Good Morning, U.S.A.!

Taking a dip into the Swamp...

 

★★★★★ 

 

"The President is looking forward to meeting you," an aide, flanked by two Marine Sentries, greeted Ron. 

 

She said it in a rather gloomy tone, since the prospects of nuclear winter seemed to be on the horizon. The writer stood next to Barb and Dr. House, shadowed by the White House against the golden glow of the rising Sun. Patriotic pillar buntings swayed and flapped in the wind, unironically nailed to the white pillars.

 

Ron and Barb, trailed by Dr. House, followed the aide through the North Portico, surrounded by walls of sandbags. Inside the Cross Hall, they were met by two National Guardsmen, clad with beige and camo green armor. Six marble pillars rose to the ceiling, also adorned with buntings. A velvet rug, placed atop the white and black checkered floor, soaked up all the light from the room's three crystal chandeliers.

 

They continued through the building, passing by the Press Briefing Room, completely dark other than the podium and White House seal, both illuminated by a single spotlight. Deserted desks, strewn with crumpled papers and boxes, laid in the Outer Oval Office. "Have fun," one of the Guardsmen said, opening the doors to the Oval Office.

 

Life On The Flip Side

Ice cream not available.

 

A thunderous crack marked the arrival of the Mothership, emerging from the white, fluffy clouds above Las Vegas. The ship, metal panels flaming from reentry, banked right above the city, engulfing it in a large shadow. Two tri-finned steel disk-shaped fighter crafts deployed from the Mothership's hangar with a screeching roar, and dove toward the evacuation routes.

 

"Ron, before you go," Jimmy started, but was briefly interrupted. Three A-10 Warthogs, sent to intercept the Zetan attackers, flew down the Strip. Amidst the chaos, he continued, "Send my regards to the President."

 

Barb, halfway down the steps, waved at him frantically, to tell him to hurry up. Four F-47s, in a triangle formation, spearheaded by a grey Boeing E-3 Sentry, trailed the first attack group. "I'll be fine," Ron said with a smile, unable to reassure himself. The writer trailed off, "You know I love a good challenge." He watched as the casinos shook and their windows shattered, hordes of people headed toward the freeways, and the Italian ice vendors made their desperate last pleas to fleeing customers, all cast in the beautiful, afternoon desert sun.

 

Greatest Love of All

 

 

From Gutfeld! 2/20/26 

 

Starring Kennedy, Sherrod Small, Emily Compagno, and Jon Taffer! 

Rags to Riches

Starring . . . . . Jimmy Haystack as the most dangerous man in the West . . . Dr. House as the High Roller . . .  Laura as the lady in the million dollar dress . . . Barb as the damsel in distress . . . Mike as the nifty sidekick . . . and Ron as the titular protagonist . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

"Are you the writer?" a Military Police officer asked Ron, opening the door of the writer's golden 1966 Cadillac DeVille. He was practically a walking billboard for recruitment with the blue uniform and armor, armbands, and white helmet, all stamped with a blue "MP." 

 

Ron noted the officer's nameplate, attached hastily to his tactical chestplate: "Benny Benson." Amused, the writer smiled, "Your parents weren't the most creative bunch, I take it," as he stepped out of the car and into the holy city of Las Vegas. He looked around in awe at the desert oasis: fountains, palm trees, and blooming agave plants lined the thoroughfare, spotlights perused the night sky, and the various casinos towered over him. 

 

Right Turn, Clyde!

(Dance Floor Blues!)

 

"I should have sold my 'Olds and bought me a jeep!" Jimmy Haystack chuckled, batting an eye at Ron, Mike, and Laura through the rearview mirror. Steering with his knees, he loaded rounds into the ammunition belt of his M249 SAW machine gun. 

 

"Has anyone checked in on Paul?" Mike asked, still covered in blood from earlier.

 

Dragged out of the lodge by the janitor and Laura, Paul was strapped to the roof of the car with bright orange lashing straps, much akin to a Christmas tree. The occasional thumping of his head on the ceiling, usually whenever Jimmy gunned the throttle, broke the silence. 

 

"Maybe we should've called the sheriff to deal with this," Laura said, looking out at the moonlit field, sliced in half by a wooden split rail fence meant to herd the cattle. She could see a red barn, along with Rocky's cabin, shrouded in thick fog at the far end of the field. "I don't care if I die at all," the prospector replied, swinging the car off the road while he cocked his machine gun. 

 

Life is a Dream

(The Fourth Installment of the Trilogy...)

 

"Give me your paper," Mike demanded, reaching over the pool table. The game room was lit by two dim lamps, hanging from the ceiling. A few red leather armchairs lined the log-cabin-esque walls, along with deer antlers and landscape paintings. 

 

"What? Why?" Ron asked from across the table.

 

"I don't know. What were you doing?"

 

Laura, the writing instructor, interjected, "Why don't we all just calm down." 

 

The self-proclaimed writer looked at her, thinking of an easy excuse, and replied, "I was writing." 

 

"Were you drawing pictures of my wheelbarrow?"

 

"What? No." Ron dipped out of the warm light.

 

The King of Late Night: Taking a Risk

"I remember being on the road, doing live shows with Tom Shillue, and he was interested in checking out the city we happened to be in, by foot. It was rainy and grimy and I had mentioned that I didn't want the hassle. He reframed my anxiety by turning it into curiosity. 'Don't you want to see what's out there? Greg, life is an adventure!' He said this with his eyes almost popping out of his head. He was right. Then we got mugged." -Greg Gutfeld (page 161)

 

For me, Joe, a good friend of mine, pulled me out of the slow lane, the lane where you live a "clean, boring life." And that's how I got in an odd place, putting my writing hand in a sugary, liquid-filled blue Jolly Rancher bag. He said something along the lines of "You could win a free prize" to entice me.

 

What was the liquid? Water? Urine, probably.

 

The bottom of the bag was covered with squishy, sticky, melted candy bits. I hit one, and then tried to maneuver around them like a minesweeper during World War 2. Or like Indiana Jones, dodging the squishy, blown up Aztec temples, also due to World War 2.

 

And that's also how I was pushed off a cliff, by Joe. Turned out he was a crazed German spy whose real name was Lars Einhoff, and was searching for the Ark of the Covenant. He made it pretty far, bushwhacking his way through the Amazon jungle, while I stood triumphantly on the cliff, holding the shiny golden box thing in one hand and a bunch of chips in the other. 

 

Lemonworld

(Sequel to 'Lemonade'!) 

 

"Barb, remind me why we have to have dinner with a park ranger again," Ron commented sarcastically as he straightened his orange tie.

 

"We are doing this because the doctor said that you should be active, especially after your fall," Barb replied. "Besides, when was the last time we dined out?" She smiled. That was her way of saying, "Just go along with it."

 

"No..." Ron paused to think. "Wasn't that guy the local medicine man? The one with a cats and dogs degree, I think," he continued, as he held the large mahogany doors open for Barb. Once inside, Ron looked around the dining room. The likes of divorced islander insurance salesmen, grey suits stained from pizza, and middle-aged businesswomen seemed to mingle at the bar.

 

It had all the makings of a tropical resort: palm tree beams holding the thatch ceiling up, paired with the stone openings, which gave wide views of the beach, and lanky palm trees. At the far side of the room, an out of place stand-up comedian, dressed with a red blazer and a Stanzo fedora, was setting up for his show. Ron and Barb eyed Rocky, the park ranger they had met at Cook's Bay, who waved to them excitedly from the table he had reserved.

One More Thing!

 

 

Greg's Birthday Steak Cake...RFK copied him!

Gutfeld! 1/16/25

The Lineup: Kennedy, Walter Kirn, Sherrod Small, and Sean Davis!

 

 

Gutfeld: Sherrod, you sleep on the beach, don't you?

Sherrod: Oh, sometimes. Coney Island. They give out free Nathan's hot dogs over there during the day.