Life in America in 2021 is like being trapped in a snow globe that somebody won’t stop shaking because they’re afraid you’ll gather your bearings enough to notice the crazed, dead stares in your idyllic Norman Rockwell neighbors’ eyes. Also, the flakes are bath salts, or little chunks of ivermectin or some shit. Fuck it, let’s do the news.
(Obligatory blog link: showercapblog.com/…)
The 20th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks sure landed weird in this culture gone mad…heck, even Dubya couldn’t help but observe that the current crop of terrorists runs a few shades whiter than the ones he used to use to justify various illegalities and atrocities back in the day.
Meanwhile, the dude who blew all Dubya’s dog whistles up into bullhorns marked the solemn occasion by partying with the Moonies and cosplaying boxing promoter like some D-list celebrity making the rounds on the reality television circuit. Oh, and I see our ol’ chum Rudy is still circling his filthy little drain in the least dignified manner imaginable. Was 20th century fascism this tacky?
The Velveeta Vulgarian’s shabby attempt at whoring the prestige of his former office was, of course, a miserable failure,not unlike, y’know, every other endeavor of his seven misspent decades. Kinda nutty that an entire political party lives in abject terror of a sad, sloppy fop who can’t even pop a boxing PPV buyrate.
Anti Choicey Barrett and Clarence Thomas, hot off their insidious We’ve Switched These Women’s Hard-Won Rights With Folgers Crystals Let’s See If They Notice shadow docket power play, say it would be a goshdarn shame if any of us uppity plebs correctly identified their cheap political hackery as cheap political hackery. Sigh. Can’t a gang of unelected theocrats plunge a nation into a new dark age in peace? Anyhoo, back to finger-painting Pat Robertson’s Xmas list over the Constitution.
So, I checked in with ethics experts, the Senate parliamentarian, and the Pope; they all agreed that, owing to his devotion to spreading lethal disinformation, and his long history of vile behavior in the face of disease and death, it is not only morally permissible to point and laugh at talk radio sleezebag Bob Enyart for dying of Covid, but actively encouraged. I’m told they’re actually not letting anyone into Heaven right now who doesn’t find Bob’s passing deeply, hilariously just.
Now, I wouldn’t presume to interfere in the sacred relationship between a death cultist and their propaganda-spewing high priests, but when so many of the voices y’all defer to on Covid are dying of Covid…does that not raise any red flags?
Every passing moment is a fresh opportunity to pull your head out of your ass, is all I’m saying. To anyone who wants to, I dunno, survive the pandemic. Come with me if you want to live and all that.
Alas, as even a cursory glance at the headlines will tell ya, such common sense self-preservation instincts are a little too much to ask of the denizens of MAGA Nation, who continue to choose death at every opportunity. Take that, Eddie Izzard.
My God, the numbers we’re seeing…the macabre milestones we’re hitting…you would honestly think we live in a time and place with three fewer vaccines than actually exist. Some poor guy in Alabama died from a cardiac event after getting turned away from 43 different ICUs, each overflowing with deniers and dewormer-chuggers. Forty-three.
Next door in Mississippi, it’s…it’s fucking carnage, folks. Under the leadership of Tate “I’m doing ‘em a favor by sending ‘em to the afterlife” Reeves, the Magnolia State finally completed its mad climb to the top of the death rate charts, how the FUCK is that even possible in an age of multiple safe, effective vaccines? 1 in 320 Mississippians currently reside in Covid-dug graves, compared to the already-appalling 1 in 500 nationwide rate. And that’s a choice. Culture-wide, from the individual level to the government level. Mass insanity, an honest-to-goodness death cult. I look at it all day long, and I still can’t quite wrap my head around it.
Florida’s shitty, discount-rack Stalin, called “Ron DeSantis” by some, happily handed his gubernatorial megaphone over to some cashew-brained rando, who promptly declared that coronavirus vaccines alter your RNA. Now, this horseshit, while marginally less showy than Watch This Spoon Stick to Me claims of magnetism, is equally untrue, and equally, what’s the word? Oh yes, INSANE. Just because the crazy people are on television all the time now doesn’t mean we should stop pointing out that they’re crazy, and thus should not be consulted on matters of public health.
If Greg Abbott trotted out some loon who claimed the Easter Bunny masturbated all over him while he slept, and the magical rabbit jizz protected him from Covid-19, that would be no less incorrect, and no less insane, not a whit, than these existing assertions.
And the forces of disinformation have a potent new set of allies in Nicki Minaj and her cousin’s now-famous friend and his now-famous swollen testicles. Yes, some dude in Trinidad’s lame attempt to explain his shiny new STD to his fiancée has gone Delta-level viral in the right-wing jagoffosphere, because we’re stuck in the stupidest circle of Hell.
Tucker Carlson wants to interview Nicki Minaj’s cousin’s friend about his swollen testicles, hoping to convince his own audience to keep on refusing vaccination, out of fear that their own testicles might come to swell, a plan with a tragically solid chance to succeed.
The California recall election ultimately played out (thank God) like an episode of Scared Strait!; after the perhaps-persuadable segments of the electorate spent a few eye-opening weeks getting to know the throbbing wad of bees and bat guano that is Larry Elder, they decided to stick with the non-murderously-insane incumbent, fancy that.
Naturally, Elder and his ilk made all the usual squawks about massive voter fraud, even showing spunk n’ initiative by beginning said squawks days before any results were announced, cuz really, why hang on formalities when you’re spreading Big Lies? The point isn’t to win elections, it’s to end them.
So I guess the new Woodward dishes all the hot, trashy gossip from the final days of the Fall of the Turd Reich. Apparently, Chairman Milley, that catty bitch, took steps to prevent his cornered-rat toddler boss from using America’s nuclear stockpile to punish the world for rejecting him even more decisively than Salma Hayek did.
Cue the wingnut outrage machine, naturally. These self-proclaimed “patriots” may not be big on speech rights or voting rights or reproductive rights, but BAH GAWD, the right of the American President, however addled or unfit, to, on whatever whim drifts through his deteriorating mind, nuke the living shit out of any strip of earth that happens to offend him, must never be infringed upon.
Insurrectionist colon blister Josh Hawley threw a sorry, attention-seeking procedural tantrum, vowing to block Biden Administration nominees unless Anthony Blinken agrees to pop the back pimples Hawley can’t quite reach or some such nonsense; doesn’t matter, since Josh failed to capture any actual attention, on account of being such a bland, tiresome, little weasel. We’re gonna have to sit through SO MUCH of this sort of Wooden Strongman Theatre in the coming years, y’know, as similar charisma vacuums (lookin’ at YOU, Tom Cotton*) audition to inherit America’s most credulous cult.
I see Mitch McConnell wants to play chicken with the debt ceiling again. I agree with Yertle that the threat feels significantly more convincing now that his “side” has proven itself indifferent to human suffering, but haven’t we all been through enough Find Outs lately to stop fucking around? Default now? Sure. Fine. Why have a lengthy decline phase?
Ohio Congressman Anthony Gonzalez, one of the ten House Republicans with enough courage and decency to back Government Cheese Goebbels’ impeachment, announced he will not seek another term, citing in part threats to his family from an out-of-control right wing culture of rage with a demonstrated and growing capacity for violence. Inciting terrorism has proven an efficient little technique for keeping the House GOP in line, have you noticed that? That’s maybe not the healthiest truth about American politics at the moment.
Bless his heart, Mike Pence thinks he can get his excommunicated ass elected President by very same mob that attempted to execute him publicly a few short months ago. Shitty man tiltin’ at a shitty windmill. Oh well. Fuck him.
Meanwhile, the Deposed Dotard keeps dashing off manic little memos to Brad Raffensberger (remember him?) demanding to be swiftly reinstalled as President Again For Real This Time, based on…fuck, who even knows anymore? Whatever hot new scrap of Russian disinformation happens to be pinballing around Gab or Gettr or OnlyCreepyOldGuysWhoWantToFuckTheirOwnDaughters.
I see “white replacement theory” is back in the news this week, thanks to Texas Lt. Governor Dan Patrick and House GOP leadership’s Elise Stefanik. Boy, that nasty little pair encompass the modern Republican Party perfectly, don’t they? The death-crazed apocalyptic zealot and the Just Tell Me Which Necks to Step On climber with no core values beyond “more people should do what Elise Stefanik tells them to,” united by an ideology of violence fueled by racist fear and hatred. It sure would be cool to defy the fundamentals and keep these skeevy freaks from power next year, don’tcha think?
We do want to replace you, of course. Not because you’re white, because you’re MURDEROUSLY INCOMPETENT. Goddamn. If you wanna hang onto jobs that you’re this disastrously fucking bad at, go interview at Comcast customer service, government is a bad fit. (I totally get why y’all are trying to destroy democracy tho.)
Good gravy, that’s dark shit. We deserve a little schadenfreude palate cleanser after all that, I think. Fortunately, the MyPillow Guy has dedicated the rest of his life to dousing his own scrotum in gasoline and setting it ablaze for our amusement, so we have some material to work with.
Browse the menu for a bit. There’s always the comfort food of yet another humiliatingly under-attended pro-Trump “rally.” If you prefer something spicier, try this tale of Mike’s futile efforts to rekindle the romance with his jilted former partners at Fux Nooz. Or, if you’re in the mood for something exotic and new, might I recommend the bizarre, three-day hatepillowthon with…wait, this can’t be right, Jim Bakker?
Holy balls, JIM BAKKER. Okay, that’s about all I can take. I’m done. Jim Bakker. Cool. Shower Cap out.
Forgive the disruption of the usual schedule, by the way. It’s Riot Fest weekend here in Chicago, one of my favorite annual holidays, and I just couldn’t bear the thought of letting the early bird ticket I bought in 2019 go to waste. A little punk rock now and then recharges the weary soul. I needed that, and now that I think of it, I could use a little more; headed back now. Stay safe out there, my friends, we’ll return to our regularly scheduled ranting next Friday night.
*We didn’t forget about you either, Pompeo, stop sniveling.
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