‘Stop publishing the truth under cover of fake news!’ Trump screamed, threatening to sue. ‘Fake news should be fake! That means not true!’
NYC – At a “stormy face-to-face” meeting at Trump Tower yesterday, Humor Times editor Inyore Face and Onion publisher Mimi Me were “brutally dressed down” by an infuriated Donald Trump, America’s next president.
“How dare you publish the ugly truth about me?” he screamed in orange-faced fury. “You’re supposed to be publishing lies! Fake news! Whatchacallit, ‘foe’ news?”
“Look at this one!” Trump reportedly yelled at the defiantly cowering editors, waving what appeared to be a tooth-bitten and saliva-stained news sheet.
“Trump Jerks Off Over Mein Kampf! How the hell did you find that out? It could only come from Ivana, the bitch. Or maybe Marla. God, I loved her shoes.”
He pulled out another tooth-shredded page. “Trump Says Suspend the Constitution and Make Me King Again!
“How in the pussy-grabbin’ world did you c*cks*ckers get hold of this completely true story?” he yelled, toupé lifting slightly.
“Well? Well? That’s something strictly private between Steve Bannon, Jeff Sessions and me! Fuckin’ First Amendment! That goes, day one, right after I nuke ISIS.”
Later, at a nearby saloon, the pale and shaken journalists said that they felt as if they had entered “the editorial twilight zone.”
“Because everything we publish is false,” moaned Inyore Face, choking on a pink martini. “Even this story.”
“And yet it’s all truer than the truth,” Me chimed in. “The parallels with Hitler. His cozy relationship with Putin. The rigged election. The right-wing coup taking place right now. It’s all true and it’s not funny.”
She coughed, drawing heavily on an aromatic blunt, then handed it around in a haze of smoke.
Face gratefully took a hit. “While everything the straight press publishes is the truth,” he said, “and yet it’s all completely false. That’s also not funny.”
“At the end of the meeting,” Mimi Me said, “Trump took me aside. And by the way, he really needs those Tic Tacs.
“Anyway, he takes me aside and in this hoarse Trumpy whisper he says, ‘Lissen, honey, I really don’t care what you lyin’ bastards say about me. Not at all.
“‘Publish whatever you like,’ he says, reflexively grabbing my pussy, ‘just as long as it isn’t true. Got that? No more truth.’”
“And yes,” she added, “his little fingers really are that tiny.”
