Thursday, March 23, 2017

Tanks for the Chief

Certain presidents are said to be jealous of such displays of prowess... military prowess.
Excerpt from the latest novel by American author Edgar Maxwellson whose experimental writing style was often compared to that of Henry Miller. The novel is based on a long and intricate series of email exchanges between a number of troubled protagonists most of whom seem to suffer from the recently diagnosed Up-Yours Syndrome, and who include: staff members of a certain presidential campaign, high ranking military officials, foreign diplomats, psychiatrists, suicide hotline operators, fake news purveyors, hackers and an assortment of prostitutes with perennially full bladders.

While most critics tend to focus on exchanges related to the Golden Shower Scene, the excerpt below from Chapter 2 focuses on the email exchange between X and Y just at the start of their complicated affair.

Chapter 2
Campaign Staffer X
… On a related note, the President Elect was also wondering if he could have tanks and missile launchers on display during the Inauguration parade. He really wants to give his ego a further boost, and our enemies a real scare. In fact, he wants to send a clear message to one and all that, despite the unfortunate size of his hands, he’s actually far more endowed than all of them put together, and he wants to do it by speaking to them in the only language that they understand: unnecessary military spending.
Pentagon Official Y
… As regarding your request, made on behalf of the President Elect, for displaying military gear during the Inauguration, including tanks and missile launchers, it’s been our long-standing policy at the Pentagon to avoid wagging our dicks in public unless there’s an actual war going on. We’ve learned the value of this the hard way after having our balls busted by journalists, comedians, psychiatrists and other members of the civilian community. Primarily, then, this is meant both as a cost-cutting and ego-trimming measure, on the one hand, and a public embarrassment avoidance tactic on the other. Our long-range missiles aren’t what they’re use to.
Campaign Staffer X
… So, I guess there’s no question of allowing us to execute members of the other campaign while waving our dicks in the air like we don’t care. I mean in effigy of course… Not.
Pentagon Official Y
… Hey, I don’t mean to sound inappropriate, but, I really appreciate your sense of humor. It’s sooo perverse. Just like I could be, sometimes, you knonw, with my dick. Wink, wink. Nod, nod.
Sergey Kislyak
Dear X and Y,

First, one of you guys seems to have hit the Reply All button.

Second, how many times do I have to tell you, you incompetent American nincompoops, that you should BLIND copy me. That is, insert my email in the BCC line NOT the CC line.

Third, speaking of “insert,” you two should really get a room. Seriously. And stream the video on the SECURED connection.


This email was sent to you via secured Russian Embassy servers. Should you leak this email, an assortment of our Russian prostitutes will leak all over your grave.
© Ammar Abdulhamid , 2017

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Faustus, Reimagined

A new post-post-post-post-modern take on an old classic brought to you by: Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, in cooperation with a number of ghost writers.

Faustus Reimagined: Act 1 – Scene III
Donny Trump
So Mephastophilis, has your Boss accepted my offer? Will he help me get an 8-year lease on the White House?
My Boss instructs me to tell you that he can get your foot in the door. Once there, you will have to start negotiating the specific lease terms.
Donny Trump
And for this he’d want my soul in return? Sounds unfair.  
Oh no, Donny, come on. We all know you have no soul to barter with. What my boss wants is really much simpler than that. He just wants you to praise him, as often as you can, and, then, just be yourself. Your arrogant, narcissistic and cretinous self.
Donny Trump
That’s all
That’s all.
Donny Trump
Well, then, done. Tell your boss we have a deal. My dear Mephastophilis I feel this is going to be the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship.
Yeah, yeah. Beautiful indeed. And, by the way, when we’re talking face-to-face, you don’t have to call me by my code name. Just call me Sergei, and kiss my fucking yak.
© Ammar Abdulhamid , 2017

Tuesday, March 14, 2017


A little known play by Shakesmeare whose time seems to have finally come.

Act IV, Scene IV: McDrumpf digs up his father's skull to consult it on how best to handle his upcoming meeting with the Great Merkel of Bavaria & Denmark

McDrumpf: Act III-Scene I: Soliloquy.
As he sits on the ceramic throne, yes, that ceramic throne… contemplating.

I made it. Yes, Dad, I made it. I made it.
I’m being watched all the time, even when I'm not on TV.
They have even tapped my wires, I know. Breitbart said they did. 
And they put cameras in my microwaves, just as Kellyanne said they would. 
This is just sick. All of it. Sick and sad. Yet, I’m glad.
I’m glad, Dad. And I have to shtweet about it. I just did.
If you didn’t hear it, Dad, you will soon smell it. And I’ll keep dealing.
Oh, of all the shenanigans in the world, I just had to run for president.
And fate, stupid vainglorious fate, - vainglorious, see I know good words, -
just had to let me win. Yet, you should’ve seen me at the inauguration, Dad.
Millions, yes millions, I saw them. Millions of little insignificant shits
hailed me and hang on my every word. I scared the bejesus out of them.
The bejesus. But wait, does that mean they’re all Moslems now, Dad? Whatever!
There will be no golden showers for a while for this sly old dog of yours.
I have to be careful now, even as I open the gates of the White House wide
to let in the rest of the Klan. Because I can, Dad. Because I can.
© Ammar Abdulhamid , 2017

Thursday, March 9, 2017

The Infamous Post-Post-Modernist Adventures of Octo The Pussy Grabber

With The Golden Eye & Finger From Russia With Thunderballs, Diamonds & A License Royale to Moonrake A Quantum of Daylights

Roger Stone
My name is Stone, Roger Stone.
Guccifer 2.0
We meet at last, Mr. Stone. What can I do for you?
Julien Assange
Your mission Mr. Farage, which you will have to accept, is to be a dick, an annoying little dick.
Nigel Farage
I accept. But for fuck’s sake stop leaking all over me.
Konstantin Kilimnik
Your boss runs a mean campaign.
Paul Manafort
And your “chef” prepares a mean Goulash.
Ekim Alptekin 
How’s that “investigative research” going so far Flynn Pasha?
Mike Flynn
I can guarantee you that someone will sure be screwed, if not the Kurds, then, Ms. Pussy Galore over here.
Ekim Alptekin
Or it could eventually be you, Mr. Flynn, our man.
@ Ammar Abdulhamid , 2017