Bolton's About to Lose His Mustache

Today, Donald Trump’s new National Security Advisor, John Bolton, started work for him.


Bolton, who has limited government experience (including serving as W’s Ambassador to the UN, though he was never confirmed because W knew that Bolton could never be confirmed by the Senate), is the hardline, supernationalist hawk who replaced fired General HR McMaster, the only true intellectual ever to work for Mr. Trump.


Bolton is immediately confronted with the crisis in Syria, on which we reported yesterday.


As Chief of Staff John Kelly took Bolton all around the West Wing to introduce him to the people closest to Trump, associate solitary reporter Johanna Jones was one of the first people to shake his hand.


“Sir,” said Jones, who has no fear of anybody.


“And who the hell are you?”


“Mr. Bolton, I am not afraid of you, but you should be afraid of Donald Trump.”


“And why, young lady, would you say that?”


“John, don’t you read the newspapers? Do you realize how many people Donald Trump has fired since January 20, 2017?”




“John, that ridiculous mustache just won’t do. Your stupidass mustache reminds people of the front part of a locomotive, that’s designed to move anything in the way of the train. And Donald Trump is nothing but a train wreck.”


“Just who the hell do you think you are to tell me, a venerable and well-regarded 69-year-old man with a priceless reputation and the suavest mustache ever, what to do?”


Just then, Trump suddenly and unexpectedly entered the room and farted, as a way of demonstrating his savoir faire.


“John!” Trump yelled.


“Sir?” Bolton said, trembling.


“Let’s get things straight. Under no circumstances are you to continue working for me with that absolutely ridiculous mustache on your face.”


Jones, an accommodating person, promptly invited Bolton into her private office (which is the office which former Communications Director Hope Hicks used to have, immediately next to the Oval Office) and, after curtsying to put Bolton at ease, delicately offered to shave off his mustache.


“Get out of my way, you little b___h!”


Next thing she knew, Jones watched Bolton head into the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, otherwise known as the Situation Room – a room that Wolf Blitzer has never been invited to visit. The John F. Kennedy Conference Room is a place with which Bolton, Homeland Security Advisor Thomas Bossert, and White House Chief of Staff John Kelly are acquainted. Trump has a great many bad situations, since he knows virtually nothing about how to direct our national defense or to run anybody’s country, so he has never visited the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, which is located in the basement of the West Wing (Martin Sheen has, however, been there often).


ASR Jones, wearing her most glamorous dress, all in blue, went from her office to the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, where she observed Defense Secretary James Mattis, Bossert, and Bolton. Mattis and Bossert had already been informed by Jones that Trump had ordered Bolton to get rid of his mustache.


“John,” Gen. Mattis began, “we have a really good way to carry out Mr. Trump’s order that you get rid of your mustache.”


“What’s that, Jim?”


“We’re gonna put you inside a Tomahawk Missile and send you to Damascus.”


“There, the Tomahawk will burn your mustache off before it delivers you to Bashar al-Assad.”


Tomahawk missiles were sent by Trump to Syria a year ago as a way of telling al-Assad that he is a bad person.


“Anything for the land of the free and the home of the brave,” Bolton said, as Mattis escorted him to the Pentagon to make appropriate preparations.