You had to check that headline again, didn’t you? Be honest. For a fleeting second, you saw the word assassination. And a few of us have to check it again now.  Know this: the mind plays tricks thrusting fear and desire before reality.  A very human trait.


The Time is New Year’s Eve. The Date, December 31, 2018.

The Place – A New Year’s Eve Party. East Coast, West Coast, Los Angeles, the Windy City, the Big Apple, Bean-town, Ann Arbor – doesn’t matter.

The Venue – the home of any elite. Paul Krugman’s modest Princeton suburban home, Bab Streisand’s Malibu beach house, Jeff Zucker’s Amagansett ranch, Christine Ford’s dual-doored private sanitarium (You went Christine who, didnya?). Any of those factotums, swank social climbers, Kimmel-Kolbert Klones, and plumed flightless Ostriches and Emus who nest in the Blue Ruled City States or line our nation’s capital swamp, leaving their dung and molting feathers for the rest of us to clean up. Those who would rule you by virtue of their superiority in taste, clothes, jobs and cologne. You know who they are, they tell you every day on TV.

The party has been going strong, the evening’s grand toast imminent. Impeachment is on the tongue of every playfellow as Speaker Pelosi’s Headsman’s Gavel is only hours away from striking the final blow to the Usurper.  Our revelers, drunk as Lords, are in the fine fettle of Kings and Queens. Indeed, they are better than Kings and Queens, because they get to tell Kings and Queens what to do.  The hors d’oeuvres are still running hot and cold, the lobster puffs, the wagyu beef skewers and shrimp toast points laughing at their own consumption under the chuckles and sparkling conversation of our betters. The thrum of victory broken only by the self-satisfied smiles and hugs of triumph. DJT will have an Asterisk after his name and soon to be run out of town on a rail. Balance has been Restored to the Force. Life is Good.

When a sudden hush comes from a corner of the patio. Eager fingers stroke Satan’s little tablets. A murmur of surprise. Then urgent whispers. Is that the gasp? Or a hiccup of glee?

News from Aberdeen, Scotland – CNN reporting – DJT on vacation at his International Golf Links for a dawn T-time with friends, family and closest advisors assinated – you looked again, didnya?

– by a group of black and tartan clad mercenaries. Reports are still coming in but New York City Don Lemon takes over from his slurry perch on CNN’s barstool in Times Square to pronounce time of death 11 minutes to Midnight Eastern Standard Time.

Prognosticators across the Globe rush to explain the meaning of 11-49-12-31. It all adds up to Climate Change and Asteroids. Climate Change Accelerated. Asteroids Halted.

At our gala parties the worthies of the globe, suck in a deep breath.  No one had seen this coming. Hope and prayed for years yes, but never dreamed of. Silence. Prayers Answered. The first guffaw. And then another and another. Murmurs turns to shouts, shouts to laughter and more bottles opened, more corks popped. The bubbly splashes like, like – Slowly, I turn, step by step, inch by inch . . . Niagara Falls!   

Hallelujah.  Allah Akbar.  God is Great.

Then a sudden moment of confusion. Matters have changed in the Highlands. The Usurper assinated yes, but not by tartan clad freedom fighters, but by defenestration.  The Usurper was tossed out a window.

Once more a sudden silence overcomes the room. Someone hisses a single word.


Buzz Kill. Worse.  Despair.


“Wait!  Wait!” Someone shouts, “there’s more!” Confusion. Tense and worried faces huddle about Satan’s little tablet. The story has changed, morphed.  Evolved once more. Not such assination nor even defenestration.

Apparently in Aberdeen on the links there was merely a gaggle of unhappy Thistle Heads  who deplored DJT building additional accommodations on their flea-infested sand dunes. Expand the links? 1400 permanent jobs? Y’ muss be daft, y’ plab reprobate.  Ne’re take from the likes o’ him.

No Assination. No Defenestration.

At Dawn – a Demonstration. That’s all.

The Pause that Refreshes. Cold Cokes all around. Saved by Fake News. No chance of a Pence. Hey there, pop another bottle of bubbly please. And someone wake up Don Lemon.





Walmart-Target-Cosco Holiday Special Neologism for Posterity: Assination – “Making an Ass out of Someone or Something”

AMERICAN GOMORRAH™ – will Return Christmas Eve-Eve, under the constant supervision of Management.

*Disclaimer: No Politician Living or Dead Was Harmed in the Writing of this Lampoon. Whether this abstention is in fact a moral act may well be open to debate.

Feature Image Credit:   Conor Riordan, Press Association Scotland, UK News YAHOO



Paladin is an Entertainment/IP Warfare Rōnin and self-identifies as a Y-chromosome Victory Girl.

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