as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
monday: respect? they have an odd way of showing it
lord help us, noises are once again issuing from Fox News found object Jesse Watters’ lips.
“Trump talks like a Persian strongman. that’s the kind of language that they understand. strength, respect, honor.”
look, we know that Jesse Watters has eternally fantasized that his big, strong ‘daddy’ Donny would at long last take off his belt and tan his misbehaving hide. fine, whatever the fuck turns you on, Jesse. who are we to get all judgemental and shit?
but I’d love to know on what planet Donny is regarded as a ‘strongman’ who is ‘respected’ — because I’m sorry to burst Jesse’s bubble here, but Dear Leader is an international laughingstock.
Italian PM Georgia Meloni, can you think of a single world leader who ‘respects’ Donny?
yeah, me neither.
there’s no fucking way that Iran has any respect whatsoever for the diaper-crapping piss-baby in the Oval Bordello. has Jesse Watters not seen the videos they’ve been putting up on Elon’s Nazi Bar and Child Porn Emporium? yo Jess, check this out.
yup, that’s some industrial-strength respect for Preznit Teletubby, all right.
nd here’s a third.
and that only scratches the surface. Iran is laughing its ass off at Dear Leader, along with the rest of us.
oh, and because I’m a responsible journalist and everything, I wanted to know exactly what a ‘Persian strongman’ is, so I googled it. here’s what I got.
yeah, I think any single one of these homeys could take Donny apart.
you might need a new metaphor there, Jesse.
tuesday: buh-bye
pour one out for the proprietor of the now-shuttered Trump Truth Store in Crystal Lake, Illinois.
sales plummeted when conflict with Iran began, with the owner saying business went “dead as a door nail”
okay, my friends, you know the drill — because now comes the part where we throw our heads back in laughter.
look at the crap that was being foisted on shoppers.
On March 26, Fleischmann revealed on Facebook that her MAGA-themed establishment, which retailed $25 T-shirts displaying, “GOD GUNS AND TRUMP 2024,” “ICE ICE BABY,” and “DEPARTMENT OF DOGE,” will be “closed until further notice.”
oh, so the customers of the ‘Trump Truth Store’ were totally fine with all the fascist ass-clownery being perpetrated by Dear Leader’s goons, and it was only when gas became expensive that wearing Donny-branded shit became toxic?
well then fuck all those fucking fucks.
maybe the Trump Truth Store needs to rebrand. I’d wear the shit out of a Flippy McCrushnuts shirt. you would, too.
wednesday: to see if wut?
christofascist Stew Peters seems nice
“I told you on Day One that young American men would be sent into the meat grinder on the ground to die for Israel. it’s imminent. it’s guaranteed. right now, the White House and the Pentagon are reportedly working on plans to send in American troops along with heavy equipment to steal Iran’s uranium — if they even have any. and while all of that is in the works, Lindsey Graham is on television calling for the expansion of the ongoing air campaign, for the United States to continue committing as many war crimes as possible. we should drop Lindsey Graham right off in the middle of Tehran — to see if these people really do throw queers off of rooftops.”
oh sweet baby Jesus in the manger. Stew was almost making sense there for a while and then it went so hard off the rails right there at the very end.
does Lindsey Graham have any idea that this is what people on his own side think of him? Lindsey? Lindsey?
holy shit.
thursday: let’s shed some light on the subject
Wednesday was a bit intense, so let’s lighten this shit up.
what the fuck happened to Naomi Wolf? she used be a garden-variety ‘wellness’ crank who dabbled in vaccine denial — but then she become a full-bore a full-bore conspiracy loon.
remember this?
“I endorsed Pres Donald Trump yesterday. Today all day my phone froze, the cursor on my computer started wandering around the desktop, and my wifi continually disconnected. All coincidentally.”
well, Dr. Wolf’s back, with a burning question about photos of the moon taken from the Artemis II spacecraft.
all that light is coming from space lasers, Naomi.
we Jews have a fuck-ton of them, Naomi, and we’re happy to have done our part to ensure that the Artemis II mission was a roaring success. you need the moon lit up? we’ve got that shit covered!
and while we’re on the subject, can we just revisit the all-time greatest dogwalking of Dr. Wolf? it happened just last week.
that is perfect. chef’s kiss. ten out of ten. no notes.
friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™
some fucking idiot’s Friday started, as so many of them do, with him raving incoherently at six o’clock in the morning into his crappy app.
excuse me, but what is the ‘WORLD’S MOST POWERFUL RESET’? is that what the fucking idiot calls having his morning diaper changed?
for the third consecutive day, the fucking idiot’s handlers tried their best to keep him away from the press — but they couldn’t keep the fucking idiot from shitting his delusional batshittery all over social media.
Iran holds no cards? I’m pretty sure that any country who can shut down a major shipping route at will — and trick the fucking idiot into agreeing to it — holds a shitload of cards.
oh look, the fucking idiot is promising to use the ‘full economic might of the United States’ to prop up the failing economy of his depot bestie Orbán’s Hungary.
I have an idea: how about the fucking idiot use the ‘full economic might of the United States’ to help Americans? isn’t the fucking idiot always going on and on about ‘America first’?
and there’s no way the fucking idiot wrote that tweet himself. there’s no chance in hell his rotting fingers know how to type the accent in ‘Orbán.’
now here’s a fun thing we learned on Friday about the fucking idiot. apparently he’s promised to pardon anyone who’s come with ‘200 feet’ of the Oval Bordello.
as one does, when one’s entire administration is made up of corrupt criminal fucksticks. am I right, Tom Homan?
Tom Homan knows I’m right.
oh, and the one time on Friday that the press got managed to get close enough to the fucking idiot to ask him questions — as he was headed to his Florida golf motel — he proved to be as befuddled, out-of-touch and ill-informed as ever.
and, despite that one, brief window of opportunity, not reporter stood up to ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’
how fucking idiotic is that?
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.
The words Walter Reed showed up on my timeline over the weekend.
I confess that my heart fluttered, my spirit quickened, and I pulled out our corkscrew and put it on the counter, just in case.
A few hours later… false alarm.
Party postponed.
Humanity, still hostage.
Unfettered lunatic, still at the wheel.
Annihilation, still in play.
Hellscape, still fully ablaze.
While I would never wish anyone harm, I will rejoice the day he leaves the planet.
I feel no shame in saying this.
It would be disingenuous to pretend otherwise.
And I will be far from alone in my elation.
When he departs this mortal sphere, it will be an occasion of global jubilation, not unlike the passing of any of history’s previous monsters.
On that day, there will be a collective exhale that we haven’t experienced since the end of the Second World War.
Outside of all but a small, brainwashed faction of the population’s most cultic, human beings around the world, will break out in spontaneous celebration at the subtraction of a presence that has done incalculable damage to the course of humanity.
On that day, the messiah of the miserable will no longer be able to generate new nightmares for the rest of us. We will finally be freed from his nonsensical ramblings. He will be unable to pervert the truth, or bastardize the office, or stoke division, or murder the English language.
But I’m not foolish enough to believe that this will be the end of the nightmare.
His enablers will remain; those opportunistic, bottom-feeding hate-mongers, soul-auctioning political traitors, and armageddon-welcoming religious zealots will still all be here, rushing to fill the power chasm he will leave behind. They will devour one another trying to occupy the throne once it is empty.
And not only them, but the legion of his civilian foot soldiers, who carried him upon their shoulders.
These past 10 years have done irreparable harm to the sovereignty of our nation, to our systems of governance, to the relational connections between us, to the collective health of the planet.
But he hasn’t done this.
The people we share this country with have done it using him as their weapon of choice. Our family members. Our friends. Our co-workers. Our neighbors.
His departure will do nothing to undo all the evil that his now bruised hands have wrought, to erase every vile thing his presence has exposed as he ascended politically.
It will not rewind the years of those who lived in squalor and poverty in New York City, on whose backs he built his fraudulent, hollow empire.
His death will not bring financial restitution to the thousands of workers and contractors left abandoned by the many bankruptcies that emancipated him from responsibility.
It won’t give back wholeness and healing to the girls and women he violated in secret or maligned in public.
It will not reverse the irreparable damage he has done to a political party whose members individually and collectively abandoned every legal and moral expectation to fall prostrate before him.
It will not illicit repentance in a white Evangelical Church that parted ways with the compassionate, loving namesake of its faith tradition and fashioned a vicious, sneering, profane, God-mocking idol out of his antithesis and bowed down before it.
His passing now could not allow us to unsee the repugnant grievance cult he unleashed here; the historically hateful movement of miserable people who’ve spent the last decade reveling in an unrepentant ugliness because he gave them consent.
It will not remove the legion of incompetent, predatory, corrupt sycophants he poisoned our government with; people who have and will continue to dismantle and pervert our systems of care and legal oversight.
And his death, as much as it would feel like an initial reprieve from the chaos he has engineered and the suffering he has spearheaded, would do nothing to conceal the heart maladies he exposed within the people around us: the long-simmering racism, the scalding contempt for foreigners, the phobic hatred of human beings for their gender identity or sexual orientation.
Long after he has made his exit, we will be left with what we now know about our family members and friends and neighbors; about the people in our churches, about the parents of our children’s friends; about the pillars of our communities, about those we trust to govern us, to protect and serve us.
These people and the atrocities they co-authored, sadly, will all long outlive him.
He has merely been the symptom.
The hatred in the heart of his supporters is the sickness.
Even when he’s gone, they’ll still be here.
So, any celebration will be short-lived.
Right After I Ask, “Is He Dead Yet?”
Let’s Just Call It The Epstein War
Trump Just Lost a War for America — No One’s Done That Since Nixon
From DAILY KOS:
TLDR
Trump loosed the dogs of war, screwed the pooch, and now gets to eat a dogshit sandwich. He won on day one and lost everything. Iran’s regime literally changed — new Supreme Leader, wartime mandate, unified population — and the US is still bombing them for reasons it keeps changing. Iran’s gains include regional legitimacy, control of the straits, and a reset on a domestic crisis. Now they can run out the clock playing victim, peacemaker, and reasonable adult while Washington circles the drain looking for an exit that doesn’t exist.
Iran is already using the perfect message frame: “The Regime Changed, But the West Hasn’t”. This is the line that rewrites the entire conflict. The US stated objective was regime change. The Supreme Leader is dead. A new leader governs, but the bombs keep falling. Iran doesn’t need to win the argument — it just needs to keep asking the question: “What exactly are you still fighting for?”
Every day without an answer makes the war less defensible, less popular, and more expensive.
Meanwhile – if they’d STARTED the war– here’s what they’ve won:
-
- Tollkeeper on the Strait of Hormuz. Iran now controls selective passage through 20% of global oil and LNG transit. Ships pass with Iranian permission. The US Navy no longer guarantees freedom of navigation.
- Sanctions-proof oil revenue. Crude above $100/barrel, buyers desperate, sanctions architecture functionally collapsed. Iran went from struggling to sell oil to naming its price.
- Domestic unity. The largest protests since 1979 disappeared overnight. The population that was in open revolt in January is unified behind the government by March.
- Generational leadership renewal. Mojtaba Khamenei inherits with wartime martyr legitimacy instead of through a messy backroom succession crisis.
- Regional military credibility. Demonstrated the ability to strike US bases across six countries and hold the entire Gulf at risk simultaneously.
- Moral high ground. Attacked during active negotiations. Schools hit. Hospitals, research centers, and Red Crescent warehouses bombed. Iran doesn’t need propaganda — it needs cameras.
- Coalition fracture. NATO allies — France, Spain, Italy — withdrew military support. France recognized Iranian authority over Hormuz by requesting passage. The Western alliance is splitting in real time.
Iran already has a great plan for victory terms to end the war they didn’t start; demands that age like wine, a fresh regional propaganda narrative, and simply running the clock favors them politically and militarily.
Iran’s stated terms — stop the bombing, lift sanctions, guarantee sovereignty, acknowledge the right to a peaceful nuclear program — are calibrated to sound ambitious on day one and obvious by day 60. Time itself converts Iran’s position from a wish list to common sense. They don’t need Washington to say yes today. They need the rest of the world to say “that seems fair” by summer. And the world is already moving in that direction.
Iran’s message to Saudi Arabia, UAE, Kuwait, Qatar, and Bahrain is lethally simple: “We didn’t bomb your country. We bombed the American base in your country. Remove the base, remove the problem.” That’s an offer disguised as a threat. It lands differently in Riyadh when Saudi civilians are catching shrapnel from a war they didn’t ask for, didn’t start, and don’t benefit from. Iran is telling the Gulf states they have a termite problem and the termites are American.
Every day the regime isn’t toppled, the premise of the war dies. A younger Supreme Leader with wartime legitimacy leads a unified population in a country that is battered but standing. The US has no theory of victory that survives contact with this reality. The military said “weeks.” The analysts said “months.” Iran says “forever if necessary.” Time favors the defender — always has.
Their plan is coming along just fine. All three tracks point to the same destination: the US either negotiates on Iranian terms or just leaves. There is no middle ground that saves face for Washington.
The coalition is already fracturing — France, Spain, and Italy pulled military support. France sent a ship through Hormuz with Iranian permission, functionally recognizing Iran’s authority over the strait. NATO allies are drifting. Domestic pressure is building as gas prices climb and grocery bills follow.
Meanwhile Iran stands at the UN and says: “Our father is dead. Our schools are rubble. Our children are buried. The regime you wanted changed has changed. Why are you still bombing us?”
Nobody has a good answer. And the longer nobody has a good answer, the more Iran wins.
The Mojtaba Factor is their hole card- the ace that will win the game no matter how everything else shakes out. This is the sleeper inside the sleeper. Mojtaba Khamenei holds two identities simultaneously and they complement perfectly.
Domestically — the martyr’s son, carrying the revolution forward under fire. Maximum legitimacy, zero succession crisis.
Internationally — the new face, unburdened by his father’s decades of confrontation. “I am not my father’s grudges. I am my nation’s future.” He can offer the world a clean slate narrative while the US is stuck explaining why it’s bombing a country led by someone it’s never dealt with before.
He is both continuity and change at the same time, and that is an extraordinarily powerful position for a wartime leader.
Iran’s only way to lose is overreach. If they escalate Hormuz to a permanent closure, the multinational naval coalition forms. If Mojtaba sounds like his father, the new-face narrative dies. If retaliatory strikes kill too many Gulf civilians, the whisper campaign collapses.
Restraint is the weapon now. Discipline is the strategy. And so far, they’re executing.
Iran didn’t win the war in the way wars are supposed to be won. They won it the way the weaker party always wins — by surviving, by making the stronger party’s victory impossible to define, and by being more patient than the country that attacked them. What’s more, Trump’s incompetence handed them a veritable cornucopia of fringe benefits to offset all the physical damage. Damage that can be repaired, from a moral high ground.
The regime changed. The West hasn’t. And that’s the ballgame. Enjoy your sandwich, Mr. Trump.
**UPDATED**
Trump Tax on oil-he’s sharing the sandwich
April 4, 2026
Going forward we all get a new Trump Tax on oil. The price of oil just got permanently more expensive. Not temporarily. Not until the war ends. Permanently. There are three layers to this, and they stack. Every one of them lands at the gas pump. And none of them are coming back down.
Layer 1: The Strait Is Now a Proven Kill Zone
Before February 28, insuring a tanker to transit the Strait of Hormuz cost about 0.125% of the ship’s value. This fraction of a penny on every barrel was background noise.
Today it costs 5%. That’s a forty-fold increase. For a $100 million VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier), that’s $5 million per transit — up from $125,000. Bloomberg reported premiums surged to roughly five times the level seen in the earliest days of the war, and an even larger multiple of pre-conflict rates. Lloyd’s Joint War Committee redesignated the entire Arabian Gulf as a conflict zone. Major insurers — Gard, Skuld, NorthStandard, the London P&I Club — cancelled existing war risk policies entirely and offered replacements at roughly sixty times pre-crisis rates.
And here’s the thing about insurance: it has a memory. A long one.
After the 1980s Tanker War, premiums in the Gulf never fully returned to pre-war levels. After the Red Sea crisis in 2024-25, Houthi attacks drove war risk premiums up 500% — and they stayed elevated even after the ceasefire. Insurance companies are not in the business of forgetting that ships got hit. Twenty-one confirmed attacks on merchant vessels. Mines laid in the strait. Tankers burning. A crew member killed. That actuarial data is now permanently in the model.
Even if peace breaks out tomorrow, even if the strait reopens fully, the insurance industry now prices Hormuz as a proven combat zone. Premiums will come down from 5%, sure. But they will never return to 0.125%. The floor just moved. Analysts estimate a permanent geopolitical risk premium of $8 to $14 per barrel — baked in, forever, on every barrel that transits the strait. Twenty percent of the world’s oil.
That’s Layer 1. It’s already here. It’s not going away.
Layer 2: The Tollbooth
Iran now controls selective passage through the Strait of Hormuz. France sent a ship through — with Iranian permission. Iran’s ghost fleet transits freely while everyone else asks for clearance off Qeshm Island. The US Navy, the most powerful maritime force in human history, is not guaranteeing freedom of navigation. Iran is granting it.
If this holds — and every week it holds makes it harder to reverse — Iran becomes the tollbooth operator on 20% of global oil. The country that was sanctioned into near-bankruptcy six months ago now sits at the cash register of the world’s most important energy corridor.
What does a toll look like? It doesn’t have to be a line item on an invoice. It can be preferential pricing for allies. Delayed clearance for unfriendly flags. “Administrative fees” for transit documentation. Selective enforcement of “safety inspections.” Iran doesn’t need to call it a toll. It just needs to control the clock on every ship that passes through.
Conservative estimates put even a modest transit regime at $1 to $3 per barrel. On 15 million barrels a day, that’s $15 to $45 million daily flowing to Tehran. That’s $5 to $16 billion a year — roughly what Iran was earning from all oil exports before the war.
That’s Layer 2. It stacks on top of Layer 1.
Layer 3: The Reparations
Iran’s schools are rubble. Over 600 education centers hit. Hospitals damaged. Bridges destroyed. Thousands of civilians dead. The infrastructure bill for rebuilding is going to be enormous — and Iran is going to want someone to pay for it.
Not the United States. Washington doesn’t pay reparations. Never has, probably never will.
But Iran doesn’t need Washington to write a check. It needs the strait.
If Iran embeds reconstruction costs into its transit regime — call it a “waterway maintenance surcharge,” call it a “regional stability contribution,” call it whatever makes the diplomats comfortable — that’s a third layer on every barrel. And unlike a negotiated settlement that gets paid once, a transit surcharge collects forever. It’s an annuity funded by the global economy.
Even a modest reparations layer — $1 to $2 per barrel — generates $5 to $11 billion per year. Enough to rebuild schools. Enough to fund a new military. Enough to make the war profitable in the long run.
That’s Layer 3. It stacks on top of Layers 1 and 2.
What It Means at the Pump
Let’s add it up.
-
- Layer 1 (insurance): $8 to $14 per barrel, permanent
- Layer 2 (tollbooth): $1 to $3 per barrel, if Iran holds the strait
- Layer 3 (reparations): $1 to $2 per barrel, if Iran collects
Total: $10 to $19 per barrel in new, permanent costs on every barrel that passes through the Strait of Hormuz.
Every $10 increase in crude translates to roughly 24 cents per gallon at the pump. So we’re looking at 25 to 45 cents per gallon — baked in, structural, not going away when the war ends, not going away when the headlines fade, not going away ever.
On a 15-gallon fill-up, that’s $3.75 to $6.75 extra. Every time. For the rest of your driving life.
And that’s the optimistic scenario — the one where the war ends soon, the strait reopens, and things go back to “normal.” The new normal. The normal where the world’s most important energy chokepoint has been proven vulnerable, where insurance companies never forget, and where Iran learned that controlling four miles of water is worth more than any nuclear program ever was.
Let’s call it what it is — a Trump Tax on oil. One the entire globe will be enjoying for many years to come.
Trump will be sharing that sandwich with the rest of us, long after he’s gone. The only question now is how big a bite you have to take every time you fill the tank.
Submitted Without Further Comment
I Hope It Was Worth It, Pam
Hey Pam, how much did Satan give you for that soul, anway? I hope it was worth it.
It’s The Hypocrisy, The Total Lack Of Self-Awareness…
Right?!
Because It’s True
She Begged
Submitted Without Further Comment
Advice To Democrats
The Biggest Failure Of The American Justice System in 250 Years
Impeach And Convict
Right?!
Right?!
How To Preserve One’s Sanity
Vomiting It All Catching Up
Tuesday Tiedrich
Preznit Fuckwit continues to wage Schrödinger’s Don’t-You-Dare-Call-It-A-War on Iran.
we’re winning! we’ve almost won! we’re wrapping this thing up! we’ve already won, and that’s why we’re sending five thousand more troops to the region! we’re talking to the new regime! we think we’re talking to the new regime! we don’t know who we’re talking to! the Strait of Hormuz is already open! we demand Iran open the Strait immediately! who gives a shit about the Strait, we don’t need it! our allies are helping us! why won’t our allies help us? fuck you, we don’t need any allies to win this thing! besides, we’ve already won, again!
it’s exhausting to try to track it all — but the one consistent aspect throughout all this incoherence remains Donny’s love of doing war crimes.
I mean, how else can you explain this?
The United States of America is in serious discussions with A NEW, AND MORE REASONABLE, REGIME to end our Military Operations in Iran. Great progress has been made but, if for any reason a deal is not shortly reached, which it probably will be, and if the Hormuz Strait is not immediately “Open for Business,” we will conclude our lovely “stay” in Iran by blowing up and completely obliterating all of their Electric Generating Plants, Oil Wells and Kharg Island (and possibly all desalinization plants!), which we have purposefully not yet “touched.” This will be in retribution for our many soldiers, and others, that Iran has butchered and killed over the old Regime’s 47 year “Reign of Terror.” Thank you for your attention to this matter. President DONALD J. TRUMP
that was our fucked-in-the-head president, awake and colicky at 7:26 yesterday morning, shitting out yet another not-tweet full of contradictory nonsense.
first he brags about how super-awesome the negotiations are going with his new Iranian besties, and then he cranks the belligerence dial all the way to eleven, threatening to bomb the shit out of Iran if they don’t give him everything he wants, pronto.
look at what Donny threatens to ‘obliterate’ — the ‘Electric Generating Plants, Oil Wells and Kharg Island (and possibly all desalinization plants).’
fun true fact: there’s a term for the deliberate targeting of civilian infrastructure. it’s called committing war crimes — because all that shit violates international law.
I hate that we’ve normalized this shit, so let me once again point out how completely crazypants it is for a world leader to threaten a sovereign nation and promise to commit war crimes via a post on social media. no other country on the planet does this. America is now a rogue state, and an international embarrassment.
awesome job, Donny. take a victory lap.
apparently Wall Street only read the first sentence of Donny’s not-tweet, because following its posting, the stock market reacted in the most Wall Street way possible.
“Dow rises 400 points after Trump says U.S. in ‘serious’ talks to end operation in Iran:”
seriously, Wall Street? how many times are you going to fall for this shit? once again, Donny farts out some deliberate lie about how well his Iranian debacle is going, and once again, Wall Street is all ‘this time I’m going to kick that football a fucking mile!’
of course there’s a simple explanation for Donny’s ever-shifting narrative about how well his don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war is going: he’s stark barking bugfuck, and he hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s doing.
Plastered Pete Kegstand convinced Donny that his warfighting warfigherswould warfight the shit out of Iran, and that the whole thing would be over in fifteen minutes. when that didn’t happen, there was no plan B to turn to — because these high-on-their-own-supply shitwits always act first and think never.
and now, all Dear Leader can do is panic, flail, issue threats, and try to lie his way out of it by farting out one barely-credible fairy tale after another.
it’s Schrödinger’s War. it’s going however Donny wants you to believe it’s going.
isn’t this bloodthirsty bobble-head supposed to be some sort of uber-Christian? what kind of example is she setting for her children?
Karoline thinks it’s super fucking hilarious that the Ayatollah done got blowed up real good right in the middle of negotiations, because Donny got impatient — which, if that’s not an outright war crime, is at least war-crime-adjacent.
let’s watch NBC’s Garrett Haake commit one of the finest journalisms we’ve seen in a long time, as he asks Karoliar to explain why Donny is threatening to blow civilian shit up real good.
Garrett Haake: “under international law, striking civilian infrastructure like that is generally prohibited. why is the president threatening what would amount to potentially a war crime with the US military? how you do square that with the administration repeatedly saying that the US does not target civilians?”
excellent question — one that gets an evasive non-answer answer.
Karoline Leavitt: “look, the president has made it quite clear to the Iranian regime at this moment in time, as evidenced by the statement that you just read, that their best move is to make a deal, or else the United States armed forces has capabilities beyond their wildest imagination, and the president is not afraid to use them.”
Haake: “war crimes?”
Leavitt: “that’s not what I said, Garrett. and you’re saying the word ‘potential’ for a reason, ’cause I’m sure some experts are telling you that in your ear, to try to ask me that question. of course this administration and the armed forces will always act within the confines of the law, but with respect to achieving the full objectives of the operation.”
but Haake won’t take bullshit for an answer and delivers the coup de grace.
Haake: “which of those objectives would destroying a desalination plant most help?”
check and fucking mate. Brave Sir Karoline has no answer to that, so she just runs away and calls on a different reporter.
Leavitt: “Haley, go ahead.”
meanwhile, there is one war that Donny’s definitely winning: the war on competence. look at the chyron on this screen grab from CNN — it’s a big bowl of what in the actual fuck.
US questions whether it’s dealing with the right Iranian officials.”
how do you not know that? how do you fuck that up?
are these clownsticks just dialing random Tehran phone numbers and hoping for the best?
who does Donny imagine he’s been talking to, when he tweets out “The United States of America is in serious discussions with A NEW, AND MORE REASONABLE, REGIME”? is anyone from this ‘reasonable’ regime in the room with us right now?
U.S. President Donald Trump said the U.S. is negotiating with Iran’s parliamentary speaker, Mohammad Bagher Qalibaf, in an interview with the New York Post published Monday.
The former Revolutionary Guard commander was previously floated as Washington’s negotiating partner, but has denied Iran is talking to the U.S. and said Pakistan-facilitated discussions were merely a cover for American troop deployments.
you don’t even know who to believe anymore, because everyone involved in this catastrophe totally fucking sucks.
and then there’s this.
“President Trump told aides he’s willing to end the U.S. military campaign against Iran even if the Strait of Hormuz remains largely closed, administration officials said, likely extending Tehran’s firm grip on the waterway and leaving a complex operation to reopen it for a later date.”
oh great. now that Donny’s clownfucked the world into simultaneous energy and economic crises, he’s going to knock the board over and walk away.
anyone with a half a brain could have seen this coming a mile away.
the failing failure who failed at running a real estate empire and failed at running casinos and failed at running an airline and failed at running a magazine and failed at running a football team and failed at selling steaks and failed at selling water and failed at fighting a pandemic and failed at not getting convicted on 34 counts of business fraud has now failed at waging his don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran.
and, as always, Donny is going to leave a huge fucking mess for someone else to clean up after.
not my problem!
hey, but at least Piss-Drunk Pete is having the time of his life.
I witnessed lethality. I met a junior airman as the sun was going down and a chill was setting on the tarmac, who, when asked what they needed, she simply looked up at me with a sly smile on her face and said, more bombs, sir, and bigger bombs. we will happily oblige her.”
‘I witnessed lethality’ — who talks like this, other than some insecure adolescent boy who never matured into an adult?
fuck all the way off, you blood-spattered maniac. eat skateboard.
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.
let’s start off with a bang, and put the hero of the day right up top. ladies and gents, I give you the Poet Laureate of No Kings Day.
‘see you later, alligator. at your trial, pedophile’ — now that’s a message we can all get behind.
we did it again, folks. in fact, We the People outdid ourselves. yesterday’s No Kings 3 was the largest single-day protest in U.S. history.
over eight million of us gathered peacefully coast to coast, to rise up as one and convey a singular message: fuck you, you fucking fuck — you’re not our king.
wait, did I say coast to coast? no, it was the entire world telling Donny Convict to fuck straight off.
check out this ginormous crowd in London.
HAPPENING NOW: A HUGE crowd has gathered in London, England for a protest against the far right in coordination with the No Kings day protests in the US
— alexjungle.bsky.social (@alexjungle.bsky.social) March 28, 2026 at 8:07 AM
and at the Bastille in Paris.
In 1789, furious protesters stormed the Bastille in Paris. This marks the start of the French Revolution that put an end to the highly corrupt, rotten regime of aristocrats and the ultra rich.
Yesterday, thousands joined a #NoKings protest at the Bastille.
— Hendrik Klaassens #FBPE #FBR #BanX (@aurorablogspot.bsky.social) March 29, 2026 at 2:39 AM
Scotland fucking loathes Donny.
Solidarity from #Scotland. ????????????????????????????????????
#NoKings
— Dial M for Madeye ???????????????????????????? ???????? ???????????????????????????? (@carnaptiousmadeye.bsky.social) March 28, 2026 at 11:32 PM
so does Portugal.
Germany’s seen this movie before, and they want no part of its sequel.
two stalwarts showed up in the town of Ballarat, Victoria, Australia.
holy shit, there was even one homey who parked himself in front of the US embassy in Tallinn, the capital of Estonia.
this dude fucking rules. he held the exact same one-person protest during the previous No Kings Day last October.
meanwhile, back here in the US of A, the crowds were gi-fucking-normous.
over two hundred thousand people showed up in Boston.
of course, Boston is in the major leagues when it comes to protesting. they’ve been perfecting this shit since 1773.
another two hundred thousand showed up at the rally in the Twin Cities.
We are estimating more than 200,000 people at the flagship No Kings rally in the Twin Cities. #NoKings
— Indivisible ❌???? (@indivisible.org) March 28, 2026 at 12:37 PM
while we’re in the Twin Cities, you need to hear this chunk from comedian Lizz Winstead’s great speech.
“I’m so proud of you. you chased out of this state pure evil. you chased them out. you chased out the fun-size fascist Greg Bovino. you chased out that evil Kristi Noem. Kristi Noem is so evil, I’m starting to think that that dog took his own life. just couldn’t take it. ‘is this my future? I need to get out. I’m taking the goat with me.’”
Times Square in New York City was packed to the gills.
so was Chicago.
San Francisco does not screw around. at Ocean Beach, protesters formed a human banner telling Donny to get the fuck out.
check out deeply-red Boise, Idaho, folks. even Republicans are fed up with this shit.
Bill Kristol, who used to be the biggest neocon in the world and is now an actual goddamned social progressive, was in Waltham, MA.
No Kings rally in Waltham, MA.
Enjoyed talking with many of the assembled patriots. pic.twitter.com/TOcOAksVN2
— Bill Kristol (@BillKristol) March 28, 2026
huge crowds were everywhere — except for one place: the CPAC conference in Texas.
it’s as if Sad Trombone became a real political party.
now let’s check out some heroes — like this dude in Seattle.
we definitely need to gif this hilarious shit for posterity’s sake.
it was raining frogs in the District of Columbia.
we’re going to need to gif that shit, too.
handmaidens bearing the names of Jeffrey Epstein’s degenerate BFFs showed up in Nashville.
there’s no way we’re not giffing that shit.
hey, do you know who can go fuck themselves all the way to Mars? the Los Angeles Police Department, that’s who. these goons couldn’t make it through the day without arresting a protester who was dressed up as the Statue of Liberty.
A remarkable photo from #NoKings in DTLA from Connor Sheets of @latimes.com www.latimes.com/california/l…
— sam³⁰⁰⁰ (@samgavin.com) March 28, 2026 at 7:09 PM
great optics, you guys. bravo. ten out of ten — no notes.
fuck those fucking fucks. let’s got out with a bang. here are some of the best protest signs from around the country.
look at these heroes way up in Barrow, Alaska.
and finally, once again, our unknown poet laureate from Ellsworth, Maine.
as for Sundowning Grandpa Bugfuck, he was unusually silent — and nowhere to be seen. there were none of his usual protest-day batshit meltdowns on the feed of his crappy app. he couldn’t even be bothered to post AI slop of himself shitting on protesters, as he did last October.
he just spent the day holed up in Motel-a-Lago. according to his official schedule, the lazy fuck didn’t even bother to cheat at golf.
I’ve got a news flash for you, Donny: America is sick of you. aside from your brain-dead cultists who are too fucking stupid to understand what’s going on, nobody voted for this shit.
nobody voted for the historic and stately East Wing to be demolished so that you can replace it with some vulgar Epstein Dance Hall™ — and speaking of your dead pedo bestie, nobody voted for the continuing cover-up of a massive pedophile ring.
nobody voted for off-the-charts corruption and greed.
nobody voted for masked ICE thugs teargassing children, and murdering anyone who looks at them funny. nobody voted for innocent immigrants to be disappeared off the streets and shipped off to far-away slave-labor gulags.
nobody voted for the price of everything continuing to skyrocket — especially when you promised bring all that shit down on Day One.
nobody voted for our allies to be insulted and ignored, or for Ukraine to be thrown to the wolves, or for Greenland to be perpetually harassed, or for Venezuela to become a vassal state.
and nobody voted for an unwinnable clusterfuck of a don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war in Iran — certainly not one that shut down the Strait of Hormuz, destabilized the entire Middle East, and sent the price crude through the roof.
guess what, Donny: you’re such a loathsome piece of shit that over eight million people took to the streets yesterday to deliver this singular message: fuck you, you fucking fuck — you’re not our king, and you never will be.
boo fucking hoo, bro. sucks to be 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.
Sometimes you don’t notice attrition when it happens.
When you lose elemental parts of yourself, they don’t all depart at once, and since you’re sustaining the daily woundings of this life from the inside, you may not be aware of the thousands of tiny cuts at the time. You may not notice the lifeblood slowly draining from your spirit.
In fact, you might believe you’re who you’ve always been, until something reminds you of the you you used to be.
No Kings Day reminded me.
Earlier this week, I wrote a piece as Saturday approached, questioning the ultimate merits of the rally in helping us avoid an inexorable slide into fascism. Some suggested that I’d become more negative and fatalistic, that they missed the me they’d encountered a few years ago.
While not completely agreeing with them, I couldn’t ignore the fatigue of the last decade; the collective sorrows accumulated along the way, the sad deja vu of, for at least the 30th time, heading out into a beautiful day to confront the very leaders entrusted with protecting our Republic and its people.
I may not have been despondent, but I’ve certainly been feeling the wear and tear of the draining dog years of this regime.
But, yesterday, as I stood shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of similarly exhausted, equally disheartened, but still not ready to call it a day human beings lining the streets of our little North Carolina town, I found a few things I hadn’t even realized I’d lost.
I found joy.
There is a silent toll that witnessing so much suffering takes on compassionate people, especially when you work so hard to remain awake and aware. Being reminded every day of just how many human beings are experiencing such wasteful brutality can gradually suffocate the spirit, rendering us joyless. One of the first sounds I noticed as I found myself within the pulsating mass of humanity on that highway was the sound of laughter, and it was my own. I realized it had been a while since I’d heard it like this: easy, constant, booming. The joy was medicinal. It was infectious. This was not a dour, dismal acknowledgement of defeat, as much as it was a joyfully defiant dance party of pissed-off people who haven’t let a minority movement of misery make them incapable of restorative jubilation.
I found hope.
One of the goals of authoritarian regimes is to extinguish the lightness from people; to inundate them with a legion of emergencies and nightmares that require so much energy to confront that they begin to lose the ability to see anything ahead worth pursuing. When optimism dries up, the future becomes a bleak foregone conclusion. I hadn’t realized I had been chronically emotionally dehydrated. That is, until once surrounded by a swirling technicolor sea of activists, fighters, healers, helpers, and dreamers in the blazing North Carolina sun, I could feel hope returning within me: not a naive one that denies the gravity of the moment or the reality of the threats, but a hope that refuses to give this ugliness the last word.
I found another America.
There’s been a story that’s made headlines in my head lately: the one of this nation’s certain demise; the one where fascism’s presence will be permanent; the one where we are now hopelessly overrun in both the government and our electorate with violent, hateful, cruel people who find joy in the suffering of others. And while there’s no debating that a sizable segment of America certainly fits that description, the vast majority here (those who made their presence unmistakable felt throughout this nation yesterday by the millions) is comprised of beautiful, loving, patriotic human beings who don’t just believe in the idea of America, they embody it. I remembered that throughout its nearly quarter of a millennium history, this place has always been inside the crucible of conflict, because the country we aspire to be cannot be incarnated without it.
I found a bit of myself.
One of the greatest tragedies of the last decade is how wasteful it’s all been: the unnecessary emergencies generated by those in power, the unrelenting assaults on vulnerable people, the never-ending constitutional crises, the stupefying cruelty, and the collateral damage of trying to hold and attend to all of it.
I’m not who I was ten years ago, and some of that is a good thing. But for a couple of hours in the streets of our town that seems to finally be waking up, I was able to clarify what matters to me, the things and the people worth fighting for, and the kind of human being I want to show up in the world as.
Yesterday won’t magically rewind the clock pre-election and let us have a do-over. It doesn’t suddenly erase the unprecedented damage to our systems and safeguards. It alone can’t bend the arc of the moral universe away from fascism. That will require a sustained and organized presence, political engagement leading into the midterms like we’ve never seen, and very likely, a general strike.
But No Kings Day was a glorious reminder of how vital joy, hope, diversity, and our collective efforts are in resisting this Renaissance of hatred.
Our Republic is still in great peril, but we, its fierce caretakers who number in the tens of millions, are still not ready to consent to defeat.
With all we’ve had thrown at us for ten years by this batshit wanna be despot, his morally bankrupt accomplices, and his cultic disciples, that, in itself, is a victory.
Tuesday Tiedrich
tell me, is it a bad thing when the president of the United States clownfucks his way into an unprovoked, unnecessary and illegal don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, kills over a hundred schoolgirls, destabilizes the entire Middle East, gets the Strait of Hormuz shut down, creates a global energy and financial crisis, and then, realizing he’s shit the bed royally, tries to lie his way out of it?
lucky us, we’re right in the middle of finding out.
yesterday morning, President Piss-Baby declared that a five-day ceasefire was now in effect, because he’d been having some great peace talks with Iran, very strong, very powerful peace talks, peace talks like few thought possible — maybe the greatest peace talks of all time.
the most important thing you need to know about Donny’s all caps crazypants blithering is that it’s pure, unadulterated horse shit. it’s a fever-swamp hallucination — and very little of it is true.
first of all, Iran mocked the shit out of the very idea that peace talks are happening, throwing Donny’s favorite phrase back in his face.
“No negotiations have been held with the US, and fake news is used to manipulate the financial and oil markets and escape the quagmire in which the US and Israel are trapped,” wrote MB Ghalibaf, Iran’s parliament speaker.
here’s another clue that Donny doesn’t even have the framework of a concept of a sketch of an outline for a proposal of an almost-a-plan for peace talks: when reporters pressed him for details, he just started pulling numbers out of his flatulent ass.
Kaitlan Collins: “you said there’s many points of agreement with Iran right now.”
Donny: “many.”
Collins: “can you give us a few?”
Donny: “like, many. like, fifteen points. fifteen points.”
Collins: “that Iran said yes to?”
Donny: “well, they’re not gonna have a nuclear weapon. that’s number one. number one, two and three. they will never have a nuclear weapon.”
Collins: “they’ve said yes to that?”
Donny: “they agreed to that.”
oh, so Donny is claiming that Iran has agreed to the same deal they’d previously signed with Obama — the one that Donny ripped up eight years ago, because he was jealous of a black man’s accomplishments. awesome.
I love how Donny goes from ‘many’ to ‘fifteen’ as he struggles to come up with a plausible story. and ‘no nuclear weapons’ isn’t just the first point — it’s also the second. no, wait, it’s the third point as well. yeah, that’s the ticket.
watching Dear Leader try improvise numbers on the spot is like watching a chimpanzee play with a live hand grenade. you know it’s going to end badly, but you can’t look away.
I guess Donny used ‘fifteen’ because ‘fifty-seven’ was already taken.
hen, when pressed to name names, Preznit Fuckwit started bullshitting in real-time.
reporter: “who is Steve Witkoff speaking with in Iran?”
Donny: “a top— a top person. don’t forget, we wiped out the leadership, phase one, phase two and largely phase three. but we’re dealing with the man who I believe is— the— most respected and the leader, uh, it’s a little tough. they’ve wiped out— we’ve wiped out everybody.”
reporter: “the Supreme Leader?”
Donny: “no, not the Supreme Leader. we don’t— well nobody’s ever— nobody heard of the second Supreme Leader, the son. nobody— we have not heard from the son. every once in a while you’ll see a statement made but we haven’t had— we don’t know if he’s living. but the people that seem to be running it, and they seem that based on— really fact, because things they’ve said have taken place. I don’t want him to be killed. okay? I don’t want him to be killed.”
I’m sorry, what the fuck? Donny doesn’t want to identify the ‘top person’ he’s been talking to, because they’ll end up being killed? by who? his own government? how does that even make sense?
but Donny will swear up and down that this ‘top person’ really does exist. you don’t know him, though. he lives up in Canada.
and did you catch who Donny’s point-man is in these talks? oh great, Stevie Shitkoff is involved — and not just Shitkoff, but Donny’s over-leveraged and under-qualified son-in-law Jared Kushner as well.
with the Moron Twins on the case, what could possibly go wrong?
as always, to get the real deal on what these dumbfucks have been up to, we have to turn to the indispensable Heather Cox Richardson.
Barak Ravid of Axios later reported that Witkoff and Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner—both freelancers who have financial ties to the Middle East—rather than the U.S. secretary of state, Marco Rubio, have sent messages to the speaker of the Iranian parliament, Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf, through Egypt, Pakistan, and Turkey, where intermediaries are trying to set up a call between U.S. and Iranian negotiators. Ghalibaf is a close associate of Iran’s new supreme leader, Mojtaba Khamenei.
so wait — these two numbskulls have been messaging complete randos, hoping and waiting to hear back from someone, anyone? and Donny’s conflated that into ‘good and productive conversations’ with a ‘top person’?
holy fucking shit.
it cannot be overstated just how fucking stupid this all is.
no one could have predicted that a don’t-yo-dare-call-it-a-war that was cooked up by fuckwits and executed from the dining of one of Donny’s vermin-infested golf motels would go so badly.
and now that shit has gone spectacularly sideways, as the markets crater and the price of a barrel of crude goes fuckity-zoom, Donny has no choice but to find a way to TACO out of it, declare victory, and brag that he meant to do that.
dear sweet lord, it’s all so fucking bone-crushingly moronic — and none of it was necessary.
“No negotiations have been held with the US, and fakenews is used to manipulate the financial and oil markets and escape the quagmire in which the US and Israel are trapped.”
no fucking shit that Donny was manipulating the markets by announcing his imaginary peace talks when he did — because just look at what happened right before and right after the announcement.
person or persons unknown made a fucking killing in the market — and the only way they could have pulled this off was by having insider knowledge of what was Donny was about to announce.
the market-rigging was so blatant that even financial reporters had no choice but to sit up and take notice.
At around 6:50 a.m. in New York, S&P 500 e-Mini futures trading on the CME recorded a sharp and isolated jump in volume, breaking from an otherwise subdued premarket backdrop. With thin liquidity typical of early trading hours, the sudden burst stood out as one of the largest volume moments of the session up to that point.
it’s really too bad that Congress isn’t alive to see this, because this is exactly the kind of shit they should be investigating.
it’s just one more instance of naked corruption to be thrown atop the giant shitpile of corruption that goes on every day in Dear Leader’s White House. everything these goniffs do is engineered to shovel more money into the pockets of Donny, his family, and his cronies.
how much moolah did Preznit Fuckwit make off his own conveniently-timed announcement of his fictitious peace talks?
will we ever find out?
here’s the other batshit thing Donny did yesterday: he visited Graceland, Elvis Presley’s Memphis mansion — and while he was there, he asked the one burning question that I’m sure has been on all of our minds.
“could I have taken Elvis in a fight?”
what a fucking lunatic. who even thinks like this?
I know exactly what’s going on with Donny’s desire to whale the tar out of the King of Rock and Roll. it’s pure jealousy on his part — because there was one president who really did get to meet Elvis: Richard Nixon.
On December 21, 1970, Elvis Presley paid a visit to President Richard M. Nixon at the White House in Washington, D.C. The meeting was initiated by Presley, who wrote Nixon a six-page letter requesting a visit with the President and suggesting that he be made a “Federal Agent-at-Large” in the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.
oh, and while he was there in the Oval Office, Elvis gave Tricky Dick a gun — as will happen when everyone in the story is a certified weirdo.
how fucking hilarious is it that Elvis wanted to be a ‘Federal Agent-at-Large’ in charge of ‘dangerous drugs’? that’s like making Donny a Federal Agent In Charge of Not Bankrupting Casinos.
hanging on the wall in the White House gallery is a photo of Nixon and Elvis shaking hands. Donny probably walks past that photo every day — and I’m sure it kills him that Nixon got to meet Elvis, and he never will.
hey, you know who else got to walk past that photo?
yes, we get it, Jeff. you got invited to the Biden White House. stop showing off.
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.
A Message to the Would-Be King…
We see that you’ve declared yet another war this week.
This time, you haven’t viciously attacked some distant nation whose people you’ve bombed without cause, as a reckless and deadly act of distraction.
This time, you haven’t launched a violent campaign against brown-skinned human beings, whose dehumanization you’ve trafficked in for over a decade.
This time, you haven’t brought relentless trauma to survivors of the predators and rapists, among whose numbers you find yourself.
This time, you haven’t marshaled a savage offensive on the electoral process, or trans kids, or women’s rights, or environmental protections alone.
No, this time, you’ve declared war on all of us: the Radical Left.
You see, we know it isn’t merely a political party that you’re threatened by, trying to silence, consumed with hatred for, and seeking to eradicate—it’s the American people.
It’s those of us who stand in your way; those whose knees refuse to bow and whose mouths will not regurgitate the curated praise of sycophants and cult members that you bathe your eggshell ego in.
It’s students of history who know a failing, flailing wannabe dictator in a death spiral when they see one, and who have no interest in kissing the ring, shutting our mouths, or quietly complying.
It’s people of conscience who’ve courageously served, fought, bled, and died for this nation to defeat fascism on foreign shores, and who damn well aren’t going to allow it to thrive here.
It’s generations of activists and allies who decades ago braved water cannons, beatings, and arrests so that every human being could be afforded the dignity they deserve, and that you would deny them.
It’s people of true and abiding faith who refuse to allow you to make a mockery of a God you have never sought, a Jesus you have contempt for, and a religion you drape yourself in to cover your wickedness.
It’s human beings of every pigmentation, orientation, nation of origin, religious tradition, and political affiliation who will not allow a Temu authoritarian to write the epitaph for our 250-year republic.
We are all the Radical Left.
And you, you teetering, jittery lame duck, dollar store despot, have declared war on all decent, law-abiding people here, and we’re to tell you that you cannot win.
You are the enemy of the people, of We The People,” the fierce, unwieldy multitude whose presence here is your greatest remaining obstacle.
And so we declare war on you.
You’ll see us gather by the millions this weekend, filling city streets, highway overpasses, city parks, parking lots, and neighborhood sidewalks, declaring our collective opposition. We will stand together as a defiant army of sustained resistance, unlike anything this nation has ever witnessed.
But rest assured, we’ll be there well after the sun sets on that day.
We will be in our neighborhoods, outnumbering the masked monsters you deploy to terrorize and brutalize.
We will be in our communities, feeding, clothing, and caring for one another, protecting the most vulnerable whom you so gladly prey upon.
We’ll be organizing in our communities to support candidates, monitor the polls, and protect people whose voices you are working so hard to silence.
We’ll be relentlessly hounding the compromised lawmakers and public servants who would discard their oaths and abdicate their responsibilities just to please you.
We’ll be everywhere your cultic disciples show up to let them know that they are part of a miserable minority that will not prevail.
And believe us when we tell you that we will defeat you and we will outlast you.
When you leave the office or this planet, whichever comes first, we will be here to rebuild what you have broken, to heal all that you have injured, to tear your name from every place you have defiled with it, and to course-correct from the greatest collective error in our nation’s history.
And so today, we, the Radical Left, raise a defiant middle finger, we spit on the ground in front of you, we defy your will, and we piss on your crown.
The King is already dead.
In just over a year, things didn’t just change. They distorted.
Not all at once, not in a single moment you could point to and say, there, that’s when it broke, it was slower than that, more insidious, like something bending just slightly out of place over and over again until one day you look around and realize nothing sits where it used to, and the strangest part is not the chaos itself, it is the way it is being presented back to us as normal, as reasonable, as something we are supposed to adjust to without question.
We are living through a time where leaders stand at podiums and speak about God while starting wars that leave children buried under rubble. They invoke faith while funding violence. They talk about sacrifice, but the sacrifice is never theirs.
It is always yours. It is always the people choosing between groceries and rent, the people watching gas prices climb while being told to be patient, to understand the bigger picture, to do their part. It is always the families absorbing the cost of decisions they never made, while those same leaders frame rising costs as necessary, as unavoidable, as the price of something bigger, even as billions continue to move freely through a system that somehow always has room for excess.
People are being told to tighten their budgets and brace for impact, told to accept higher costs as necessary, while the Pentagon spends tens of billions in a single month, with millions going not just to defense but to luxury food, lobster and crab, steak, furniture, electronics, even items that signal comfort and status rather than necessity, a level of spending that makes it painfully clear that austerity is not a shared condition, it is something imposed, all while it is burning through roughly a billion dollars a day on a senseless war.
At the same time, people are calculating groceries down to the dollar and watching their cost of living climb in real time, while those in power continue to move through private golf courses, luxury properties, political fundraisers, and expansion projects like ballrooms, operating inside a world that remains untouched by the consequences they are asking everyone else to absorb.
So when they stand there and talk about sacrifice, what they mean is your sacrifice. When they talk about endurance, what they mean is your endurance. When they tell you to bear the cost, what they mean is that the cost will not be theirs. They say it with a straight face. They say it while looking directly into the camera, as if the disconnect is not obvious, as if we cannot see the gap between what they preach and how they live, as if invoking God somehow cleanses the cruelty of what they are doing.
That is the part that unsettles something deep in the body, because it is not just policy and it is not just economics. It is the moral inversion of it all, the rewriting of right and wrong in real time, where greed calls itself strength, where cruelty calls itself practicality, and where indifference calls itself leadership.
If you have found yourself feeling like you are losing your grip on reality, like you are constantly trying to reconcile what you know to be true with what you are being told is true, that is not a failure in you, that is your awareness working exactly as it should, this moment has demanded something unnatural from people, it has asked you to watch suffering and call it strategy, to watch excess and call it success, to watch hypocrisy dressed up as righteousness and pretend not to notice, it has asked you to go numb.
And a lot of people have. You can see it and you can feel it, the quiet checking out, the “this is just how things are now,” the slow acceptance of things that not long ago would have stopped us in our tracks, but not everyone has gone there, there are still people who see clearly.
There is still something in people that resists, and you can see it in the anger that will not settle, in the discomfort that will not go away, in that persistent feeling that something is wrong even when the noise is telling you everything is fine, and that is not weakness and that is not overreaction, that is the part of you that still recognizes truth when it sees it, and that matters more than anything right now.
What is happening is not just political, it is not just about one administration or one set of policies, it is about the normalization of a way of thinking that separates power from consequence, that allows people to make decisions that reshape millions of lives while remaining untouched by the outcomes of those decisions, it is about a system where those in charge can tell you to endure hardship while actively insulating themselves from it, and then call that leadership, call it necessary, and somehow call it good.
There is a kind of psychological strain that comes from living inside that contradiction every day, from seeing clearly and being told not to trust what you see, from feeling deeply and being told you are overreacting, from watching people justify things that should never need justification. It wears on you. It makes time feel strange and reality feel unstable. But here is the truth that I think a lot of people need to hear right now.
If you feel disoriented, it is because you are paying attention. If you feel angry, it is because something in you still knows what should not be accepted. If you feel like the world has been turned upside down, it is because in many ways it has, and choosing not to adapt to that upside-down version of reality is not a failure, it is clarity.
There is power in refusing to normalize what should not be normal. There is power in holding onto your sense of right and wrong, even when it is inconvenient, even when it isolates you, even when it makes you the uncomfortable voice in the room, because that discomfort is honest, and honesty is becoming rarer by the day.
We are living in a time where people are being asked, very quietly and very consistently, to trade their humanity for comfort, to look away just enough to make it easier to function, to accept just enough to avoid conflict, and every time someone refuses to do that, it matters, every time someone says no, this is not okay, it matters, every time someone feels the weight of what is happening instead of numbing it out, it matters, that is how reality holds, not through the loudest voices and not through the people in power, but through the people who refuse to let what is happening rewrite their understanding of what is right.
So if this past year has left you feeling like something is off, like things do not add up, like the world is asking you to accept something you cannot accept, hold onto that, because that feeling is not confusion, it is recognition, and as long as that recognition is still there, as long as there are people who can still see clearly, still feel deeply, and still question what they are being told, this is not over.
Not even close.
A Note From Me:
I hope this helped put words to something you may have been feeling but couldn’t quite name, that quiet, persistent sense that something is off, that things don’t quite add up, that what you are being told does not fully align with what you are seeing and feeling in your own body. That subtle dissonance, the moments where you pause and question if it’s just you, if you’re overthinking it, if you’re the only one noticing, that is not something imagined. It is something many people are carrying, often silently, often without the language to say it out loud. You are not alone in that.
I try to write pieces like this because what we are living through is not just political, it is emotional, it is disorienting, and it is hard to make sense of in real time. I try to put language to that feeling, while also breaking down what is actually happening so we are not just feeling it, but understanding it. The context, the research, the clarity, and also the anger, the real, human anger that comes from watching things that should not be happening, happen anyway.
—Judith
Gasoline Prices Around The World
I love a single-purpose website like this. (I had no idea gas was so expensive in Hong Kong.)
[source]
