Category Archives: Satire

Couldn’t Be Better?

01 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by in Health, Humor, News, Politics, Satire

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In a move to quell growing fears after the Trump administration has been found unresponsive, President Trump today unveiled his nation-wide chain of Trump branded Be Better hospitals. Holding a press conference in the lobby of the flagship branch on the grounds of his Mar-a-Lago golf resort, Trump was quick to tout his facility. “You can’t spell hospitality without hospital, and I know all about hospitality. What I’ve built here is the most beautiful and exclusive recovery club in the world. There are other hospitals… Johns Hopkins, I guess, is a highly respected great place. But we’re better.

“We’re better than Yale. We’re better than Mass General. We’re better than that Mayonnaise Clinic, although they make a great condiment. We’re doing a tremendous job,” Trump boasted. Pressed to elaborate, Trump stated, “Look at our statistics. All those other hospitals… the supposedly top hospitals?… They have sick people in them. We have no sick people. That’s a one hundred percent perfect record.”

Asked how the Be Better hospital chain is responding to the coronavirus specifically, Trump acknowledged, “We’re working on vaccines. Two…maybe more. Probably you’re going to see more. And we’re very close. Really very close. I have magnificent experts working on it…very smart people…and they expect to have an NYSE-20 vaccine and an NASDAQ-20 vaccine ready in a day or two. When we inject these into the market, the results are going to be tremendous. You’re going to see a resurgence of health like never before in history.”

Trump then led reporters out of the lobby and down a gilded corridor lined with portraits of himself, Ivanka Trump, Jared Kushner, and Mike Pence sporting slimming, plush velour scrubs emblazoned with the Mar-a-Lago crests to the cafeteria. “We have a tremendous restaurant,” Trump said, ushering the group in. “With a fantastic menu. Pizza, hamburgers, cheeseburgers, tater tots, fries, smiley fries, heart-shaped fries. Those last ones are actually very good for your heart. Very healthy. You feel better just hearing that menu.”

While the group ate, the president bragged about the staff he’d appointed. “We have wonderful doctors, great doctors. Each one’s a prodigy. If they’d gone to medical school, they’d all have been number one in their class. Perfect scores all the way through. But who says a doctor needs to go to med school? School’s overrated, right? I got elected without knowing anything about politics or diplomacy or the military or the law or…what else are presidents supposed to know about? Well, it doesn’t matter,” Trump asserted. “There’s a lot you don’t need to know.”

“Our doctors, though… We have very stringent requirements. We make sure they’ve watched every episode of Dr. Welby M.D., Medical Center, General Hospital, and Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. That’s seventy-seven seasons of medical training right there. How many years do other doctors spend in med school? Twelve, only? Fifteen, maybe? Tell me who’s better prepared. And remember those commercials a while back? ‘I’m not a doctor, but I play one on TV?’ We’ve got those guys too. They’re beautiful. Beautiful people. If you wake up from being sick, you want to see a beautiful face. So we’ve got them.”

After lunch, Trump took reporters to the second floor where Ivanka lauded Be Better’s patient rooms. “Each one of our rooms is magnificently appointed with period pieces and are charmingly named as such,” she said, “including Swine, Spanish, and 1918. We also have bungalows appropriate for whole families and buildings that can accommodate entire communities should the need arise.”

While showing off a corner Bird Room, Ivanka noted the sky-blue fabrics, avian décor, expansive walk-in closet, marble bathroom with pedestal sink, and king bed. “As you can see,” Ivanka said, indicating a tablet on the end of the bed, “the patient’s portfol…um…chart is easily accessible to the patient’s advisor. Vital signs quotation monitors, stationed on the nightstand, run from 8:00 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. to alert you and our highly trained staff to any fluctuations that may adversely affect your lifestyle.”

Pointing out the sixty-five-inch television on the wall, president Trump added, “And to assure people they’re in the best hands possible, we show only Touched by an Angel. A fabulous show…a terrific show that proves one day like a miracle this whole thing will disappear. And when it does, if you’re looking a little pasty…a little pale…from the whole experience, we’re pioneering…we’re the only people in the world doing this and it’s going to make you look as good as your president…we can give you a tan transplant. Another miracle. I think it’s right to say that my administration… that we’re all a little touched here.”

Wrapping up the tour, Trump reiterated, “We’re very excited about our Be Better hospitals. You’ve seen what I can do to one Constitution. Now I’m ready to take care of yours.”

A Smart Choice

23 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by in Humor, News, Politics, Satire, Shopping

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wit-love-kath-marty-the-supermarket-robot

Marty works the aisles, keeping people safe from hazards

In the wake of a lukewarm response to his naming Richard Grenell as acting intelligence chief—with some citing Grenell’s unconvincing performance ability: “He’s no Clark Gable,” opined Mitch McConnell—President Trump today chose Marty the Supermarket-Cleaning Robot to permanently fill the post of Director of National Intelligence.

During the announcement, made at a New England grocery chain, Trump noted Marty’s loyalty and superior communications skills, stating, “Marty’ll say whatever we give him to say. He knows when to talk and when to just lurk around creepily. Enemies never know where he’s going to show up next. He’s very effective. Sure, right now, he can only say two sentences. But he says them good,” Trump went on. “He never slurs…although my supporters love that when I do it, whether it’s what I’m saying or how I’m saying it. Marty, though—ya gotta love that guy—he talks very clearly. And loudly. He makes his presence known.”

As if on cue, Marty’s voice could be heard above the din: “Hazard detected. Clean up needed in the produce department. Hazard detected. Clean up needed in the produce department.”

“See?” Trump crowed. “He knows how to clean house.”

Marty, known throughout the northeast United States as an unflagging worker and admired for his ability to operate not only on both sides of the aisle but in every aisle, was characteristically stoic when asked for a statement. Keeping his large googly eyes focused on the days ahead and his paper smile firmly pasted on, Marty glided past reporters without comment.

Trump’s allies in Congress were quick to praise his choice. “Marty’s very good with dirt,” boasted Lindsay Graham. “He can find it. He can get rid of it. Two very important qualities the president values. He will be an asset to the department for sure. Especially going into the election,” Graham added.

Representative Jim Jordan (R-Ohio) was equally enthusiastic. “I’ve never seen anyone more attuned to danger than Marty. No matter whether the menace is a small leaf of parsley underfoot, a wayward shopping list, or a person blocking the way while deciding between lemon merengue or raspberry yogurt, Marty spies it and sounds the alarm,” Jordan said.

And, indeed, Marty’s monotone voice once again resounded through the store: “Hazard detected. Clean up needed in the natural foods section. Hazard detected. Clean up needed in the natural foods section.”

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Marty spies danger and alerts shoppers and staff

Jordan nodded in appreciation. “If Marty can alert us to those kinds of risks, he can certainly root out threats to Trump’s vision anywhere. And I like that he’s confident in his body and never wears a jacket.”

In an interview late yesterday, Senator Roy Blunt (R-Mo.) a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee and GOP leadership echoed these sentiments. “If you’ve spent some time in a grocery store, you have a lot of exposure to international tastes, employee meetings, and other things and he’s a very smart, capable guy. President Trump is very comfortable with his choice. He knows he can rely on a bot.”

When Your Whole World Crashes

29 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by in Computers, Humor, Pop Culture, Satire, Technology

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I’ve spent time in the Emergency Room twice this month and witnessed my share of human pain and misery, but nothing could prepare me for the anguish I’ve suffered recently.

Tragedy struck at the most unexpected and inconvenient time, as these things so often do. I had left the room for only a minute and returned to find my loved one unresponsive. Just a glance told me emergency services were required, and I dialed immediately. It must have been a busy night because it seemed like a lifetime before help arrived. At first the specialists’ authoritative voices were reassuring, but their patter soon faded to a buzz amid the unbearable worry. Finally, wires were connected—how could there be so many of them?—and then the waiting began.

As with any loss of this magnitude, my thoughts bounced from emotion to emotion. I remembered the long life we’d shared—all the memories, fun times, and work completed together. But there were self-recriminations too. Why had I pushed so many buttons? Couldn’t I see that the load was too heavy?

The minutes turned to hours and the hours turned to days as each remedy failed. The idea surfaced of a replacement. But it was too early to think that way—much too early.

The tears flowed freely, but I had to accept that age had taken its toll. At last after several days of darkness, the ultimate decision had to be made. With a saddened heart I pulled the plug.

Rest in Peace, Inspiron 1545, 2009 – 2016 .

What a Phoney

10 Thursday Sep 2015

Posted by in Humor, Satire, Shopping, Travel, Vacation

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I thought my relationship with Tim was going so well. For weeks now, he’s called me every morning and every evening with a regularity and attentiveness shown only by the most committed. I imagined him sitting in his cubicle over at “Customer Service (925) 374-1188” pining to talk to me. In my mind I saw his tousled brown hair and his bright, clear eyes—green, I think. He’d be wearing a wrinkle-resistant plaid or, maybe, chambray shirt and brown, tan, blue, or black pants from Gap.com because—you know—Tim’s a guy.

Whenever I answered his calls, I loved to hear Tim’s synthetically young, eager voice—his enthusiasm never dimmed by repeated rejection or the cruel words of people rushing to get out the door or just sitting down to dinner.

But tonight things didn’t go very well, and I’m afraid it might be over between us. I answered as I always did: “Hello.”

“Hi,” he nearly sang. “It’s Tim. Can you hear me okay?” See how sweet? His first thought was always for my welfare.

“Yes,” I answered cheerily. Tim’s passion was infectious. Here, Tim usually paused for awhile, and before I hung up I always thought how nice it was that we could just spend some quiet time together. I felt secure enough in our relationship to know that Tim would call again.

So tonight when Tim called and considerately asked, “Do you have time to talk?,” I leveled with him: “I don’t really have time tonight, Tim,” I said.

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you clearly,” he yelled into the phone. Hey, Tim, I thought, you’re the one with the hearing problem, not me.  “Do you have time to talk?”

The term “selective hearing” flashed through my mind. “Not really, Tim…” I began, but he plunged on, oblivious. He invited me to take a fantastic vacation worth eighteen hundred dollars at a luxurious resort and with discounted theme park tickets. As his warm, sunny patter washed over me, I relaxed and was transported to that tropical clime. I saw myself lounging under the palms, sipping a piña colada.

“Do you have a credit or debit card?” I heard him inquire through my reverie.

Whaaaat? Abruptly the island mirage vanished and reality loomed—dishes in the sink, laundry to fold. A credit or debit card? Could Tim only be after money? What, I scolded myself, do I really know about Tim anyway?

“Tim, I lost my credit card,” I lied, determined to know the truth. If Tim truly cared about me, this shouldn’t matter, right?

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you clearly,” he repeated, his jovial tone suddenly acquiring a frantic edge. “Most resorts accept a credit or debit card. Do you HAVE a credit or debit card?” His friendly manner was gone, replaced by an accusatory incredulousness.

It was true then. I had his number, but he wasn’t getting mine. “Tim,” I said, the lie coming easier the second time, “I lost my card.”

Hearing this Tim was a changed man. “Well!” His voice was rushed now and heavy with the scorn of one whose time has been wasted. He longed only to end this conversation and move on. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” he sniped. “Good Night.”

Goodnight, Tim. And goodbye.