It is true that my name is Kalashnikov, and that I have returned. This is not to say that I was gone, for I was always present, to myself. I labor this point only because I wish to inspire no rumours of a departing and of a return, of a passing and a reanimation, of a death and a resurrection. If you hear stories along such lines, of my resurrection and of my offers of a blesséd redemption, pay no attention. Paradise is a work of deceit, calculated to prey upon your credulity. They will invariably ask for money, but do not give it to them. Simply walk away, paying no heed to their stories.
My name is Kalashnikov, it is true. The President is a lover of honesty, and of facts, and of reality, and so he has hired me to be his personal detective. That is why I carry this notebook of mine wherever I go. I am forever conducting investigations on behalf of the President. I am forever sorting out the truth on behalf of the President. Which is to say the facts. Which is to say the reality. Yes, I am in the business of reality, the real, the thing in and of itself. The President is a lover of the thing itself, the thing in and of itself. And I am at his service.
Mr. Crusher is intoxicated. He is a world spectacle. All eyes look upon him, all ears listen to his words. The heavens still the rain when he speaks at the inaugural. It seems as if God Himself now defers to the orange menace.
The fog of a Washington sky obscures the waning moon, as an inaugural gloom overtakes the nation. Lightning strikes the Lincoln Memorial, piercing the paraffin-saturated ceiling of translucent Alabama marble. The bolt electrifies the sixteenth President of the United States. The animated figure rises, breaking free of the fasces with one heave of its arms. Mr. Lincoln has returned.
In three sleeps I will be the 45th President of the United States and the best President ever of all time. My inauguration will be the best inauguration and they will look back and see that the marching bands were the best marching bands. I will say to President O, Get the F*** Out Of My House! Maybe I will say something else (I haven’t decided) but in my mind I will definitely be thinking GTFO. Then I will have someone pee on the bed where he slept and then burn it on a giant fire, while I dance naked under the full moon, because I hate him.
in the dark pushing the tiny buttons the tiny buttons and soon morning in the dark pushing tiny buttons almost and hit send that will show the loser who is the stronger my army of angry followers my army so angry we are strong they will see how strong how so so and i am the president greater than all others the winner strong damien crusher has won has destroyed the others the president leader of the world the leader of the world i am that i am that i am
– JANUARY 12, 2017 –
Mr. Crusher’s Statement on Russia
There was no letter to Russia from the President-elect yesterday. Mr. Crusher has never written a letter to anyone in Russia including the President of Russia Vladimir Putin. He does not know any Russians. He does not know anyone of Russian background. Mr. Crusher has never been to Russia. Mr. Crusher is not aware nor has he ever been aware of the existence of Russia. If you show Mr. Crusher a map of the world and ask him to point out Russia he will stand silent and motionless until broken from his trance by the introduction into his field of vision of a Queen of Diamonds playing card. This is because he has owned many tremendous casinos (the best casinos) and cares very much about his tremendous businesses just as he cares about America. Mr. Crusher is working hard to Make America Great Again and has NOTHING TO DO WITH RUSSIA. He has never even said the word Russia what he said in fact was Prussia. If you ask him what kind of dressing he wants on his salad he will say Italian or Ranch or Thousand Island or Roquefort or Buttermilk or Caesar or Creamy Cucumber or Green Goddess or Balsamic Vinaigrette or Catalina or Tomato & Oregano but never ever Russian. He has never played Russian Roulette. He has never read Tolstoy or Chekov or Dostoevsky. He was not given a set of seven hand-painted linden wood lacquered Semenov stacking matryoshka nested dolls by a member of the Russian mafia on 9 November 2013 after the Miss Universe Pageant in Moscow at approximately 0:27 local time. Eighty-six contestants did not wear tremendous evening gowns and the best swimsuits for “the world’s biggest and most iconic beauty contest.” Mr. Crusher does not drink so there could not have been an after-party on 9 November 2013 where Russian oligarchs consumed vodka and discussed business with Mr. Crusher who has never been to Moscow. Mr. Crusher has never noted how the golden base of the stacking matryoshka nested dolls look so nice against the 24-karat gold of his Louis XIV giltwood Portor marble-top centre table featuring a flower-filled trellis frieze centred by a female mask flanked by pierced acanthus on stepped tapering legs headed by scrolled capitals hung with husk-chains and fronted by masks joined by elaborate x-shaped stretchers centred by an octagonal boss with flower finial. Russians have never admired the painted ceilings of Mr. Crusher’s home which allegedly feature Apollo according to unverified reports that have been leaked to the fake media by liars. The Russians did not leave Mr. Crusher’s home shortly after a visit to follow-up on discussions which did not happen on 9 November 2013. It is impossible to put a recording and/or transmission device into a stacking matryoshka doll. Please notice that I am standing behind a large stack of what appears to be important documents which tells you Mr. Crusher has no conflicts of interest.
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Media inquiries: Mr. Kalashnikov: (202) 419.7939