“As some of you may have noticed before the formalities took the cocktail weenies right out of my mouth, I’m presently talking more like a normal person to give my jowls a rest. Do not be alarmed. It’s not easy to mimic the look of having no bones or teeth below the nose. Just lips and skin. It makes me folksy. Plus, I’m drunk, so that elucidates my process.”

“Who the hell are you?” shouts Congressman Louie Gohmert.

“Oh, quit yodeling like a lunatic warthog pirate, and ditch the civil war talk, too, Lou. Nobody is going to war over Donald Trump, so you’re just raising the hopes of the lowest level of the base.

“With that rebuke, I, Sen. John Noodles Kennedy call this secret meeting of the remaining ‘Save the Trump’ members who will say ANYTHING, it’s important to emphasize say ANYTHING, to save our president from the demonic jackals in the House who would besmirch his integrity with gopher gravy and lemon bars. I’m in charge of this hoedown. I don’t why. It could be rabid ageism.

“‘The inquiry is rigged like a slaughterhouse.’ That was the last line I was propagating last week. I should also point out that Donald J. Trump is one stupid sumbitch.”

“I could slide this Bic ballpoint right into your brain, Kennedy,” growls Gohmert.

“Why would you do that, Louie?” asks Congressman Devin Nunez. “I find your violent tendencies fascinating.”

“Could you slide a pen into my brain, Lou?” asks Congressman Kelly Armstrong. “I’m just a sub for Matt Gaetz, who rents himself out for Adams Family revivals.”

“Would you please push a Bic into my brain?” pleads Jim Jordan. “How about you, Meadows? I suppose you want a shiny new ice pick?”

“This is stupid,” complains Congressman Mark Meadows. “Gohmert ruins every meeting. Every banquet. He goes nuts whenever somebody talks to him.”

Oh, for chrissakes” hollers Kennedy. “There go Jordan and Meadows. Grab at them, Louie. Oh hell, nevermind, your arms are shorter than an albino alligator with stiff joints.”

“Screw you, Jordan. Buy a blazer, you slob. You look like an overaged assistant manager at Arby’s. Your head is square like a 4×4, Meadows.”

“Good riddance. Anyhow, we are here to discuss what stupid things we can say next before the tuna gets yanked into the boat. Trump is gaffed, but I’m going to take more than one big rat to lift him in. Hey voters, ‘What you heard and saw us say last week isn’t working, so have a taste of this animal stool,'” grumbles Kennedy. “This is weak.”

“Take from here, Cramer, will ya?” begs Kennedy. “This might be your stupid idea anyway, for all I know. I’m going to lay on the pool table for a while.”

Cramer gets all puffed up as he stands. “Thank you, Sen.Kennedy. I have our new talking points for this hour. Anyway, it came from somebody. I think we held a contest, and the winner is:

“‘Yeah, he did it, but was that wrong? Had he known that he was doing something wrong, he might have decided not to do the corrupt illegal thing. It could have happened that way.'”

“I don’t think that’s plausible — it won’t sell in Bisbee — but you can plug almost any reason right after you say, “Sure, Trump did it. He did the hell out it. But who cares?”

Kennedy stirs. “And listen here, K-K-Kelly Armstrong, nobody cares if you want to think you’re a folksy — I’m folksy, I told you — less wrinkled Matlock, a small-town common sense attorney, and therefore mentally superior to any big-time fancy lawyers with objectionable personalities from New York, so cut it from your routine. It’s ‘I’m a lawyer, I’m a lawyer,’ at the start of every paragraph. Get a grip. This town is lousy with lawyers. Besides, that’s my schtick, and I, sir, was an executive editor of the Virginia Law Review and belonged to the Order of the Coif, so sit on it.”

“Matlock?”

“Furthermore, toots,” bellows Kennedy. “You didn’t see a single impeachable act while half of the State Department testified in front of your face. Is that what you told Chuck Todd, Armstrong? Really? Didn’t you get the memo?”

Armstrong thinks and says, “I’m so infatuated with AOC. She’s not smarter than me you know, but spellbinding. It’s time-consuming because she thinks I’m an idiot, so anyway, I got a little behind on the mandatory spin. Please extend my sarcastic apologies to the Kurds. Good day.”

“ARE you an idiot, boy? asks Kennedy. “You’re making all North Dakotans who voted for you look stupid. Would your people believe the big smelly elephant in the broom closet is really a majestic elk that just had a shower on YOUR word? Have you read the transcripts, junior? President Trump isn’t a stealthy mastermind. He just doesn’t see anyone else. Witnesses are lined up around the block. Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman wouldn’t get out of bed for this mystery if it were bleeding.”

Nunez objects. “It’s obvious to me that the president is being victimized by a wide-ranging conspiracy because of hate. Yes, a coup. I said it. I saw a video on YouTube. The lamestream media doesn’t want you to see it, though.”

“Nothing is obvious to you, Nunez,” barks Kennedy. “And start wearing shades. Your eyes are perpetually surprised, or frightened.”

Kevin Cramer regains control. “It’s like Mad Libs, I think. Sure, Trump did it, BUT: And you fill in the part after the big butt.”

“What kind of Mad Libs have you played, Cramer?” gripes Nunez.

“None, OK? I was lying. Don’t tell me that lying matters all of the sudden. Lying is the essence of Trump. We have to respect his tendencies on this matter. If we start telling the truth, it’s only going to confuse people. It may come to that but right now, it’s ‘Oh, he broke the law, but.’ Is this too complicated? Louie, what do you think?”

“Who cares about Ukrainians?” thunders Gohmert. “Trump? Are you flipping my burgers with a dirty flyswatter, media slime? No? I rest my case. How was that?”

“I love it,” murmurs Kennedy from his pool table bed. “I’ve got chalk in my ears, Lou, and prepared to go down with the ship.”

“Are we still using slime as a pejorative?” asks Armstrong. “Are we calling people scum?”

“Here’s a few more Trump nuggets that I’ve written down,” says an excited Cramer. Remember, these don’t have to land with a news reporter. There are only a few people who will believe what you say. The picky folks are just ornamental. I sought professional help from the people who sell stars and vials of historical dirt.

“‘Oh, Trump pulled a stupid prank this time (chortle), and then but:’ Get it?”

“We get it, Dad.”

Cramer begins. “But, the question you should be asking is, ‘how does this affect the plight of the Monarch butterfly?’ That’s all he’s asking. I suppose you can’t be pro butterfly these days, without getting kicked off-campus? If that’s the price, I don’t want to pay it with this card.”

“Sweet.”

Cramer is feeling it. “But, Trump traded faces with John Travolta years ago. His face was actually off. I’m surprised you don’t know this. Blame medical technology if you must have a scapegoat. I have bread in the oven.”

“I enjoyed that film when it came out,” says Kennedy, who is staring directly into the pool table lights, “but I don’t think I would like now. The movie stayed inert, but I didn’t. Isn’t that freaky?”

“DON’T lick that!”

Cramer doesn’t hear anything but the music of bullshit running through his brain. “But, that is so classic Trump. Always looking for an angle. Boys will be boys. And in case you didn’t notice, a boy can’t even breath near a girl anymore, without suffering some consequence. Just shoot me, why doncha?”

“Priceless.”

Cramer keeps going. “But Don went too far rogue, when the odometer in his brain went wacky. It happens all the time. Maybe I meant the odd janitor in his brain. It’s hard to know, which has been my point all along. When did I ever tell you about any other ‘all along’ point?”

“Are we about DONE?”

Cramer persists. “But, it was the artificial intelligence hacked on to his phone that set this minor dalliance with campaign corruption in motion and it was the very smartphone that took kids from their parents and left Puerto Ricans to die. You’re a heckuva phone, Brownie.”

“Eh.”

Cramer persists harder. “But you’re not considering the stupidity. Everything in the world is only a few thousand years old. Amazingly, we weren’t killed off by dinosaurs. And you’re expecting perfection from a deeply disturbed individual in this early stage of our moral development. You must be kidding me. Rudy was in Ukraine to keep things on the up and up. As usual, President Trump was auspicious in his gerrymandered transparency.”

“You’re a deeply disturbed individual.”

Cramer trudges on. “But whatever you do, don’t look up Dmytro Vasylovych Firtash on Google.”

“Uh oh.”

Cramer persists more. “But, he’s already hit double jeopardy, so he’s topped out on being charged with anything that has to do with shady extortion.”

“I’m having heart pains.”

Cramer persists once more. “But, the president’s mind has been focused on raking the Rocky Mountains, but he ran out of Hefty bags and got lost all alone with a smoke monster. I suppose you don’t care about that?”

“Rake. That’s hilarious.”

“Does anybody else want to spout a few answers, for practice?” asks Cramer. “There are no bad sentences. Nunez?”

The Nune tries. “He doesn’t know a quo from a crow. It was a conspiracy of the worst sort. Eric can’t find Nemo.”

“I stand corrected,” murmurs Cramer.

“Wait until you see the money laundering,” continues Nunez. “Conspired by mortal enemies, who probably invented truck nuts.”

“Adderal,” shrieks Armstrong. “He has swimmers ear from inspecting the great barrier reef for clues of corruption, there’s suspiciously too much evidence, plus Trump has been calling thousands of countries to help them with their corruption, so it’s all normal.”

“Whoa, Trigger.”

“Does anyone know why the quarterback has to run and hug the black guy holding the ball in the point zone?” wonders Gohmert. “Some of the passer guys look like they’re trying to not look uncomfortable. Is it a rule? Is it really necessary? I would feel better not having to sit through it.”

“It’s unAmerican Lou.”

“That’s a wrap. Pick up your trash.”