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Stop the presses. Hold the phone. Call the queen. Ring a bell. Do the math. Cut the cheese. Bring the hurt. Mind the gap. Get a clue. Catch a break. Hook me up. Cancel lunch. Aid and abet. Alert the media. Blow the shofar.
It’s way past time to congratulate the baby Jesus on the anniversary of his birth. While all those annoying unending ads for the Christmas sales have blessedly come to an end, they’ve been replaced by all those annoying unending ads for the after-Christmas sales.
Donald Trump and global warming. Not what you would call your match made in heaven. Rather, the pairing harkens closer to the other location. That hotter destination often described as being in a more Southernly direction. The one with the pitchfork racks on the scorched walls of the foyer.
It’s a calendaric conundrum. To celebrate what it is we do for a living by taking the day off.
What’s the skinny on the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh for Supreme Court Justice?
You don’t need 20/20 vision to see that the whole world is waiting for the Democratic Party to push back against the tyrannical tendencies of the Trump administration.
Hey everybody. You know all that anxiety that’s been building up? Well, just let it go and relax now, because the Fourth of July is here. The Great American Holiday. The one with the noise and the colors and the hot. Now, it is summer. That’s what the Fourth is. Not just the day we celebrate the anniversary of the birth of the best country in the history of the world but also the heart of the season of light.
Traditionally, the present for a first anniversary is paper, but you don’t need any more of that, considering the voluminous file cabinets full of documents already collected and stashed in triple-locked, humidity-controlled warehouses all over the leaky swamp that is Washington.
Okay, Democrats, settle down. Drop the confetti and back away from the champagne. Stop punching each other in the arm, making with the whoop-whoop noises.
It’s been quite a year, the exact reverse of that whole “time flies when you’re having fun” thing.
It is our fervent hope here at Durstco that all you loyal readers join us in welcoming the elixir of opportunity that is 2017 and pray that it goes down smoother than that most recently departed year whose name has been wiped from our memory banks.
Relax. Now breathe. And repeat. The nonstop madcap insanity has finally reached its red and green holiday crescendo and its all downhill from here.
And now a few choice words for all Republicans advising Democrats to “stop whining about the election and get over it.”
Two months before joining the government in an entry level position, President-elect Donald Trump has been learning the ropes and is busier than a bartender ten minutes before midnight at a Times Square Applebee’s on New Year’s Eve.
And now a public service announcement for all you prodigal sons and daughters making the pilgrimage back home for the annual Turkey Day reunion. Prepare for some ultra ugliness out there, people.
Well. That happened. Donald J. Trump didn’t just perplex the pundits, pollsters and his own progeny with a stunning electoral pummeling of Hillary Clinton, he pelted them with showbiz shock and awe.
If experts are correct in saying that Donald Trump needs women voters to win the presidency, the last two weeks have been the worst for any political candidate since the summer of 1984 when Michael Dukakis climbed into a tank and tried on a helmet.