“All
Roads to Hell lead back to Richard Shithouse Nixon”
----The
Quotations of Chairman Joe”
I've
long held, in these columns, that all roads to Hell lead back to
Richard Nixon. The assaults on the press, the corruption, the
dawning incompetence, the constant posturing as a victim, the
paranoia, the fucking with elections. Our Caesar Disgustus, being
too but-faced stupid, hasn't brought anything new except, perhaps, a
sewage-rat determination to gnaw on the foundations of this republic.
I mean even Nixon had a minimum decency. Even Nixon has a lingering
sense of shame. Even Nixon could find it within himself to recognize
when the stench became unbearable. Even Nixon could marshal the
courage to step down.
In
any case, Andy Borowitz, writing for occupysf.net, has correctly
identified the ultimate destination of both Nixon and the present
vulgarian now stinking up the Oval Office. Herein is his
contribution to what he correctly describes what is and what will be
the lasting legacy of our Caesar Disgustus.
Nixon’s
letter from Hell
By admin | December
9, 2025 | Uncategorized
Andy
Borowitz2d
The
Borowitz Report
Dec
7, 2025
Since
his death in 1994, Richard Nixon has refrained from public comments.
Today, however, he has broken his silence in a letter from Hell.
Mr.
Nixon offered The Borowitz Report the exclusive right to publish the
following letter he wrote to Donald Trump on one condition: that his
expletives not be deleted.
Donny
Boy:
Congratulations:
I’m adding you to my enemies list.
It’s
not because you’re evil. I usually put evil people on my friends
list. Every Thursday, I play bridge with Mao, Stalin, and Kissinger.
Mao and Stalin had a moral objection when I brought Henry into the
game, but I begged them to give him a chance.
No,
it’s not because you’re evil. It’s because you’re so fucking
unoriginal.
Hmm,
let’s see: a paranoid president commits a shitload of crimes, then
abuses his power trying to cover them up. Why does this ring a bell?
You’re
lucky I’m dead, asshole, or I’d sue you for plagiarism.
Your
sad little Epstein cover-up isn’t an homage to my Watergate
cover-up—it’s a fucking reboot. And I don’t appreciate a
bloated asswipe like you stealing my IP.
I
mean, you ripped off my playbook down to the tiniest
details—including your choice of a crooked Attorney General. Do you
honestly think if Pam Bondi winds up in jail, that will be a fresh
plot twist? Wrong, moron! My boy John Mitchell already did that.
(John’s still a good friend, by the way—just last week we went
skinny-dipping in Satan’s lake of fire.)
Now,
don’t get me wrong—I don’t blame you for wanting to keep the
Epstein files under wraps. Beelzebub has a copy of them in his
lending library and I read them last night. I’m not easily shocked,
but let me say this: you are one sick fuck. There’s stuff in there
that would curl Matt Gaetz’s toes.
When
this shit gets out, you’re going straight to prison—and not the
Canyon Ranch resort where Ghislaine is getting her daily mani-pedis.
Since
you’re stealing all my best ideas, I know how you’ll try to save
your ass: you’ll whip out your trusty Sharpie and scribble over
every word of the Epstein files until they look like something
Jackson Pollack did on a bender.
But
that won’t work, fuckface. Because whenever there’s a document
this spicy, there are bound to be bootlegged copies out there, just
waiting to be leaked to some Jew in the media. Remember the Pentagon
Papers? Of course not—you can’t even remember your wife’s name.
Let
me put it this way: if you think the DOJ has all the copies of the
Epstein files in existence, then Pete Hegseth isn’t the only one
who’s been drinking on the job. That genius Pam left them sitting
on her desk, for fuck’s sake. I’ve seen documents stored more
securely in Mar-a-Lago’s public crapper.
So,
once the unredacted Epstein files come out—and they will—how do
you plan to save your drooping jowly ass? Well, I see you’ve
already dipped into my playbook yet again: you picked a vice
president so fucking loathsome that he’s impeachment insurance.
That’s
what I thought I was doing when I chose Spiro. But then, what do you
know, that lowlife scumbag went and got busted accepting paper bags
full of cash in the White House basement. The moment he got the boot,
I knew I was fucked.
I
don’t know what skeletons JD has in his closet. Maybe there’s a
video of him in a three-way with a couch and an ottoman. But you’ve
got to do everything in your power to make sure that nothing, I
repeat, nothing happens to him. Bubble-wrap that fucker.
One
last thing, jerkwad: I ran into Epstein the other day at a barbecue.
(Satan was mesquite grilling him in a lime cilantro marinade.) In
between anguished shrieks, he told me to thank you for that perverted
birthday card you gave him. I told him to thank you in person. It
won’t be long.
Fuck
you,
Dick
Nixon (1)
_______________
Nixon’s
letter from Hell. The Borowitz Report.
https://occupysf.net/index.php/2025/12/09/nixons-letter-from-hell/