Category: Beating Back The Stupid

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The entire world is laughing at us, and can anybody honestly blame them?

Donald Trump—that hell-spawned, hemorrhoidal, half-witted Heat Miser—gave a “speech” at the UN, although it was really more of a SCREED, and it was every bit the shitshow anybody with a semi-firing synapse could’ve guessed it would be.

He opened by feverishly fellating himself and lying his ass off about the state of the dumpster fire HE’s responsible for—then paused for applause that never came.

Couldn’t get a pity clap from people professionally trained to tolerate bullshit.

The whole planet had to watch him riffing like the day drunk at the corner of the bar in a strip-mall Applebee’s at two in the afternoon, spraying spittle, spite, and spinach dip across the specials menu.

Except nobody could cut him off, and he was threatening a country instead of the assistant manager.

He even found time to pick a fight with an adjective, announcing that we were renaming artificial intelligence “superintelligence” because “artificial” made it sound fake.

Motherfucker, what do you think ARTIFICIAL MEANS?

Your face is the color of a Cheez-It. Let’s not get precious about authenticity.

And don’t worry about reining it in, folks. We just need to change the name. The brakes don’t work, but Donald’s picked out a vanity plate.

What’s the worst that could happen? Somebody uses AI to cook up an extinction-level bioweapon? A little oopsie with the species?

We could wander straight into “Shall we play a game?” territory, but this cantankerous Creamsicle with the intellectual curiosity of a urinal cake was busy fixing the LABEL.

It’s a branding problem, folks. Little PR. Like renaming gonorrhea Super Mario Party.

Your dick’s still on fire, but congratulations, you can now win Rainbow Road.

“Artificial” offended his sensibilities, but annihilating Iran—a country of ninety million people—rolled right off his tongue.

“Or do I annihilate the Islamic Republic and do it quickly…?”

“Do I drive them into hell…?”

At the United fucking Nations.

He was talking about ninety million people like he was getting an estimate from Terminix.

Imagine if an Iranian president stood up there. Imagine if Ahmadinejad had come to the UN General Assembly and said: “Do I annihilate the Jewish state, and do it quickly? Do I drive Israel into hell?”

Imagine the Western response, the global response, the media outcry.

Republicans would’ve been on every channel demanding we bomb Iran before the translator finished the sentence. You know it. I know it. They would’ve understood every word, every implication, every reason a parent might pull their kid a little closer after hearing it.

But when Donald says it, we’re the assholes for being horrified. We’re overreacting. We don’t understand his humor. Well, explain the joke. Explain the funny part to somebody trying to raise a child in the country he just threatened to erase.

But I’m supposed to swallow that because we’ve already swallowed so much, to let yesterday’s disgrace make today’s easier to stomach. It doesn’t. It breaks something in me to love this country and watch him teach the world to fear what we’re becoming.

The president of the United States went to the United Nations and threatened genocide against a member state in front of the world.

Our country’s name is attached to that threat. Iranian children have to live under it.

This is where we’re at.

And from threatening people who have no say in how their country is run, he went straight to slobbering over somebody who keeps his own people that way. Out came the red carpet for Xi Jinping, the honor guard, American B-1 bombers overhead—our military providing the thunder while Donald provided the heavy breathing.

Look at that photograph. Xi barely changes expression. Trump looks like somebody just zipped his balls into a golf bag.

What the hell was that all about, by the way? I’ve seen some interesting chatter online.

And all that American pomp was for a guy whose people can’t vote him out, whose party has the courts by the throat, and whose government can drag its critics off to prison and torture them.

Donald looks at that and wonders why his presidency came with so much goddamn adult supervision.

When China scrapped presidential term limits in 2018, he said, “Maybe we’ll have to give that a shot someday.”

That’s covetous, crotch-quivering, crown-craving envy. He heard “president for life” and needed somebody to slide a menu over his lap. No voters to fire him, no judges telling him no, no obligation to ever pack up his shit and leave.

And we’re supposed to laugh like the guy who tried to overturn an election is kidding about wanting to stop having them.

He even had an excuse when asked about accusations that Chinese companies supplied Iran with satellite imagery before a strike that killed three American troops: “They basically do what we do.”

What the literal fuck?

Three Americans dead, and he sounded like somebody took his parking space at Costco. He had an entire speech’s worth of praise for himself and one shrug for the people who risked their lives under his orders.

And none of it got in the way of the welcome. While our service members fight an illegal, unconstitutional war with no exit strategy in sight, their crepey, concealer-caked, candy-corn-colored Commander-in-Chief is practically pulling a hamstring trying to kiss Xi’s ass.

Where the fuck are the Reagan Republicans? Where is their outrage?

These cowards of convenience have spent years prostrating themselves before this prick, surrendering one principle after another until their patriotism could fit on a lapel and everything else was for sale. He can humiliate America and lick the loafers of despots, and they’ll still insist the real threat is an imaginary transgender child on an imaginary softball team.

They can sniff out communism in a school lunch, these flag-fondling, freedom-fetishizing frauds, but put an actual communist leader beside Donald and watch them swallow their tongues.

A kid gets a free sandwich and it’s the Bolshevik Revolution. Xi got bombers and we’re supposed to appreciate the diplomacy.

We roll out the red carpet for Putin and Xi while we shit on our closest allies daily. The American government under Trump and his cultist Republican Party is a disgrace.

He’s turning our country’s identity inside out—who we believe we are, who the rest of the world sees when they look at us—and taking with him the things we still wanted to believe about ourselves.

And yes, there’s a long, ugly argument that we were already the bad guys, but standing at the United Nations and announcing that he can unilaterally wipe another country off the planet leaves a hell of a lot less room to argue otherwise, especially with an entire Republican Party at his feet, surrendering everything they once swore made us different and leaving the rest of us searching for our country in the things they’re willing to throw away.

Look, I know we’re numb to a lot of this shit. Believe me, I get it. My Instagram algorithm is slow cooker recipes, workout videos, and doomsday prepping at this point. Here’s a chicken marinade. Here’s a glute exercise. Here’s how long drinking water keeps in a bathtub.

I’m trying to make dinner and determine whether civilization has a return policy.

And whether I’m laughing at him or trying not to panic, he’s still up there “representing” our country. Our name. Our reputation. Our national identity.

Future generations are going to watch this footage and wonder if we were all fucking high.

Because a plurality of the dumbest dumbfucks who ever dumbed watched the first term of this shitshow, forgot what a disaster it was, blinded themselves with irrational hatred of other people, and put the motherfucker back in that office AGAIN.

But on behalf of the sane Americans who didn’t vote for this shit and are tethered to the inside of this endless tantrum, please believe me when I tell you:

He does not speak for us.

We are embarrassed. We are angry. We are sick. We are scared.

And we are determined to make this shit right.

Because he does NOT speak for us.

He never has, and he never fucking will.

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He’s Fucking Delusional

Little Donny Fuckface is what would happen if an overripe diaper became a real boy. he’s that full of shit.

the United Nations General Assembly in is session right now, and yesterday was Donny’s turn to address the gathered diplomats and heads of state.

unlike last year, Dear Leader and his Slovenian rent-a-wife were never in danger of getting escalatored to smithereens.

nor did Donny’s teleprompter go fuckity-bye right in the middle of his speech, as it did last year — but you kind of wish it had, though. because the prepared text that Donny read from yesterday was a big bucket of holy shit.

“I have a big decision to make. will a deal be made with Iran that lets them rebuild and create a far greater country than it ever was before, maybe one of the greatest in the Middle East or even the world? or do I annihilate the Islamic Republic and do it quickly, never giving them a chance to kill and destroy people and countries again? do I drive them into hell with no chance of survival and no hope of future greatness or generations? but I believe we will make a deal, right after the election.”

Jesus H Christ. lighten the fuck up, Francis.

who even talks like this? what part of United Nations does Donny need explained to him? you’re not supposed to stand up and casually threaten to send another member nation to hell. the only uniting that Donny is doing, is uniting the rest of the world against us. we’re a rogue nation now. America — the country where the United Nations chose to be headquartered, because back in 1945, no one could have imagined that Donny’s dystopian hellscape is the country we would become, 81 years later.

oh, and mad props to whoever it was at MSNOW who wrote this caption.

“Trump touts being a peacemaker while asking if he should annihilate Iran.”

if that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what does.

Donny is like an ill-mannered six-year-old at another kid’s birthday party, and all he can talk about is how he wants to smash everyone else’s toys. he’s a psychopath. 

how many times has he now threatened to fuck Iran’s shit but good? by my count, it’s exactly elventyskillionpickledillion. if it’s a day that ends in y, Donny’s threatening total obliteration, like no one thought possible.

during Donny’s tirade, the Iranian delegation got up and walked out — but if it had been me, I would have just sat there, rolling my eyes and miming jerk-off motions, because let’s get real. Donny’s not going to do any of that shit.he’s all mouth and no brain, and everyone who isn’t already a cultist is so fucking tired of Donny’s worn-out act.

oh, and Donny didn’t just vow to get all explodey with Iran. he also threatened Mexico and Cuba, and bragged about having stolen all of Venezuela’s oil. perfectly normal stuff — if you’re an out-of-control madman.

but if you thought Donny’s Iran rant was pure crazypants, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. get ready for a triple-fuckton of gibberish.

“the United States also totally rejects any attempt to construct a globalist scheme to control for the— artificial INTELLIGENCE being spoken of SO MUCH now, herein and after officially called SUPER— intelligence. changing the name, and that the use of the word artificial makes intelligence fake. it makes intelligence fake. it makes it sound fake, and it is not fake. it’s actually— amazing. but we have to be careful. IN FACT, it is exactly the opposite of— what it— purports. from this point forward, ALL OF United States documents and hopefully the world’s will be changed to use the much more ACCURATE term SUPER, as opposed to artificial. so it’s— super— intelligence. in other words, WELCOME TO THE NEW WORLD of super intelligence, dash, SI. SI. let’s see if that goes. sounds much better, it is much better, and it’s much more accurate. let’s see if I have any power. maybe I do and maybe I don’t. we’re going to find out pretty soon. SUPER INTELLIGENCE. every major new technology brings challenges.”

oh my god. the prepared text was ‘intelligence — SI’ and Donny read it as ‘intelligence dash SI.’ what a fucking idiot.

imagine being a world leader, or a top member of your nation’s diplomatic corps, and having your time and expertise wasted by having to sit there and listen to some low-wattage idiot shit out his crazypants idea to rename janky, six-fingered plagiarism robots.

welcome to Donny’s latest infantile obsession. while the entire world goes to shit all around us, Dear Leader’s got a grand scheme to rename AI to SI.

why should Donny — or anyone — give a shit what AI is called? because he and his felonious sons are heavily invested in data centers, that’s why.they stand to make a mint off this shit, and so — while the rest of us are worried about some rogue AI causing an extinction-level event — this corrupt old carnival barker thinks he can make AI more marketable by renaming it.

oh, and speaking of Donny’s fixation on names, check out this bit, from his meeting with the UK’s brand spanking new Prime Minister.

“he asks good questions, but— and I think there’s a tremendous patriotism, in Britain. we call it the United Kingdom, Britain, sometimes England, you to back to the old— it’s got more names than any other place in the world. and sometimes you have to be educated as to what— but uh, there’s great patriotism in the country. and they want to see— great things happen.”

they say that first impressions are everything — and Donny’s fucktangle of incoherence was British PM’s Andy Burnham very first impression of Dear Leader. 

as a head of state, how can you possibly prep for that? it’s one thing to have your advisors brief you on what to expect. ‘sir, he’s a little bit— unusual.’

it’s another thing entirely to actually sit right beside him and smell the diaper, gaze at the clownish makeup, the rotting hands and the neckgina, and actually hear the gibberish seeping from his rancid anus-mouth — some fuckbrained nonsense about how ‘the UK has so many names, and you have to be educated.’

that’s right, PM Burham, everything you were told about how Donny is ‘as if Dunning and Kruger had a baby, and then dropped it on its head,’is true.

but you know, it’s not just the United Kingdom’s that known by a lot of names. so is our own country. 

we’re America. we’re the United States, we’re the USA — and now we’re Donny Convict’s Dystopian Hellscape.

lucky us.

now let’s watch Dear Leader’s head explode when CNN’s Kaitlan Collins has the utter temerity to ask him a question.

Kaitlan Collins: “Mr President, two thirds of Americans don’t think the US is winning the war with Iran. When will it end?”

Donny: “I’m surprised that CNN is here covering me.”

Collins: “the United Nations allowed us in, sir.”

Donny: “you should not be here covering me. you said you weren’t going to be covering me. you shouldn’t be covering me.”

boo fucking hoo, bro. your infantile ban (and the subsequent major network boycott) only applies to what goes on in the White House. Kaitlan Collins has every right to be in the United Nations, questioning you about your unwinnable Iranian clusterfuck that indeed, no one asked for and is overwhelmingly unpopular.

dry your eyes and eat binkie, Preznit Piss-Baby.

and so, another of Donny’s yearly spectacles at the United Nations has come and gone — and, as usual, he shit the bed, completely embarrassing himself and his country.

he threatened allies and adversaries. he praised himself, and boasted about his imaginary accomplishments. he rambled incoherently about insignificant shit that matters to no one but him — and he whined like the colicky piss-baby he is.

remember, none of this is normal — and someday, this war’s gonna end.

the midterm elections are just 41 days away. let’s see if we can restore dignity and sanity to this country — and maybe even begin to dismantle Donny’s dystopian hellscape.

vote.

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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I’ve seen some stupid shit in my life.

I watched an absolutely shitfaced grown-ass man sprint down a cobblestone street with both hands jammed in his pockets, entrusting his entire dental future to the footwork of a man who couldn’t have successfully operated a juice box. And I watched him go down mouth-first, having selected his fucking incisors as his preferred landing gear, and at least two teeth skittered into the gutter like loose Chiclets while his hands remained safely tucked away. 

Thank God. Wouldn’t want to hurt a finger.

I watched a car full of teenagers flip off a state trooper because they’d mistaken the median between the local and express roadways for an international fucking border. Just a sedan stuffed with middle fingers and fully unearned confidence, cruising through the sovereign republic of Suck My Dick. And I watched that median end about four-fifths of a mile later. A tragically short republic.

(Okay, that was me.)

I watched a woman get so homesick for the house she grew up in that she roasted a marshmallow on a metal fork over her New York City stove, then put that fork directly into her fucking mouth. An adult. With voting rights. I heard the sizzle. Four little grill marks on her lip like she’d tried to French-kiss a panini press.

(OK, that one was me too, but you take my point.)

I’ve seen some (and done some) dumb shit.

But I have never seen anything as fucking dumb as this.

Because Donald Trump — that bunker-brained, bronzer-basted, bullshit-buttressed baron of bad taste, that swollen sultan of stucco, that fat Satan in a forty-inch fucking tie — is now saying he wants to put SNIPERS on his preposterous, pitiful, piteous, piss-poor, please-love-me participation trophy. 👇

Apparently the evil genius plan, temporarily not involving sharks with laser beams, though it’s early yet, is to recycle the exact same bullshit he used on the ballroom he wasn’t allowed to build to “make the case” for the arch he isn’t allowed to build.

You know. That two-hundred-and-fifty-foot, taxpayer-tapping, tomb-adjacent tribute to his own tremendous self.

That gargantuan, gold-leafed, grief-trampling gateway to a cemetery. A hundred million dollars of our money, fifteen million of it already shoveled out the door by the National Endowment for the fucking Humanities, to bolt a slab of granite to himself at the front gates of Arlington National Cemetery.

And he can’t help himself, because a hunk of rock is the only erection this man has ever gotten to stay upright past the thirty-second mark, and the entire planet already knows it.

But “please clap for my concrete cock” is a tough sell, so now his architectural schmeckle insecurity needs a military escort.

And he can’t even respect us enough to come up with a halfway decent lie. Just plops this down in front of us like a cat presenting a dead mouse and waits for somebody to tell him he’s a good boy:

“At the strong request of the United States Military.”

Oh, absolutely. The military begged.

And I’m a natural fucking blonde virgin who doesn’t drink and once fainted because somebody said “darn” at a christening.

Are we supposed to believe the Pentagon came to him, unprompted, hats in hand, medals trembling against their big military nipples, to request permission to stuff his taxpayer-funded stone stiffy full of drones, gunmen and live rounds?

“Please, sir. We’ve exhausted every other option. The security of the republic depends on making your decorative doorway shoot people.”

And he “agreed”. Bless his selfless little bone spurs. Imagine the courage it took to sit there and let a room full of four-stars explain that the thing he’d been whining for since last spring was actually his solemn duty to the nation.

You can practically hear the generals choking back tears.

“Our men can’t spend another Christmas without somewhere to store their tactical narcissist. Morale is collapsing. Sergeant Johnson hasn’t seen a gilded cornice in eight months.”

Next thing you know, the Joint Chiefs are standing around a conference table pushing little models of tanks across a map while one of them points at Washington with a pool cue:

“Gentlemen, we’ve identified the vulnerability. Not enough fucking arches.”

And by the way, just as an aside, who was it that ranked these “59 top cities and Capitals”?

Which fifty-nine, Donald? Where’s the fucking list? You can’t remember what country you bombed, but you’ve got municipal pageant results down to the runner-up?

Did number sixty get eliminated in the swimsuit competition? Did Brussels drop a baton and mouth “fuck” in front of the judges? Did Copenhagen show up without a headshot and have to borrow Oslo’s tit tape?

Was Vienna standing there in a borrowed ball gown, thirty seconds to explain what world peace means to her while Paris smiled through the Vaseline on her teeth and quietly called her a whore?

But I do need to know how we missed the semifinals of So You Think You Can Arch.

And look, I’m sorry Paris sent you an unsolicited arch pic, but we shouldn’t all have to live inside your heavily armed architectural schlong-measuring contest.

His cult of course, will swallow the sniper story whole, the way they swallow everything. Unfortunately for Donald, the rest of us need a little more convincing than the kind of men who buy the extended warranty on a fucking rotisserie chicken.

And he fucking knows it.

He knows nobody wants this. He knows the polling. He knows exactly how it plays to stick a hundred-million-dollar gluttonous, grasping, grabby, gimme-gimme grope for attention in the driveway of the cemetery where the actual heroes are buried, and he does not give a single fuck.

Because under the kabuki foundation and the fifteen-step comb-over, he knows the brutal truth.

He didn’t serve. Even his fucking feet needed nepotism. Other people’s kids got orders to report; Little Lord Fauntlefraud got bone spurs from a podiatrist who happened to rent his office from Fred Trump. A medical emergency conveniently located inside his daddy’s rental portfolio.

And now he wants to loom over the ones who actually went, his big beautiful bullshit visible from the graves of people whose parents couldn’t get them out of a war by calling the guy downstairs.

What the fuck are we commemorating? The Battle of Somebody Else’s Problem?

He wants history to remember his name.

He built nothing. He fixed nothing. He saved nobody.

The only permanent record with his name on it is a criminal one.

So now the vainglorious, vein-mapped, varicose Vesuvius of vanity waddles around the District in his little elevator shoes spraying himself on everything that isn’t nailed down, a wheezing Nebuchadnezzar in a girdle, a god complex with a golf cart, hiking a leg on the Mall and hosing down every marble surface in the capital like a diabetic tomcat working his way through a room full of curtains.

Because he can feel what’s coming the second he’s cold. Not that we forget him. That we get the fuck to work with a bucket and a wire brush and scrub his name off every goddamn thing he pissed it onto.

Which is why he’s bolting military equipment to his vanity projects like a man handcuffing himself to the furniture during an eviction.

He slapped “national security” on the ballroom nobody needed and thinks that means we bought the bullshit. Now he’s dragging the same sweaty sales pitch across the Potomac: if you won’t pay to admire him, he’ll tell you it’s “dangerous not to.”

Yes, there’s real security work going in underground over there. That’s the fig leaf, and it’s about four sizes too small. The courts already pulled the two apart: the buried infrastructure is one thing, the ninety thousand square feet of aboveground party barn squatting on top of it is another.

But apparently Ramses the Rotund discovered the greatest loophole in American government: want something gaudy, gilded, gargantuan and completely fucking unnecessary? Reclassify your personal wish list as a strategic defense imperative.

The Pentagon requires my chandeliers! CENTCOM specifically requested the marble! NORAD cannot possibly defend the continental United States without a cocktail terrace and sixteen fucking bidets!

He hears “defense spending” and lights up like a fucking pinball machine, because the only thing this man has ever defended in his life is that papery, piss-baby, porcelain-thin, perpetually punctured pride of his.

The entire federal budget repurposed as a blast door for one motherfucker’s feelings.

This isn’t the Department of Defense. It’s the Department of Don’t Care What You Dipshits Think, Daddy’s Doing It Anyway, Directorate of Just Look at the Fucking Size of It.

At this rate that Mar-a-Lago Medici is probably wandering through the White House right now pointing at shit he wants like a toddler loose in Costco.

“I want the ball pit from the McDonald’s PlayPlace.”

National security.

“Fill it with Adderall, loose Sudafed and my cocaine retainers.”

Counterterrorism.

“I need a 40-foot marble statue of myself. Shirtless. Riding a bald eagle. Give me the abs of a Romanian gymnast. Golf club in one hand, chocolate cake in the other. Bigger hands. I want to be able to finger Lake America. Give the bird my mug shot face and point my snausage crotch at Canada. They’ll know why.”

Cyber Command asked for it.

And this doesn’t end here. Every memorial, every monument, every building in the citadel of our democracy is next in line to get this secondhand, scratch-and-dent, spray-tanned strongman’s name spackled across the front of it.

Next up: the Donald J. Trump Center for Performing Arts and Precision-Guided Munitions.

“Please silence your phones, locate your nearest emergency exit and secure the fucking perimeter.”

The coat-check lady has Q clearance.

The Rockettes have been replaced by the 82nd Airborne and wardrobe is issuing Kevlar tutus.

Grandma unwraps one petrified disc of black licorice during Swan Lake and six sharpshooters acquire her position.

Act Two has been delayed because somebody parked a Reaper behind the fucking scrim.

And why stop there?

Hollow out the Resolute Desk and fill it with grenades.

Dress an Abrams tank up as the Easter Bunny.

Stick an aircraft carrier in the Reflecting Pool and hide it behind the peeling paint.

Gold-plate the nuclear football and have Vanna White present it every time somebody enters the Situation Room.

At least commit to the bit, asshole.

Anywhere else on Earth, a room of exhausted people spends eleven months arguing over which mountain, which desert, how many miles from the nearest road.

This fucking idiot walked into that meeting and said:

“I’m thinking a giant, ornate, golden arch and a ballroom.”

Nothing screams classified military installation like a colossal, conspicuous, camera-ready Corinthian cock ring visible from fucking space.

It’s stealth technology for people who think Liberace was being too subtle.

Covert operations by way of Caesars Palace.

A Wish-dot-com Versailles with a sniper’s nest in the attic and a Saddam-grade gold finish on the fucking doorknobs.

This isn’t national security.

It’s militarized megalomania.

A garish, gold-plated, gun-packed, government-funded glory hole for one man’s bottomless, blistering, building-sized need to turn the nation’s capital into his personal presidential peacock parade.

And THAT is the scam underneath all the stucco.

He wanted the ballroom.

He wanted the arch.

And now, what an astonishing coincidence, the United States military desperately “needs” both.

Every decorative boner His Royal Smallness dreams up magically develops a tactical purpose the minute somebody asks why the fuck we need it.

And this sure as shit, is NOT something we need.

Actual governments run by adults spend obscene amounts of money making sensitive military facilities boring, buried, hardened, hidden and difficult to identify. Secret tunnels. Blast doors. Decoys. Restricted schematics. Classified coordinates. Entire systems designed around one extraordinarily complicated military principle:

DON’T TELL EVERYBODY WHERE THE FUCKING WEAPONS ARE.

Meanwhile this man, who lies the way the rest of us breathe and has the impulse control of a cracked-out cockatoo, wants to raise a 250-foot gilded bullseye in the middle of Washington, announce what he plans to stash inside it, identify where the shooters will be positioned, brag about the caliber, and presumably put the finishing touch on American operational security: a fucking bedazzled sign reading “SECRET WEAPONS THIS WAY” while a Liberty Tax guy dressed as Uncle Sam spins an arrow on the sidewalk and Kid Rock works the valet stand.

It’s all just so exhaustingly fucking stupid, isn’t it?

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hey, here’s a super fun thing that Teddy Roosevelt said during a speech in Kansas City on May 7, 1918.

‘to announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public.’

it seems that Teddy had been on the receiving end of flak for his criticism of then-president Woodrow Wilson — and T-Rose’s response to those telling him can the shit-talking was, ‘eat an entire bowl of fuck, pal. this is America.’

keep Teddy’s defense of freedom of speech in your mind as you listen to MSNOW reporter Akayla Gardner describe what happened to her when she tried to enter the White House yesterday.

“I attempted to scan my badge, which we have to do to be able to get into the White House grounds. it did not work. there was a red beeping light, and so the officer asked me to hand over my badge. he said that it was disabled. I asked why I was not able to get inside. he said it was above him.”

that’s right — on Saturday, Preznit Fuckwit made good on his infantile threat to bar CNN, Politico and MSNOW from the White House grounds — he did it in typical Donny fashion. he’s too big a coward to ever shitcan anyone to their face, so he weaseled out and just had reporters’ security badges disabled on the sly. how fucking childish is that?

do you think Teddy Roosevelt would have ever pulled any weak-tea shit like that? absolutely fucking not. look at this homey. he never backed down from a confrontation.

let’s compare and contrast.

yeesh.

but of course Teddy Roosevelt would have never gone after a reporter’s credentials — because Teddy was an adult who could take criticism as well as he could dish it out.

now let’s back up, because I know the very first thing you’re going to ask. ‘but Uncle Jeff, Donny can’t actually ban reporters, can he? I mean, that’s a blatant violation of the First Amendment, right? isn’t there some law against that?’

you’re darned tooting there’s a law against it. here’s what the DC Court of Appeals said about that kind of fuckery, back in 1977, when Robert Sherrill, a reporter for The Nation, had his White House press credentials summarily revoked because reasons.

“Although the White House is not required to open its doors to the news media, once it establishes press facilities for credentialed journalists, it cannot deny access based on the content of a journalist’s coverage.”

got that? you can’t revoke a reporter’s White House access, just because some fragile, thin-skinned piss-baby says they’re being very mean to him.

but when has ‘Donny can’t actually do that’ ever stopped Donny from actually doing that? respecting the law is not how tinpot mad-king-wannabees roll. so now we’re going to have some court battles in front of us.

lucky us.

of course, this whole fucktangle is about more than legal battles over who gets to be a reporter.

the larger issue is, what kind of country do we want? one where the government and those who report on the government engage in an open and honest dialog? or one where some cranky Diaperload-in-Chief gets mad at words, and tries to hide his shitty crimes from public view?

I know what Teddy Roosevelt’s answer would be.

you can’t have a functioning democracy without freedom of the press. our founders knew that — that’s why they made the First Amendment the very first amendment.

and contrary to whatever MAGA may think, there’s no clause in the Constitution that says anything about ‘in 250 years we try having a king again, only this time he’s really fucking dumb.’

credit: Jesse Duquette

now, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to take a moment to talk directly to the media.

hey, worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press: look, I really don’t want to play blame-the-victims here, but it’s not like we didn’t warn you, over and over and over, until we were blue in the face. 

‘stop treating Donny like some interesting variation on governance,’ we begged and pleaded during the presidential campaigns, ‘and start treating him like the demented fascist existential threat to democracy that that he is.’

‘trust us,’ you replied. ‘we know what we’re doing, and besides, Dear Leader would never eat our faces.’

yeah? tell me, how did normalizing all of Donny’s authoritarian bullshit work out for you, with Dear Leader now happily gnawing away on the faces of MSNOW, CNN and Politico? oh, and let’s not forget the Associated Press, whose own lawsuit against a ban is currently winding its way through the legal system. remember their crime? they refused to call the Gulf of Mexico anything but that, so Donny threw a shit-fit and revoked their access. what a fucking child.

let’s get real — no one should imagine that Donny’s going to stop with those four. he’s already threatening to extend the ban to other media outlets.

it must be particularly galling for Mathias Döpfner, the owner of Politico, to find that his own face is being chewed to bits — because he’s a right-wing shit-kazoo who’s just about as pro-Donny as you can get.

Politico’s parent company Axel Springer CEO Mathias Döpfner emailed his top executives shortly before the 2020 election to ask if any of them would “want to get together for an hour in the morning on November 3 and pray that Donald Trump will again become President of the United States of America.”

hey, maybe Mathias Döpfner might want to pray for Politico to get its press credentials back. that would be a bold strategy. let’s see if it pays off for him.

ree clue for Döpfner and his ilk: loyalty is a one-way street in the Donnyverse. it’s your job to worship Dear Leader. it’s not his job to return the favor. you’re always a single unfavorable news story away from shitcansville.

whenever Agolf Shitler takes a big, stinky dump all over the Constitution, what comes to my mind is that day back during the 2024 presidential campaign, when New York Times editor Joe Kahn said that defending democracy is a partisan act, and he won’t do it.

here’s the exact quote:

“To say that the threats [to] democracy are so great that the media is going to abandon its central role as a source of impartial information to help people vote — that’s essentially saying that the news media should become a propaganda arm for a single candidate, because we prefer that candidate’s agenda.”

can you imagine the top editor of a national newspaper saying that?

it’s this kind of lazy opposite-of-journalism that got us into this mess. the worthless scribblers never actually told the voters what was really at stake in the 2024 election. they just uncritically parroted the lies that seeped from Donny’s rancid anus-mouth, rarely ever fact-checking them.

remember this old saying?

JOURNALISM 101 RULE: If someone says it’s raining, and another person says it’s dry, it’s not your job to quote them both. Your job is to look out of the fucking window and find out which is true. — Now more than ever.”

well, The New York Times’ version is ‘if one side says that fascism is awesome, and the other side says fascism kinda sucks all ass, it’s not their job to tell the voters which side is right. oh no, that would be getting into ‘partisan bickering.’

awesome work.

when Donny comes for the NY Times’ press credentials, they’ll have no one to blame but themselves.

here’s what the remaining members of the White House press corps should do: boycott that shit. they should stay the fuck home until all the shitcanned reporters get their credentials back.

yes, I know — if all the legitimate reporters walked out, that would lezve only the MAGA hacks like Tim Pool in the room. but it would kill Donny to walk into a mostly-empty briefing room. he feeds off of attention, and pouts when he doesn’t get it.

but above all, a walk-out would be the right thing to do.

but will the WH press do the right thing? ha ha. sorry, but there’s nothing in this world that the worthless scribblers love more than their access to power. if you really think they’ll stand up for what’s right, I have six bankrupt casinos in Atlantic City to sell you.

oops — make that five casinos. 

here’s your hero of the day: Michigan Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed. 

at a town hall the other day, El-Sayed — an actual medical doctor with a degree in public health from Oxford — teed off on that whale-head-chainsawing maniac, Bobby Brainworms. let’s give a listen.

that’s not a thing that should happen in the richest country in the world. and it kinda goes back to the fact that they appointed a guy who literally takes his kids swimming in Schitt’s Creek as health director for a whole country. and I just find it personally offensive that my dude works out in jeans. I mean, either he is not really working out, or he just has massive calluses on the inside of his legs. either way it is unnatural, all right? it’s not right. I think we all could agree that we probably need a public health senator right about now.”

I just love this guy to pieces. he’s funny. he’s charming. he’s got charisma up the yin-yang.

and, as I’ve noted before, he sounds like one of us.

let’s hope that Michigan’s voters send this guy to the Senate. what a fucking breath of fresh air he would be.

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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Couchfucker Says What?

Vice President JD Vance attacked the Rev. Adam Hamilton the Democratic nominee for the U.S. Senate in Kansas, because Hamilton’s Church of the Resurrection was one of dozens of sponsors of Kansas City PrideFest. Vance said Hamilton “proudly supported a drag group called Our Ladies of Perpetual Indulgence.” No organization by that name exists.

Vance called the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence “the devil worshiping group that was saying special blessings before LA Dodgers games” and “an anti-Christian hate group.” The Sisters are a 47-year-old volunteer order of queer and trans nuns founded in San Francisco on Easter weekend 1979. They raise money for community nonprofits and produced Play Fair!, a 1982 pamphlet that was among the earliest AIDS-era prevention resources.

The Dodgers did not invite the Sisters to bless games. The Los Angeles chapter received a Community Hero Award before the June 16, 2023, Pride Night game, recognizing decades of charitable work.

Sister Roma, a prominent member of the founding San Francisco order, told The Advocate, “If he was talking about the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, our name isn’t the only thing the vice president got wrong,” and added: “We do not mock nuns, we are nuns.” Hamilton’s campaign said Resurrection fed more than 45,000 people, distributed nearly 60,000 children’s books and built affordable housing in 2025.

[source]

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Every Accusation…

…is a confession:

“President Trump alleged Tuesday that the July 13, 2024, attempt on his life in Butler, Pa. was part of a ‘Democratic plot’ against him.”

“Everybody knows the Crooked Joe Biden FBI didn’t do what they should have with respect to the Lunatic who shot me in Butler, PA.”

“By the time I got into Office, on January 20th, most of the information was missing, altered, corrupted, or gone. New info was just found! Why wasn’t it seen long ago? This was all a Democrat Plot, to get me out of the Election, that failed.’”

Show us the evidence, Biff.

I still don’t believe this attempt was a conspiracy (they are too incompetent to pull it off). It’s not that they have a moral core, just that they are buffoons who couldn’t arrange a one-car funeral procession in a town with one street.

[source]

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Vomiting It All Up. And There Is a LOT of It Tonight.

Apologies for the sheer number of these tonight. And I know a some of them are a little stale at this point, but to paraphrase the famous quote from Ferris Bueller, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, post promptly when you find something you could miss it.” In bloging—especially blogs with a political slant—this is SO true!

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And lastly…

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You’ve caved to your billionaire buddy Robert Kraft, you’ve deferred to the pearl-clutching Pink, you’ve fallen in line behind your promoters, and you’ve kowtowed to a handful of football stadium owners and allowed rapper Macklemore to be bootedfrom your tour for saying the words “Free Palestine.”

I can imagine how traumatic that must have been for your audience, the emotional scars they must be carrying right now from being asked to see the Palestinian people as deserving of dignity and self-determination…. the horror.

My newsfeed is absolutely littered with news stories, think pieces, and video critiques lambasting you for what people are saying is your cowardice, your selfishness, your obvious racism, your thinly veiled Zionism.

And with the fierce media firestorm raging all around you right now, I wonder if anyone’s considered your feelings, what it’s like to walk a mile in your custom Air Jordans.

I mean, this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you. In this economy, a guy with a net worth of 400 million has to stay on the road to keep the lights on, right? We can’t have you missing any meals out here, can we?

Oh, sure, tens of thousands of Palestinians have been brutally murdered, once vibrant cities leveled to dust, and an ancient culture violently erased. Yes, generations of human beings have been assassinated, starved, tortured, and burned alive. And yeah, children are being raped and shot and ripped from their mutilated parents in these very moments, but the show must go on, right? Can’t let a little genocide stop the party.

So what if a few thousand miles away an entire country is being wiped off the map with the taxes of your fanbase, you got a gig to do, merch to move, a few more homes to add to the mere three dozen or so you’re being forced to make do with.

You’ve dismissed Macklemore for having the audacity to choose integrity over the paycheck, for giving a damn about thousands of brown-skinned people who can’t buy concert tickets or boost your streaming numbers, and you’re going to bravely carry on with business as usual, playing the part of the happy, humble white savior of soccer moms and suburban preteens everywhere.

You’ll continue packing out stadiums, basking in the breathless adoration of a mix of the uninformed, the lazy, and the heartless; people who either don’t know what’s going on in Palestine or who simply don’t care enough to be inconvenienced enough to opt out (though you could inform and inspire them).

And you’ll get up there awash in spotlights and the intoxicating roar of an army of the most privileged people on the planet. You’ll wear that grinning everyman facade you’ve perfected. You’ll joyfully churn out your loops and whirl around in the middle of a massive sea of humanity (the largely white kind, the kind whose worth and safety might actually matter enough to you for you to get “political,” as you did with Ukraine, btw).

I’m sure it’ll be a blast… but not the kid-killing IDF kind.

But I wonder if the crowds at the shows will sing loud enough to cover the screams erupting from the rubble of Palestine. I wonder if the stratospheric tour revenue will be worth the suffering you’ve ignored to get it.

Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Maybe you’re really struggling with this. Maybe you’re going to have a change of heart and show some courage and something resembling a spine, and allow your humanity to take the lead. Maybe I’ll end up apologizing to you for underestimating you. I would welcome that, because it would mean you decided to leverage your privilege to save the lives of people who are being treated like animals.

But right now, Ed, for a guy who’s made a fortune with words, it’s your silence is most telling. You are choosing to say nothing, and there is a cost to that, too. Unfortunately, you won’t be the one paying the highest price.

Maybe you are exactly what they say you are. Maybe you’re a coward, or worse. Maybe the people of Palestine aren’t worth the show guarantees you’d have to part with to stand up to the bullies and the Zionists. Maybe it isn’t that you’re not willing to take sides (because you have been), but that the Palestinian people don’t fall within the borders of your empathy or the comfort of your courage.

I suppose no matter how successful and powerful someone gets, every person has their price, and yours was a 10-city tour.

The Palestinian people deserve our discomfort, Ed. They deserve to be on our breath because the voices of white people can carry their cries to people in the world who need to hear them, despite how uneasy it makes them. 

It’s just really sad that with the size of the stage and the reach of the microphone you’ve been handed, and with the voice you’ve been given that could resonate so loudly on behalf of imperiled human beings, you have such moral laryngitis now.

Enjoy the rest of the tour, Ed… knock ‘em dead out there.

Free Palestine.

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so there we all were, just trying to make it though another fucked-up Monday, when out of the clear blue, we got hit with the News of the Century:

after three months of being hidden away from the public, Mitch McConnell was on his way to the Senate.

holy shit-kadoodle, Batman! he’s alive!

but then we got the video of The Esteemed Senator Turtlehump being wheeled out of his terrarium, and it was a big bowl of what in the actual fuck?

what bill of goods are we being sold here?

okay, there’s Mitch, clearly most sincerely not dead — but does he really look alive? we see him being wheelchaired from his doorway to his waiting car, but do we really see any sense of cognition — any sign at all that Mitch has any idea where he is, or what is happening to him?

even presidential side-piece Laura Loopy was all what on God’s green shitpile are they trying to pull?

Like I said, Mitch is brain dead. You can’t look at his face and say he’s not a vegetable. He’s not even responding to cognition tests. It’s like wheeling a corpse around. Worse than what the Democrats did with Joe Biden to be honest. He looks incapacitated. Brain dead.

the thing is, Laura’s not wrong. (I mean, not the part about Joe Biden, duh.) Mitch is clearly unwell.

later, when the MitchBot5000 showed up in the Senate, reporters were banned from recording video.

Some more photos of McConnell as he returned to the Senate for the first time in three months following a fall at his D.C. home.

Reporters were barred from recording video

perfectly normal stuff, am I right?

please do not record the senator while he is making grunting noises and shitting himself.

I mean, how do we know that’s not what Mitch is doing? they won’t allow us to find out.

could Mitch McConnell’s handlers kindly stop pissing on our heads and telling us it’s raining? it’s been over three months since McConnell was found unconscious on the floor of his house, and taken away in an ambulance. in all that time, there hadn’t been one single shred of evidence that Mitch was cognizant, or even alive. now that he’s finally here in front of us, all we want is an answer to a single question: is he competent to do his job? but instead of getting any answer from Team Mitch, we’re just cordially invited to go fuck ourselves.

what the hell? if McConnell is actually aware of his surroundings, why can’t we get any proof of it?

this is not how a functioning government works. this is how a clown show works.

wheeling a Zombie Mitch from location to location is just elder abuse at this point. why is he being dog-and-ponied around? is it because he grunted ‘iwaaaagwrrrrg’ and one of his handlers went, ‘Mitch says he wants to go to work’?

fuck off, Mitch. stay home. you’ve had a long, distinguished career of being the most evil person in the Senate, making life worse for We the People. bravo. job well done.

now step down, and try to enjoy what remains of your life.

* * *

there really need to be term limits, or age limits, in the Senate. look at Chuck Grassley. he’s 92. this session, he’s going to be expected to vote on things like data centers and AI. does he have the capacity to understand those issues? and it’s a bipartisan problem. three years ago, Democrat Dianne Feinstein died while in office at age 90. like McConnell, she had absent from the Senate for months, and when she finally returned, it was obvious that her brain had gone fuckity-bye.

When the fellow reporter asked her what the response from her colleagues had been like since her return, though, the conversation took an odd turn.

“No, I haven’t been gone,” she said.

four months after that conversation, she dropped dead. here’s what I wrote at the time.

look: I get why ancient Senators refuse to step down. it’s a cush job. the perks are awesome: power. free healthcare. a staff. travel. your face on TV. you don’t really have to work very hard, and you get shitloads of time off. and if you live in a safe, deeply-red or deeply-blue state, you don’t even have to campaign all that strenuously.

hell, I wouldn’t quit that job. would you?

of course you wouldn’t. you had to pry Dianne Feinstein’s job out of her cold, dead hands. is Mitch McConnell next?

come on, this shit ain’t supportable. term limits, now.

here’s some other cheery news we got yesterday. it turns out that some Putin-linked Russian oligarch bankrolled First Failson Cokey McSniffles’ lavish, private-island wedding.

New: Russian oligarch Umar Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses at Donald Trump Jr.’s lavish wedding, including renting out a private island and paying for the fireworks show.

perfectly normal stuff, am I right? I mean, who among us hasn’t had some corrupt crony of Putin’s drop a couple-hundred thou in our lap, so we can get hitched in style?

National security experts expressed alarm at Trump Jr. accepting the oligarch’s largesse, saying it raised an urgent question: What motivated Kremlev to spend a fortune cultivating the connection?

“If I’m paying for your wedding, at some point, you’re going to owe me something,” said Frank Montoya Jr., a retired career FBI official who held senior counterintelligence roles.

no fucking duh. of course Mister Oligarch is going to expect something in return. that’s how this ‘enjoy your free wedding’ shit works. at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’t corrupt.

naturally, House Republicans swore to get to the bottom of this scandal, vowing to immediately open hearings.

no, wait — what am I saying? Republicans didn’t promise to do any of that shit. instead, they had the most predictable response in the universe: look over there, it’s Hunter Biden!

Florida Rep Anna Paulina Luna: “there’s no evidence. we opened an investigation into Hunter Biden because of the evidence in the laptop that specifically pertained to influence peddling, and unless there’s a laptop that comes out with specific criminal evidence, I don’t think that opening up an investigation into Don Jr.’s wedding party is something that’s a good use of taxpayer dollars.”

holy shit, An Appalling Lunatic is more brain-dead than Mitch McConnell. not this again. there was never any Hunter Biden laptop. what there was, was a tampered-with hard drive that someone claimed had come from Hunter Biden’s laptop.

in Don Jr.’s case, we don’t need anyone to gin up fake evidence. we’ve got evidence up the yin-yang. over to you, ProPublica.

Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses, according to records reviewed by ProPublica and interviews with three people familiar with the event.

In response to detailed questions, a spokesperson for Trump Jr. did not dispute the wedding payments from Kremlev. “Umar is a personal friend of Don,” he said.

can someone please copy the ProPublica article onto a laptop, and claim it came from Hunter Biden? maybe we can trick these Republican shitweasels into investigating it.

yesterday, the dumbest fucking moron in the known multiverse spent an entire day power-loading an infinite series of diapers, because AI.

Concerning AI, when, in the History of Business, did anyone see the Leaders of an Industry call for Regulation that, if strongly implemented, will drive them into oblivion and bankruptcy? AI taking over the World, destroying Humanity, and all other things bad, is a HOAX.

what Dear Leader was reacting to were the multiple stories that have been in the news lately about how the three largest AI honchos have all called for putting the brakes on the current race to build the smartest six-fingered plagiarism robots possible, lest these super-smart AIs start running wild and doing shit we can no longer control.

Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei published an essay asking that the pace of capability advance be slowed and committing his own company to embed outside evaluators with employee-level access. Sam Altman agreed and said OpenAI would do likewise. Elon Musk … wrote three words: “Dario is right.” Three rival laboratories in the most valuable commercial race on earth asked to be restrained, against their own immediate interest.

and that came right on the heels of this cheery news.

For three years, Jacob Coxon helped train increasingly powerful AI systems at OpenAI and Anthropic. On Sept. 8, he walked away.

“I resigned from Anthropic today,” Coxon posted on X. “Neither company is acting responsibly. They are racing straight to self-improving superintelligence and gambling with our lives.” His dire warning amassed more than 90 million views in less than 24 hours.

tell me, is is bad when the guy who helped invent the tech gets so terrified of what he’s done that he quits his job and starts blowing the whistle — and then, his own boss and the boss’s cronies go ‘he’s right, this shit’s hella bad’?

That sounds pretty fucking terrifying to me. isn’t that the plot of umpteen science fiction books any movies — some rogue AI decides that humanity needs to be killed to death — or turned into batteries?

literally everyone is concerned right now that the rush to build ever-smart AIs is a bad idea that’s in need of regulation: We the People, our elected officials — and even the homies who built the damned things. shouldn’t that tell you that something in fact needs to be done?

oh no, wait. there’s one dumb asshole who’s totally down with letting AI do its evil, unregulated thing — and he’s pulled out his favorite word: hoax.

I am the Hoax Buster, and I’m right now breaking another Hoax — That AI is going to take over, consume, and destroy the World, and that Robots will be marching into our Cities, and getting rid of us all! This is even wilder than the RUSSIA, RUSSIA, RUSSIA HOAX, or the Global Warming Scam. Thank you for your attention to this matter! President DONALD J. TRUMP

this fucking idiot — everything he doesn’t like is a hoax. yeah, as if the tech bros now clanging the alarms are hoaxing themselves. cool stor

why is Donny so dead-set against regulating the development of plagiarism robots ? because, as Robert Reich reports in his post from this morning, he and his failsons stand to make a mint off of AI tech.

So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?

Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.

remember what I said earlier about how, ‘at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’tcorrupt’?

but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.

So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?

Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.

but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.

The only control or “guardrails” that AI needs is a STRONG AND SMART (High IQ!) PRESIDENT

so that’s all we need, to keep from ending up as batteries to power the matrix? a smart president?

oh shit, we’re fucked.

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When Supermarkets Sue To Block Affordable Food They Admit Their Prices Are The Real Problem

adhd_memetherapy: The grocery industry in New York City spent decades pulling out of low-income neighborhoods, then charged those same people more when they were forced to shop at their relocated stores. Now the city wants to open five stores of its own, one per borough, in those exact neighborhoods, selling groceries around 30 percent cheaper so that working-class people can have an affordable option. The supermarket lobby is distraught because their overpriced food can’t possibly compete with stores that don’t run on the hyper greed model that every corporation in this country runs on or learned to implement in their MBA programs. So instead of competing, like the system of capitalism was designed for, they’re trying to sue to stop it before a single one of these city run marts opens. Five stores in the Bronx and Harlem aren’t going to bankrupt anybody. What scares them is a city proving in public that it can feed people cheaper than they do without price gouging everyone. And look at who’s actually paying for the lawsuit. It was filed with the backing of the America First Policy Institute, Larry Kudlow’s Trump think tank, which has never cared about a bodega in the Bronx in its life. They’re in it because Chicago and Atlanta are already looking at copying this, and if a socialist mayor in the biggest city in the country shows that the government can sell you eggs for less than Kroger can, every other city is going to want one too, and there goes the story they’ve been telling us for fifty years about how the private sector always does it better.

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Good news, guys! Donald Trump’s gonna give us five thousand dollars of our own money! What a magnanimous motherfucker. I haven’t seen generosity like this since the ATM gave me back my own fucking paycheck.

He just needs to find the money, get permission to spend the money, and have us reelect the people who could give him permission to spend the money right fucking now. Before they’ll help us pay our bills, we have to guarantee we’ll keep paying theirs.

So we have to give them the jobs they already have before they’ll do the jobs we’re already paying them to do. Try that at work. “I’ll finish stocking the yogurt when somebody guarantees my fucking pension, Brenda.”

And if they borrow it, we get to pay interest on our own fucking present. He gets his name on the check. We get our names on the debt. Somehow I’m financing Christmas and this son of a bitch gets to be Santa.

Congratulations! You’ve been preapproved to finance your own fucking bribe.

Welcome to the Publishers Clearing House of fucking Representatives.

He’s calling it the “Trump dividend.” Five grand if Republicans keep the House and Senate. The House and Senate they ALREADY FUCKING HAVE.

So why the fuck can’t they get moving on it NOW? Aren’t they in power NOW? They’ve got the White House, the House, and the Senate. What additional lever of fucking power are they waiting for? Do we need to run down to Home Depot and pick them up another fucking lever?

I’m sorry, did I miss the Schoolhouse Rock episode where the little singing bill sits on the Capitol steps refusing to budge until we guarantee his bosses another two years of government dental?

Do the smooth-brained, truck-nutted troglodytes have to elect them harder? Tattoo their names across their chests? Rename the cat Mike Johnson and the dog Donald Trump? Spend the next twelve years standing in the backyard in their bathrobes hollering, “Donald! Get your nose out of Mike’s asshole!”

Did they get the fucking trial version of Congress? What else do you need, you cash-catfishing, country-club cocktease? Does Mike Johnson need somebody to sign his folder?

And the five grand wasn’t the only pledge at this fucking direct-deposit tent revival. He promised them a check, they promised him their remaining cerebral function, and only ONE of those transactions required immediate payment.

This pompadoured potentate had them raise their right hands and pledge to HIM, “the greatest president in the history of the United States.” He even worked “cheat like hell like they do” into the voting pledge, because he couldn’t get through his own fucking loyalty oath without accusing Democrats of cheating.

And they call this rugged individualism. It’s a fucking cult, a star-spangled self-abasement seminar for these obsequious, oath-bleating, orange-idolizing ovines waiting for their dividend-dangling, deference-demanding Daddy to tell them what to say.

Baa, baa, bootlicker, have you any fucking shame?

Nobody ever asked me to swear a pledge of allegiance to Joe Biden, for fuck’s sake. Then again, I didn’t tattoo his face on my ass and turn a routine colonoscopy into a fucking presidential meet-and-greet.

Which brings me back to the five grand, because the electric company doesn’t accept a fucking oath of fealty. You can turn your entire ass into Mount Rushmore, but until the money clears, you’re still sitting in the damn dark.

Anybody can promise shit they never have to deliver. Hell, vote for me and I’ll give you a puppy, a unicorn, a hand job and a velvet painting of a sad clown with a goddamn poodle.

Don’t ask how. That’s second-term shit.

He said the economy’s doing “so well” that we’re ALL getting a payout. If it’s doing that fucking well, cough it up today, asshole. Why does my share of this magnificent prosperity have an election attached?

And how the fuck isn’t this socialism?

By THEIR definition. The one these flag-fondling, fiscal-purity fetishists drag out whenever somebody without a private jet needs help paying for a fucking root canal. One free school lunch and suddenly the cafeteria ladies are storming the Winter Palace with a tater-tot trebuchet.

Some exhausted woman needs help buying groceries and these holier-than-thou hemorrhoids want her employment history, her blood type, and a notarized explanation for the name-brand mustard. God forbid the indigent enjoy a condiment. You’ll eat your federally scrutinized sandwich dry, Deborah. This is America.

But put Trump’s name on the handout and the bootstraps brigade comes barreling down the aisle in paroxysms of panhandling. The Ayn Rand book club has turned into Supermarket Sweep, and Earl’s about to dislocate a shoulder getting to the fucking bonus ham.

What happened to personal responsibility, you sanctimonious, selective-socialism, subsidy-suckling sons of bitches? Did Karl Marx become a job creator when he learned to sign a check with a Sharpie? Does Das Kapital come in Realtree camouflage now?

Now look at you, standing under a DON’T TREAD ON ME flag, refreshing your banking app with the evangelical fervor of a man expecting Jesus to arrive by direct deposit.

“The government must never give people money.” Unless of course, the money can help Republicans keep getting government money for telling us the government must never give people money.

And these are the motherfuckers who call themselves the party of fiscal responsibility. The balanced-budget, belt-tightening, bean-counting bullshit brigade. They’d make Oliver Twist submit his fucking porridge request in triplicate.

Meanwhile, by August, nearly thirty percent of our entire outstanding national debt had accumulated during Donald Trump’s time in office. Roughly eleven-point-six TRILLION fucking dollars across his first term and this unfinished second one.

They’d convene a congressional inquisition over a poor woman’s premium paper towels while their bankruptcy-baptized fucking messiah treats a trillion dollars like he’s breaking a twenty.

But please, tell us more about the grandchildren. They’re always so concerned about leaving debt to the grandchildren. Until Grandpa needs another electoral ego massage, at which point apparently little Brayden can get a second fucking job.

The party of fiscal responsibility, my ass. These pauper-policing, plutocrat-petting deficit disciples are backing a promise with a trillion-dollar price tag to improve the customer reviews on their own shitty fucking performance.

And hold the fuck on. Weren’t we already getting five large from DOGE?

Elon, that chainsaw-brandishing, chest-thumping technofeudal twat and professional sperm spreader, tore through Washington while Trump floated sharing the savings. We got the chainsaw. We got the cuts. We did not get the fucking check.

I’ve received more actual cash from the washing machine.

The two-grand tariff rebates haven’t arrived either, which Stormy Daniels could’ve warned you is kind of his thing.

When The New York Times asked about it, this bronzer-brained, bloviating blowhard said, “I did do that? When did I do that?” Then he said the money would come later in the year.

Now the Geriatric Grift-of-the-Month Club is promising the sequel.

Wonderful. Another five thousand dollars I can’t spend. I’m almost not buying a fucking boat. I’ll name it Insufficient Funds and christen it with the champagne I didn’t order and can’t afford.

But don’t worry, because JD Vance, that oleaginous ottoman enthusiast, says tariffs could cover this trillion-dollar campaign coupon. The same import taxes we’re refunding by the fucking billions.

Even the Kohl’s cashier working through an edible understands a fucking return.

You can’t keep spending the receipt after you’ve given the money back. And even the tariffs we keep don’t magically become Donald Trump’s personal checking account. This hush-money Houdini wants to play sugar daddy with OUR credit card.

“Daddy bought you groceries!”

Daddy, that’s my fucking Discover card. You can’t pilfer my purse, buy me a pound of pastrami, and expect me to start calling you Big Poppa.

And why the fuck are we letting him near the purse in the first place? This Fozzie Bear with a four-foot tie bankrupted casinos.

Just fucking think about that. Think how hard you have to try to suck to bankrupt a casino. People walked in specifically to lose money, and he still managed to beat them to it.

Now this fiduciary fuckwit is promising five grand without an approved payment or a delivery date. At least the fucking Tooth Fairy tells you when to check the pillow. Nobody makes a six-year-old wait for his molar money until Pennsylvania demonstrates sufficient fealty.

But I’m supposed to sit here and clap like a trained seal because this slippery, spray-tanned, self-dealing, solipsistic snake-oil salesman has discovered that people who need money would enjoy receiving some?

Yes, Donald. I fucking KNOW people need money. We all need money. We need even more of it since your tantrum tariffs made the shit we were already struggling to afford more fucking expensive. You don’t get to slap a surcharge on surviving and then expect me to genuflect because you’ve waved a checkbook in the general direction of my overdraft.

I’d fucking love five thousand dollars. I’d love to replace my brakes without briefly considering whether Fred Flintstone had the right fucking idea. But I can be broke without volunteering to be bamboozled. Needing help with the bills doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to let this predatory, pomade-plastered prick use my financial anxiety to finish paying off his political mortgage.

And he’s counting on us needing that money badly enough to vote like it’s already in the fucking bank.

He doesn’t need to pay you before November.

He just needs you to believe him when he says he will.

But how fucking stupid do you have to be to fall for this shit?

Remember The Boy Who Cried Wolf? The intended audience still occasionally shits its pants, and even THEY grasp that you stop believing the fucking liar.

You shidiots finished it and demanded an investigation into who was funding the sheep.

He’s buying your loyalty on layaway, and you’re making the fucking payments.

And if you’re dumb enough, gullible enough, enough of a pudding-brained, promise-gobbling patsy to believe he’s going to deliver on this latest dangled fucking carrot after more than a dozen promises just like it that he suddenly doesn’t even fucking remember making, then you deserve to get fucking fleeced.

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And Another Dinosaur Braying At The Incoming Asteroid

Councilwoman Vickie Paladino is demanding that Mayor Zohran Mamdani “not show his face” at New York City’s 9/11 ceremony, insisting that he does not belong on that “sacred ground.”

But let’s remember the basic facts.

When 9/11 happened, Rudy Giuliani was the Republican mayor of New York, George Pataki was the Republican governor, and George W. Bush was the Republican president. The attacks were carried out by al-Qaeda—not by any American political party or child.

Zohran Mamdani was nine years old.

Paladino is obviously not literally claiming that a nine-year-old caused 9/11. But portraying New York’s first Muslim mayor as somehow unworthy of standing at the memorial raises a troubling question: why should a Muslim American have to repeatedly prove his loyalty before being allowed to mourn alongside fellow New Yorkers?

Mamdani moved to New York at age seven. He has designated September 11 as a Day of Remembrance and Service and said he will attend the ceremony to honor the victims, their families, and the first responders who sacrificed everything.

Paladino does not speak for “the people.” Mamdani is the city’s elected mayor—and Muslim New Yorkers have every right to stand at Ground Zero, remember the victims, and mourn with their fellow Americans.

[source]

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