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Hey there, Shower Captives! I’m in like, Day 10 of the cold I picked up while moving, and I don’t even have a personal Ronny Jackson to use my illness as an excuse to hook me up with hallucinogens, so I’m mostly just cranky.
…maybe the news will cheer me up.
Boy, we keep finding new ways to miss Obama, don’t we? There was a man who knew how to be President! He respected our allies, he upheld our institutions, he didn’t stock the federal government with petty crooks desperate to loot the country down to the lint in the sock drawers. And oh yeah, he never blurted out the kind of embarrassing garbage that makes you stop taking your racist grandpa out to dinner.
Not so with the current guy! No, the Velveeta Vulgarian can’t help himself, he has to belch up up some shit about how “tough to watch” the Paralympics are. Uuuuuuuugh, wait in the car, Grandpa! You know what’s tough to watch, you gurgling ostomy bag? Your empty, vapid, stare coming from behind the Resolute desk. I don’t know how I manage to keep any food down at all.
The NRA is sorting through documents in preparation for an expected investigation into their relationship with sanctioned Russian government official Alexander Torshin. Of COURSE the Russians invest in the National Scrotumlicking Rifle Association! “Americans support an organization that facilitates the deaths of other Americans on a massive scale? Dmitri, what have we done to deserve such luck?”
And to the surprise of no one whose brain isn’t currently being deprived of oxygen by a too-tight made-in-Gina red baseball cap, the lawyer who offered Anus Cancer, Jr. a couple of e-mails and half a tube of Hostess powdered donuts to betray his country did indeed turn out to be a Kremlin-connected Russian “informant.” Good lord, it’s like dropping an Owen Wilson character into the middle of an Ian Fleming novel.
Well, Devin “Pigfucker” Nunes and his team of Collaborating, America-hating, GOP CongressFucks released their bullshit “report” dutifully clearing Boss Treasonweasel of all wrongdoing. “We found no evidence of collusion with the Russians, even after months of strenuously avoiding talking to anyone or looking into anything that might actually be relevant to our investigation,” reads the report, “I don’t think you understand how hard that is. You really have to commit to burying your head in the sand. Fuck, the President confesses to a new crime on Twitter practically every week. Poor Tom Rooney stuffed a wad of cotton so far up his ear he can’t get it out!”
Looks like Dr. Ronny Jackson will not only not be the next Secretary of Veterans Affairs, he will also not be the President’s Official Doctor and Weight Liar-Abouter anymore. It would probably be good if the dude nicknamed “Candyman” were also stripped of prescription-writing powers. Actually, Dr. Ronny seems to have a whole lotta changes he needs to make.
Meanwhile, the Candycorn Skidmark has chosen to use the whole sordid episode to go after Montana Senator Jon Tester for having the temerity to actually carry out his constitutionally mandated oversight duties. I’m sure Tester’s quaking in his boots at the prospect of facing off against the dude who lost the Alabama Senate race…twice.
Not so very long ago, Shart Garfunkel and French President Emmanuel Macron planted a tree on the White House lawn, promising to nurture it with the waters of friendship and the fertilizer of dandruff. But now it is gone. No doubt, Littlefinger had it relocated to the bathroom in the Executive Residence, where he can pee on it while sobbing “why don’t they love me the way they love you, you handsome bastaaaaaaaard?!?!”
I feel like Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot has already thrown six or seven victory parties for himself over North Korea. One of the first rules of negotiation is, after all, “Demand credit before you’ve accomplished anything,” and the Shart of the Deal far prefers basking in praise to earning it.
Look folks. All indications are, the North Koreans’ nuclear test site was damaged, and they’re playing up their misfortune as a magnanimous gesture to “suspend testing” mostly to feed a certain easily-manipulated narcissist’s fragile ego. And, because self-awareness seems to be for CUCKS, it’s totally working.
And now the spittle-drenched maniacs in Cult45 want to give their Fetid Custard Idol the goddamn Nobel Peace Prize! I’ll offer up this compromise: if you wanna add a Nobel for duping rubes, Orange Julius Caesar can have it. For life. It’s his one true talent. Not sure the guy who dropped the Mother of All Bombs solely to stimulate his withered old man junk deserves to be hailed as a peacemaker.
I see the murderous loons at the National Rifle Association have banned guns from their convention while Dorito Mussolini and Mike Pants speak. DON’T YOU WANT THE PRESIDENT AND HIS CREEPY LITTLE CULTIST BUDDY TO BE SAFE, NRA? I WAS TOLD ONLY THE PRESENCE OF FUCKTONS OF GUNS CAN PROTECT ANYONE.
Folks, we’ve been through a lot since November, 2016. It’s been one bowling ball after another, propelled via howitzer, directly into our collective crotch. In spite of the unrelenting assaults, we’ve managed to hang tough. To fight back. To persist.
But I worry we’ve finally reached the end of our rope.
For you see, on Saturday night, at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner…and this is hard to even type…a comedian…TOLD A JOKE.
And judging from the D.C. press’ reaction, this is the worst thing to happen in all of human history and we can probably sweep Neanderthals and Cro-Magnons up in there, too. Michelle Wolf called Sarah Huckabee Sanders a liar, which seems fair on account of the unusually large number of lies she tells, but because Wolf also said “eye shadow,” her joke magically became more offensive than all the families ripped apart by ICE wrapped in all the victims of white supremacist violence inspired by our Garbage Grand Wizard Grifter in Chief. Because…priorities.
Stockholm Syndrome is real, and gaslighting works, because the White House press corps circled the wagons around the woman who does everything in her power, day in and day out, to destroy them. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like watching a bunch of chickens swarm all over somebody who’s only trying to get rid of the ax.
Folks, Sarah Slanders regularly assaults the very freedom of the American press. She is literally an ENEMY OF FREEDOM. She collects a taxpayer-funded salary to espouse shamefully anti-American ideals. She is not misguided, she is not in over her head, she is a bad person with evil intentions. Once we’ve finally pried our beautiful country out of these petty fascists’ claws, SHS will take her place alongside Joe McCarthy as one of America’s great villains.
Meanwhile, Tangerine Idi Amin held another Klan rally in front of the shittiest people Washington, MI could scrape off the pipes in the local sewage treatment plant. He got a room full of hateful idiots to boo and hiss at the mere mention of the word “Hispanic,” but yeah, Michelle Wolf is the dastardly obstacle to unity.
I see Stormy Daniels filed an oven-fresh defamation lawsuit against President Crotchvoid. All these lawsuits could present a major problem for our notoriously strapped-for-cash President. I bet Stormy winds up putting a lien on the Secret Service’s port-a-parties down at Marm-a-Lago to collect her settlement.
Hey look, Marco Rubio seems to have noticed that the tax bill he voted for hasn’t trickled down to the American worker, except perhaps in the form of the occasional plutocrat derisively pissing on the serf class they strive to own outright like property.
Marco’s all “Holy shit, we gave rich people a shit ton of money, and somehow they didn’t hand it out to those less fortunate out of the goodness of their hearts.” If Rubio were the sort of man who tended towards serious critical thought, this could be the start of a period of reflection leading him to question the fundamental tenets of modern conservatism, but since he’s just an empty shirt with an entirely unearned reputation, he’ll probably just Netflix a couple of Ninja Turtle cartoons and pass out on the sofa.
Rand Paul sold out his super-principled opposition to Mike Pompeo as Secretary of State because the Poo Mistake promised him he’d pull our troops out of Afghanistan. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! Oh FUCK, Rand. When it comes to “giving his word,” the President is basically a stale Cheeto in the shape of a monkey’s paw. If, after several decades’ worth of demonstrable dishonesty, you still trust anything that drops out of that goon’s mouth, well…I just hope you’ll give me a call so we can discuss some really fantastic real estate opportunities I’d like to share with you.
Did you skim that WaPo article about how Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet places personal loyalty over silly little things like “qualifications” in filling important executive branch jobs? It’s kind of darkly humorous if can avoid thinking about the real-world consequences. And if you can’t, it’s absolutely fucking terrifying.
That’s just the catch-22 our modern moment deserves, isn’t it? Surely anyone willing to pledge loyalty to such a pathetic blob of projectile insecurity as Donald J Trump (The “J” stands for “My father didn’t love me, WILL YOU?”) is totally unworthy to serve in a position of any significant responsibility, buuuuuuuuuuuuut…
The EPA gave Trumpal Buddy Carl Icahn a “financial hardship waiver” from a biofuels law, and I for one am glad we’re finally doing something to address the trials and tribulations of billionaire assholes who would rather be buried in coffins full of money than share anything ever.
Oh, and we learned the Shart Campaign has been paying Michael Cohen’s legal bills, even though everyone’s claimed the Fantabulous Fixer didn’t have anything to do with the campaign! Such philanthropy! And by “philanthropy” I mean “witness-tampering!”
Roy Moore has filed a lawsuit against three of his accusers, for conspiracy to derail his political career by being so enticing as minors that he just couldn’t stop himself from sexually assaulting them. The Judge should bring this to its logical conclusion, and sue his younger self for creepin’ on all those high school girls, maybe we can get a nice Star Trek-style time travel episode next season.
Because the most powerful gathering of people in the world operates like a middle school lunch room, General Kelly’s enemies leaked to the press that Johnny called Donnie an “idiot” behind his back, and also “unhinged” and a “doo-doo head” and a “disgusting freak who wants to fuck his own daughter” and I was holding out hope for “shartcannon,” but I guess my humble blog hasn’t reached the Oval Office…YET.
And President Truck Stop Urinal Cake’s acting ICE director announced his retirement, desiring to spend his remaining time on Earth absorbing as much pleasure and peace as possible, before he’s dragged into the deepest circle of hell for his many crimes. There’s some Inquisition shit waitin’ for you, Fuck-o.
The Failing New York Times got ahold of a list of questions Rugged Robert Mueller allegedly wants to ask Baron Golfin von Fatfuk. There’s some interesting shit here, from pardons to obstruction to one particular question, which would first involve Mueller grabbing the President’s tiny, inadequate, hands, in order to force him to strike himself in his own face, at which point the Special Counsel would demand “Why are you hitting yourself, Donald?”
Fuck it, I can’t take one more minute of this shit. It’s NyQuil time, campers. I’ll see y’all about noon on Wednesday.
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