The prince in Montecito yearns to become the prince of Montecito,
the man of the hour.
After years of study, he plans to translate his Maoist convictions
into action.
He’s advertising himself as the vagina whisperer.

Need a wigwam? He bought a thousand acres somewhere between
the Gulf of Mexico and the Caloosahatchee River where he’s established
the Rat Party and built a tree house, the only tree house in all the world
with three pillars and a winding stair case, modeled after Oprah’s mansion
in Santa Barbara.

I don’t know. He left San Francisco some time ago after being elected
The Mayor of Castro Street. His followers joined the Rat Party and moved
to Idaho. They all drive Dodge Darts.
In response to EINSTEIN’S DREAMS, he is writing a similar book:
AL CAPONE’S DREAMS, with fantasies of mass extermination.

What can one do? Swim in the canal? Go to the shore? Have a wank?
Comes recommended by Tom Hanks, who’s written a blurb.
“A certified humdinger: AL CAPONE’S DREAMS*

“It is not one of my ambitions as a writer to give the reader a new sense
of agency,” says the author in an interview for the CPUSA. “I have just been
notified that demanding a clean toilet is nothing but a right-wing bugaboo.
How dare the elite put itself in a place of need! At this rate,
you’ll end up getting your tits in a wringer.

The prince offers a full-spectrum of airborne intelligence solutions.
The first is enrollment of my wife’s online diet program: A Better You.
Learn how to give up that hotdog in a brioche donut covered in milk chocolate.
It is one thing to say someone is an interloper and quite another to say he is
a fucking interloper. Our next convention will be held in Marion Junction, Alabama.

New York City can just shut up.
I don’t need much. As Margarite Thatcher said, the pearls
are non-negotiable. Decide what you won’t give up.
Is there anything sexier than a man in a tux observed from the rear,
just standing in the middle of the street taking a leak?