Holly shit, stop the presses. Look who just woke up from their decade-long slumber, to work out on their very own what the rest of us sussed out years ago.
Are you ready for this? You’d better sit down, because this is a real shocker. It turns out — according to none other than The New York Times — that Preznit Fuckwit might be a little bit cuckoo for cocoa-puffs.
I shit you not — and oh dear lordy, they stuck it right on the front page, of all places.
Remember when the Times didn’t used to tell us shit we already knew, long after we already knew it?
Is there anything else you’d like to tell us, Captains Obvious? Water is wet, maybe?
Now, I see your hands up, and I know what you’re dying to ask: ‘Hey, Uncle Jeff — why has the Times waited until all the way to the very end of the election cycle to drop this news on us? Couldn’t we have used it months — or years — ago?’
Well, apparently the Times had to stop do a science first, before they could figure it the fuck out. They also had to do a math.
He is cruder than he used to be, using nearly 15 swear words per 10,000 words compared with 14 two years ago and six a decade ago, a change consistent with age-related disinhibition.
The review, relying on an A.I.-assisted metric, found that he makes rambling or confusing digressions in his rallies and speeches two and a half times as often in his second term as in the 2016 campaign, although roughly the same as in 2024.
Got that? The Times couldn’t blow the whistle on Dear Leader until they had rock-solid proof, gathered over a period of time — and they couldn’t do it without a janky, six-fingered plagiarism robot to do them a solid, and help do all those fancy-ass calculations.
Yeah, I know — these are the same shit-kazoos who declared Joe Biden mentally incompetent after one time that he forgot someone’s name.
Joe gets unceremoniously tossed on the shit-pile of sayonara, while Donny is obviously a Very Special Boy Who Deserves Every Reasonable Doubt Before Judgement Is Cast.™
Come on, New York Times, you want rock-solid evidence that Dear Leader is out there where the buses don’t run? You want proof? Just listen to the dumbfuck ramble like a blithering idiot.
“He gave up all of— yeah, it was free. WE DON’T CARE if it was free. We don’t care. It’s free. They say, WE WANT TO KNOWWW why did he give a ball room? No, no, you don’t understand me. It’s a gift. To the [slurred] Unided Stades offa Meriga. WE DON’T CARE. We don’t care.[unintelligible].”
What in the hell was that?
Preznit Fuckwit was supposed to be making his final argument for why voters should select Republicans. The final argument he actually made instead was why he should be carted off by the men with the butterfly nets.
Let me translate that last clip for you. What Donny was gibbering about was his beloved Epstein Dance Hall, and why it shouldn’t bother you that his cronies all chipped in to buy him some fugly piece of shit where the historic East Wing used to be. Which, by the way, is a lie — taxpayers are on the hook for at least $307 million dollars for that eyesore.
Donny gets a dance hall, and We the People get fuck-all — while gas in America reaches an all-time second-term high, one day before the midterms.
By the way, who is paying $3.46 for a gallon of regular? Here in the Hudson Valley it’s more $4.19.
Meanwhile, let’s watch some out-of-touch idiot explain how his poverty is the best poverty.
Fox News bobblehead: “What’s your final message to voters to get them out?”
Donny: “Poverty numbers are the single best. Meaning, they’re the best. Poverty’s a bad thing, but poverty is poverty.”
Oh, thank you for that explanation of poverty — the best poverty ever. Big strong poverty, with tears in its eyes, going, ‘sir! Thank you, sir! How do you did it? How do you make us the best poverty ever? Sir!’
Don’t you love Donny hand-waving poverty away, the poverty he created? ‘Poverty is poverty, whatcha gonna do?’ Thanks for explaining that.
What kind of tone-deaf dumbfuckery is that, tumbling out of the rancid anus-mouth of some flim-flam man who’s grown rich off of grifting the rubes who worship him?
Yes, I know what Dear Leader is trying to say, about poverty, but he’s not saying it — because he’s fucked in the head — and presidents aren’t supposed to be fucked in the head.
But fucked in the head he is, and it shouldn’t have taken the New York Times ten years to figure out that he’s fucked in the head.
And still, the Times sugar-coats it.
Mr. Trump, who last year became the oldest person ever inaugurated as president and turned 80 in June, has demonstrated physical stamina as he barnstorms the country in advance of midterm elections.
And that, by the way, was Joe Biden’s real crime. He looked and sounded old— while Donny has gotten an endless serious of free passes, because he can still shit out nonsense while speaking in a mostly-loud voice.
I’ll bet the Times wants a cookie, as a reward for finally committing an almost-journalism.
Sorry, no. You don’t get a cookie. You spent ten years sanewashing the incoherent ravings of a maniac.
Our press is supposed to warn us while shit is actually happening, and not wander in at the very end and go ‘hey, that was kind of fucked up, wasn’t it?
No cookie. Do better.
Everything totally fucking sucks right now, but at least we can point and laugh at Comer Fudd’s newly-dyed hair.
Seriously, what the fuck? When last we saw James Comer, the rake-steppingest fuckwit in Congress, he was a dignified natural gray.
Of course, Comer Fudd’s hair was the only thing dignified about him, as he ginned up hearing after hearing in which he clownfucked himself into one embarrassing situation after another, all the while trying to prove that he was finally going to catch that wascally wabbit, Bugs Biden.
Comer Fudd never was able to pin one crime on Bugs Biden, but at least he didn’t look like some mid-life-crisis used-care-salesman while attempting to do so.
Oh well, let’s be philosophical about it. Who really cares what the hair color is, when it’s the face that’s getting smacked by an endless series of rakes?
Ah, there’s the Comer Fudd we all know and love.
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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