Presidential Boypussy

July 27, 2020

George Washington’s boypussy was so pink, Martha named it Puppy Nose.

 

For most of his life, John Adams never thought much about his boypussy. When he was 85 years old he examined it with a mirror for the first time and broke down crying.

 

Thomas Jefferson’s boypussy was wide and smooth, like a marcona almond.

Little James Madison gathered strength from his tiny, taut boypussy.

James Monroe had a boypussy like Brillo pad.

John Quincy Adams’ mother thought his convex bussy was the mark of satan and hid it from his father.

 

Andrew Jackson’s aides would rub his hungover boypussy with a soothing balm after weekend benders.

 

The merits of Martin Van Buren’s boypussy are a mystery to historians.

 

William Henry Harrison would run his class ring around his puffy boypussy before making a big decision.

John Tyler would sneak away with the fireplace bellow.

 

Zachary Taylor once asked a priest to bless his bussy. The priest said, “Get outta here with that. We don’t bless bussies here.”

Millard Fillmore hated boypussies and couldn’t stand it when someone said the word “boypussy.” Probably because he had a bad one.

Franklin Pierce was born without a boypussy. The doctors did the best they could with the boypussy technology they had at the time and bored a primitive boypussy into him.

James Buchanan got cauliflower bussy from falling off his horse bussy-first.

 

Abraham Lincoln had a flawless boypussy—and was killed for it.

After the doctors amputated Andrew Johnson’s necrotic boypussy he buried it in his family plot.

 

When Ulysses S. Grant drank, his boypussy came out.

 

Rutherford B. Hayes blamed his mother’s Sicilian genes for his swarthy boypussy.

 

The doctors knew James Garfield was a goner once his feverish boypussy turned purple.

 

Every August at Lake Champlain, Chester A. Arthur’s hypertrophic bussy lips would peek out from under his bathing suit.

 

Grover Cleveland had a boypussy like a bear trap.

 

Benjamin Harrison had a boypussy like an old sponge.

 

William McKinley once jailed a man for giving his misshapen boypussy a dirty look.

Theodore Roosevelt would fold a taxidermied bear paw and squeeze it into his boypussy at parties.

William H. Taft had a boypussy like a rain-soaked cardboard box.

 

Woodrow Wilson was so proud of his bussy, he put it on the two-dollar bill. The Treasury Department only printed a few hundred, and they’re worth a small fortune today.

Warren Harding embezzled money in his conniving boypussy.

Calvin Coolidge had a furry little boypussy like a lucky rabbit’s foot.

 

Herbert Hoover’s boypussy was the first of many presidential boypussies to be on the cover of Time Magazine.

A Saturday Evening Post reporter coined the phrase “hubba hubba” while exalting FDR’s perfect boypussy.

Harry S. Truman picked his bussy warts in the shower.

Only one presidential boypussy was wounded in battle—Eisenhower’s.

JFK had a fine presidential bussy, but his chronic back problems hurt its utility.

When Lyndon Johnson wanted to end a meeting he’d rip a loud bussy fart and say, “This meeting stinks, boys!”

Richard Nixon was the only president to openly use his boypussy to wield power and punish his enemies.

When Betty was out of town, Gerald Ford would open beer bottles with his engorged boypussy.

Jimmy Carter’s boypussy isn’t a beauty queen but it gets the job done. Every day he thanks God for giving him a reliable boypussy.

Ronald Reagan had the only presidential boypussy to be featured in a TV ad; it was for the Chevy Apache truck, in 1965.

George H. W. Bush’s bussy had knots like a spooky old tree.

Bill Clinton’s boypussy still fucks.

George W. Bush’s dumbass boypussy scarfs down raspberry kolaches.

Barack Obama misses scooting his bare beefy boypussy across the Resolute Desk.

Donald Trump had a body-mod artist make his boypussy look like the Taj Mahal.

 

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Pim Tool, War Correspondent

May 1, 2015

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Deep Cuts from 1991

April 25, 2015

future plans

thinner

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The Virtual Reality Gold Rush

March 20, 2015

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A few weeks ago, I found myself in Spike Jonze’s Chinatown home dodging Syrian kids as they played soccer. I was wearing a headset that had me immersed in a 360-degree virtual reality documentary shot at a refugee camp in Jordan. As I turned my head to follow the action on the field, I lost my balance and kicked the leg of the nearby kitchen table. I wasn’t used to watching a convincing virtual reality movie (who is?) and felt bested by technology, like when an old person is listening to a museum’s audio tour on headphones and keeps shouting at people because she can’t hear her own voice.

The film was one of three that Jonze and the director Chris Milk had me experience using the headset. There was also an animation in which you’re standing in the middle of a lake. A train chugs across the lake, right at you, and then through you, exploding into hundreds of birds. The third film is composed of super-close-up footage of protesters demonstrating at an anti-police-brutality march in Manhattan (it was produced in partnership with VICE News, and Jonze is a longtime VICE creative director). The company behind these movies is VRSE, a virtual reality production house founded by Milk and backed by Annapurna Pictures’ Megan Ellison and venture-capital cash. VRSE has impressed the entertainment industry at Sundance and global leaders at the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. The possible future of VRSE has Jonze and Milk ecstatic, like it’s the early days of filmmaking and they’re Eadweard Muybridge. And while the thrill you get from watching the movies can be hard to describe, it’s safe to say these guys are on to something, even if no one’s quite sure what that is yet.

I interviewed them while Jonze softly strummed an acoustic guitar.

Continue reading over at VICE.

 

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Trumpet Fight

October 15, 2013

A related post: Trumpet.

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Die, My Love

August 15, 2013

 

 

Transcribed from strangers’ conversations on a Long Island Rail Road train on August 2, 2013.

Characters:

Shorts: A young woman wearing shorts whose name was never mentioned, or, if it was, I didn’t hear it.

Thomas: Shorts’ boyfriend who is sitting across the aisle from Shorts.

Mariah: A young woman sitting next to Shorts.

 

*

 

[They are drinking white wine and eating sandwiches.]

 

*

 

Mariah: My sandwich is stale. I can’t believe we have to put up with Peter and Skylar

 

Shorts: Skylar has a dog. A lot of people get in tomorrow.

 

Thomas: Virginia is getting in tomorrow.

 

Mariah: Where is our house?

 

Thomas: Amagansett

 

Mariah: Who knew the Hamptons were such a challenge?

[Read More]

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Boys Are Unconscious

August 14, 2013

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