Author: Mark Alexander

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Thursday Tiedrich

at the United Nations on Tuesday, as America’s Fuckwit-in-Chief was blithering incoherently about Chinese wind and hell-bound countries and how awesome it is to bomb the shit out of fishing boats and how he deserves all the Nobel Peace Prizes and how everyone at the UN is a poopyhead for not letting him renovate their building, a foreign diplomat took out his phone and texted the following to an American journalist.

“This man is stark, raving mad. Do Americans not see how embarrassing this is?”

you know me, I love a good game of Easy Questions, Easy Answers — so allow me, if you will, to take my best shot.

YES, WE CAN ALL SEE THAT DONNY IS STARK BARKING BONKERS, AND WE’RE ALL FUCKING EMBARRASSED.

well, obviously, not the cultists, they eat this shit up — but to the other 70% of us who aren’t brain dead, we know it. we’re the ones who have to sit here, day after day, as the firehose of batshit gets sprayed point-blank into our faces.

I mean, check out what a lunatic looks like when he’s lunaticking at warp factor nine.

dear lord, what a fucking snowflake. a snowflake like no one’s even seen before. maybe the flakiest snowflake of all time.

grow the fuck up, bro. do you think Teddy Roosevelt would have been spooked by an escalator? absolutely not. just look at this homey.

T-Rose would have punched the shit out of those balky autostairs.

oh joy, President Pudding Cup is demanding to speak to the United Nations’ manager.

I’m sending a copy of this letter to the Secretary General, and I demand an immediate investigation.

yeah, you do that, Commander Crazypants. you send your strongly-worded letter. I’m sure Secretary General António Guterres can’t wait to roll his eyes, mime jerk-off motions, and toss it into the nearest trashcan.

EscalatorGate™ is now in its third day and shows no sign of abating — and in typical Donny carnival-barker style, the story of how an escalator briefly turned into stairs gets more outlandish with each retelling.

the escalator going up to the Main Speaking Floor came to a screeching halt. It stopped on a dime. It’s amazing that Melania and I didn’t fall forward onto the sharp edges of these steel steps, face first.

that’s right, Melania came this close to a brush with the United Nations’ patented Whirling Blades of Death.

as we discussed yesterday, no one was ever in any danger — but by next week, Donny’s going to be telling us that his Slovenian rent-a-wife had to somersault past laser beams — which, by the way, is a thing she can do because of the ninja training she received, while also learning to speak five languages (none of them English).

you’ll be shocked to learn that Donny is screaming LOCK THEM UP!

The people that did it should be arrested!

Donny, are the people who should be arrested in the room with us right now? actually in this case, they are — because it was Donny’s own videographer who ran up the the damned thing backwards and tripped the motion detector that stopped the escalator.

so sure, let’s arrest this poor unfortunate soul. no, wait — mere arrest isn’t adequate punishment for the person who dared inconvenience Dear Leader for an entire thirty seconds. let’s go all-in. let’s draw and quarter them as a vivid warning to any future frisky videographers. don’t you dare trip no fucking motion sensors, pal.

so, to get back to the foreign diplomat’s question — yes, we can all see how embarrassing this is, that our president is a weak and small man who can’t just laugh off a common mishap that we’ve all experienced, and is driven by his increasing insanity to create a pathetic spectacle.

and, as always, the only thing you really need to know about EscalatorGate™ is that Donny’s name is on every page of the Epstein Files.

any sane country would have 25th Amendmented the fuck out of Dear Leader before he’d even had a chance to finish that batshit speech — but we don’t live in a sane country.

we live in a country that has built an entire propaganda infrastructure just to keep a cranky toddler from melting down and throwing ketchup bottles.

Donny’s UN address was received in silence. no one said a word — they just looked on in stunned horror as the Mad King gibbered like a loon.

in order to keep Dear Leader from going ape-shit about it, one of Donny’s own sewer clowns, Energy Secretary Chris Wright, had to go on Fox News and explain to the Audience of One watching in the White House how everyone wanted to cheer, but they couldn’t — because were afraid to. yeah, that’s it. that’s a credible explanation.

“everyone was listening … I think a lot of the world, maybe weren’t brave enough to cheer like that during his speech.”

where have I heard this kind of gaslighting before? oh right —

so again, yes, Ambassador, we are all embarrassed that our president can’t face unpleasant news and has to be coddled like a colicky infant.

wouldn’t you love it if our own worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press were as honest as their foreign counterparts?

and yes, Ambassador, we’re all fucking embarrassed that our president is, as the Daily Mail puts it, a “deranged man-baby.”

there’s a new “Presidential Walk of Fame” in the White House — and you’ll be shocked to learn that it’s childish as fuck.

here’s what Margo Martin not-tweeted from her official White House account.

no, let’s not “wait for it,” let’s just skip ahead and reveal that Joe Biden’s presidential portrait has been replaced with a photo of an autopen.

ha ha ha ha ha ha! get it? get it? it’s because Joe Biden’s autopen actually ran the country! isn’t that a fucking knee-slapper? isn’t that the funniest thing ever?

what’s the word I’m groping for here, as the entire world bears witness to a president — nay, to an entire White House staff — this petty, childish and spiteful?

oh right: embarrassing.

but, as always, please keep in your mind these sacred words from the Sermon on the Mount: blessed are the meme creators, for they shall win the internet.

oh, and Mr. Ambassador?

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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Tiedrich Monday

all of us, as children, were fed a lot of fairy tales. you know the kind: princesses in castles, dragons, big bad wolves, yadda yadda.

but I remember one particular fairy tale that got drummed into our heads over and over, and it went like this: ‘America’s system of government is the greatest ever invented.’

it’s such an adorable story, isn’t it? but answer me this: if that were actually true, then how were the stupidest fucking morons in the universe able to break it so easily?

oh look, Preznit Fuckwit has a new superpower: crime-ray vision.

reporter: “have you ever threatened DOJ leadership if they don’t prosecute Letitia James?”

Donny: “no. I don’t do that. I don’t do that. I mean, I look at the facts like everybody else. you read the facts, and to me she looks terrible, she looks like she’s very guilty. but that’s going to be up to the DOJ.”

that’s how Donny’s crime-ray vision works. he can just look at someone and know they’re guilty — and here’s who looks ‘very guilty’ to Donny: Letitia James.

what would you imagine was the one aspect of Letitia James that in Donny’s mind makes her ‘look guilty’? it’s pretty weird how almost all the people who ‘look guilty’ to Donny have the same thing in common.

now, for the other part of Donny’s mouth-fart, where he claims he hasn’t pressured Pam Bondi to go after his political enemies, and that it will be entirely the DOJ’s call.

fact check: oh please, just fuck straight off. we all saw what you posted to your janky app, Donny. look how it ends, with a demand that Bondi ‘serve justice.’

if Donny didn’t write that, I’d love to know who did.

hey, maybe it was his autopen. yeah, that’s it — it was Donny’s out-of-control autopen. let’s go with that.

after all, with Donny, every accusation is a confession. so if Donny is accusing Joe Biden’s autopen of committing every crime under the sun, then I’m absolutely willing to believe that Donny’s entire life is being run by some fucked-up autopen, and— [taps earpiece] hold on, I’m being told that now, for the first time, we can reveal a photo of Donny’s autopen. here it is:

oh. well, that explains a lot.

Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin’s has a superpower of his own: dumbfuck-ray vision.

Dana Bash: “he’s asking his attorney general in a public way to go after his political enemies. he’s very open about it. you’re okay with that?”

Mullin: “well, I think what we know is President Trump is very open and transparent with the American people, and he speaks his mind. that’s what his supporters love about him.”

you know, when MarkWayne Mullin goes on the Sunday shows, it’s as if all the stupid in that’s backed up in his head all week can’t wait to vomit itself out of his mouth. let’s call it projectile stupidity.

but here, in this one instance, Mullin is correct: Donny is in fact open and transparent. he lies in public. he crimes in public. he’s racist in public. all that shit is right out in the open, because fuck you, that’s why. being in-your-face horrific is Donny’s brand.

and yeah, MAGA does in fact gobble that shit right down. why? because Dear Leader has, by example, given the worst people in the world permission to be the worst versions of themselves.

which brings us to Laura Ingraham, because I’m pretty sure that the worst version of Laura is the only version there is.

“…including a Democrat congressional candidate who was thrown to the ground by an ICE agent. good work.”

nothing to see here, just some Fox News fuckhead gloating over a Democrat being assaulted by one of Donny’s masked thugs. this, during a week where Republicans went totally ape-shit over anyone who failed to be ‘respectful’ of the memory of Charlie Kirk.

so, I guess political violence is only bad when it’s directed at Republicans? silly me. do I even have to ask?

the less said about the Charliekirkpallooza in Arizona yesterday, the better — so I’m not going to talk about it at all, except to observe for the umpteenth time that Charlie Kirk did not deserve to be murdered. but at the same time, that didn’t make him a saint.

the one thing, however, that was too fucking surreal to ignore was President Worst Version’s entrance — with fireworks.

who does this? who considers this a dignified way take the stage during a memorial?

like everything else in this skeevy dipshit’s life, it’s gaudy, tasteless, crude — and entirely inappropriate.

and MAGA eats it right up — because it’s a fucking cult. the tackier Dear Leader is, the more they adore him. I swear, we’re living a real-life Idiocracy.

let’s just listen to a true American hero instead — Jasmine Crockett.

Dana Bash: “a resolution that came before the house this past week, honoring Charlie Kirk, and there were 58 Democrats who voted against it. you were one. why?”

Jasmine Crockett: “absolutely. you know what? one of the things I do want to point out that’s not been laid out, that honestly hurts my heart, is when I saw the ‘no’ votes, there were only two caucasians. for the most part, the only people who voted ‘no’ were people of color. because the rhetoric that Charlie Kirk continuously put out there, was rhetoric that specifically targeted people of color. and so it is unfortunate that even our colleagues cannot see how harmful his rhetoric was, specifically to us, and I can tell you that a month prior to him passing away, he had actually gotten out on his podcast — I wasn’t aware of this at the time — but he got out there and he was talking negatively specifically about me, directly. so if there was any way that I was going to honor somebody who decided that they were just going to negatively talk about me, and proclaim that I was somehow involved in the ‘great white replacement’? yea, I’m not honoring that kind of stuff, especially as a civil rights attorney, and understanding how I got to Congress, knowing that there were people that died, people that were willing to die, that worked to make sure that voices like mine could exist in this place … and it is unfortunate that more of my colleagues, on my side of the aisle, could not see the amount of harm that this man was attempting to inflict upon our communities.”

Rep. Crockett is right, and shame on every Democrat who allowed themselves to be peer-pressured into voting to honor a white supremacist.

it’s the start of a brand new week here, and maybe our country can finally get back to what’s important: release the full, unedited Epstein files, you fucking fucks.

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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Home

Take a moment. Sit down. Close your eyes. Think of all the places you’ve lived over the course of your life. Which of them made you feel the safest, the most loved? A place where, when you think of it brings a spontaneous grin to your face. In other words, Home with a capital H?

For me, it was the house my family lived in during my high school and college years. We moved in the day I started high school in September 1972. That morning I left the house we’d lived in since 1964 as an 8th grade graduate and came back to a totally new abode a high school freshman.

It was brand new construction in a new subdivision, “Bethany Heights,” located about a half mile south of where we’d lived for my grade school years.

It was also quite probably haunted. (Hard to explain with new construction, but there you go.)

My bedroom was downstairs. To this day I can close my eyes and see the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window. It was quiet, safe, and felt like a private sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the house. Ironic, considering the main gathering space in our house, the family room, occupied the same floor.

My dad had big plans for that house, only a few of which actually came to pass. He built a pair of floor to ceiling bookcases, dividing the living room from the dining room. He also built a wall of bookcases framing the window in my bedroom. He wanted to have a fireplace sunk and built in the family room as well as digging a secondary exit through the sewing room and putting in concrete stairs back to surface level, but neither of those ever happened. We did finally get an in-ground pool, but it happened only as I was getting ready to move out on my own.

My soon-to-be best friend lived across the street. We met shortly after my family moved in. Ken got me turned on to hi-fi equipment and rock-n-roll. As I’ve mentioned before, we’d sit in his room after he got back from CES (Consumer Electronics Show) in Chicago every summer and pour over the bags of brochures he’d brought back, dreaming of someday owning the equipment ourselves. When it came time to upgrade my childhood bicycle for my new commute to the high school, I followed his lead and got a yellow Schwinn Continental. Did parents really let their kids bicycle nearly three miles to school on these Phoenix streets on their own back then? Apparently so. Furthermore, it was expected. I got a ride to and from school only under extraordinary circumstances.

During my senior year, I had a crush on Daniel, a boy whose family had moved into the newly built part of the neighborood on the same street about a block to the west. When I say crush, I mean crush. We became friends. We hung out. We liked the same music. I liked taking long drives with him in his pink mustang. And keep in mind this was 1975. I wasn’t out, and profoundly frightened to profess my undying love, especially since he’d given no hints the feelings were mutual. (I’d tried that with a boy three years earlier only to destroy a friendship.) Anyhow, after my parents and sister would go to bed, I’d go out the side garage door, climb up the fence and onto the roof, and walk to the highest point of the roof that gave me an unobstructed view of the entire neighborhood—including Daniel’s house. I couldn’t see into his room, but I could see when the light was on and he was home. Crazy, huh? It’s not like today, where kids can call or text each other’s personal phones at any hour. I just wanted to make sure he was home and safe. I could’ve slipped and broken my neck countless times, but thankfully I was sure enough on my feet that it never happened—and no one called the police to report a boy on the roof of the house. But it was the 70s and a very quiet neighborhood.

This is also the house from my youth that still appears most often in my dreams.

 

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Vomiting It All Up

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Forty five years ago, instead of witnessing the Decline and Fall of the United States and reporting on it in real time, I’d be getting ready to go out for a night of drinks, dancing, and hopefully—debauchery.

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Dear MAGA…

From Palmer Report:

Dear MAGA,

I’m writing this open letter to you in the hope that, after our nation has lost a decade trapped in a running debate over the merits of one man, perhaps we might finally reach some degree of understanding each other. You’ve been clinging to this one man so tightly that long after the rest of us got rid of him, exposed him, convicted him, and tried to move on from him, you put him back into power. So considering where we are right now, today, I’m wondering: are you proud of what you’ve done?

The American economy is in shambles. Inflation is worse than ever. Everyone’s grocery prices are more expensive than ever, including yours. This one man, who spent his previous four years showing that he had zero understanding of economics, has now done to the American economy exactly what we said he would do. Are you proud of that?

This one man, who has never been respected by those who knew him well, who displayed zero business acumen when he hosted a reality show about business, whose supposed financial prowess has been exposed to have been based on cooked books all along, who has always come off like a buffoon, who has spent the past few years babbling incoherently about sharks and fictional serial killers, and who obviously had dementia during his most recent campaign, is now barely able to walk in a straight line or speak a full sentence. You put a walking corpse back into the White House. Are you proud of that?

This one man, who has been dishonestly demonizing nonwhite Americans from literally day one of his foray into politics, now has masked thugs roaming the American streets and scooping up anyone who isn’t sufficiently white – including the ones whose families have been here longer than yours. Including the ones who did important labor in your town. Including the ones you liked. Including, in many cases, the ones who voted for him. You put a guy back into power who is now rounding up everyone who looks brown, even if they’re MAGA. You’ve unleashed an out of control masked gestapo onto our streets to not only assault nonwhite Americans, but to also assault peaceful protesters just for kicks. You’ve turned America into something that feels like mid period Nazi Germany. Are you proud of that?

This one man, who has spent his decade in politics talking about and encouraging political violence at every turn, has created such an unacceptably violent atmosphere in this nation that one of your own favorite sons was shamefully murdered for opening his mouth. And no, we had nothing to do with that. Charlie Kirk is dead because you MAGA folks insisted upon putting a violent thug of a former President back into power while he was awaiting criminal trial for trying to violently overthrow the government of the United States. Are you proud of that?

This one man, who is so profoundly insecure that he still acts like a crybaby even now that he’s the most powerful man in the world, is now bent on getting every comedian fired who has ever made a joke about him. This one man has now declared, in exact words, that comedians are not “allowed” to make jokes about him. Talk show hosts are no longer even allowed to state facts about which side murdered Charlie Kirk, or else they’ll lose their job. America’s most fundamental freedoms of speech and press are being ripped up in front of our faces because this one man is too fragile to take a joke. Are you proud of that?

America is at an all time low. Everyone is angry. Everyone is miserable. Everyone is afraid of what comes next. Everyone is worse off than they were eight months ago, including you MAGA folks. All because you couldn’t accept that your first four years of supporting the most destructive piece of shit in American history were a mistake. America is barely breathing because you couldn’t let go of one man, no matter how thoroughly we exposed him to you. Now we’ve been proven right about every single thing we ever said about him, yet we’re all still stuck with him. Are you proud of what you’ve done? Because you owe us one massive apology.

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