The "Lost" Week That Perished, Plus My New Column and Kristi Noem's Shot Dog

It was all supposed to work so well...what happened?

In theory, it was supposed to go as smooth as the brain of a Nick Fuentes supporter. Three things a week from ol’ Dave: The Week That Perished on Sunday, my regular column on Tuesday, and something new and fun on Friday.

That’s what I promised you, my Substack friends.

But then this week’s Week didn’t get published.

Why? You might as well ask why I feel like vomiting every night.

Oh, wait…that has an actual answer - the alcoholism.

Okay…let’s try that again.

Why? You might as well ask why I go to bed each night hoping not to awaken.

Oh, shit, that has an actual answer too - the crippling despair.

Okay, skip that analogy. My point is, last weekend’s Week did not run, then two days later it was buried in the archives, and I don’t know why. I mean, you might as well ask why I spend half the day on the toilet.

Fuck! Another easily answered one - the 99-cent burritos.

The point being, I don’t know why this week’s Week was kneecapped, and I don’t need to know.

But I’ll tell youse mugs this: you may think you know how many of your favorite RIGHT WING and CONSERVATIVE and PATRIOTICAL AMERICANIST personalities don’t write their own shit, but you have no idea the extent to which everything - EVERYTHING - is ghostwritten.

You think you know.

But you don’t.

That person you just thought of, that person where you were like “oh, HE’D never have a ghostwriter.” Sorry, but he does.

They ALL do.

Everything’s ghostwritten. And I can’t say more because it would mean violating a half-dozen confidences.

And to be clear, because my friendship with Ann Coulter is well-known, I’m NOT referring to her. Ann writes every word that appears under her byline. She and I have even occasionally collaborated on pieces. She agonizes over every word, as all real writers do.

But putting her aside, yeah, that person you were thinking of, that hero of yours with a book? Yep, ghostwritten.

And the income the ghostwriters make? Insanely high. Your contribution to the MAGA AMERICANIST TRICORN-HAT PATRIOT GOP LIBERTY FUND goes to pay those people.

The fuck you think it went toward? Making America better?

How’s that goin’ for ya?

So when I saw that moronically self-destructive anecdote in Kristi Noem’s new “autobiography” about how she proudly shot a puppy because it was “hard to train,” and then when I saw reports that the book also includes outright falsehoods like “I met Kim Jong Un and we became pals!” I thought to myself, did she not pay her ghostwriter enough? Were they so bitter over not getting the standard compensation that they cocked up the book on purpose?

Or did Noem go with a less-skilled ghostwriter who just doesn’t know how to do this type of gig competently?

The fact that Noem’s doubled-down on dog killing, insisting that not only is she proud of having killed a pup but that other dogs should have their heads blown off too, is instructive. I do, in fact, know that Noem had a ghostwriter. And I do, in fact, know that she could’ve easily said “sorry for that puppy-killing anecdote; my ghostwriter threw it in thinking it would be cool, but I regret it and I should’ve had more direct input over my supposed ‘autobiography.’ That was my failing for not actually writing my own book.”

But she won’t do that. She’ll never do that.

Why?

Because she’d rather you think that she loves blowing the faces off beautiful little doggies than that she needs a ghostwriter because she’s an illiterate bimbo.

Way too many of you want to buy into the fantasy that your heroes are geniuses who can actually string two sentences together. To put it bluntly, you’d prefer a dog-killing monster who RITES HER OWN DANG WERDS to a woman who didn’t murder a puppy but hired a professional scribe to write in her name.

It’s important for you to believe that the people you look up to are the real deal.

Irony alert: Smug far-rightists who think everything is fake - Sandy Hook, 9/11, the Holocaust - have a childlike need to believe that the books written by the humans they worship are real.

These folks have it backwards. Sandy Hook, 9/11, and the Holocaust were real. That book where you told your wife, “this Americanist PATRIOT sure can write gud werds,” that’s the fake.

Did you learn nothing from that time when gayboi halfwit Milo Yiannopacropolous tried to write a book, and when he couldn’t - when he couldn’t pen three coherent sentences in a row - his book deal was canceled and he attacked his publisher so the publisher leaked the “manuscript” they got from him and it was so fucking bad, you’d swear it was written by a retard?

My point? Love me, hate me, but I’ve written every word that’s ever appeared in my name. So when something I write gets axed, like last week’s Week, it stings.

Not the pleasant kind of sting like when a hooker whips your balls with a foxtail, but the bad kind of sting, like when a bee flies up your ass (and as a service to my readers, I highly recommend not shoving pollen up your rectum and walking though an apiary…and that’s the LAST time I take one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s “fun weekend getaway” suggestions).

This was a long way to go to say, please click on The Week that got axed.

I love writing comedy, and comedy is always hit-or-miss. Was this a good Week? A bad one? A mediocre one? That’s never the point in daily or weekly comedy writing, whether it’s a Tonight Show monologue or an SNL Weekend Update. You do your best, you hopefully get a laugh or two, and then you don’t think of it again because you have a new deadline creeping up.

Maybe you’ll laugh. Maybe not. But by the time you read it, I’ll already be working on new gags for the next one.

I just don’t like my shit going unread. Because I take pride in writing my own words, and that makes me a rare breed ‘round these parts.

Here it is, the “lost” Week That Perished:

https://www.takimag.com/article/the-week-that-perished-292/

And here’s this week’s regular Dave column:

https://www.takimag.com/article/confessions-of-a-cock-block-columnist/

I think it has something to do with Candace Owens and Dresden. I’m not really sure. Not because I used a ghostwriter, but because the booze renders me incapable of remembering anything I did 48 hours ago.

Please click both links. The beers you buy me are so, SO fucking appreciated, but beers aside, even a simple click helps ol’ Dave hold on to his job by keeping his traffic up.

So that’s it for this week. Hopefully next week goes more smoothly.

And as always, it’s your readership that keeps me going. I’m insincere in just about every aspect of my life, but not in my gratitude to my readers.

But please don’t ask me to read your sci-fi screenplay. My response will be insincere on a level I doubt you’re equipped to grasp.

Best,

Ol’ Dave