Holy hell, folks. It’s like America moved into a giant cave, filled with bats, and they’re just showering layer after layer of batshit insanity down upon our weary heads.
Well. Strap on your seatbelt and get ready for another installment.
(As I always, I invite you to my humble blog page, find me at: showercapblog.com/…)
Kentucky Governor Matt Bevin is one of those Tea Party extremists who loathes nothing quite so much as when the peasant classes rise up to demand a little human dignity, rather than simply appreciating the scenic view they’ve been gifted, of their overlords’ bootheels.
In a frothy plutocrat rage, Bevin denounced striking teachers as enablers of pedophilia, and no, I’m not making that up. Conspicuously silent when his party funded an actual serial child molester’s Senate campaign, Matt was pretty dang certain these teachers were responsible for untold horrors, with their petty demands for “a living wage.”
We’re told “Trump fatigue” was a contributing factor in Paul Ryan’s decision to walk away from politics and spend more time on the secluded farm property where he houses the homeless men he hunts for sport. Well, Mr. Speaker, the nation is suffering from “Trump enabler fatigue,” and we’re looking forward to a surgical procedure designed to remove the problem. The doc has us scheduled for November 6th.
Baron Fatfuk Harkonnen pardoned Scooter Libby, whose sentence had already been commuted by W, so…what, does he get a badge he can sew on his backpack now? What’s the next step, beyond freedom from consequences, will he get tangible rewards for his crimes? Maybe the next Republican President will make him an ambassador?
Anyway, everyone can see this is Littlefinger’s signal to anyone sweating under Bodacious Bob Mueller’s lights; I’m sure he’s ordered a whole post-it pad of those pardon forms, and keeps it on his desk where everybody can see it. Shit, maybe he’ll raffle one off at the Cabinet X-mas party.
If you happened to have a fetish for “news stories about Donald Trump’s shady lawyer finding himself in an ever-deepening sea of shit,” last Friday must’ve been orgasmic!
First we learned that the investigation into Cohen wasn’t just an offshoot of the Mueller probe, it had actually been running separately for months. Next, it dropped that he’d arranged yet another Stormy-like payoff to yet another Playboy model to bury yet another illicit relationship with yet another Republican bigwig, this time megadonor Elliott Broidy. Oh, and this time the payoff included an abortion, which FINALLY drove the evangelical right away from this criminal cabal, as- APRIL FOOL don’t be silly, ethical consistency is for CUCKS.
Then rumors began circulating that the feds had confiscated recordings. And then the recordings turned out to be between him and Stormy Daniels’ lawyer. Also maybe tapes of him ordering large quantities of anchovy and pineapple pizza, to be delivered to an unsuspecting Jeff Sessions’ office.
And while nobody else has confirmed this yet, McClatchy reports that Mueller has evidence that Cohen was, despite repeated denials, in Prague like the Steele Dossier says, setting off a whole new wave of PeeTapeMania. Time will tell.
Ever had one of those weeks? Nothing goes your way, car won’t start, your date stands you up, stub your toe kinda weeks? End of a week like that, don’tcha just wish you could BOMB SYRIA?
Yes, the Velveeta Valor Thief felt like changing some headlines, and he remembered the only way he’s ever gotten good press has been by either reading off a teleprompter, or blowing shit up in the Middle East. Well, the teleprompter went down when he threw the Churchill bust at it after news of the Cohen raid broke, so the Michael Bay option was all that was left.
So we launched a fuckton of missiles at a few targets, but not before giving Russia and Syria plenty of advance warning, allowing them ample time to evacuate personnel and equipment. Bashar al-Assad enjoyed a public chuckle at America’s small-and-ineffectual-as-her-President’s-fingers response, and resumed making war on his own people. So, y’know…sound and fury, signifying precisely jack shit.
And then Fuckhead actually declared “Mission accomplished!” This must be that branding genius I keep hearing about. Just in time for John Bolton’s return. Heh.
While Dorito Mussolini’s multi-million dollar tantrum did approximately fuckall to Assad, it did cause some pain here at home. Specifically to everyone’s least favorite conspiracy theorist, Mr. Washington Generals to Yogurt’s Harlem Globetrotters himself, Alex Jones.
Mr. President, you made Alex Jones cry! If you were anyone else, I’d high-five you, but you’re not, so eat shit.
Sarah Huckabee Sanders tweeted out a picture of her boss being all Tuff and Prezidenshul, ordering the Syria strike, except Mike Pants was in it, so it couldn’t possibly be real, since the Vice President was out of the country at the time, because these people habitually lie about every goddamn thing, even when there’s no conceivable reason to.
Speaking of Mikey Hairshirt, seems he wanted to get himself a shiny new foreign policy aide. A dude, of course, so they could enjoy one another’s manly company in manly solitude, without upsetting Mother. He picked Jon Lerner, who was reasonably qualified, for a Republican. But when Boss Shart pulled his golf pants out of the hamper, he noticed a conspicuous lack of Lerner’s lip prints in the gluteal area, and he demanded Pence rid himself of this “Never Trumper,” because his longstanding policy of prioritizing personal loyalty above all other concerns has led him to such quality subordinates as Michael Cohen and Seb Gorka.
Franklin Graham dropped by Fux n’ Frendz to praise Tangerine Idi Amin for being so goshdarn pure and prayerful and basically being Jesus but with better hair and bigger crowds. What can you even say about these Drumpf-embracing evangelical charlatans at this point? If you look at these blatant fraudsters and see holy men, don’t be surprised when your afterlife looks like a Clive Barker NyQuil dream.
Buzzfeed reports that former Shart House staffers are having trouble landing private sector gigs, I guess because it’s hard to wash off that treasonstank, and “helped malicious goon assault the bedrock foundations of American democracy” doesn’t look that sexy on a resume.
Y’know what? Good. Fucking GOOD. Working for the Tangelo Tyrant should be just like marching in that Charlottesville tiki torch shitty white boy’s choir. You should be unemployable. Let’s bring back some old-school, Puritan-style SHUNNING for these fucks. Paint a big ol’ scarlet “T” on their foreheads in bloody stool.
Jazzy Jim Comey sat down for an interview with George Stephanopoulos to promote his book about Why James Comey’s Self-Image Was So Fucking Important He Set the Whole Motherfucking Planet on Fire to Preserve It.
He sure did carpet bomb the Sunny D-Bag with turds, though, and I can appreciate that. Comey called the President “morally unfit,” a “stain on everyone who worked for him,” and a “man with so much shit between his ears it trickled out his goddamn nostrils.” Or something very similar, I promise.
Hey look, if anybody else is looking for somebody to go on TV to talk for an hour about what a raging infected hemorrhoid our President is, I’m available on short notice. And I didn’t SWING THE AMERICAN FUCKING PRESIDENCY TO A 10-CENT GRIFTER TO SATISFY MY OWN SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS, so I’ve got that going for me.
Can anybody figure out what the fuck Kellyanne Conway is babbling about anymore? She was all, “Ooooo, that Comey bastard! He won us the election, damn him! Also he is a glory hound, which is reprehensible, which in turn is why I work for such a humble, almost monastic man who has in no way ever fabricated fake Time Magazine covers of himself.” Stay out of the cooking sherry, Kellyanne.
We got a fun little report on some of the grifting Don the Con has been up to since assuming the Presidency. You look at the millions of dollars worth of open corruption, and you wonder when he finds time to address the nation’s problems, and then you chuckle to yourself, because that’s what Presidents USED to do, sure, but times have changed.
Turns out Scott Pruitt’s $43,000 soundproof jackoff booth wasn’t just the corrupt whim of a paranoid assclown, but also totally illegal, according to the Government Accountability Office! What does it take to get this crook fired? Can somebody circulate a rumor that he hit on Ivanka at a party or something?
Over the weekend, Nikki Haley announced a pipin’-hot oven-fresh round of sanctions for the Russians, but Putin’s Favorite Pet Weasel intervened, shouting “You leave my friend Vlad alone!” before peddling off, in tears, on his tricycle.
The sanctions were set to target the Russian companies that manufactured the equipment used by the Syrian government in their recent war crimes, by the way. So the official policy of the United States government under Drumpf is “If gassing children to death is your thing, who’re we to judge?” It’s possible we’ll be rescued from this nightmare when the Lincoln Memorial comes to life and Honest Abe stomps over to the White House to take care of business himself
This follows on the heels of an entire WaPo article about how the Jag-o-Lantern has to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into any anti-Russia actions at all. Why, he had such a conniption fit after he found out he expelled more Russian diplomats than any single European nation (this was after Putin staged a FUCKING CHEMICAL ATTACK on British soil, by the way), that General Kelly sent him to bed with just a single scoop of ice cream.
Today, Shartolo Colon said, “Golly, I sure did pick some festering turdpiles for my Cabinet,” because even a stopped clock, etc., etc. Meanwhile, the remaining Cabinet assembled to reaffirm their longstanding plan to “get Dick Tracy, once and for all.”
Anyway, let’s check back in with Michael Cohen, shall we?
The Felonious Fixer was back in court today, where he and Drumpfy’s lawyers argued that they should get first crack at screening which of the seized documents federal investigators would be allowed to access, under the somewhat novel legal theory that they really really really really really don’t want the feds to see that shit.
See, part of Cohen’s trouble here is that he has to prove he’s a real lawyer, not just a petty thug who dispenses threats and the occasional briefcase full o’cash. So he tells the judge “Yuh huh I’m a super-real lawyer, I have three whole clients, the President, Broidy, and a third client who I cannot name, such are my unshakable principles,” and the judge said, “Little man, for a lawyer, you sure as shit don’t understand the law,” and Cohen went, “Fair point, your honor. The client behind door number three is…SEAN HANNITY!
(This space left blank to allow for twenty minute long laughing fit. Please hydrate appropriately.)
Now, the Hannitizer claims he didn’t do anything wrong, and Cohen isn’t really his lawyer anyway but they also totally have attorney-client privilege somehow, and I just think it’s gonna be hilarious in six months when America finally hears the recording of him going, “So Mike…you know where a fellah can get himself some o’ them pee hookers?”
Anyhoo, the judge denied Team Shart’s request, and all the docs will now be turned over to the federal prosecutors’ TAINT TEAM. And now we can all come together as one people, and share a laugh that “taint team” is a thing.
Ok, folks, that’s what I’ve got for ya tonight. Goin’ up a little early so I can wrap up some last-minute packing, the truck comes Friday. I hope you get to spend the evening with your loved ones, or, barring that, your taint team.
(Once more, if you dig what you read, check out: showercapblog.com/… and follow me on the Polyphonic Tweeting Machine, @CapShower!)