From The Archives -- A Washington Thanksgiving Farce

[ Posted Wednesday, November 27th, 2019 – 17:27 UTC ]

Some days, the humor just writes itself. Today, our illustrious president proved once again (as if any doubt remained) that he is, in fact, dumber than a bag of hammers. At a signing ceremony to proclaim a new centennial coin for the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment next year (women got the right to vote in 1920), Donald Trump mused aloud why this hadn't happened previously. Previous presidents, according to Trump, just didn't know how to get things done, which is why they hadn't proclaimed this centennial before now.

In other words, Trump was mystified why the 100th anniversary of an event hadn't taken place earlier than the 100th anniversary of that event. At this point, even bags of hammers are laughing at his idiocy.

I considered writing a spoof of other centennials Trump could get ahead of the curve on (such as: "Trump announces that LGBT people shouldn't have to wait another 50 years for the centennial of the 1969 Stonewall Riots, but in trying to make it more inclusive Trump just proved his cluelessness even further, by proclaiming it the bi-centennial"). But that seemed like too much work for not enough return. After all, these jokes just write themselves, and I'm sure we'll see plenty of them on the late-night shows tonight.

Instead, I dug out the very first Thanksgiving spoof column I ever wrote, from 2006. While it still is an amusing column, it's become pretty obscure these days. I didn't even recognize at least a third of the references I made back then, and had to look several of them up just to refresh my memories. I guess this proves the point that insider political jokes definitely have a shelf life and sometimes don't age all that well. Some of the references seem almost quaint, these days, since we've moved so far beyond where we were in 2006 that Washington is an entirely different universe now.

But for those interested in a blast from the past, here is my very first Thanksgiving column. Enjoy, and here's hoping everyone has a great turkey day tomorrow! [Columns will resume here next Monday, I should add, as I'm taking the whole weekend off too.]


Originally published November 22, 2006

I'm here in Washington on assignment, my editor having provided me with a ticket to what he swears is the best Thanksgiving party inside the Beltway.

I walk into the entrance lobby, and am immediately confronted by two doors -- one which obviously leads to the main hall, and one prominently marked "The Closet." I shrug off my winter coat, walk over to the closet door, and pull it open.

"Close the door!" yells Mark Foley from deep within. Pastor Ted Haggard steps from the shadows to the doorway and berates me: "Oh, look, it's the Vast Left Wing Media Conspiracy here to shine light into our closet! Don't you have anything better to do?" He slams the door shut in my face.

More than a little bewildered, I back away from the door. As I stand there wondering what to do with my coat, ex-male prostitute Mike Jones shoulders his way past me. He has two congressional pages with him as helpers, who set down a toolbox next to the closet door. They rummage within it, then start removing the hinges from the door, and attacking it with a large prybar. Mike turns and notices me (and my coat), and helpfully points to the main door.

"Coat check is inside, to your right."

"Thanks," I tell him, and enter the main hall. Momentarily dazzled by the festivities within, I turn to my right to find a window in the wall with a "Coat Check" sign. I stroll over, and to my surprise find Donald Rumsfeld inside, hanging on a hook halfway to the ceiling. He looks soaked, and water dribbles off him to form a puddle on the floor beneath.

"Check your coat?" he asks me. Because the sight is so shocking, he has to repeat himself. "Check your coat? What? You've never seen anyone hung out to dry before? Come on, give me your coat."

Dumbfounded, I hand it over. He tosses it to Ken Mehlman (also dangling from a hook), who attaches my coat to a cable and presses a button. The cable retracts, and my coat is whisked into a dark hole in the ceiling marked "Does NOT go to the NSA. Don't even ASK." A cold breeze blows from the hole, causing Rumsfeld and Mehlman to slowly twist in the wind.

"Hey, wait a minute," I protest, "Where's my coat going?"

Rumsfeld sneers at me. "I guess we'll just have to call that a 'known unknown.' You came here to check your coat, well, golly gee, that's just what we're going to do. Maybe your coat has weapons of mass destruction in the pockets. Maybe it will benefit from a stay at Guantanamo. We'll just have to see, won't we? Don't worry about your coat, we'll completely check it out."

I attempt a last stab at ever seeing my coat again, "Well at least give me my claim check."

Rumsfeld's face breaks into that Skeletor grin he does so well. "We know who you are, don't worry." With a shudder, I turn away from his cackling laughter.

I move forward into the enormous hall of festivities. I immediately look for the open bar, of course (this is a standing rule which must be strictly adhered to, or they'll kick you out of the Journalism Union). I spot it over the heads of a crowd, and elbow my way towards it.

It turns out the crowd blocking progress is just standing looking wistfully towards the bar, and not actually ordering drinks. I shoulder past "freedom fries" Bob Ney, and, as I pass Mel Gibson and Robin Williams, I overhear a snatch of conversation, "...yeah, I expect Michael Richards to join us any day now...."

I finally break through this gaggle and find myself at the bar next to a guy just as underdressed as I am. As I order a drink, he introduces himself as a wire service political reporter. He offers to show me around the room, and we both leave the bar area together, fresh drinks in hand.

"To fit everyone in the celebration, like-minded people were seated together," my new friend explains. "This table here in the shadows, for instance, is the Iraq Reconstruction Table." We stop to see what is going on.

Several Republican congressional committee chairmen are dressed as waiters. They constantly circle the table, dispensing mounds of cash onto the guests' plates. I see a man with a "Halliburton" label who is almost drowning in the pile of cash being shoveled in front of him. The KBR man next to him helps staunch the flow by moving some of this money onto his plate. I spot Parsons and Bechtel nametags on other guests. But my attention is drawn to the centerpiece on the table -- a massive, full-sized ice sculpture of a man with an accountant's eyeshade and a magnifying glass. "Who's that?" I ask my guide.

"That's Stuart Bowen, Jr.," he replies, and (noticing my blank expression), continues, "He's the Special Inspector General for Iraq Reconstruction. The Republicans froze him out by canceling his budget, since he was beginning to uncover some nasty truths."

At this point we have to back away from the table, since the cash is piling up everywhere, spilling onto the floor in heaps. Head waiter Hastert claps his hands, and a team of congressional Republicans appears, dressed in janitor's outfits with "Oversight" prominently written on the back. They start hurriedly sweeping billions of dollars under the carpet, while chanting: "Nothing to see here! Move along!" The patrons at the table thank them for their efforts by stuffing their pockets with bundles of cash, "for your next campaign." As we walk away from the table, I take a last look at the ice sculpture, which seems to be melting slightly, as drops of what I assume is water run down the icy cheeks from the statue's eyes.

Further back in the shadows, a trial seems to be taking place at the next table. It's hard to figure out what's going on, though, since apparently the only one who is allowed to speak is the judge. We stop and listen in for a moment.

"...the Defendant (whose name is a classified secret) is not permitted to talk with his lawyer (since he may talk about classified matters) and is not permitted to challenge his detention in civil court (since they aren't cleared for classified matters and may reveal secrets) or to even talk about his interrogation (since it involved classified secrets) or the methods used in such interrogations (since the methods themselves have been classified top secret) and cannot use any of these facts in his defense (and we're not even sure he's allowed any defense whatsoever) since this may alert our enemies to our (top secret) interrogation methods, which are not torture as we define it (which definition we cannot reveal, as it is classified), even if the only people on the planet who haven't heard these techniques already from the free press (which we're thinking of prosecuting for treason) must have just arrived from Mars..."

We wander away, as listening to the judge drone on is beginning to make my head ache. We quickly pass an enclosed niche where dozens of people are repeating the judge's words and muttering "damn straight" and "right on" at various intervals. I lift an inquisitive eyebrow as we hurry past, and my friend dismisses them, saying, "That's just the right-wing echo chamber, pay it no heed." Just before we're out of earshot, a chorus of "Ditto! Ditto! Ditto!" breaks out.

The next table is on the edge of the shadowed section. "Here's a funny one," my host points out, "You might call this the 'K Street Project Memorial Table.'" Sad-eyed Republican lobbyists appear to be desperately cleaning up an almost-bare table. There are still a few dollars and some coins lying around, but most everything has already been shoved into their briefcases. They notice us watching them and rush over with freshly-printed résumés feverishly clutched in their hands. They begin loudly grunting, "Got jobs? Got jobs?" at us. We hurry quickly away, but at least one of them gets close enough to shove something in my pocket.

Once we're clear of them, I pull it out. It's a dollar bill with a strange question-mark sort of shape (or perhaps a warped numeral 3) printed on it in ink. My friend grabs it with disgust, crumples it up and tosses it over his shoulder. "Earmarks," he explains briefly. "Half the money in this town has earmarks on it."

We finally come out of the shadows into brilliant white light. Powerful spotlights from all around are all focused on the next table. To my surprise, I see several prominent Democrats seated with an equal number of well-known Republicans. John Kerry and John McCain are chatting next to each other. Rudy Giuliani and Hillary Clinton share a private joke. John Edwards, Sam Brownback, Joe Biden, Barack Obama, Newt Gingrich, Wes Clark, Bill Frist, and Al Gore are all sitting comfortably together. Even as we stand watching, dozens more rush to the table and grab seats (most of whom I don't recognize). The table seems to somehow expand to fit each one of them in.

"OK, this one's easy," I say, "This must be the 2008 presidential candidate table." My friend nods with a grin.

"Notice the media?" he asks.

I turn back, unsure of what he means, but then I spy (on the floor) all the big talking heads from the television media, crawling around underneath the table. They all appear to be fighting for scraps that fall from the table. Tim Russert seems to be hoarding these scraps, but selectively. Katie Couric looks confused, but she's gamely trying to keep up with the others. Particularly disgusting is Chris Matthews, who is busily licking Hillary Clinton's toes, murmuring "Please run, Hillary, please run... I've already spent the past year mentioning your campaign every chance I can get... I'm obsessed... please, please, please run..."

"Revolting," I comment.

My pal agrees, "Yeah, he needs help."

We turn away from the glare of the klieg lights, to the biggest table in the room. Hundreds of people sit at this table, but I don't recognize any of the ones closest to us. "Congress," my guide helpfully explains. The centerpiece of this table is another ice sculpture, this one of a duck wielding crutches, hobbling along on what is obviously a broken leg. As we watch, dozens of Democrats rush into the room and start yanking Republican seat-holders out of their chairs. "Time to go!" they gleefully chant over and over again.

Shelley Sekula-Gibbs causes a momentary spectacle, yelling, "No, you can't remove me, I just started! You're all fired! And all of your staff! They're fired too!" I see Tom DeLay, from his spot on the sidelines, cringe in embarrassment. Katherine Harris, also on the sidelines, is in the process of being forcibly restrained and wrapped in a straitjacket. She appears to be frothing at the mouth.

Suddenly, the room lights dim. Our attention is drawn to the stage, which occupies one side of the hall. Several bad warmup acts come out in swift succession; Rush Limbaugh doing his Michael J. Fox imitation, then George Allen (while casting wistful looks at the presidential candidate table) doing a standup comedy routine which seems to consist entirely of politically incorrect jokes. A scuffle breaks out from the wings, and O.J. Simpson briefly steps on the stage -- only to be abruptly yanked off again by Rupert Murdoch. Madonna and Barbra Streisand come out and do a brief duet rendition of their new song, "George W. Bush is the Anti-Christ" -- and then the stage falls mercifully silent.

As the anticipation grows, suddenly the Secret Service is everywhere. They take up positions on the stage and throughout the crowd. There are three on the stage in sight of us, one of whom is sporting a black eye and several bruises, and two of which are holding purses. I shoot a puzzled look at my friend, who whispers in my ear, "They've had a bad week. Those two were on First Twins duty when Barbara Bush's purse was snatched from a restaurant in Buenos Aires, and the other one got beat up while off duty down there."

Another man with a badly bruised face wearing a suit walks on stage, looks around, and checks the microphones. My friend whispers to me, "That's the White House Travel Office Director. He got mugged in Honolulu while Bush was returning from Asia. As I said, they've had a bad week."

A spotlight hits the stage and the band strikes up "Hail to the Chief." A waxwork dummy of President Bush is wheeled on stage, holding an equally fake Thanksgiving turkey. As the dummy gets to center stage, the crowd gasps. Bush's face is as bruised and torn-up as the other two men. My friend explains, "Bush couldn't be here, so he called Madame Tussauds to use their wax figure, but unfortunately, someone just vandalized it. You might say it got a thumping."

The crowd waits expectantly, but the Bush figure just stands at the microphone. Several clicks and buzzes are audible, then a thin trickle of smoke starts rising from the figure's head. The Bush figure's head slumps forward unexpectedly, and the tray with the fake turkey crashes to the floor. The turkey is beyond repair, and the carcass has formed a perfect outline of Iraq on the floor. A second gasp goes up from the crowd.

Richard Perle appears from the right wing of the stage, ranting: "That turkey was a perfectly good turkey and it would have successfully been fed to the American people if Bush hadn't dropped it so badly! The idea of the turkey was sound! It was just mishandled! It could have been a good turkey!"

Kenneth Adelman and Michael Rubin join in behind Perle, "He's right! Listen to him! The neo-cons had a great turkey of an idea, and the White House bungled our beautiful turkey!"

Karl Rove darts out of the gloom from the wings, twirling a lasso over his head. He ropes the three dissenters and yanks them back into the right wing.

Meanwhile, technicians have furiously been working on the Bush figure's head. They finally back away, and the figure's head speaks in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Dick Cheney. "I hereby declare we have achieved victory in Iraq! I declare Victory!"

After a stunned pause, everyone in the room starts yelling, "Victory! Victory! That means we have to get out now! Get out! Get out! We have to get out!"

The crowd has transformed into a dangerous mob, rushing pell mell towards the exits. I am in fear of getting trampled, when my friend turns to yell: "You have the power to stop all this! Click your heels together!"

I understand him perfectly, and click my heels together while murmuring "There's no place like home... there's no place like home..."


I awake on my couch, with the Lions game playing on the television.

Silly me, I had succumbed to the tryptophan and fallen asleep after my Thanksgiving dinner.

Yes, it had all been a horrible dream....


[Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!]


20 Comments on “From The Archives -- A Washington Thanksgiving Farce”

  1. [1] 
    Mezzomamma wrote:

    Happy Thanksgiving!

  2. [2] 
    Balthasar wrote:

    Happy Thanksgiving, CW. Here's to (way) better dreams!

  3. [3] 
    Michale wrote:

    Wanted to wish everyone a Happy Thanksgiving on a day that I am extremely thankful. Turns out my heart issue requires a triple bypass I hope to be back

  4. [4] 
    Elizabeth Miller wrote:

    All the very best, Michale!

    And, when you're back, let's plan to cut out all of the nonsense.

  5. [5] 
    C. R. Stucki wrote:


    Liz ain't serious. What she really wants is for the Dr to remove your stone heart and put in a tender liberal one.

  6. [6] 
    nypoet22 wrote:

    Scarecrow i missed you most of all

  7. [7] 
    ListenWhenYouHear wrote:

    If HE only had a brain....

  8. [8] 
    ListenWhenYouHear wrote:

    Glad to see Trump made it to Afghanistan on Thanksgiving to feed the troops. Not sure his being back at Mar-Lard-Ass in time for a round of golf early Friday morning really sent the message that he wanted to be there for our troops! It says, “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to what I really want to do!”

    Regardless, I have to give him kudos for at least going... Trump is not used to doing things for others — which makes me now believe that his staff made it clear that not going on this trip would mean he’d definitely be impeached!

    I know Michale will respond how hateful I am to Trump and that I attack him even when I acknowledge something good that he has done, but what Michale will never say is, “Trump is not the type of person who would ever do that!”

  9. [9] 
    ListenWhenYouHear wrote:


    In response to the homework assignment you gave us for Thanksgiving, here is my essay:

    I spoke with 5 registered voters, all over the age of 35: 4 identify as Republicans and 1 claims to be an independent. (It should be noted that the “Independent” is, by his own admission, the most conservative of the five and a loyal Trump supporter.). Of the 5, 3 are men and two are women. All admit that they voted for Trump in 2016.

    When I asked them why they voted for Trump, I got five different versions of the same story: They had voted for Trump during the primaries as a way of giving the middle finger to the GOP establishment that clearly hated Trump and that they were sick of being lied to by — a “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” vote. For the general election, they voted for Trump again, in part because they did not think he had a chance at winning, but mainly they believed Hillary to be a crook.

    I asked all five what crimes Hillary was guilty of, and after they all hemmed and hawed for a while tossing out allegations that she had been cleared from, they all just felt she was crooked. I asked them if they thought being told for 35 years that she was a crook by the GOP had anything to do with that belief, and 3 admitted it probably had. The other two said that they “could just tell that she’s crooked” and came to that conclusion on their own — at which point I had to bite my tongue or I would have never gotten through this.

    One was thrilled with Trump’s performance while in office, two said he hasn’t been any worse than Hillary would have been, two were disappointed with his performance.

    When asked how the Republican Party would do, post-Trump, none of them thought it would get any better. In fact, most of them seemed genuinely disappointed at how the GOP and caved in to Trump and had taken on his worst qualities with gusto! They had voted for Trump as a “F -you” to the GOP establishment — they never thought that Republicans would be so submissive to his every whim!

    And this is where the most disturbing and frustrating aspect of this conversation suddenly made it’s appearance: just as they are all speaking on how disappointed they are at the spinelessness and the constant dishonesty from the Republicans they elect and you could see them realizing that those they elected are not in it for them... right when you can tell that they are getting angry for being treated so badly, like an automated response deeply programmed into their psyche for just such an occasion, one of them blurts out, “But ALL politicians lie!” to which the other four all nod their heads in agreement and instantly I can see their indignation at being treated so badly by the GOP is gone!

    Holy Hardwired Republican Response, Batman! They acknowledge that the country is divided and is in trouble, but they excuse their own Party from doing what they believe would be the right thing to do with the “But they all do it!” defense...which they have come to accept as the answer for why they haven’t bothered to support someone who doesn’t lie to them.

    And they were all surprised that I responded to their group-think response “All politicians are corrupt and lie” by laughing and saying it was utter bullshat! I told them it was the lazy-person’s response for not having the courage to stand up for their own convictions. It’s the safe response for people who do not really follow politics closely enough to feel like they can make an informed stance on a position.

    I was prepared for their response to this, fortunately, and instantly made it clear that their response may be technically accurate — yes, we ALL do lie at some point in our lives — that does not mean that both sides are equally guilty! I told them how I used to make the same “everyone does it” argument and what it had taken for me to realize that I could no longer support the GOP. I know that the Democrats are not perfect, but they do not claim to be perfect either. I told them how I got sick of hearing conservatives saying how Democrats, and Obama especially, were “out to destroy the country!” Did anyone really think someone would go through everything a politician must do to get elected if their main goal was to destroy the government or the country?

    It was sad to hear them basically admit that they had given up on the belief that they could do anything that mattered in changing how the system works. I encouraged them to try following politics a little more closely, but to make sure they are getting their info from both sides of the political spectrum. I figure that somewhere in between, they will figure out what the truth is most likely to be.

    4 out of 5 said that they do not follow politics closely. 2 of them only get their news from FoxNews. (The other 3 said they get their news from CNN, FoxNews, Facebook, and from the local ABC affiliate — which happens to be owned by Sinclair)

    None could see the GOP being able to exist in its current form after Trump is gone! Trump is the party, now, and once the party is gone, something else will have to take its place. While they were all hopeful that whatever the remains of the GOP morphs into will be less toxic and more honest, they were not confident that it could.

    The one Trump supporter was shocked to hear just how many key political appointments had gone unfilled and how many agencies were left with no-one truly calling the shots. He even said that it’s not good to have temporary people who always look to what the president wants them to do to be in charge of regulating things that should never be made political! He was unaware that the FEC did not have enough members on its board to do its job or take action against those found to have violate election laws.

    Conservatives may be pigheaded and seem to stay with the GOP more out of habit than from conscientious reasoning; they are still family. They are good, hard working people who would give you the shirt off their backs if you needed it — which makes their support of someone so narcissistic and cruel as Trump has been all the more confusing.

    While the majority did not follow politics closely, it was obvious that where they did get their news from became even more important in shaping their views. It was at this point that the tryptophan from the turkey kicked into overdrive and the conversation ended!

  10. [10] 
    TheStig wrote:

    Munchausen By Internet (MBI) is (regrettably) a real thing. Color me cynical. I've seen too much BS, too many logically/ethically dubious M posts to accept without question.

    So M, if you are about to undergo a Triple, you have my sincere sympathy. It's a tough procedure and recovery. I hope both go well - and the odds are on your side that they will.

    If you are faking, may you rot in Hell. Metaphorically speaking....I don't believe in Hell or Heaven.

  11. [11] 
    C. R. Stucki wrote:

    Many say "There ain't no Hell" - Others say "The Hell there ain't"!

  12. [12] 
    nypoet22 wrote:

    i say democrats, republicans and independents just need to listen to mister rogers.

  13. [13] 
    Balthasar wrote:

    ListenWhenYouHear: [9] That goes with what I've been finding - that most Republicans think that the Trump folks are mostly Republican. My GOP buddy in NY watches his 401K. Another fell silent when I brought up immigration. And the last - that everyone does it - is alive and well here too.

    But biggest of all is their blind spot, which must be the size of Texas, to everything Trump. What kind of person can overlook the criminal, boorish, oafish, narcissistic, authoritarian, moronish behavior that emanates from Trump? Not me.

  14. [14] 
    TheStig wrote:


    Do you have advance notice about a Second Coming from Mr. Rogers? Will it take place at WQED? Portents? I'll be checking my tacos and potato chips for suspicious burn marks that look like sweaters or loafers.


    If you get to either place, leave us a portent. A chip or taco will do.

  15. [15] 
    MtnCaddy wrote:



    Excellent Job! I must have overlooked this homework assignment. But I live in the mountains of Southern California in deep red CA-8 and I know that I can find some Trump voters with which to engage. It's going to be tough, as my passion for politics makes for, at times, an overwhelming desire to bitchslap and choke these deluded people.

    But I know that that's highly counterproductive. We Progressives (nor those of any political persuation) cannot win by out hating but rather by out loving those whom we hope to reach. Wish me luck.

    Speaking of luck, Michale I wish you the best of luck for your heart surgery! I don't agree with your political beliefs but you're an ASSET to this comment section.

  16. [16] 
    nypoet22 wrote:

    Tacos? Papitas? Of course pie

  17. [17] 
    nypoet22 wrote:

    As for the second coming, it's now in theaters. And if you're too busy to visit your local cinema, here's something to read:

  18. [18] 
    Kick wrote:

    Don Harris

    There is no truth somewhere in between the two "sides" because they are really just one side that works for the big money interests pretending to be two sides. There is no "in between" between the two "sides".

    And here is Dipshit Don Harris once again making the claim that the "two sides" are alike (which is complete and utter bullshit, of course), but if the author or anyone else calls him on this routine shit of his, he will swear up and down that he doesn't do that and never has.

    The truth is out there for anyone able to recognize the same lack of courage to stand up for their convictions that they seem to be able to recognize in others.

    The truth is, you are still that same effing forum fool playing that tired old false equivalency ridiculous bullshit blather over and over and over ad nauseam as if permanently stuck on stupid, and we recognize that in you, Don, even if you're too stupid to see it in yourself. Dipshit. :)

  19. [19] 
    Kick wrote:


    Nice post.

  20. [20] 
    Kick wrote:



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