So how in the world do you pull off something like this? Just hours after the news broke and the Mark Meadows scandal, which I’ll explain momentarily, hit the shit.
First of all, you’ve got to have a concept. In this case, it’s a simple matter — Cummings had Meadows’ back instantly at great personal risk. He stood up for Meadows when he was called a racist, which by the way, he emphatically is, and I can prove it.
So then Trump attacked Committee Chairman Cummings, who is an elected representative of The People, just as Trump is a public servant, although you couldn’t convince him of that.
Now Meadows refuses to back up his buddy Cummings. Why? Because underneath it all, Meadows is a racist and an opportunist. He used his friend Cummings, and turned his back on him when the chips were down.
This makes Meadows a clear comedy goal, a rich-target environment full of all sorts of racist slander and white supremacist innuendos, nothing ever said out loud, of course, like the good white-sheeter he clearly is.
His sleazy manner reminds me of the time he hired a new accountant. There were three applicants for the job, and he asked the first man — he would never hire a woman for a responsible position — “How much is two times two?”
“Four,” said the man, and sat back down. “How much is two times two?” Meadows asked the second man.
“Why, it’s four,” he replied with a smile.
Meadows turned to the third man, whom he hired instantly when he heard the man’s reply to the same “How much is two times two?” question:
“What number did you have in mind?”
And of course, everyone knows that Meadows was actually a professional actor in his youth. In one love scene, the director told him he should kiss the female lead as the camera trucks in on them.
“Okay,” agreed Meadows, “but what’s my motivation?”
I ran into Mark Meadows the other day and asked him, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?”
“Possibly in the movies,” he replied.
“Depends,” I responded, “where do you generally sit?”
Everybody got on Mark Meadow’s case when he supposedly refused to help with the White House Thanksgiving turkey, but he soon put that to rights.
“Hey,” he barked, “didn’t I pluck the turkey? And didn’t I stuff it?”
“Yeah,” admitted the White House staff.
“Well, then,” the Congressman nodded impatiently — how else? — “all you have to do now is catch it, kill it and plop it into the oven!”
Meadows once asked his mother when she put on a full-length fur coat, “Do you realize that some dumb beast suffered just so you could wear that coat?”
Meadow’s mother instantly responded, “Don’t you DARE talk about your father that way!”
Mark Meadows once found himself on a desert island captured by a tribe of cannibals. In a low muttering voice, he said to himself, “Oh, f*ck, I’m doomed!”
Suddenly a radiant shaft of light came out of the clouds in the sky, and a voice boomed down, “No, my son, you are NOT doomed — merely pick up a rock and bash in the chief’s head!”
So Meadows picked up a rock and bashed in the chieftan’s head. The voice boomed down again, this time saying, “Okay, son, NOW you’re doomed!”
Meadows once came to me for help with kleptomania, so I gave him a klepto pill to help him out, told him it would take about two weeks, after which he’d never steal anything ever again.
“And if it doesn’t work within the two week period, pick me up a Dell laptop and a set of power tools.”
Mark Meadows was strolling with Melania around Book Hill in Georgetown, a fancy part of Washington, D.C., a town with more problems than Baltimore ever had.
“I simply must have that diamond necklace,” says Melania. Meadows reaches into his pocket and pulls out a brick, throws the brick through the window, and grabs the necklace and pulls it out past the smashed glass, puts it on Melania, and they continue down the street.
“Oh,” she says, “Look at that fabulous jacket with the racial slur. I must have that jacket so I can be best!” So Mark Meadows takes out another brick and throws it through the window, grabs the jacket, puts it on Melania, and down the street they continue to stroll, until she stops at yet another window, where she spots a fabulous ruby ring.
“Oh, look at that incredible ring!” she exclaims, and Meadows turns to her and snaps, “That’s enough — you must think I’m MADE of bricks!”
As you can plainly see, Mark Meadows is on what he calls a balanced diet — one bacon sandwich in each hand.
Meadows went to his doctor, said “It hurts right here,” he pointed to his left side. “Does it sort of itch, then hurt, then itch again?”
“Why, yes, that’s it exactly!” exclaimed Meadows, “that’s exactly what I have!”
“So do I,” the doctor admitted, “I wonder what the f*ck it is. But how did you burn your ears?”
“I was ironing and the phone rang. I got confused, picked up the iron and put it to my ear.”
“But that doesn’t explain the other ear,” I prompted.
“Well,” Meadows explained, “the phone rang again.”
Mark Meadows is sort of like a combination of Lassie and a pit bull. It rips your leg off, then goes for help.
Mark Meadows doesn’t have a dog or cat. He used to have a dog, but he got tired of playing chess with a dog that lost two out of three games.
Mark Meadows apparently once took a cab, back when he was visiting the Cape, and of course he wanted to sample the most famous fish of the region, which would have been scrod, so he asked the cab driver, “Where can I get scrod?”
The driver turned and smiled and said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard the word used in the past pluperfect subjunctive!”
Mark Meadows had a lot of problems with his golf. Why, just the other day, he ripped off a horrible slice and the ball drove through the windshield of a passing bus, instantly killing 49 passengers and the driver, but he soon put things to rights. You just hold your left hand higher than the right, thumb over the forehand, and step into the ball a little closer.
The only time Mark Meadows didn’t cheat at golf was when he played with a gorilla from the Washington Zoo.
“What am I supposed to do?” the gorilla asked.
“You see that close-cropped green area over there?” and Meadows waved his hand in the general direction of the first green.
“Yeah, I see it,” said the gorilla.
“Okay, so hit the ball onto the green spot,” Meadows prompted, and the gorilla duly hit the ball, which landed within an inch of the cup.
“Now hit the ball into the cup,” said Meadows, and the gorilla stared at him for a moment.
“Why in the f*ck didn’t you tell me BACK THERE?” he demanded.
I heard that Frank Russell, one of Mark Meadows’ golf partners, collapsed on the first green, so all day long it was hit the ball, drag Frank, hit the ball, drag Frank.
Run outta time, gotta go,
See You At The Top!!!
gorby