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nobody wanted this.

just as nobody wanted a heavily militarized Epstein Dance Hall, or an unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, or masked and armed ICE thugs teargassing children, or unaffordable gas, or incoherent tariffs, or off-the-charts corruption, or any one of the million shithole crimes and indignities Preznit Fuckwit has inflicted on We the People, nobody wanted a broken-inside egomaniac shutting down one of midtown Manhattan’s busiest districts for a day and a night, just so he could fall asleep during a championship basketball game.

so, if nobody wanted this, then why did it happen?

it happened for the same reason that Donny used to barge in on half-naked teenagers in the dressing room of the Miss Teen USA pageant — because he can, and because he’s a malignant toad who gets off on being the hugest asshole imaginable.

well, guess what: New Yorkers are not okay with any of that shit at all, and they reacted to Donny’s unwanted presence in the most New York way ever — they cordially invited Dear Leader to fuck himself sideways.big, strong New Yorkers, their biceps rippling in the midday sun, tears streaming down their cheeks, booed Donny mercilessly. they booed him like few thought possible — maybe even the greatest boos of all time.

they booed him on his way to Madison Square Garden.

n fact, let’s gif the shit out of the best part of that clip, because these few seconds are a keeper.

they booed him during the game, the very second his beady-eyed fluorescent tangerine pig-face showed up on the jumbotron.

and they booed him when he slithered the fuck out of there and slunk back to his New Jersey ex-wife cemetery.

welcome to New York, Donny. now get the fuck out.

it cannot be understated how much of a disruption to daily life in Midtown Manhattan Dear Leader’s unnecessary escapade was. look at this headline. no walking allowed in Midtown. how fucked-up is that?

Sorry, Knicks fans: No Madison Square Garden watch party tonight.

You won’t even be able to walk close.

The NYPD and U.S. Secret Service announced another spate of street closures and security measures in anticipation of President Donald Trump’s historic trip to the Knicks’ NBA Finals game.

somebody please explain to me why the exclusion zone needed to stretch all the way from Fifth Avenue to Eighth Avenue. explain it to me like I’m five years old, because I’m just not understanding it.

imagine that Sleepy Joe Biden’s autopen had closed down Midtown Manhattan just so Joe could enjoy himself some sportsball.

the howls of anger from the entire wingnut outrage-industrial complex would have been audible on Mars. Comer Fudd and the shouty, half-dressed degenerate wrestling coach would have introduced articles of impeachment within minutes.

but Donny, infuriatingly, is granted an endless series of free passes to be a Very Special Boy Who Gets to Fuck Shit Up Any Time He Wants™.

this is just wall-to-wall crazypants. hundreds upon hundreds of NYPD cops were clogging the sidewalks of Midtown, just basically milling about and doing nothing, apart from getting in everyone’s way.

how many taxpayer dollars got flushed down the shitter on this unnecessary exercise in ego-stroking a colicky piss-baby president?

Donny’s minders even shut down the locker rooms so that Dear Leader could fuck up the Knicks’ pregame preparation, too.

90sKnicksFan33
Is it true your locker room access is being restricted so he can go in there? Last thing they need before this game is the distraction of the circus traipsing thru their locker room

Steve Popper
Yes. First time all season no pregame locker room access for media.

on top of that, they treated the athletes like they were criminals.

all this disruption — and for what?

it certainly wasn’t so that Donny could enjoy watching an NBA Finals game, because the narcoleptic fart factory did what he always does in public these days — he closed his weary eyes, and started noisily sawing logs while carpet-bombing his little bulletproof enclosure with the pungent aroma of ass-music.

oh, that’s lovely. Dear Leader ruined everyone’s good time — and then couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention. what a selfish prick.

remember how Donny claimed he was too busy with his stupid illegal war to go to his failson’s wedding? weird how he didn’t have time for that, but apparently has all the free time in the world to fall asleep in Madison Square Garden.

it’s fucking maddening. Lord Shitticus gets to traipse about and waste all the money in the world on unnecessary vanity junkets, while you and I — We the People — struggle to keep the gas tank full, and to pay for basic goods and services. and then the stupid shit falls asleep, right in the middle of a noisy, raucous arena. what the actual fuck?

so, how did the Knicks do last night? not good. they lost their game to the Spurs, 115-111 — after having previously won their last thirteen games in a row. awesome job, Donny. you fucking jinxed a winning streak with your fetid presence.

now let’s compare and contrast. check out what happens when a legitimate president takes in a sportsball game in his home town.

that’s what popularity looks like. this is why Donny hates Obama so much — because deep down inside, Dear Leader knows that he’ll never be as admired as the black man whose accomplishments he’s trying to hard to destroy.

meanwhile, feast your eyes on this delusional dipshit.

reporter: “what do you think of the reception you got from Knicks fans tonight?”

Donny: “I thought it was great. I mean, uhhhhhh, I thought it was amazing, actually. you mean where the had the camera, on me? I thought it was very good, yeah. it was certainly amazing. I think— mostly cheers. it was loud. and it was very— enthusiastic.”

yeah, sure. you keep telling yourself that. fucking loser.

Game 4 of the NBA Finals is tomorrow night. whether you’re a New York Knicks fan or a San Antonio Spurs fan, I think we can all agree on one thing:

fuck Trump.

but wait — it gets stupider.

while all that dumb-assery was going on up in New York, back at the While House they did a test of the lighting for that infantile wrestling match that Dear Leader is holding for his birthday.

holy shit, it somehow manages to be so much worse than any of us could have imagined.

it’s so fucking tasteless. he’s turned The People’s House into a Las Vegas bordello.

could anything possibly be more undignified? it’s so wrong. our founders would shit their breeches raw if they could see what’s become of their grand experiment in not have a fucking king.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

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Some Days, That Thought Is All That Keeps Me Going Because At This Point I Want To Live To See His Downfall And Utter Destruction

…not to mention witness—and participate in—the worldwide celebration when it finally happens.

Photo by Stephanie McCabe on Unsplash

This is understandable.

For the last decade, we’ve been living in dog years, friends; pummeled by a century’s worth of Constitutional crises, systemic failures, war crimes, and human moral collapses.

The atrocities have accumulated, the legislative losses have piled up, and perhaps, most of all, the list of people we loved and once respected who’ve abandoned compassion and reason has grown beyond what we can fathom.

To put it another way: we’ve been knocked on our asses for ten straight years, and that’s gonna leave a mark on our nation, on our relationships, and on our psyches.

We are collectively experiencing the PTSD of a prolonged daily existence that our nervous systems were never designed to sustain. That kind of unceasing emotional trauma has rendered all of us deprived of hope, physically exhausted, and a hair’s breadth from a breakdown.

In light of all of this, we can be forgiven for believing that we’re never getting out of this, that our Republic is cooked, that 250 years will end up being the lifespan of our flawed but once-promising experiment in liberty.

But we’d be wrong.

Our present condition is not permanent, America. One way or another, a shift is coming.

He is not long for this earth, and he is not long for the presidency.

One day, soon, either nature or the Constitution is going to take him, and when it does, there will be rejoicing throughout this planet that we have not seen in 80 years. Humanity will feel the cathartic jubilation it should feel when tyrants meet their demise, and whether he ends first in the ground or in a cell, we all need to make sure we’re here to celebrate together.

We cannot be so overwhelmed by the recent sorrows and current threats that we slip into apathy and resignation; that we allow ourselves to be gaslighted into believing our presence counts for nothing, that our work is fruitless, that our efforts are wasted.

We need to remember that the toll of proximity and the lies of the present can distort reality.

We’re here right now, on the bloodied and broken ground with our faces pressed into the jagged, unrelenting horrors on our timelines and in our neighborhood. Presently, it’s impossible to rise to 30,000 feet and see that our current struggles, though formidable, are not unprecedented. Humanity has always persevered beyond the evil visited upon it.

If we lean on History, she will remind us that all violent regimes crumble, all malevolent movements dissolve, and all tyrants fall, and this will be true for this nation and the monstrosity in front of us. Our job as decent human beings is to allow our individual and collective presence to hasten the arrival of such times.

It may feel illogical, but we are closer to ending this nightmare than we imagine.

As quickly as it arrived, it can be driven out if, instead of throwing our hands up and accepting our shared fate in these moments, we transform all the despair and the anger we’ve amassed into a fierce and unrelenting resistance.

But that is the caveat here: we cannot wish this hatred away, and we cannot do nothing and hope it extinguishes itself. Violent, power-mad, parasitic people never voluntarily abdicate power once they have it; courageous, compassionate humanity has always needed to work together to take it from them.

We can be that beautiful plot-twisting presence right now.

And no, the ugliness his ascension has unearthed in our neighbors, the unthinkable damage he has done to our systems, and the cruelty he has authored will not magically disappear with his death or imprisonment, but there will be a massive gap left.

The terrible status quo will be interrupted.

Through the polls or through protest, instability will come to this seemingly unstoppable behemoth.

As they always do, time and effort will ensure that what is right now will not always be.

Friends, our calling as empathetic humans, good citizens of this nation, and caretakers of the planet, through sustained effort, personal sacrifice, and steadfast, focused fury, is to make sure that the nation we become will be greater than the nation we are, and far sooner than if we had never been here.

Take heart, America, we will outlive him.

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Jesus Christ…Change Grandpa’s Diaper, Give Him A Sippy Cup, And Put Him To Bed!

let’s watch what happens when a thin-skinned diaperload comes up against a reporter who is absolutely determined to commit a journalism.

Donny: “the election was rigged. it was a dirty election. it’s happening again, right now in California.’

Meet the Press host Kristen Welker: “you’ve never presented evidence that the 2020 election was rigged.”

Donny: “look at what’s happening now [in California].”

Welkler: “what’s the evidence to that?”

***

Donny: “they’re cheating on the election [in California].”

Welker: “do you have evidence to support that?”

Donny: “all you have to do is look.”

Welker: “that’s not evidence.”

***

Donny: “they’re crooked. just like you’re crooked, your press is crooked and Meet the Press is crooked.”

Welker: “to be fair, sir, I’m not crooked.”

Donny: “really? well, you play right into their hands. you’re either crooked or you’re stupid. you know that these elections are rigged. your network knows that they’re rigged. you know that I won an election in a landslide and I got 94% bad press.”

Welker: “you’ve never presented evidence that it was rigged.”

Donny: “your elections are crooked. and you’re crooked. and Meet the Press is crooked, and so is ABC and CBS and CNN. you’re one-sided, crooked networks. okay, let’s call it quits, because I’ve had enough. thank you, darling.”

and with that, Preznit Fuckwit throws his microphone to the ground, gets up, and waddles away.

‘thank you, darling.’ what a condescending, misogynistic asshole. shut the fuck up, piggy.

all Kristen Welker did was ask Donny for evidence to back up his claims — but apparently, that was a bridge too far for the colicky piss-baby who lives inside a fact-free bubble, and throws a shit-fit any time some peasant dares challenge one of his fever-swamp hallucinations.

you’re going to hear a lot about how Donny ‘stormed’ off the set of Meet the Press, but I’m sorry, there was no ‘storming’ going on. in fact, the deteriorating fool almost fell right down on his beady-eyed pig-face.

here’s a pro tip for Donny: if you’re trying to create an indelible image of defiant anger, don’t step on the mic you dropped, causing your gamey leg to buckle, requiring you to grab Kristen Welker’s shoulder so you don’t topple the fuck over.

that moment’s a keeper, so let’s gif that shit for all eternity’s sake.

and also, I keep saying ‘the set of Meet the Press’ — but that interview quite obviously wasn’t conducted in NBC’s New York studio. they taped it Friday night, at the site of Donny’s look-how-much-I-love-farmers clusterfuck in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

now, I get that the location was used for expediency’s sake, but did they really have to dress the set with wooden crates, hay bales and a tractor?

it’s a legit question, because it’s pretty hard to exude gravitas when it looks like you’re broadcasting from the set of Hee Haw.

it must be nice to be one of Donny’s cultists, and be forever serenely deluded into believing that whatever ass-hattery Dear Leader clowfucks himself into, he always comes away with the upper hand.

oh look, it’s Juanita Broaddrick. now there’s a blast from the past. you’ll be shocked, I’m sure, to learn that Broaddrick’s now a darling of the MAGA set — and that she’s guzzled all the Kool-Aid.

Holy Crap!! President Trump had enough of Welker’s lies and rips off microphone and walks out of interview. BRAVO!!! We have the best President!!

no, Juanita, that’s not what happened. what happened is that Brave Sir Donald bravely ran away, away.

Donny bravely ran away, away because because he’s a liar and a fucking coward who turns tail and flees the second anyone challenges the torrent of bullshit spraying from his rancid anus-mouth.

if Donny had a single shred of evidence to back up any one of his lies, he wouldn’t have to throw a piss-baby tantrum and bravely run away, away.

Donny wants us all to forget that he’s already litigated the hell out of the 2020 election. he brought over sixty lawsuits and lost all of them, except for one that went his way on a technicality and didn’t change the outcome. if there were any evidence, Donny’s ace team of parking garage lawyers would have presented it to the courts, six years ago.

Donny’s only ‘evidence’ is his pig-headed belief that ‘if I didn’t win, it must have been rigged.’ that’s not how adults face unpleasant news, it’s how babies react to hearing shit they don’t like. getting up and bravely running away, away is also a childish reaction.

what a great idea it was, to hand supreme executive power to some overgrown toddler who never matured past the emotional age of four years old.

now, it was nice to see Kristin Welker actually committing a journalism — which makes it equally disappointing that when it was all over, she did her best to sanewash her own thrashing of Dear Leader.

check out the weak-tea pablum that Welker posted up on Elon’s Nazi Bar and Child Porn Emporium.

My interview with President Trump on Friday afternoon was unfortunately complicated by weather issues. In spite of those challenges, we still had a substantial conversation on issues from the Iran war to the economy to the so-called “anti-weaponization” fund. Tune in for the full interview this morning on @MeetThePress.

seriously? why is Kristen Welker calling Donny’s infantile melt-down a ‘substantial conversation’? it was no such thing. yesterday’s broadcast was 46 minutes of Donny lying about every fucking thing, and then blowing up and bravely running away, away when Welkler refused to take bullshit for an answer.

if it were you getting the best of some lying immature diaperload, wouldn’t you crow about it? wouldn’t you take a victory lap? wouldn’t you tweet out something like ‘tune in this morning to watch me fuck Donny’s shit seven ways from breakfast’?

I would.

Donny’s going to be inflicting himself onto Game 3 of the NBA Finals tonight, and I hope the New York crowd boos him mercilessly — because fuck this fucking fuck all the way to Mars for taking what would normally have been a party atmosphere in and around Madison Square Garden and turning the whole area into a maximum security prison.

A strict no-bag policy will be in effect, and fans should make every effort to limit personal items to an absolute minimum. Fans should expect enhanced security measures when entering Madison Square Garden, including TSA-style screening procedures. Guests are strongly encouraged to arrive at least two hours before tip-off to allow additional time for screening and entry.

oh, that’s lovely. instead of a festive sportsball event, it’s going to be a joyless chore. don’t bring any bags, make sure you show up hours in advance and be prepared to be treated like a criminal suspect by government agents.

oh, and they’re locking down a five-block area around Madison Square Garden, inconveniencing everyone, not just the sportsball enthusiasts.

thanks a lot, Donny.

now seems like a good time to remind everyone that we New Yorkers have hated Donny since before it was cool. hey, can we get Rosie O’Donnell in here for a minute to explain why?

Rosie: “if you grew up in New York, you knew he was an asshole and a liar from day one. and I am sixty-four years old, so I remember when his planes were repossessed off the runways at La Guardia. I remember when he was broke. I remember when he would call up places and pretend to be his own publicist. he is a con man, he is a narcissist, and he is a psychopath.”

reporter: “how do you think he’ll be greeted at MSG tomorrow night?”

Rosie: “with a lot of boos, and I’m happy to hear it.”

where is the lie?

get the fuck back to your fugly Oval Bordello, Donny. nobody wants you here.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

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