as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
monday: he likes them what?
frankly, I think it’s nice that our piss-drunk Secretary of Death was able to take some time off from his busy schedule of gleefully dropping bombs on Iranian schoolgirls to have a playdate with that noise-adjacent caterwauler, Too Old To Be A Kid Too Impaired To Rock.
Joined my friend @KidRock — and some of our great @USArmy Apache pilots — for a ride this morning. (More to come on that!)
Kid Rock is a patriot and huge supporter of our troops. The War Department is wasting no time celebrating America’s 250th — home of the free because of the… pic.twitter.com/7EyhlaCeUj
— Secretary of War Pete Hegseth (@SecWar) April 28, 2026
the question must be asked: what in the actual small-batch artisanal fuck?
who thought this was an acceptable idea? why is it that our government never has any money when people need healthcare, or when children need a simple hot school lunch, but whenever some shrieking washed-up never-waswants to take a seven-thousand-dollar-an-hour joyride in an attack helicopter, the Donnysphere bends over backwards to accommodate him?
fix America’s actual problems first, you shit-kazoos. then you can waste all the money you want on performative dumbfuckery.
now tell me this: what wisdom could Piss Right Off, You’re Not A Kid possibly be imparting to the assembled crowd in the Pentagon press room?
maybe he’s reciting the lyrics to his charming song, Cool Daddy Cool.
young ladies, young ladies
I like ’em underage
see some say that’s statutory
but I say that’s mandatory
I’ll bet Jeffrey Epstein fucking loved that ditty.
I have a suggestion: if Not A Kid is so horny to do warmonger cosplay, let him enlist and go off to fight in Donny and Petey’s don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran.
no, wait. that would require actual courage.
oh and, Not Even Close To Being A Kid, can we talk? the next time Piss-Drunk Pete rings you up and asks you if you want to hang, tell him you’ve always wanted to go skateboarding with him. trust me. will be wild.
tuesday: kai yi yi
folks, pour one out for Preznit Fuckwit’s granddaughter Kai. she’s going through some things right now.
“I mean, hey. people— some people don’t like me, I mean 50 % of the world doesn’t like me because of my last name. one time I was out in public and someone literally walked up to me to tell me that my grandpa sucks.”
folks, how sad it is that the grifting grifter who has gone into the family business of selling merch and profiting off her famous name is catching shit for it?
Mayor Mamdani, can you and Ms. Rachel step in here for a moment and do us a solid?
thanks, guys.
now let’s do a quick fact check: does Kai’s grandfather suck?
apparently, yes.
I see two paths forward for Kai Trump at this point. one would be to do what Josef Stalin’s daughter Svetlana did — she solved that ‘your dad kinda sucks’ shit in a hot second by changing her name to Lana Peters and moving to Wisconsin, of all places. I shit you not.
or wait — even better, Kai could be like her first cousin once removed, Mary. when strangers come up to Mary Trump and tell her that her uncle totally fucking sucks, she high-fives them and is all ‘you don’t know the half of it.’
wednesday: she should have turned him into a human being
Christofascist hate-factory Joel Webbon is such a charmer.
“you look at Paula White, the chief faith advisor to Donald Trump, you look at some of the clips of her rolling on the ground, waving a coat and trying to slay people in the spirit, and ‘riririririririri’ speaking in tongues, she’s a witch. she’s a witch. she’s not just a Christian with some bad theology. she’s a wolf, she’s a false teacher — but even more than that, as a woman, I think that it is technically accurate to say she is … a witch.”
okay, let’s grant that Mister Stopped Clock here is right about a few things: Paula White is in fact a grifting charlatan who pretends to speak in tongues and has Donny Convict totally bamboozled.
but is she actually a witch?
well, Wytchfinder Joel has proof of Paula White’s witching witchery: she turned him into a newt — but don’t worry, folks. he got better.
thursday: all that glitters
wingnut screech-monkey Lance Wallnau has a few things he needs to get off his somewhat sparkly chest.
“let’s face it, most of the media’s left. it’s not evenly divided. you got, I saw Politico, and The New York Times—”
wait, wait, hang on. I’m sorry, I drifted off and stopped listening to Lance almost immediately, because I got distracted by— dude, what on god’s green shit-tangle are you wearing?
did you crash your car into a glitter factory on your way to the studio? have you been moonlighting at drag queen story hours?
bro, I’ve got Liberace on the phone. he says to tone it way the fuck down.
you’re giving him a headache.
friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™
for once in his chaotic, look-at-me-look-at-me life, some fucking idiot actually had a quiet morning. there were no public appearances on his official schedule, and the feed on his crappy app stayed relatively free of batshittery.
it wasn’t under later in the afternoon that the fucking idiot popped out of his spider hole to inflict himself upon the world.
at 3pm, the fucking idiot addressed an audience from the Florida retirement community The Villages.
he played ‘Live and Let Die,’ which is a totally appropriate song to play for the extreme elderly.
the amost-80-year-old, gripping the podium for dear life, both hands visibly rotting, blithered about being ‘young, vital and vibrant.’
the fucking idiot bragged about being the shittiest boss ever.
the fucking idiot also committed a racism, because of course he did.
fact check: Ilhan Omar did not marry her brother. that’s a racist lie that racists like to tell because racists suck.
once again, the fucking idiot bragged about acing the test they only give you if they have a good reason to suspect you have brain damage, by successfully pointing to a drawing of a camel — oh no, wait, this time it was a bear.
tell me, were percentages on the fucking idiot’s dementia test? I’m guessing not.
finally, the fucking idiot cautioned against his own presidency.
trust us, homey, we all understand what it’s like to be stuck with a president who’s a moron.
mere mortals would have been exhausted after all that — but the fucking idiot isn’t like you or me. he still had some gas left in the tank. between eleven pm and midnight, the fucking idiot started shitting lunacy onto his crappy app.
what kind of fucking idiot would think it appropriate to joke about swimming in the Reflecting Pool? the fucking idiot kind, that’s who.
also, in your dreams you’re that svelte, you floating sack of shit.
oh look, the losing loser who’s lost his war in Iran is imaging he’s a winner.
the only cards you hold are jokers, dumbfuck.
and of all the things that are never going to happen, this next one is never going to happen the most.
now, because it was the middle of the night and the fucking idiot was holed up all alone in his vermin-infested Florida golf motel, not one reporter was around to stand up and ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’
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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