Y’all’s Drunk Uncle President Is Tweeting Again

Alex Brandon/AP Images
Alex Brandon/AP Images

I’ve figured it out. Aside from scarfing down family-size buckets of KFC, pathological lying and a predilection for pussy grabbing, we all know that Donald Trump’s vices do not include drinking alcohol or imbibing in recreational drugs. Yet our nation’s leader repeatedly leaves us perplexed with late-night tweets that sound as if he just got home from the club and is gone off the Henny.


The great spiritual philosopher I affectionately and respectfully referred to as “Grandma” once explained to me that “a drunk man speaks a sober man’s mind,” but since our comb-over-in-chief doesn’t drink or smoke, we have been dumbfounded as to why a 70-year-old douche nozzle keeps drunk-texting America at strange hours. However, there is no need to wonder anymore, because there is an obvious answer to all of our questions:

Donald Trump gets high off Twitter.

The tangerine totalitarian apparently woke up early this morning and started a tweet storm that insulted the mayor of the biggest city of America’s most important international partner, doubled down on his unconstitutional “Muslim ban” and undermined the efforts of his own Justice Department. By now it should be obvious to us all: Trump is drunk.

The reason inebriated people are so entertaining is that drugs and alcohol are the greatest lie detectors on the planet. When people get high, they shed all inhibitions and become their true selves. It’s why I believe the iPhone should come with a Breathalyzer that measures your blood alcohol level before you are allowed to send a text to your ex. It’s why a white supremacist will gulp “purple drank” and go on a stabbing spree on a commuter train. It’s why Mullet Mussolini might have destroyed his Muslim ban this morning.

Despite the Justice Department’s insistence that his executive order wasn’t a “ban” but a national security precaution, an appeals court ruled against Trump’s executive order implementing travel restrictions because of his administration’s public statements revealing that it was aimed at Muslims. Yet drunk uncle Trump woke up this morning, snorted a line of social media booger sugar and exposed his Islamophobic desires by tweeting this:

But like a crackhead walking down the street with a VCR under his arms, Trump was just getting started.


Whether it’s your uncle who has been sipping on Crown Royal during Thanksgiving dinner or the coked-up guy at your class reunion who won’t stop talking, you’ve seen this drunken diarrhea of the mouth before. My cousin once drank 23 Bud Lights at a cookout and repeatedly harassed a woman for a date until I had to ask him to leave. He didn’t understand why she was so offended because he knew she was single, which was true ...

Her husband had been killed in a car accident a few days before.

While that incident was cringeworthy, it was probably less disrespectful than Trump’s tweet this morning about London’s mayor, who is guiding his city through a horrific terrorist incident that happened this past weekend in which seven people lost their lives:


That’s the president of the United States, y’all—to the mayor of the largest city of our most important ally! Trump’s tweet is the equivalent of Tony Blair calling Rudy Giuliani a “fuckboy” the day after 9/11.

But we shouldn’t be mad at Trump. His mouth might be a gaping asshole dropping Twinkie-sized turds all over the American people, but it is obvious that he has a disease. He needs help. I don’t know if he can go cold turkey, but maybe someone in the White House can go into his phone, change his Twitter settings and funnel them to a fake account before we find ourselves in World War III while Theresa May and Angela Merkel stand back giggling as they watch the nuclear destruction of our nation.


Or perhaps Republicans can cajole him into a joint session of Congress, but when he gets there, the only people in the room should be Steve Bannon (without the Ku Klux Klan hood), Jared Kushner (probably in handcuffs by then), Vladimir Putin and Ivanka Trump. They can gather around him and let him know that he won’t be speaking because this is actually an intervention.

But before Melania Trump starts everything off with a lovely letter plagiarized from Michelle Obama, they will open the intervention with the prayer of every 12-step program:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know we elected a tiny-fingered Twitter fiend as our president.


God bless America.

Seriously, God, could you do something about this?

World-renowned wypipologist. Getter and doer of "it." Never reneged, never will. Last real negus alive.



God is not going to help us.

I mean, seriously, if Trump’s cloven hooves did not burst into flames when he set foot in the White House then we are beyond salvation.