Joe Biden: Folks, I am glad to be here, in Council Bluffs, with my “No Malarkey” bus, on the “No Malarkey” bus tour of Ohio. I mean, wait . . . what state are we in now? Ohio, right?
Oh . . . What I mean to say is, that I am glad to be here in Iowa. It’s so easy to confuse the two . . . So we’re doing a bus tour because we can’t afford to fly anymore—which is why our campaign for the soul of the nation needs your support. It would be embarrassing for me to travel the same way as ordinary people, instead of by private jet. And asking me to fly commercial is just ridiculous. So I hope that with your help, we’ll be leasing that Gulfstream VI again soon.
Now, a lot of you folks are wondering what exactly “malarkey” is. Well, folks, you are right to wonder—anybody who wasn’t born in the 19th century would wonder the same thing. Fortunately, my grandpa was, in fact, born in the 19th century, and he taught me that “malarkey” means nonsense. That’s why it says so right there, on the side of the bus.
So when I say “No Malarkey,” that means, I am not like Trump. I am literally the opposite of Trump. I am a no-nonsense anti-Trump kind of guy. I am just like Barack, only I am black on the inside and white on the outside, and he was black on the outside and white on the inside. Er . . . No . . . Barack and I were both . . . No, what I mean is that Barack was black all over, and I am only black on the inside . . . Er . . . Never mind. The point I am trying to make is that the Biden-Barack Administration was all about the non-malarkey.
Four . . . Five . . . Six Habits of Success
Actually, that’s not the point I am trying to make. The point I am trying to make here is that Trump cares about all sorts of nonsense, like economic statistics, unemployment, job creation reports, GDP growth, stock market gains—in other words, Trump is a malarkey kind of president. I never follow economic statistics myself, precisely because they are nothing but malarkey. And I promise, when I am elected president, I will not waste any of my valuable presidential time on such things. Let Republicans worry about economic statistics—I plan to be the no-malarkey president. No joke!
Now, folks, I am not just here to talk about malarkey. I am also here in Wyoming to talk about the Biden-Barack Administration, and when not talking about Barak and I, I want to talk about good eating habits. You’ve probably heard about the book The Five Habits of Successful People, right? Or was it eight habits . . . ? Or four habits . . . ? No, four is too few, it’s gotta be more than four habits. Maybe it’s six habits . . .
Anyway, as I was saying, a healthy body leads to a healthy mind—and my mind is healthier than ever, and that’s the God’s honest truth!
And some of you probably saw that video of me munching on my wife’s fingers, and thought to yourselves “Oh . . . My . . . God! Isn’t that a little creepy?” Well, folks, I am here to tell you: No, it is not. Absolutely not. Not creepy at all. I am serious!
The fact of the matter is, chewing on other people’s fingers can be very stimulating—Jill and I often do it. It literally connects us with our past, when people ate other people. My grandpa used to talk about that, and that’s no malarkey. There is absolutely nothing wrong with eating other people, especially if some of them are no longer alive. Many cultures approve of cannibalism, and it’s about time we in America saw the wisdom of culinary diversity as well—which is why I decided to demonstrate in public how you can start to improve your dietary habits by munching on someone’s fingers, and go from there.
Human meat, I should tell you, is low in cholesterol and high in Omega-3 fish oil, because humans at one point in the past, a few thousand years ago, were actually swimming in the ocean like fish. That’s why human meat is so nutritious—all that protein and Omega 3. No joke!
The only thing I don’t recommend, if you plan to change your culinary habits, is eating someone’s brain. If you eat another person’s brain, it might lead to some undesirable health consequences, like the Kuru disease they had in Papua New Guinea. Which is why I’ve always declined when someone would offer me another person’s brain to eat.
Is Trump a Cannibal? Look, Fat . . .
Now, folks, one of the problems with the Trump Administration is that they don’t support healthy eating habits in Americans. A presidential candidate has to lead by example—and have you ever seen Trump munching on another man’s body parts? No, you haven’t. The fact of the matter is, Trump is just not one of us, is what I am saying.
And this brings me to another problem with many Iowa voters and their poor eating habits. Many of you are fat. Too fat. At least 40 percent of you are—let’s face it—bloated. And this is not right. You look pitiful. That you are so fat is indicative of not only your poor eating habits, but also poor exercise habits. I am serious!
For example, I can do at least 900 pushups, and that’s the God’s honest truth. My word as a Biden! I can do them right now, for example, if I were in the privacy of my own hotel room. I challenge every one of you fat Iowa people to do more pushups than me. How many of you Iowa fatsos can do 900 pushups? I bet, not one. I’ll be honest with you, folks—I look at some of the fat slobs here, in this room, and I am revolted. Do some exercises, for chrissakes! Stop piggin’ out on fatty food! I am being serious here!
I started doing pushups back in the 1970s, after I saw the “Jane Fonda Workout” video. I used to watch that video every day, in my Senate office. The way those hips of hers moved . . . especially when she was doing that thing on the floor, thrusting her hips up . . . Let me tell you, it’s a good thing that Jane Fonda is a Democrat, because I sure would hate to find out that Hanoi Jane was a closet Republican!
Folks, you probably know by now that our next debate is going to be an all-white affair, not counting the one Native American on the stage. Frankly, it’s a good thing. I don’t have to defend myself against that annoying hypocrite Kamala Harris. I don’t have to worry about Tulsi. Now, Tulsi . . . I admit, she’s pretty hot. I don’t know about you, folks, but I sure would love to give her a little back rub . . . But, she won’t be there either. That loser Castro won’t be there—I sure as hell won’t miss him. And Booker . . . Now, Booker is a rarity for a black guy—he is an articulate, well-spoken black guy. I haven’t met too many of those in my life—in fact, Barack was the only other black dude who was nice and clean and articulate. So it will really help me in the next debate, that the competition is so weak.
No Joke: The Best Hairy Legs
And folks, let me tell you something else you probably didn’t know about me. Back in the 1950s, when I was a lifeguard at that Delaware pool, I had an encounter with an imaginary gangster named Corn Pop. He may have been imaginary, but he was one gigantic black motherf—–r. Still, as soon as he saw me and my confident attitude, he ran off with his tail between his legs—and I had the pool all to myself. Because little kiddies used to swim in that pool. I am serious!
You see, folks, I have really hairy legs. No joke! I also have really hairy ears and a hairy nose, but we’re just talking about my hairy legs for now. When I was working as a lifeguard, those little kiddies would come over and sit on my lap, and together we would watch the hairs on my legs go blond from the sun. And they would rub my legs, which was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes I would have a little girl rub the inside of my left thigh, and a little boy would rub the inside of my right thigh, and it just felt really good. If you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend it. Although usually they did it when their parents weren’t watching, for some reason . . .
In fact, that lifeguard gig paid almost nothing—but I wasn’t in it for the money. I was in it as a public service to the community, and for the sheer satisfaction of watching those little kiddies, when they would take a dip in the pool, and then come over and rub my thighs. No joke!
Folks, if you have your phone with you, you should go to J-1-2-3 on your phone, and donate money to my campaign. It used to be J-O-E-3-3-0-3-3, but that was too many letters and numbers, and I just couldn’t remember them all. Then it was J-O-E-1-2-3, but I still couldn’t remember the letter part of it. So now we are down to just J-1-2-3, which even I can remember, especially if I have my record player on. So go ahead, don’t be shy—go to J-1-2-3 on your phone, and give me 50 bucks. I am being serious!
Thank you, folks!