Exactly

Hopefully, the New Yorker has learned their lesson with all that smarty-pants satire.



Thank goodness that sad moment in American political history is now history. Now I can get back to real news. And the kind of jokes that don't make my noggin' throb.



Ah, excrement. The food of the comedy gods.

So long, New Yorker. It's the one thing you didn't count on, weisenheimer.

We'll always have excrement.