Category: FUCK TRUMP

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Quelle Suprise!

hey, folks? I’m not sure how to break this to you, but it’s looking more and more like the guy who lied about bone spurs and lied about hush money and lied about his dead pedo bestie and lied about how tariffs work and lied about being able to point to a camel and lied about his weight and lied about his golf scores and lied about his wealth and lied about a hurricane and lied about a pandemic and lied about his taxes and lied about a million other things has been lying to us about just how swimmingly his don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran is going.

oh, and his piss-drunk Secretary of Death? the shouty one with all the Christofascist tattoos, who gets off on bombing schoolgirls? he’s been lying, too.

I know, right?

remember all that blather from Preznit Fuckwit about how Iran’s military has been smithereened to death and how they have no navy and can’t fight, and how the whole country is on the verge of complete collapse, and how Iran has no choice but to open up that Strait of Epstein, like, any minute now?

yeah, well guess fucking what.

that’s right, the Washington Post got its hands on a leaked CIA report that basically contradicts every word that’s seeped out of Dear Leader’s rancid anus-mouth.

The analysis by the U.S. intelligence community, whose secret assessments on Iran have often been more sober than the administration’s public statements, also found that Tehran retains significant ballistic missile capabilities despite weeks of intense U.S. and Israeli bombardment, three of the people familiar with it said.

oh, so not totally obliterated, then.

Donny has been presenting us with a version of his merry little war that bears absolutely no resemblance to reality.

either Donny’s been lying to us, or someone like Piss-Drunk Pete has been lying to Donny — or, more likely, everyone is lying to everyone, because that’s all these shit-kazoos do all day long, tell one lie after another like it’s going out of style.

remember how Donny keeps telling us he holds all the cards? he never shuts the fuck up about holding all the cards, because like any toddler who’s been dropped on its head, Donny thinks a stupid joke gets funnier the more often he repeats it.

well, it looks like Iran still has about three quarters of their cards.

Iran retains about 75% of its prewar inventories of mobile launchers and about 70% of its prewar stockpiles of missiles. There is evidence that the regime has been able to recover and reopen almost all of its underground storage facilities, repair some damaged missiles, and even assemble some new missiles that were nearly complete when the war began.

basically Donny isn’t even anywhere close to winning this war, because Iran still retains most of its weapons stockpile, and is rebuilding its military infrastructure faster than Donny can blow it up.

Iran is laughing at Donny, as they eat his lunch.

how is that any kind of victory? look at that, even Obama can’t figure it out — and he’s a smart dude. he went to Harvard and everything.

now take that story, and add to it the one we got the other day, about how “Iranian airstrikes have damaged or destroyed at least 228 structures or pieces of equipment at U.S. military sites across the Middle East since the war began,” to the point where some bases have had to move their staff elsewhere.

it’s just one ginormous shitpile of lies.

this is why I go fucking ballistic when I see a newspaper headline that begins with ‘Donny says…’ — because Donny says a lot of shit, and almost none of it is true.

telling us that ‘Donny says he’s winning’ without also noting that his claim is without evidence is not reporting, it’s worthless scribbling.

it fact, it’s worse than worthless. it’s outright dangerous, because a democracy cannot survive without a fully-informed populace.

so anyway, there we were, minding our own business yesterday afternoon, when out of the clear blue, The New York Times informed us that a possible deal to end the war and reopen the Strait was imminent.

after all, it’s nearly the end of the week, and those markets aren’t going to manipulate themselves.

but then like 30 seconds later,

The U.S. military said it struck Iranian military facilities and other targets after, it said, Iran fired on U.S. warships in the Strait of Hormuz.

what the fuck is going on in the Middle East? ‘exchanging fire’ doesn’t sound very ‘truce-y’ to me — and it didn’t sound very truce-y to a reporter who caught up with Donny later in the day.

reporter: “after these strikes is the ceasefire with Iran still on?”

Donny: “yeah, it is.”

the ceasefire is still on, because words stopped having meanings in the Donnyverse years ago. I’m so old, I remember when a ‘ceasefire’meant that all parties ‘ceased firing.’

Donny: “they trifled with us today. we blew ’em away. they trifled. I call that a trifle. I’ll let you know when there’s no cease— you won’t have to know. if there’s no cease fire, you’re not going to have to know, you’re just going to have to look at one big glow coming out of Iran. and they better sign their agreement fast.”

excuse me, a big fucking glow? did Donny just threaten to nuke Iran? he did, didn’t he?

what the fuck is wrong with this maniac?

this is all so incoherent. one minute we’re told that a deal is imminent — and then the next minute, missiles are flying everywhere. could everyone please stop getting shot?

and then to top it off, here comes Donny, and he’s all ‘Iran’s gonna be glowing. get it? get it?’

I know that Donny imagines this makes him sound like the ultimate tough guy, but it doesn’t. he just sounds weak and stupid, and his threats accomplish nothing. every time the fucking idiot says something like this, Iran just gets up and walks away from the negotiating table. it’s how they’ve reacted to every one of Donny’s infantile threats — and Donny would understand that by now, if the demented imbecile had any capacity to learn.

has anyone checked the prediction markets? I’ll bet there’s someone out there who’s going to make a total killing on any nuclear conflagration.

we def need a palate cleanse after all that. I don’t know who created this image, but they just won the entire internet.

meanwhile, good news, everyone! we’re all going to die of hantavirus.

reporter: “can I ask you about the hantavirus? have you been briefed on the virus?”

Donny: “yes, I have.”

reporter: “can you tell us what you’ve learned in these briefings?”

Donny: “well, I think you’re going to be told everything, and you already have. uhhhh, it’s very much, we hope under control. it was the— ship. and I think we’re gonna make a full report about it tomorrow. we have— a lotta people. it’s a lotta great people, are studying it. it should be— fine. we hope.”

reporter: “are you concerned it’s going to spread?”

Donny: “I hope not, I mean I hope not.”

oh joy, Donny hopes not. rest easy, everyone — the guy who tried to wishful-think a pandemic out of existence six years ago is on the case.

Donny’s got a ‘lotta great people’ who are ‘studying it.’ big, strong, teary-eyed virologists, who are definitely in the room with us right now.

why does hearing this from Donny this fill me with zero confidence?

I don’t know about you, but I’m so glad that I have boxes and boxes of masks and gloves left over from the covid era.

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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Pride Narcissism Goeth Before The Fall

From Palmer Report:

History is replete with villains who should have seen their downfall coming but did not. Hitler spent his final days still insisting that he was about to win World War II, thanks to a new Nazi secret weapon that didn’t exist. Saddam Hussein was completely caught off guard by the invasion that chased him into a mud filled hole, even though that invasion was being broadcast on live television. It’s enough to make you wonder how someone who went to such conniving, paranoid, evil lengths to take power and remain in power could, in the end, be so distracted when it mattered most.

These types of villains, of course, have something wrong with them to begin with. Their minds, obviously, do not work like that of a normal, sane, decent person. But you’d think that the same paranoid hyperawareness that got these villains where they were in the first place would end up being something they’d never let go of. Yet at some point, usually toward the end, as things are getting undeniably worse for them, these types somehow conclude that they somehow don’t need to worry about anything at all.

Perhaps it’s a subconscious attempt at denying the reality they’re facing. An attempt at enjoying the time they have left, in whatever deranged way they feel enjoyment, as the walls cave in. Or maybe they’re merely betrayed by their own narcissistic sense of invincibility. But regardless of the reason, the result tends to be the same. And this brings us to Donald Trump’s week.

By now everyone knows that Trump has become obsessed with building a White House ballroom. It makes sense, given that he’s the world’s worst real estate developer and has spent his entire life trying to con others into paying for his shoddy construction debacles so he can launder money through them. Perhaps he sees it as one last big real estate con, the last gaudy piece of crap he’ll ever get to build as his health continues to collapse. But as it turns out it’s not just the ballroom.

Yesterday Trump showed of renderings of a UFC mixed martial arts fight that he plans to host on the White house lawn on his birthday. That’s right. Trump, whose approval rating is historically low, whose economy is collapsing, whose war in Iran has been lost before it began, whose ballroom has less support in national polling than (not making this up) ghosts and telepathy, has now decided that his big fix for everything is to have a couple guys beat the crap out of each other while he watches.

Whatever you think of mixed martial arts, that’s beside the point. You could be the biggest UFC fan in the world, and if you were in Trump’s current position, you still wouldn’t conclude that hosting a UFC fight on the White House lawn is the key to turning around your failed presidency. It’s just not a thought that a mentally competent person, good or bad or evil or otherwise, could even entertain. Yet here we are.

Donald Trump’s advanced dementia exacerbates all of this, of course. And because his downfall is going to come in the form of losing the midterms, getting impeached, and dying of his worsening health problems in humiliating fashion, one can grasp why it’s a little harder for him to see it coming than, say, Hitler or Hussein being unable to hear the bombs dropping around them. But still, Trump thinks everything is going so swimmingly for him that he can afford to focus almost solely on a ballroom and a fistfight? This all just keeps growing more absurd.

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How Much Longer Will We Have To Suffer Before They 25th Amendment Him?

of the myriad accomplishments that Preznit Fuckwit has accomplished during an entire lifetime of accomplishments, none fill him with a greater sense of pride than his preternatural ability to point at shit.

big, strong neurologists — the afternoon sun glistening off their massive biceps, copious tears of gratitude coursing down their chiseled cheeks — will come up to Dear Leader and say ‘sir! sir! no one takes a brain damage assessment test like you do! sir! can you please take another one? sir!’

and Donny, he’s so eager to show off his skills, he’s all ‘what do you need me to point at, bro? a squirrel?’

boom! manifested!

“no president has ever taken [a cognitive test] except me. I’ve taken three of them. I’ve aced each one. one in the first administration. two over— and whenever they get a little sassy, like ‘does he still have it?’, I say all right, I’ll take another. and they are hard. you know, the first question is very easy, and they always show the first question. you have a lion, a bear, an alligator, and a what’s another good— a squirrel, okay? ‘which is the squirrel?’”

know why Dear Leader is so goddamned proficient at pointing at squirrels?

it’s because has has a whole family of them living inside his big dumb pumpkin head.

how completely fucking insane is it that bragging about how good he is at pointing at shit has now become a central part of every one of Donny’s public appearances?

it no longer matters who Donny’s speaking in front of, or what the topic is. his prowess at pointing now comes up every single time he opens his rancid anus-mouth. yesterday’s Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show was ostensibly a ‘small business summit.’ there was no possible context for yammering about squirrels, but that didn’t stop Donny from boasting about taking a test that’s only administered to people suspected of having brain damage.

it’s just more perfectly normal stuff from our perfectly normal president — except for the part where none of this is normal, and all of it is insane. having a crazypants president is not sustainable. alarm bells should be going off in Congress and in every newsroom in America right now — and yet, our institutions have one again failed us, and have normalized having a deranged and impaired president.

oh, and by the way — there’s no squirrel in the MOCA assessment test. remember harder, dumbfuck.

no president has ever worked so tirelessly to convince the American people that he isn’t bugfuck nuts — and you know what? no one’s buying it.

Heather Cox Richardson, could you step in here and give Donny the bad news?

According to a new Washington Post–ABC News–Ipsos poll, fifty-nine percent of Americans believe President Donald J. Trump does not have the mental sharpness necessary to lead the country. Fifty-five percent think he does not have the physical health to serve as president. Fifty-four percent say they don’t think Trump is a strong leader. Sixty-seven percent think Trump doesn’t carefully consider important decisions.

sorry, pal. it looks like no one’s falling for your ‘I’m so good at squirrel’routine.

gee, I wonder where so many people got the idea that Donny’s an erratic imbecile. maybe it’s because he acts like one.

pretending he’s a ‘trans weightlifter’ is also now a regular part of Donny’s act. why? all he’s doing is reminding everyone that he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.

and it’s not just the weird-ass raving. Donny’s now at the ‘words, do they even exist’ stage of his cognitive collapse.

“on the way back home, take a trip to the reflecting pond, or— they call it the reflecting pool, some people call it the reflecting lake, but the word ‘reflecting’ is always a part of it. they call it different things but ‘reflecting’ is always a part.”

what the actual fuck? no one on the planet calls it the ‘pond’ or the ‘lake’ — it’s been the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool since it was built in 1922. but since Dear Leader can no longer dredge the proper word from the murky depths of his rotting brain, he has to pretend that nobody can agree on what it’s called. I guess it’s now just some linguistic free-for-all.

maybe we should call it the Squirrel Pond and let Donny brag about how he can point at it.

I’m so old, I can remember all the way back to our previous president. when Joe Biden would occasionally stumble over a word, the press would react as if it were the Fall of the Republic, and demand Joe resign on the spot, for the good of the country.

but Donny has somehow earned a lifetime free pass to stand there with his brain visibly leaking out of his ears, and no one in the media says boo.

wake the fuck up, Jake Tapper.

Dear Leader can point to all the squirrels he wants to and claim it’s proof of his mental stability, but everyone can see how an erratic and irrational Donny changes his mind about Iran every single fucking day.

“President Trump tells Fox if US ships are targeted in the region, Iran will be ‘blown off the face of the earth’”

oh, okay. so Donny’s back to threatening to blow an entire country off the face of the earth. perfectly normal stuff.

for those of you keeping score at home, in just the last four days, we’ve gone from ‘hostilities are over, I pinky-swear it’s true’ to ‘that blockade, it’s a friendly blockade’ —

— to ‘everything’s cool, we’re liberating the Strait,’ to ‘we’re gong to blow these fucking fucks to kingdom come.’

it’s not just the batshit ranting that has Donny’s poll numbers in the shitter. everyone can also see that Donny’s a physically deteriorating mess who can no longer walk a simple straight line.

holy fuck. a meandering Donny changes direction about eight times in this 30-second clip. if you were a cop, you would immediately rush over and administer a field sobriety test.

granted, Donny isn’t quite yet at the ‘ministry of silly walks’ phase — but he’s getting there.

the press can sanewash and healthwash Donny all they want, but the public has eyes and ears and they can witness for themselves that Dear Leader is out there where the buses don’t run.

having a deranged chief executive who threatens to destroy entire countries and can no longer remember what words mean is a clear and present danger to the entire world.

here’s the good news: Donny’s massive unpopularity is dragging down his entire party. even the White House recognizes that a bloodbath is coming.

The White House is forecasting a rough November for congressional Republicans.

In private briefings, attorneys at the White House Counsel’s Office are preparing executive branch staff for a blue wave in the 2026 elections, The Washington Post reported Monday.

let’s make this happen. let’s all work to make the White House’s nightmare a reality. then, a Democratic-controlled Congress can at least begin to restore sanity to Washington.

we can do this.

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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Bringing the Trump-Corrupted Presidency to Heel

We will de-Trump America when he is gone. Tearing down all the monuments, taking his name off places it never should have been, unfucking the gaudy vomit he has put all over the White House will be easy and relatively fast.

All the other stuff he has destroyed is going to take the rest of my life to rebuild. The open corruption, lying during confirmations, and naked political actors in SCOTUS, all the relationships with America’s 20th century allies, the empowering and protection of the Epstein Class… it’s a lot. And I we haven’t even mentioned the DOGE destruction.

The rest of my life, at least, and I do know one thing: if we can do it, we can’t just roll it back to 2015. We have to rebuild everything, and we have to punish the absolute fuck out of this entire criminal organization. I’m talking prison for life, nationalizing of assets. We need to ask ourselves, “What would John Brown or Sherman do?”

[source]

I fear that rebuilding what has been destroyed will take longer than I’ll be alive, even optimistically giving myself another 20 years…

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The Week In Stupid

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.

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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Monday Tiedrich

Donny Convict is bugfuck nuts.

you know it, and I know it — but do you know who else knows it? all the president’s flunkies. they have to continually come up with new ways to deal with his crazypants shit on a daily basis.

here’s a perfectly normal thing that happened with our perfectly normal president.

recently, Donny was acting so erratically while military leaders were planning a rescue operation in Iran, that big strong aides with tears in their eyes had to go up to him and say, ‘sir! sir! why don’t you go play in traffic?’

I shit you not. according to a report in the Wall Street Journal, Donny actually got banned from the command room.

Aides kept the president out of the room as they got minute-by-minute updates because they believed his impatience wouldn’t be helpful, instead updating him at meaningful moments, a senior administration official said.

that’s right: Donny’s handlers had to keep him far away from what was going on, because he was so out of control that they were afraid he would fuck everything up.

can you imagine any other president in recent memory getting eighty-sixed from the center of operations? no, you can’t. it’s practically unthinkable.

here’s how that shit went down. remember that Good Friday incident, when Iran shot down an American jet, and nobody knew what had happened to the pilots? it turns that when he was given the news, Donny shat a massive brick

It was Good Friday afternoon in a nearly empty West Wing soon after the president learned that an American jet had been shot down in Iran, with two airmen missing. Trump screamed at aides for hours.

because everyone knows that the best way to motivate your staff is to get right up into their faces and just fucking unload on them for hours on end. Donny really is the boss from hell.

am I the only one getting ‘Hitler in the bunker’ vibes from Donny’s meltdown?

oh my god, can you imagine having this colicky piss-baby screaming at you for literal hours? no amount of money in the world could be worth having the rancid fecal-breath of that malignant toad being blown in your face as you endured the latest in an infinite series of dressing-downs — not to mention all the hurled ketchup bottles one would eternally be ducking.

seriously, you couldn’t pay me enough. if it were me on the receiving end of one of Donny’s tirades, I’d be all ‘how about you go fuck yourself, Shouty Boy?’

do know why Donny completely lost his shit? because he was worried that news of a downed jet would make him look bad.

“If you look at what happened with Jimmy Carter…with the helicopters and the hostages, it cost them the election,” Trump had said in March. “What a mess.”

picture it: generals with actual combat experience are trying to figure out the best way to bring pilots back from behind enemy lines, and this fucking lunatic is screaming about Jimmy Carter and the price of gas, as if an entire rescue operation was all just some big plot to inconvenience him — because Donny always has to make everything about himself.

oh, and get a load of this.

At one point he even mused he should award himself the nation’s highest military honor, the Medal of Honor.

FOR WHAT? my god, everyone who had to sit there and eat Donny’s shit while he screamed at them without end, they’re the ones who deserve the Medal of Honor.

sorry, Donny — you don’t get a Medal of Honor. what you get is the Four Seasons Total Prancing About Like A Complete Unhinged Fuckface Prize.

just to remind everyone, here’s how a president is supposed to act during a critical military operation.

that was Obama, in the Situation Room while Osama bin Laden was being taken out. notice how he’s not screaming in anyone’s faces about GET THIS FUCKING THING DONE ALREADY. nor is he ranting and raving about how bad he’ll look if shit goes sideways. he’s just a calm, rational dude.

but now we’ve normalized crazy. Donny pulls this childish crap on a daily basis, making a mockery of sane governance, and everyone is all just ‘well, okay. that happened.’

here’s a fun thing for All The President’s Toadies to consider: if you can ban a president from a command room for being too much of a raging lunatic, you can 25th Amendment him from the presidency for the exact same reason.

this deranged fucking maniac is back to calling for the complete destruction of Iran’s infrastructure.

“We’re offering a very fair and reasonable DEAL, and I hope they take it because, if they don’t, the United States is going to knock out every single Power Plant, and every single Bridge, in Iran. NO MORE MR. NICE GUY!”

no more mister nice guy? when was Preznit Fuckwit ever a nice guy?

and oh look, now Donny’s doing his usual Sunday afternoon market manipulation, claiming out of the clear blue that he’s on the verge of another deal with Iran — and, once again, the press dutifully reports it without first bothering to ask Iran if it’s true.

spoiler alert: it’s not true.

all of this is bugfuck nuts. in the span of hours, Donny pinballs from threatening to blow everything sky high, to calmly announcing another imaginary deal.

none of this is normal — and all of it is insane.

here’s a serious question for Donny’s handlers: what’s the plan here? for everyone to just cross their fingers and hope Donny doesn’t eventually call for nukes? are they just hoping Donny somehow magically gets better?

free clue: Donny isn’t going to get better. dementia doesn’t magically cure itself overnight. neither does malignant narcissism, or delusions of grandeur, or compulsive lying, or the need to be worshiped, or any of the thousand pathologies and personality defects that Dear Leader suffers from.

he’s just going to get worse. today, it’s banning Donny from the command room. what’s Dear Leader going to need to be prevented from doing tomorrow?

so let’s go. 25th Amendment now. it’s the only rational solution to the problem of an insane chief executive.

we’ll take our chances with the furniture fucker.

happy Kash Patel is Suing The Atlantic Day to all who observe.

here’s Two-Drinks-Minimum Kash yesterday, shitfaced as usual on Maria Bartiromo’s show.

Maria Bartiromo: “the Atlantic Magazine is alleging that you have a drinking problem. what is your response this morning to this article?”

Krazee-Eyes Kash: “the results, I say, speak for themselves. if the fake news mafia isn’t hitting you personally with baseless information in Washington DC, then you’re not going you job. and it’s louder than ever, because this FBI, under President Leadership …”

Kash goes on to filibuster Bartiromo’s question for a solid two minutes without ever actually denying that any of his ahem alleged blackout-drunk escapades happened.

nice job of deflection, bro.

Kash says he’ll be filing his defamation suit against The Atlantic today. here we have some file footage of a definitely sober Kash, strategizing with his ace team of lawyers.

whoops! wrong footage.

and now, here’s your hero of the day: this fucking duck.

I have no idea what the duck did to deserve this, but remember: if you can 25th Amendment a duck from a store, you can 25th Amendment a lunatic from the presidency.

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.