to loot go to waste. Hordes of enrichers gathered Downtown, setting fires and looting stores. Of course, as anyone who knows Downtown L.A. is aware, that part of the city was handed over to the homeless decades ago, so the whole notion of “looting” becomes questionable when the only available items to steal are jars of urine and used needles.

The rioting was made worse by the fact that most insurers refuse to cover California’s tent cities; the raving schizophrenics who live Downtown to escape the invisible brain-sucking space marmots with Lionel Richie’s face will have to find temporary shelter while the city spends $3 billion to rebuild the tent and cardboard dwellings.

A Dodgers victory parade is planned for the week following the election. Should George Gascon be defeated on Nov. 5, expect an orderly event.

Should he be reelected?

Now’s a good time for Angelenos to get a bulletproof Tesla.

LIMPING ’CROSS THE FINISH LINE
China: land of contradictions. The men with the world’s tiniest peckers also sport names like Hung Dong and Long Wang.

False advertising, to be sure.

Of course, a people such as that are obsessed with the search for penile enhancers, and while for centuries the Chins looked to tiger bladders for relief from their “Little Richards,” they’ve pretty much hunted most male-enhancing species to extinction.

So what’s left? Pharmaceuticals, of course. And the Chinese have outdone themselves with Ziyinzhuangyang, a tablet guaranteed to produce a hard-on like no other. Like other erectile dysfunction meds, Ziyinzhuangyang works by redirecting blood flow from other parts of the head/body to the limp biscuit, thus puffing it to enormous proportions. But Ziyinzhuangyang goes a bit too far (it was engineered for Chinamen, after all). It interacts with nitrates, commonly found in medications for heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, and cholesterol, literally redirecting every ounce of blood to your noodle, robbing your brain of the blood it takes to function.

You die with a Macy’s Parade-float-size boner. The lady you’re with will be pleased like never before…until she realizes she’s making love to a corpse (albeit a smiling one).

Apparently, Chinamen are fine with this; Ziyinzhuangyang is giving a generation of lonely Chinese incels one glorious moment of release before exiting to the great Apple factory in the sky. The Japs might have kamikazes, but the Chinese now have kumikazes.

Problem is, Ziyinzhuangyang’s been flooding Australia, where life’s valued a little more highly. Mail-order sales of the drug have skyrocketed for Aussie men looking to put their shrimp in a Barbie. It’s gotten so bad that last week the Australian government banned the g’day mating drug, with an urgent warning that the thing can literally kill those who take it.

The government also denied Candace Owens entry on account of her claims that Jews drink the blood of Christian babies. So, two things banned in one week: giant boners and a giant bonehead.

CANUCKS, AND CAN’T-NUCKS
You know Canada’s retarded man-child-in-chief Justin Trudeau’s in trouble when he admits he’s wrong. This toddler in Kurta pajamas never admits he’s wrong. But now, under pressure from his own party due to his massive turd of an immigration policy, Trudeau has finally copped to an oopsie.

As everyone on earth except leftists predicted, importing millions of indigent “diverse” Third Worlders put an impossible strain on Canada’s vaunted health-care system. Back in the days when Health Canada (Santé Canada) mainly dealt with maple syrup accidents (“Gordy thought it was a Molson, eh, and chugged it down!”) and the occasional spear wound from a drunken Tlingit who mistook Lorne Greene for a narwhal, the system could handle the load. But now that the nation has a million new Third Worlders (Attardés Fous) who bring everything from TB and plague to more esoteric maladies (“Umbunga have elk horn shoved up colon; it long story”), the system’s imploding.

In a last-ditch attempt to stave off a revolt from his own Liberals, Trudeau’s pledged to reduce immigration numbers.

Toronto University’s Nelson Wiseman told the AP that Canadians are “xenophobic.” He then produced a Christian baby and drank its blood (okay, Candace, sometimes it does happen).

Meanwhile, Canucks on their side of Niagara Falls received a jarring lesson in “diversity” last week as they watched a “brilliant black woman” on the American side take a fatal dive into the falls while holding her two children. Chaianti Means (“Chaianti” is the favorite aperitif of “Hannaiabal” Lecter) plunged to her death along with her kids Roman and Mecca (pilgrimage? More like killgrimage).

Chaianti Means business.

Of course, her act could be seen as overkill, considering that the average suicidal black doesn’t need a waterfall to drown; a lawn sprinkler would serve the same purpose.