Politics: Thanksgiving with the Koch Brothers

On the Menu: Cooked Goose, Followed By Lots of Antacid

Of all the turkey drumsticks and pumpkin pies being consumed today all over America, perhaps the most interesting holiday feast took place at the ritzy Manhattan highrise of David Koch, of the infamous Koch Brothers.

There, in the opulent dining room of the shamelessly filthy-rich, reich-wing billionaire tycoon’s sprawling 18-room, $17 million duplex at 740 Park Ave., converged some of the most influential, wealthiest, and newsworthy characters of the election season just ended.

They had come to wrap their tongues around a tasty bounty of plenty, licking their chops and their wounds.

 And what an array of guests David and his brother Charles entertained. Those assembled dined on – what else? – cooked goose.

From his place at the head of the long table, the dinner’s rather glum and embittered host welcomed his guests –

DAVID KOCH: I wish we were meeting like this under more fortunate and blissful circumstances. It galls me to no end to be approaching the end of 2012 with that… that… MAN IN THE WHITE HOUSE for another four years!

RUSH LIMBAUGH: Leave it to me, Mr. Koch. What Mitt Romney failed to do, I and my Dittoheads will faithfully carry out. I’ll use my radio show every day over the next four years to knock that undeserving ingrate down, tear him to shreds, chew him up, and spit him out. You can count on me, for I am the most unwavering voice of the conservative right in this country, have been so and will always remain. Obama will wish he’d never been reelected after I get through with him.

SEAN HANNITY: What are you going to do, Rush? Insult him to death? [Laughter] What can you possibly do? He’s been reelected. You think he’s going to be intimidated by anything you’ve got to say through your electronic megaphone? You can’t lay a glove on him now.

LIMBAUGH: And I suppose you think you can do a better job than me?

ROGER AILES: Hold on, guys. You’re forgetting who the enemy is. Train your guns on him, not each other, okay? Somebody pass me more yams.

DICK MORRIS: If it’s any consolation, I predict that in the 2014 mid-terms, we’ll sweep the Senate by taking 90 of 100 seats, we’ll add 700 seats in the House, we’ll win 55 governor races, and we’ll…

BILL O’REILLY: What the hell are you talking about, Morris? Your numbers don’t add up. For one thing, there are only 50 states. And there are only 438 seats in the House. After all the crappy predictions you made in this election, maybe you should stick to something you’re better at. Like sucking prostitutes’ toes.

MORRIS [rising from his chair]: Why, you damned son-of-a-…

DAVID KOCH [rapping the table with his fist]: ENOUGH OF THIS INFIGHTING! We can’t resort to internecine warfare! We must re-fortify our cause. Pick up our swords, re-think our strategy, and regroup our armies. One day in the future, I swear, we will take back America, but we have to remain united in order to do it. So, stop this godd—n yammering at each other and pass the salt.

At that moment, a butler announces the arrival of Karl Rove. Koch looks up from his plate and glares at the figure now standing in his doorway.

KARL ROVE: My apologies, Mr. Koch. I’m sorry I’m late. I, uhh…

DAVID KOCH: NEVER MIND THAT, Turd Blossom. GO SIT THERE. At the children’s table

Rove glances at the small table in the corner of the room where Rick Perry is sitting all by himself.

ROVE: Uh, Mr. Koch, are you sure there hasn’t been a mistake in the seating arrangements?

DAVID KOCH: Mistake? HELL, NO. That’s where you go. THAT TABLE! NOW SIT DOWN.

ROVE: No problem, sir. I’ll just…go over here…and sit

RICK PERRY: So you got banished to this table, huh, Rove?

ROVE: Looks like it. Guess I’m in the doghouse.

PERRY: Don’t think of it as the “children’s table.” Just think of it as the “Texas table.” [Chuckling]

Rove manages a small hint of a smile.

MICHELE BACHMANN: Every Thanksgiving, I like to tell my children and all the many foster children my husband and I have cared for about how Thanksgiving originated. How the Pilgrims arrived in America, fleeing the Nazis, the communists, the godless European socialists, to arrive here on these shores which their God in heaven created specifically for that day when he would guide their boats – the Niña, the Pinta, and the Lusitania – through the treacherous waters of the Pacific and set them onto dry ground at Plymouth Rock so that they could eventually populate this continent and create a Judeo-Christian government, as the Ten Commandments ordained. Where the people could live without burdensome tax increases, same-sex marriage, Planned Parenthood clinics, or the EPA. The way Jesus and George Washington intended it.

The others stare at her in silence. Then, from the table in the corner, Rick Perry speaks up.

PERRY: There are three reasons I love Thanksgiving. One, it’s a family holiday. Two, it’s a time for us to self-reflect about what it is we’re grateful for. And three, it’s…uh…well…it’s…umm…

DAVID KOCH: Who gives a damn for your opinion anymore, governor? You stammering monkey. JUST SHUT UP AND EAT YOUR MEAL!

PERRY: Yes, sir.

DONALD TRUMP: I know many of you may not want to hear this, but this is where you political types went wrong, and I’m going to lay it out for you. So, listen up. You should have gone after the president the way I did. By questioning his birth certificate. By demanding to see his papers. “Show us your papers, sir. Why won’t you show us your grades from Harvard? Got something to hide? I’ll give you $5 million to show us your grades. What are you? Chicken?” I’ll have you to know when I attended military academy and then the Wharton School, my grades were…

CHARLES KOCH: Donald, WHO GIVES A RAT’S ASS ABOUT ALL OF THAT?! Your way didn’t work worth beans. It didn’t gain traction with the voters. We both know he was born in Africa, but THEY didn’t get it. Those damn, lazy, indolent, welfare-coddled voters! Instead of buying the birther argument, they thought you were a certifiable nut case in need of a straitjacket and a free ride to Bellevue.

TRUMP: Chuck, I take great offense to that. Billionaire to billionaire, that’s just inappropri–

DAVID KOCH: All right, ENOUGH!

ANN COULTER: What we should have done was gone nuclear. Just gone all-out ballistic on the guy. Unloaded everything on him, fair or not, true or not. We were up against a president with a well-funded, well-oiled machine of godless, limp-wristed, Ivy League-educated, Rachel Maddow-worshipping liberal faggots and retards.

Everybody in the room erupts in laughter and hand claps.

CHARLES KOCH: That’s what I love about you, Ann! I tell you, this girl is never shy about saying what’s really on her mind!

 COULTER: Why, thank you, Mr. Koch.

CHARLES KOCH: Just call me Chuck.

GLENN BECK: Chuck, can I ask you a ques–

CHARLES KOCH: Who are you?

BECK: Uh, Glenn Beck, sir.

CHARLES KOCH: Oh? Whatever happened to you? Didn’t you use to be somebody?

BECK: Well, I still am. I…

DAVID KOCH: WHO THE HELL CARES? What I want to know is, how are we going to recoup from this loss? [Shooting a glance at the children's table] Charles and I aren’t about to write another blank check for millions to some dumbass with a PAC who promises us victory and then can’t deliver!

A chagrined Rove slumps down in his chair.

BACHMANN: I can’t wait to see what scrumptious desserts your staff has prepared. Pumpkin pie? Pecan? Sweet potato?

DAVID KOCH: No. Twinkies, Ho Ho’s, and Ding Dongs.

Everybody else looks in shock at one another.

DAVID KOCH: Charles and I had our people buy up all the remaining supply. Our financial advisors are, as I speak, initiating a hostile takeover of all outstanding Hostess stock and filing papers in bankruptcy court to assume control of the company. By the end of the week, Koch Industries will control all of the rights to producing Hostess snacks. Ingenious, eh? If the masses want this man for their president, then Koch Industries is taking away their Twinkies. They can have ‘em back when we get the White House back.

The room bursts into exuberant shouts and applause.

DAVID KOCH [to a butler]: More goose, more gravy.

About Charles Branham-Bailey

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