And lastly…
And here I just thought it was indigestion.
0 comments
Quote Of The Day
0 comments
no, seriously. fuck you, Google Maps. fuck all the way off. start fucking off over here, and then just fuck yourself all the way to over there — and then keep on going, until you’ve fucked yourself right to the very edge of the universe.
and when you get there, eat the yummy bowl of fuck that’s waiting for you.
if those previous two sentences seem familiar to you, that’s because it’s how I opened my July 20, 2025 post, ‘CBS can pretty much fuck all the way off.’ I then used it a second time, in my September 18, 2025 post, ‘ABC can pretty much fuck all the way off.’
and now I’m using it a third time, because, in fact, it’s now Google Maps’ turn to pretty much fuck all the way off.
Google Maps has changed the name of Lake Ontario to “Lake America” for U.S. users to reflect President Donald Trump’s executive order renaming the lake, according to a Google statement.
that’s right, Google is the latest den of corporate shitweasels to kowtow to the childish whims of Preznit Fuckwit. if you’re in the US and you type ‘Lake Ontario’ into Google Maps, what you’ll get instead is ‘Lake America.’
it’s so fucking embarrassing. the Mad King has commanded that all his royal subjects are forever forbidden from acknowledging that anything named Ontario exists, all because Ontario Premier Doug Ford had the temerity to suggest that Donny might ought to kiss his ass.
how immature can one person be? you’re eighty years old, Donny, it’s time to grow the fuck up.
Google wants to you believe they had no choice in the matter but to comply.‘boo hoo hoo, pity us’ they blubbered. ‘we get our mapping data from the government. we have no control over that shit.’
“Since we update Google Maps to reflect name changes in official government sources, which is GNIS for the U.S., people using Maps in the U.S. will see ‘Lake America,” Google said in a blog post Saturday.
that’s a stinky pile of horse manure. the truth is that Google was so horny to appease Dear Leader that they didn’t even wait for the government to update its official maps. they went ahead and swiftly implemented their own change.
Google was even quicker to switch over to Lake America than the US government. While the GNIS database acknowledges the name change in a summary report, the base map layer still reflects the internationally recognized name of Lake Ontario. A message across the top of the USGS-operated website notes that the change to official maps is still pending.
cool story, Google, about how you had no choice in the matter. tell it again.
what Google Maps should have done, was nothing.
let me remind you, Donny’s infantile royal decree came in the form of an executive order. it can not be overstated that executive orders are not laws. only federal employees of the executive branch are required to abide by them. private citizens don’t have to do shit. corporations don’t have to do shit.
remember ‘don’t obey in advance’? that was historian Timothy Snyder’s sage advice, after Donny somehow managed to slither his way back into power.
“Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. In times like these, individuals think ahead about what a more repressive government will want, and then offer themselves without being asked. A citizen who adapts in this way is teaching power what it can do.”
obeying in advance is how fascism wins.
the answer to every one of Donny’s childish pronouncements should eternally be, ‘fuck you, make me.’
be this guy.
we don’t need any more corporations rolling over and doing whatever Donny demands.
what we need are heroes.
here’s what I wrote last year, after CBS appeased Dear Leader by canceling the Stephen Colbert’s show. let’s just replace ‘CBS and Paramount’ with ‘Google.’
Google Maps and Google are being cowards — and we don’t need any cowards right now. we’re all stocked up with cowards. we’ve got cowards up the yin-yang.
heroes, that’s what we’re in desperate need of.
no one ever went to bed with fascism and came up smelling like roses.
no one ever said gee, I’m so glad that faceless corporation collaborated with fascists.
fascist regimes come, and fascist regimes go. when this current nightmare finally runs its course, no one is going to say ‘wasn’t it awesome how Google slobbered all over Dear Leader’s shoes?’
the people we’re going to look back on with admiration will be the ones who stood up said ‘take your fascist bullshit and stick it where the sun don’t shine.’
but of course, the real issue here is that Google wants fascism to win.
why? data centers, that’s why.
Big Tech needs more and more data centers, to feed the insatiable and ever-growing need for power to run their janky, six-fingered plagiarism robots.
the thing is, data centers totally fucking suck, and voters hate them. no one wants to live next to one — nobody, not Republicans, not Democrats. it’s a true bipartisan issue.
they’re huge. they’re ugly. they’re oppressively noisy. they pollute. they jack up everyone’s electric bills sky high, and destroy property values. if one of these abominations goes up in your neighborhood, it’s game over, man.
data centers have become such political liability that even Texas’s razor-wire-booby-trap-loving psychopath governor, Greg Abbott, is now pretending to be against them.
despite massive opposition to all of Big Tech’s fuckery, there’s one stupid shit who loves him some data centers and doesn’t mind saying so — and of course you know who it is: Donny. he somehow manages to be on the wrong side of every issue.
The only reason that communities throughout the U.S.A. should not want Data Centers is if they want to end up being backwards and poor. If they want to be successful and rich, with far lower taxes and jobs all over the place, let Data Reign. The good news is that there are plenty of other places that want them. If we kill the Golden Goose, you will only have yourselves to blame. China could not be happier with this anti Data Center movement. Actually, they can’t believe it is happening! President DJT
that’s right — if you object to having your quality of life destroyed by a data center, it’s because you’re a fucking loser who’s backwards and poor. what the fuck is wrong with you?
the thing is, Donny’s too demented to actually understand the issue, and too sociopathically unfeeling to give a shit about what the poor schmucks who have to live next to one of these infernal things have to endure.
all he knows is that tech companies like Google are lining up to bribe him into letting them do whatever the fuck they want.
WASHINGTON, D.C. – Big Tech companies have spent at least $653 million cozying up to President Donald Trump and Republicans in Congress, according to a new report from Public Citizen. This funding is part of a deliberate effort by tech CEOs to ingratiate themselves with the Trump administration by heaping excessive praise on the president while going along with his unpopular and authoritarian policies.
oh, and Donny and his felonious sons have a personal stake in the success of data centers, because of course they do.
Just weeks after their father announced a major push to expand the country’s artificial intelligence infrastructure and loosen regulations on the industry, Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump invested in a new company aiming to build data centers “to address the growing demand for high-performance computing infrastructure.”
these corrupt fucking goniffs have to have their fingers in every pie.
so there you have it. of course Google is going to bend over backwards to accommodate the whims of our easily-bought-off Toddler-in-Chief, and fall all the fuck over themselves in a mad dash to rename Lake Ontario to anything Dear Leader wants.
meanwhile, as always, We the People are cordially invited to go fuck ourselves. if we didn’t want data centers befouling our towns, we should have had the foresight to donate $653 million to Dear Leader.
personally, I like AOC’s solution to the issue of where to build data centers.
PabloReports: “what do you make of Trump saying Americans who oppose data centers are backwards and poor?”
AOC: “I mean, how about we put one in Mar-a-Lago? I love that. let’s put a data center at Mar-a-Lago, and we’ll see how backwards and poor he is in response to that.”
seriously, I’m fucking loving this idea. let’s build a noisy, pollution-belching data center right on that green area, above the tennis courts. let’s see how Donny likes that.
in fact, I’m going to go one better.
yesterday, Donny held another one of his dog-and-pony shows. as usual, he slept though most of it.
you know what? it’s put a data center right in the Oval Bordello.
the ungodly noise will keep the stupid shit awake.
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.
0 comments
JoJo Has Such A Way With Words
In case you missed it the other night, Bill Maher, the oleaginous, unctuous, supercilious, smugly self-satisfied septuagenarian sleazeball with the permanently pursed expression of a man who genuinely enjoys the smell of his own farts, who has spent decades steeping in stale dissent and the accumulated fumes of his own self-regard, stood on the Real Time stage in the middle of his own comedy show and decided that with wars raging, Donald Trump wreaking havoc and all manner of genuinely important shit happening in the world, Americans were spending entirely too much time talking about the death of Dolly Parton.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
He actually complained that “all America could really talk about” was how sad people were that we lost Dolly, ticked through some of the extraordinary displays of love appearing around the world, the Empire State Building glowing pink, the Santa Monica Ferris wheel covered in hearts, tributes stretching from London to Las Vegas, and then arrived at the Sphere and announced that it had “added a nipple.”
And that was basically it.
No tenderness. No affection. No meaningful acknowledgment of what she gave the world, what she created, what she meant to millions of people or why they might be gutted that she was gone.
Just this dry, drive-by little cheap shot tossed at a woman three days after she died, and then on to the next joke.
Fucking hilarious, Bill.
Really.
And I know exactly what some people are going to say.
Jesus Christ, Jo, don’t be so dramatic. Dolly made jokes about her tits all the time.
She sure did.
Dolly joked about her boobs, her body, her hair, her clothes, her face, her makeup and practically every visible inch of herself that some tedious man had already scrutinized, underestimated or decided was available for public inspection, because she had that magnificent ability to grab whatever cheap shit somebody intended to use against her, bedazzle the bastard, turn it inside out and make the joke hers before the other person even realized she’d stolen the weapon out of their hand.
And I guarantee you Dolly wouldn’t have cared what Bill Maher said about her on his stupid show.
She was a better person than I am by a factor of a thousand, to say the very least. She probably would’ve laughed, waved one perfectly manicured hand and gone on with her day.
I, on the other hand, am a petty, vindictive bitch who relishes any opportunity to eviscerate a sexist little hobbit with a superiority complex, so here we are.
Because it pissed me off.
And I know I’m not the only one.
The thing is, if a different comedian had made the exact same joke, I might’ve laughed.
This isn’t about the boob joke.
It’s about the fucking asshole telling it.
Context matters. History matters. And he did not materialize on that stage Friday night freshly hatched from some politically incorrect chrysalis, shiny and innocent and unburdened by decades of his own bullshit about women.
He has spent a career pawing through women’s bodies, beauty, brains, boundaries, bedrooms, breakups, beliefs and basic autonomy with the proprietary disgust of a man who thinks female existence is a defective appliance he alone has been burdened with troubleshooting, turning every woman who displeases, defies or simply declines to flatter him into another recurring exhibit in his personal Museum of Why Everybody Else Is Wrong About Everything Always.
So no, I’m not clutching my pearls because somebody joked about Dolly Parton’s fun bags.
I don’t even own fucking pearls.
I’m saying that when this particular man, dragging this particular history behind him, looks at the death of this particular woman, surveys this immense eruption of grief and gratitude, complains that she’s getting too much attention and then points at her chest, the punchline arrives with a long, greasy receipt attached.
Because Dolly was warmth and wit, humor and heart, bawdy and tender and glamorous as hell, deeply rooted in her faith, ferociously ambitious and astonishingly generous, with this uncanny gift for making people feel welcome in her presence instead of inspected by it.
The whole fucking world stopped when she died.
It stopped in pink light and porch flowers and church pews and beauty shops and bars and kitchens and parked cars where people gripped steering wheels and cried into sleeves because Dolly had been there for so long, in our kitchens and cars and childhoods, in our mothers’ record collections and our grandmothers’ living rooms, on movie screens and radios and in books arriving in little kids’ mailboxes, that somewhere along the way we stopped imagining a world in which she wouldn’t be here.
Stories poured out about mothers and grandmothers, childhoods and first dances, long drives and hospital rooms and terrible years made softer because somewhere in the middle of all that shit there was Dolly, all bouffant, brilliance, bedazzled benevolence, and boobs, cracking filthy jokes one minute and putting books into children’s hands the next, writing songs people would carry for the rest of their lives, giving away fortunes, showing up after disasters and remaining unmistakably, gloriously herself through every bit of it.
I’m still not over her passing, and I don’t honestly expect I ever will be.
Losing her felt like somebody removed one of the load-bearing beams of human tenderness, something so constant that millions of us had forgotten how much weight she was carrying until she was gone.
That grief crossed generations, politics, religions and cultures because people weren’t mourning a résumé.
They were mourning Dolly.
And watching that ocean of affection scratched something raw in two sexist birds from the same rotten feather pile.
Donald Trump tried to jam his grubby little snausage fingers into her story by posting a fake AI image of himself walking arm-in-arm with her at the White House after she died, manufacturing a moment that never happened with a woman who spent her entire career being extraordinarily careful not to let politicians claim her for themselves.
Think about how fucking grotesque that is.
Even in death, he couldn’t leave a woman’s image, boundaries or legacy alone. He had to insert himself into the frame, manufacture an intimacy she never publicly gave him and paste his own face into her history after she was no longer here to tell him to get the fuck out of it.
The man has plenty of authentic photographs and archival footage of himself hanging around Jeffrey Epstein.
But Dolly?
He needed AI.
One grasping, glory-guzzling egomaniac tried to counterfeit closeness to her.
The other tried to cheapen the mourning.
Same fucking sickness: a beloved woman dies and two swollen male egos immediately start clawing at what she left behind, desperate to wedge themselves into a story that was never about them.
And the irony of Maher complaining that everybody was devoting too much attention to Dolly while IMPORTANT THINGS were happening could choke a python.
He was delivering a monologue on a television comedy program.
This wasn’t the chairman of the Joint Chiefs interrupting a briefing on troop movements because somebody wanted to discuss Dollywood. Nobody burst into the Situation Room waving a sequined butterfly and screaming that the Empire State Building had gone pink. He was standing under studio lights being paid an enormous amount of money to make jokes about current events while scolding ordinary Americans for caring too much about the death of one of the most iconic and beloved entertainers this country has ever produced.
The intellectual ouroboros here is fucking magnificent.
A snake eating its own asshole while explaining that everybody else has lost perspective.
I used to watch him a lot. Many, many years ago, I watched his show constantly because I thought he was sharp and willing to say the uncomfortable thing.
Now I can’t stand the sound of his fucking voice.
That resin-reeking, booster-bitching podcast pustule has the ineffable aura of a man who has been sitting on the same steakhouse barstool since 1997, slowly pickling himself in Maker’s Mark, stale aftershave and the sour backwash of his own bullshit while explaining to a succession of increasingly alarmed cocktail waitresses that women used to have a sense of humor.
He’s a human oil slick of smugness, scotch breath and unsolicited opinions, a pocket-sized, pontificating prick with the puckered little face of a man who’s been sucking Warheads through a cocktail straw since breakfast, carrying himself with all the swaggering, sneering self-importance of Lord Farquaad while radiating the unmistakable energy of somebody standing furious beneath the little wooden hand that says YOU MUST BE THIS TALL TO RIDE THIS RIDE.
He has calcified into the ageing, pretentious pub bore he would’ve mocked thirty years ago, mistaking irritation for intelligence, contempt for sophistication and chronic obnoxiousness for some rarefied capacity to perceive truths unavailable to the rest of us slobbering civilians.
And spare me the mythology that all this sanctimonious shit makes him some fearless fucking truth-teller.
George Carlin was.
Richard Pryor was.
Joan Rivers could verbally skin somebody, salt the hide and have the poor bastard laughing while she did it.
They were adored.
Being incisive doesn’t require being insufferable. Saying something shitty that makes everybody groan doesn’t automatically turn you into Lenny Bruce because you leaned backward afterward and looked pleased with yourself.
Sometimes a prick is just a prick.
Dolly will outlive all of this.
Her songs will still be playing. Her movies will still be watched. Children will still open books because of something she started long before they were born. Families will still tell stories about her generosity, her one-liners, her ridiculous hair, the places she showed up, the people she helped and the particular way she made kindness look less like sainthood and more like common fucking sense.
Fifty years from now, people will still know Dolly Parton.
Bill Maher will be a grainy thumbnail somebody scrolls past while trying to remember why the fuck anybody ever cared what he thought.
He has spent his life acting like the smartest man in every room and still gets aggrieved whenever the spotlight lands somewhere he can’t slither underneath it.
So finally, New Rule:
Trying to diminish Dolly Parton doesn’t make you daring, dangerous or defiantly unconventional. Taking a cheap shot at a legend three days after she dies because the scale of everyone else’s grief annoys you isn’t intellectual courage. It’s just cheap, sour little cruelty dressed up in the moth-eaten costume of rebellion.
It makes you look like a bitter, brittle, boozy, blowhard little loser, marinated in misogyny, embalmed in ego and pissed off that a woman whose kindness, talent, humor and humanity dwarfed yours by several fucking zip codes received the kind of love you could spend another hundred years chasing and never catch.
Dolly Parton will be loved long after all of us are gone.
You weren’t too intellectually superior to grasp that.
You weren’t too edgy to understand why the whole world stopped for her.
You were just pissed off because you’re a small, spiteful, smug, sexist, solipsistic, sententious pseudointellectual little excuse for a man, and you know goddamn well the world will not pause, let alone stop, for one single solitary second when it comes to you.
0 comments
🤣 🤣 🤣
0 comments
When I was a kid, my big brother Nick, who I’ve missed every single day since we lost him suddenly in 2020, wore a gold chain with an Italian horn charm and told everybody he was Italian.
Nick was not Italian.
At all.
He wasn’t a little Italian. He wasn’t Italian-adjacent. He wasn’t Italian sprinkled, Italian infused or produced in a facility that also processed Italians. As far as I know, he had never even rubbed up against an Italian hard enough to leave trace amounts of DNA on him, although this was my big brother Nick, so honestly, anything was possible.
He was half Lebanese and half Irish.
That’s it.
To be fair to Nick, he could pull it off. He had these big, thick, bushy eyebrows, a full shock of black hair and a face that could absolutely pass for Italian, because it turns out when you mix Celtic with Arabic, every once in a while the genetic slot machine spits out a guy who looks like he has cousins in Bensonhurst.
But Nick WANTED to be Italian because Italian was fucking cool. Rocky Balboa was Italian. Tony Manero was Italian. The Italian guys had the gold chains, the Cadillacs, the hair, the unbuttoned shirts and the whole fucking operation.
This was the early eighties, when a Members Only jacket zipped to exactly the right altitude and enough Drakkar Noir to violate local air-quality standards could make a teenage boy feel like he had important business at Satriale’s, and no matter how many times Nick practiced that De Niro stare in the mirror, our family tree remained stubbornly, inconveniently Lebanese and Irish.
So Nick did what any determined adolescent would do when confronted with the immovable obstacle of his own DNA.
He ignored the fuck out of it.
And because I was a kid and he was my big brother, I genuinely wondered whether there was some secret Italian annex to the family tree nobody had bothered to explain to me. Nick was older. Nick knew shit. Nick could drive. Maybe there was a branch from Naples wedged between Beirut and County Cork.
There wasn’t.
Nick was just full of shit.
And God, I miss him.
But Nick accidentally taught me something extremely useful all those years ago.
You can say something over and over and over again. You can dress it up. Accessorize it. Embroider it on a fucking pillow. Have it notarized, laminated and announced by a marching band.
It still doesn’t make it fucking true.
I’ve been dyeing my naturally brunette hair since I was eighteen years old. I can buy every bottle of blonde hair dye at CVS, bleach myself until I’m visible from the fucking International Space Station and demand everybody call me Goldilocks.
I am still not a natural fucking blonde.
Elizabeth Taylor could have walked down the aisle at her eighth wedding in a white dress, carrying lilies and wearing a veil long enough to cover Rhode Island.
It would not have made her a fucking virgin.
Joe the Plumber can slap a sign on the side of his van tomorrow morning that says COLONOSCOPIES $99, put on a white coat, snap on a pair of latex gloves and start introducing himself as Dr. Joe, Board-Certified Ass Specialist.
He is still a fucking plumber, and for the love of God, keep your pants on.
Because wanting something to be true doesn’t make it true.
Calling something by a different name doesn’t make it become whatever the fuck you decided to call it.
And having the president of the United States throw a tantrum and scrawl a new fucking name across an international body of water that was called Lake Ontario before this country even existed does not make it Lake America.
It makes him an asshole with a Sharpie.
But, inexplicably, cartoonishly, beyond fucking parody, here we are, because grievance-glutted, geography-groping, gold-plated gooch stain Donald Trump has decided that being pissed at our closest ally now requires dragging one of the Great Lakes into his latest small-dicked little power trip and ordering the federal government to participate in his hissy fit.
Lake Ontario has managed to exist in my life with remarkable fucking unobtrusiveness. I cannot remember the last time before this week I said its name out loud.
Daily? No.
Weekly? Fuck no.
Monthly? Please.
Yearly? I honestly don’t know.
It’s been sitting up there minding its wet Canadian-American business while I have gone about mine, and we were doing just fine.
Now it has been unwillingly conscripted into the geopolitical equivalent of a jilted ex-girlfriend entering hour seventy-two of a breakup, mascara dried into black skid marks beneath her eyes, one acrylic nail gone, hair glued to the strawberry lip gloss on her cheek, a Virginia Slim drooping from the corner of her mouth, his old T-shirt hanging to her knees, no pants, room-temperature pink screw-top wine wedged between her thighs, surrounded by shredded Walgreens photos, a cracked iPhone, his toothbrush snapped in half, one hoop earring she can’t find the mate to and a damp Kleenex adhered to her calf while she changes his contact name to LYING SMALL-IN-THE-PANTS FUCKFACE IMPOTENT CUNT, blocks him, unblocks him, deletes his number, retrieves it from Recently Deleted and checks every eleventy minutes to see whether he has somehow had a change of heart and wants her back.
He has not.
He’s ghosted her completely and at this point is probably accordion-folded into the back of a fucking Citroën the size of a toaster in the middle of a full-blown NATO gangbang with Emmanuel Macron, Friedrich Merz and Pedro Sánchez while she’s still on the bedroom floor with one tit hanging out of his old T-shirt, refreshing Find My Friends and firing off a succession of slurry voice memos.
FINE. I CUT YOUR FACE OUT OF THE NIAGARA FALLS PICTURES.
I RENAMED THE LAKE WE SHARED.
I WANT MY VCR BACK.
I NEVER EVEN LIKED YOUR MOTHER.
I’M DOING AMAZING.
CALL ME.
This is what currently passes for “diplomacy,” except our rancid little breakup banshee has nuclear codes.
And can you fucking imagine traveling back to 1996 and telling Republicans that within thirty years they’d be red-faced, vein-throbbing, foam-flecked and bellowing CRY HARDER, LIBTARDS because the reality-TV game-show host they put in the Oval Office TWICE had managed to find more warmth for North Korea than Canada and was punishing our closest northern ally by rage-renaming Lake fucking Ontario?
Bob Dole would’ve stared at you like you’d shit in his briefcase.
Pat Buchanan would’ve assumed the Soviets had won.
Rush Limbaugh would’ve checked the label on his painkillers to make sure he hadn’t swallowed the whole bottle before breakfast (again).
And somehow the stupid keeps finding new basement levels.
Because Lake America sounds less like one of the world’s great freshwater bodies than something conceived during a methamphetamine brainstorm behind a shuttered Kmart by the washed-up kid who played “Boy #2” on a 1984 sitcom and now owns three storage units full of stolen copper wire.
It sounds like somebody bought every slide, tube and medieval spinal-injury apparatus Action Park was legally required to dismantle, reassembled the whole tetanus trap somewhere in the Oklahoma Panhandle and started charging five dollars admission, cash only, waiver mandatory.
It sounds like a Foghat cover band playing the Thursday-night grand opening of a daiquiri barn/transmission shop in Slidell, Louisiana, while a guy named Duane sells loose Marlboros beside the Porta-Potty.
It sounds like an educational initiative launched in conjunction with Be Best.
Lake America.
Jesus fucking Christ.
It sounds like something your insurance refuses to cover.
And the red-white-and-bald-eagle ethnonationalist genius caucus polishing its collective knob over the supposedly pristine Americanness of America might enjoy learning that Amerigo Vespucci was Italian, and the German cartographer who put “America” on his 1507 map was working in what is now France.
So this whole freedom-fapping patriotic bukkake is being performed by a flotilla of forehead-forward, cortex-deficient, cerebrally undercapitalized, chromosome-challenged, patriotism-pickled fuckwits defending a European christening honoring an Italian while acting like Canada just took a dump on Betsy Ross.
Fucking magnificent.
Meanwhile, the Epstein files still haven’t been released in full, and Trump’s name is all over material that has come out. People are getting financially flayed at grocery stores and gas pumps. Food is being recalled. Measles is spreading. Critical weapons reserves have been chewed down frighteningly low. And we are six months into an illegal, unconstitutional motherfucking endless war in Iran.
Those are the fucking stakes.
Not some ancient shared expanse of freshwater most of us hadn’t thought about since Christ knows when.
And no, I am not giving Donald Trump credit for some diabolical master plan. He is not Machiavelli. He is impulse in an adult diaper. Appetite without brakes. Ego without a governor. A peckish, perpetually pissed-off emotional hemophiliac with the self-command of a cocaine-addled retainer salesman at a three-day dental convention in Reno.
This isn’t genius.
It’s muscle memory.
Trump has spent his entire public existence marinating in spectacle: tabloids, feuds, bullshit boasts, fake grandeur, ratings, cameras, conflict, attention at any fucking cost. When the audience starts looking elsewhere, make some fresh preposterous declaration and drag every eyeball back toward him.
And somehow the jingoistic, jizz-brained, flag-fondling freedom fetishists are acting like this is OWNING THE LIBS instead of what it actually is: a loud little paperwork stunt the rest of the planet is free to ignore.
That is the whole fucking achievement.
He ordered his own government to play along while Canada keeps calling it Lake Ontario and Trump stomps around on this side of the border like a sunburned, snack-deprived, sippy-cup-slinging toddler who just found out the other kid gets to keep the blue shovel.
He can issue orders.
He can change federal maps.
He can tell every bootlicking, bobbleheaded, brain-dead beneficiary of his bullshit to call it whatever he wants.
Ottawa is not losing sleep.
Nobody is trembling.
Nobody in Paris is clutching their pearls because Donald J. Trump conquered a Microsoft Word document.
And there is something he will never understand because everything inside him is built around possession, permanence and putting his mark on whatever surface happens to be nearest.
You can build a fucking arch. It doesn’t make you Caesar.
You can tear down the East Wing. It doesn’t make the White House yours.
You can slap your name onto the Kennedy Center. It doesn’t make Kennedy disappear.
You can stand beneath a chandelier, shellac yourself in gold and announce a resplendent new epoch of unsurpassed national glory with all the bombast of a bankrupt casino owner unveiling a marble bidet.
It still doesn’t make this a fucking golden age.
We still know what we’re looking at.
And when you’re gone, and that day will be here sooner rather than later, every cheap little territorial scar you carved into this country will be scrubbed, scoured, chiseled, sandblasted and power-washed the fuck off.
The signs will come down.
The plaques will be replaced.
The maps will be corrected.
The names will be restored.
And aside from whatever antibiotic-resistant STD they eventually name after your sorry ass, you will be forgotten.
So enjoy the attention while it lasts, you bloated, blustering, bargain-bin Bonaparte, you spray-tanned shitheel, you grandiose gargoyle, you pustular prince of performative patriotism presiding over another irrelevant little atlas aneurysm.
Because the world is not watching in awe.
It is watching you make an ass of yourself in increasingly larger font.
What the fuck else is new?
And to our friends in Canada: elbows up.
A plurality of the dumbest dumbfucks who ever dumbed inflicted this fucking reality on all of us.
But we will get through it… together. 🇨🇦
0 comments
None Of This Is Unprecented If Your Population Can’t—Or WON’T—Read
0 comments
Americans Are A Continual Embarrassment to America
0 comments
I Did Not Know That! 😉
0 comments
New Spokesperson
0 comments
Trust Me, We Are Okay With That
0 comments
Well… DUH!
0 comments
Dolly was far too kind to tell you this while she was alive, so I will: you and she had little in common. Oh sure, from a distance, it might seem that way, but get a little closer and dig a little deeper and the differences could not be greater…
Dolly loved people, all people.
Unlike you, she loved without qualifiers, catches, caveats, or conditions. Her love did not come with strings or theological hoops or political litmus tests. In Dolly’s no one had to stand outside or prove their worth or earn her decency.
Dolly loved America, real America.
She wasn’t about that flag-waving, Don’t Tread On Me, America First, Christian Nationalism, Send Them Back nonsense you continually peddle as patriotism. Her America was diverse, open-armed, inclusive, and kind; a place where everyone deserved to feel at home.
Dolly was a Christian, a Jesus Christian.
Her deep and abiding faith did not need to be loudly broadcast or worn as a costume. It did not seek to bend anyone to its will. It was not something she wielded like a hammer in forced compliance. Her faith simply and clearly showed up, in an unrestrained love for neighbor that reflected the open-handed, open-hearted compassion of Christ that you mock as toxic.
Dolly believed in family, every family.
A faithful, passionate supporter of the LGBTQ community, Dolly’s advocacy of family was not confined to some rigid, White Evangelical monument to straightness and whiteness. She understood something in the core of her being you never will: that love cannot be limited and will not be hemmed in.
Dolly Parton was not MAGA in any way; she was its beautiful counterpoint.
She was a vaccine-supporting, nature-preserving, book-loving, trans-defending gay icon, and nearly everything she stood for flies fully in the face of the cruel, sneering, exclusionary narcissism of your vile, bloviating, spray-tanned messiah and his hateful movement, which you so joyfully partner in.
Dolly Parton showed respect to every single human being who ever had the good fortune of being in her orbit, whether at arm’s length or from thousands of miles away.
She left everyone feeling seen and heard and loved and respected, regardless of orientation, pigmentation, or nation of origin.
She never saw anyone as an enemy to be defeated, never attempted to gatekeep blessings or opportunity, never demanded that someone earn her decency, and never dehumanized a soul.
Yes, you should aspire to emulate her and endeavor to replicate the generosity and unconditional love she so easily moved through this life with.
And you’re welcome to show her respect and gratitude; in fact, you should.
But please, don’t try to claim her as yours today, MAGA.
She simply wasn’t.
0 comments
🤣 🤣 🤣
1 comments
And While We’re On The Subject…
yesterday afternoon, the White House press pool was summoned to the Oval Bordello for a hastily-organized, unscheduled dog-and-pony show.
when they arrived, there was Preznit Fuckwit, seated behind his Big Boy Resolute Desk, surrounded by his emotional support flunkies and visual aids.
the gathered reporters were all ‘what the fuck?’ — but as word-adjacent noises began to seep from Dear Leader’s rancid anus-mouth, they realized they were about to have their time wasted on the pettiest bullshit imaginable.
“okay, uh, the purpose of this, more than anything else, is we’re gonna be— changing the name of Lake Ontario— effective immediately, to Lake America. that’s gonna take place right now, as I sign the— order.”
oh, for fuck’s sweet sake. seriously? this is what this spite-obsessed imbecile remains laser-focused on, as the world all around us turns to shit?
he’s going to make good on his infantile threat to ‘rename’ a lake — all because Ontario Premier Doug Ford had wounded his precious fee-fees by suggesting Donny might ought to kiss his ass.
as the price of goods and services continues to soar, as the unwinnable clusterfuck in Iran goes on, as sailors starve and armed federal thugs invade our cities, as climate change caused a glacier to fucking collapse, killing hundreds in Nepal, this shithead is wasting everyone’s time on settling scores.
he’s such a child. ‘I’m going to call you Premier Poopyhead, and then you’ll be sorry!’
ace job, Donny. you sure stuck it to Canada. I’ll bet Doug Ford is sorry he ever tried to mess with the Supreme Re-namer of Water.
and — oh look! all the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled media immediately ran back to their desks to dutifully type out what Dear Leader had decreed.
here we go again, and it’s all so predictably stupid. Donny does something pants-shittingly imbecilic, and the press falls all the fuck over itself in a mad dash to normalize it.
‘of course a president would rename a body of water out of spite. why wouldn’t he? it’s the most perfectly reasonable thing in the world.’
we need to step back — because first of all, Donny’s executive order ass-clownery didn’t actually change the name of shit.
can I just remind everyone of something that the worthless scribs seem to have forgotten?
executive orders are not laws.
Executive orders are issued from the executive branch of the government, specifically the U.S. President. An executive order is not a law in the sense that it does not go through the legislative process. It is not binding on everyone, only on employees of the executive branch.
got that? none of Donny’s moronic EOs are actually laws, and no one has to abide by them except the poor unfortunate schnooks who work in the executive branch.
you or I don’t have do shit.
but wait — Mapquest upped its game. they’ve created their own Lake Ontario Name Generator, and you can access it here: https://gulfof.mapquest.com/lakeontario.
how’d I do?
Donny hasn’t actually stuck it to anyone. no one outside of the MAGAverse and the media gives a shit about his nonsensical royal decrees. the entire world is laughing at the embarrassing antics of America’s Boy King as he quite publicly pisses his pants — and the stupid fuck thinks he’s winning.
Canadian PM Mark Carney, can you step in here for a quick minute and explain to my nice readers how Lake Ontario got its name?
The name Lake Ontario comes from the Wendat word Ontari’io, which, appropriately, means “the lake is beautiful, the lake is big”.
The name is more than 400 years old, predating both the Confederation of Canada and the Declaration of Independence of the United States of America.
We know that America is changing. Their trading relationships, their foreign policies, their national monuments, their hydronyms.
Canadians also know that naming reality means calling it Lake Ontario – then, now and always.
Donny doesn’t know any of that shit. nor does he care. all he knows is that the dude who runs Ontario was very very mean to him, and so now all patriotic Americans are forever forbidden from saying its name.
it’s all so eternally moronic.
it’s stunning how quickly the entire Donnysphere has risen up as one to demonize the nation of Canada. tell me it’s not a cult.
last week, nobody gave a shit about Canada. they were simply America’s hat, quietly doing whatever the hell is it they do up there, above the 49th Parallel. this week, they’re the Evil Red Menace to our north.
listen to Fox News’ Own Plankhead of the Airwaves. he’s practically foaming at the mouth.
“all of this is a warning what will happen to our country sixty-nine days from now, if radicalized Democrats get their way, and win the midterms. Canada’s become so woke, so far left, so anti-Trump, so radical socialist left, they have become crazy climate alarmists, and they’re wrapped up in this idiotic land acknowledgement whatever scheme of theirs, gender theory, that they seem to view communism, and, yeah, the communist Chinese as a better partner than the US.”
that’s right, Mr and Mrs America — while you were innocently asleep in your beds, the entire nation of Canada turned communist.
I knew it. I knew these fucking lumberjacks were commies the first time I laid eyes on them.
if an unpopular president choosing to gin up a pointless war with Canada in order to distract everyone from his own failures sounds familiar, that’s because it is. it’s the plot of the 1995 comedy Canadian Bacon.
The plot of the 1995 satirical comedy film Canadian Bacon centers on an American President with a low approval rating who decides to start a cold war against Canada to boost his popularity.
for decades, Canadian Bacon was notable only for being John Candy’s final role prior to his untimely death.
now, it’s a guidebook for an administration that’s already been using 1984 and The Handmaid’s Tale as instruction manuals.
lucky us.
and now, Canada has the chance to do the funniest thing ever.
the Welland Canal is the only shipping route between the American side of Lake Erie and the Canadian side of Lake Ontario. approximately 26.3 billion dollars’ worth American goods travels through the Canal every year.
it’d be a real shame if Canada were to rename the Welland Canal to, oh, say, the Strait of Our Moose, and close it down.
and now for your Hero of the Day: the reporter who, while asking Doug Ford a question, accidentally botched the name of our granny-starving Secretary of Commerce.
“you talked yesterday in your interviews about how you’re confident that a deal can be reached, but today you were talking about the problems that people like Howard Nutlick— Howard Lutnick and other members of the administration present.”
tee fucking hee. you just know that everyone calls this him ‘Nutlick’ in private. it was only a matter of time before someone slipped up in public.
sorry Howie. ‘Nutlick’ is canon now.
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.
0 comments
Pass This Around
addielamarr.sh: I’ve been preaching this stuff for years and I’M TIRED GRANDPA. So here’s a few ways I personally poison my own data.
A loyalty card you signed up for at 17 still describes you (in GREAT DETAIL). An app you opened 2x is still deciding what gets sold to you 1 yr later. And the delete button turns out to be a request that a data broker is allowed to decline.
Fine. If we can’t take it back we CAN make it worthless.
Swap your grocery loyalty card with a stranger, and the profile stops describing anybody. Run AdNauseam, which blocks ads and theN clicks ALL of them, and which Google threw out of the Chrome Web Store in 2017. Fake a pregnancy, because it’s the most expensive category you can be sorted into, the one Target built a 25-product model to catch. Give every company a slightly different version of your info, so when the junk mail arrives you know exactly who sold you. Ask Alexa about things you’d never buy, because advertisers bid up to 30x higher on someone who talks to a smart speaker (peer-reviewed, ACM IMC 2023).
BONUS STRATEGIES:
Open Google’s My Ad Center and tell it you want MORE ads about things you would never purchase in your life. It’ll believe you.
TrackMeNot fires randomized searches from your browser all day so your real ones sit buried in the pile. Built at NYU after AOL leaked the search history of 650,000 people.
Glaze and Nightshade alter your photos so AI scrapers read them wrong. Glaze has passed 6 million downloads.
All of it’s legal, and it works better the more people do it. A million corrupted profiles = a broken product.
Send this to someone who’s tired of this bs timeline too.
0 comments
Oh SNAP!
0 comments
pour one out for the colicky piss-baby in the Oval Bordello. he’s going through some things right now.
you see, when the inside of one’s head is a decaying rat’s nest of frayed nerve endings, hot-wired to a lizard brain-stem where a cerebral cortex would normally be, one’s ability to respond rationally to the slings and arrows of daily life becomes rather compromised.
which is why, when Ontario Premier Doug Ford suggested that our American president might ought to kiss his ass, Preznit Fuckwit — instead of laughing it off, or ignoring it and getting on with his day, as any normal human being might have done — shat himself raw onto his crappy app.
it’s also why, after Canada announced their own second round of retaliatory 50% tariffs on American goods, Donny failed to pick up the phone and call Canadian PM Carney to work out their differences, as any effective leader would have done. instead, our Doughy Pantload-in-Chief and his weird stalker-slash-diaper-nurse spent an entire morning shit-posting anti-Canada dumbfuckery.
The United States is giving serious consideration to changing the name of Lake Ontario to Lake America in that we don’t expect to be doing much business with Ontario any longer. Thank you for your attention to this matter! President DONALD J. TRUMP
yeah, let’s do that. let’s rename a body of water. what an awesome idea. that’ll show those moose-hugging hosers we mean business.
Donny no notion of how to defuse a situation. he only knows how to make things worse.
you know, if Donny had spent this much time and expended this much effort into negotiating an actual trade deal with Canada, we’d already have one by now.
but that would have meant doing actual hard work — and Donny doesn’t want to do the hard work. Jon Ossoff had it exactly right: all Donny really wants to do is build his vulgar Epstein Dance Hall, and travel with his beloved Natalie.
here’s the real problem: Donny has no fucking idea how to negotiate. the only language he speaks is bully. everything has to be his way, or there’s no deal at all. that’s not negotiating — that’s just being an asshole.
Canada has figured this shit out, and they — along with Iran — have called Donny’s bluff, told him to go fuck himself, and Donny hasn’t a single clue how to extricate himself from the messes he created.
Canada and Iran have broken what’s let of Donny rotting brain.
you know, this tweet from 2022 might be the truest thing I’ve ever posted to social media.
your reminder that the real culprits in all of this are the producers of The Apprentice, who took a bankrupt imbecile with no impulse control and the attention span of a coked-up squirrel and peddled him to millions of gullible dopes as ThE sMaRtEsT bUsInEsSmAn In ThE uNiVeRsE
fun fact: when Mark Burnett needed a host for the show he was developing, The Apprentice, he first approached actual successful business leaders — people like Jack Welch, Warren Buffett, and Richard Branson — and they all turned him down. they didn’t have time for stupid game-show-host bullshit. they had real businesses to run.
only Donny said yes — because he had run all of his businesses straight into the ground, and he had all the time in the world to hang out in a television studio.
it also helped that he was a malignant, desperate-for-attention narcissist.
so Burnett plucked Donny off the Big Shitpile of Failure, dusted him off, and for fourteen years, sold America a total bill of goods.
listen up, stupids: Trump the Businessman is a character he played on a TV show. Trump the Actual Human Being is a malevolent moron who failed at every single venture except conning you. that you can’t tell the difference is why America is now a shithole country, thanks a lot.
and, spoiler alert: Donny was shit at being a game how host. he was the same impulsive idiot back then that he is is now. The Apprentice had to be heavily cut-and-pasted to hide the dumbfuck decisions he made, and make him seem rational.
and then there was Donny’s habit of casually blurting out the n-word.
so here we are, two decades later, and this lifelong loser who literally couldn’t sell water in the desert is now running America straight into the ground — all because some heavily-edited game show convinced millions of dumbfucks that this moron-with-a-catchphrase was the answer.
lucky us. it’s so much fun to be living in the bestest-possible timeline.
and now Donny has clownfucked himself — and us — into two major disasters that he has neither the skill-set, temperament, or intellect to solve.
all he can do is impotently yell and scream and post stupid bullshit onto his crappy app — and there’s nobody around who can successfully edit Donny into being a president who isn’t a complete moron.
lucky us.
oh, and Doug Ford and Rep. Debbie Dingell had the best responses to Donny’s infantile threat to rename Lake Ontario.
now, this seems kind of bad.
A series of firings and feuds initiated by Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has left the Army essentially rudderless as it struggles to deal with the threat posed by cheap, deadly drones and missiles that have pounded U.S. bases in the Middle East.
how do you fuck that up?
now, I don’t know shit about running a military, but it seems like you’re going to want some generals around, if you expect to any win the wars you’ve blundered yourself into.
but you know who else doesn’t know shit about running a military? Piss-Drunk Pete Kegstand, Donny’s Secretary of Death — and that’s the real problem.
Piss-Drunk Pete is what happens when there’s nobody around to heavily edit the shitty hiring decisions of a failed game show host.
it’s bad enough that Pete has squandered the military’s supply of missiles. now he’s squandered our supply of generals. who the fuck allows that to happen?
Pete has a thousand ideas about running the Pentagon, and all of them are wrong — because he’s a high-on-his-own-supply idiot who is in way too far over his head.
any actual savvy businessman would have fired Pete’s ass six weeks into his job, when he butt-texted classified war plans to a reporter. the first time Pete stared yammering about t-levels, any competent leader would have been all ‘fuck outta here with that superstitious mumbo-jumbo,’ and shitcanned him, pronto.
fuck, any competent leader would have never hired him in the first place. Pete owes his whole job to the fact that his boss is an easily-conned dipshit who values looks and loyalty over competence.
this guy isn’t even fit to flip a skateboard up into his own nuts. no, wait — that’s the one thing Pete actually can do.
Dolly Parton has left the building, and what can I say about this genuinely good person that hasn’t already been said by those far more eloquent than I?
It’s hard to imagine many people having a bigger impact than Dolly Parton. Born in a one-room cabin, she earned 11 Grammys and an Emmy, built a business empire, helped millions of kids learn to read, and — as if that wasn’t enough — helped accelerate the research that led to the Moderna COVID vaccine. What a life. Michelle and I are thinking of Dolly’s family and her many, many fans.
so let me just point out my own favorite thing about Dolly.
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.
0 comments
Right?!
0 comments
Oh, SNAP!
0 comments
Listen Up, You MAGA Fools
0 comments
Well That’s a Follow!
Does Anyone Know How Shitler Responded?
0 comments
‘wake up, babe — a new trade war with Canada just dropped.’
I’m sorry, a new what with who?
‘a trade war. with Canada.’
why the fuck would we want that? Canadians are the nicest people in the world, and Canada’s been our closest ally and trading partner since like forever.
‘because our president is a fucking idiot, babe. he’s a malignant toad who can’t imagine a world where people — or countries — have mutually-beneficial relationships. everything has to be winners and losers. so he ginned up some bullshit story about Canada being so unfair, because reasons, and smacked them with a fifty percent tariff.’
so how did Canada respond to that?
‘they pretty much told Donny to eat an entire bag of dicks.’
Canadian PM Mark Carney: “last evening, I instructed our negotiators to return to Ottawa. we cannot accept what they’ve offered, and we will not give what they’ve asked.”
holy shit, is there any relationship that Donny can’t screw up?
look who he sent to negotiate on America’s behalf: that out-of-touch, granny-starving plutocrat, Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick — the dude who actually said that if your Social Security check doesn’t show up, suck it up and don’t be a whiner.
sending an uncaring dipshit like Lutnick to negotiate trade with Canada makes about as much sense as sending those two dumbfuck slumlords, Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner, to negotiate peace with with Iran — and it looks like Lutnick sure did a bang-up job.
reporter: “was Howard Lutnick’s involvement in the last days an impediment to getting a deal?”
Carney: “it’s a question for the US administration… but I will say this, which is that the Canadian team, unified — the individuals you see here, their team members, our ambassador in Washington, my chief of staff, unified, talking together, everyone in the loop, everyone knows what our objectives are. you cannot say that about the United States administration.”
sounds like it was a real clown show, doesn’t it? why am I unsurprised that the US negotiating team couldn’t get their act together?
as always, the incompetence starts at the top, with Dear Leader. Donny has the attention span of a flea, and the impulse control of a coked-up squirrel.
he changes his mind as often as Nurse Natty changes his diaper. he was probably on the phone with Lutnick every half hour, with a new set of demands.
Carney says last minute demands from U.S. included language to restrict Canada’s ability to make other trade deals, which is of course nuts and Ottawa was right to walk away.
why the fuck would Canada agree to a deal that limited their ability to make other deals? that’s absolutely crazypants — and that’s the kind of shit Donny was trying to force on them, at the last minute.
come on, Canada is like the politest country in the world — and now even they loathe us.
look at this chunk from a statement issued by Prime Minister Carney.
We have recognised from the beginning that America has changed, and that we will not return to our old relationship.
ace job, Donny. you haven’t just screwed up your relationship with Canada — you’ve screwed it up for future presidents. why should anyone trust us any more?
it takes years to establish trust with a partner nation, and only an instant to destroy it — and once you fuck that up, it’s gone. game over, man.
you can add our once-genial neighbor to the north to the long list of countries that have farted in Dear Leader’s general direction, and then told him to fuck straight off.
France. Italy. Germany. Denmark. Greenland. all the NATO nations. South Korea. and, of course, Iran.
Donny’s gone out of his way to antagonize Canada. why? because they won’t roll over and become our 51st state? why the fuck should they, what’s in it for them?
so now, Canadian goods coming into America will be tariffed at 50%, and, beginning September 8, American goods coming in to Canada will be tariffed at that same 50% rate.
and, as always, We the People will bear the brunt of this clownfuckery. everything will become more expensive, and we’ll have one fewer friend in this world — all because Dear Leader is a colicky piss-baby who explodes with rage if he doesn’t get his way.
oh look, here’s another member of Donny’s ace team of parking garage negotiators. it’s trade representative Jamieson Greer, speaking in classic abuser language, as he tries to cast the United States as the real victim in all this.
Fox News bobblehead: “so, what do you think will happen from here? will trade talks get back on track?”
Greer: “it’s hard to say. we don’t have new talks planned. we’re moving forward with measures that respond to Canadian retaliation.”
dear lord. it’s a trade war, but with morons.
oh, so this is all Canada’s fault. how dare they retaliate. how dare they object to being our fifty-first state. how dare they ask for coherent tariff policies. how dare they expect Donny to be a reliable trading partner who doesn’t go back on his word, over and over.
look, Prime Minister Carney — if that even is your real name —that’s not how the Mad King and his Royal Court roll, bro.
oh, and here’s Donny, having a perfectly normal one at 1:06 this morning.
Canada wants the benefits of being a State, without being one!!! They have also charged our great farmers, for many years, massive amounts of Tariffs. No more!!! President DJT.
what does that even mean, ‘Canada wants the benefits of being a State, without being one’? I’m sure that somewhere inside Donny’s worm-chewed pudding-brain, there’s a point he imagines he’s making, but he’s too cognitively-collapsed to express it.
he’s such a fucking embarrassment.
here’s your hero of the day: the homey who showed up at a San Diego City Council meeting dressed as Darth Vader, to explain that the Emperor is a huge fan of Flock cameras, the janky, six-fingered surveillance devices currently being abused by police departments coast to coast.
“the Emperor is a fan of Flock, and we must continue utilizing Flock technologies so that we can follow and surveil the rebel scum as they move from playground to playground, from playground to pool, from pool to gymnasium — because we all know that the Flock cameras are not only following the license plate readers, they are following children. they are following children in parks and gymnasiums, and we need this. I need this so I can stalk my ex-girlfriend.”
I don’t know who this dude is, but he’s perfect. Flock technology is an evil tool of oppression, and having Darth Vader endorse it is ten out of ten. chef’s kiss. no notes.
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.
0 comments
Hypocrisy, That’s Why
as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
monday: pick me a green one
have you ever wondered how Piss-Drunk Pete Kegstand, America’s Secretary of Death, achieves that perfectly-coiffed wave of hair atop his head? well, it turns out that Pete’s big secret is a generous application of nostril sauce.
did you catch what Pete did there? he wiped his nose and then, in the same motion, ran his snot-infused hand through his hair.
ugh. Pete — what the hell? bro, you’re on camera. are you higher than a fucking kite right now?
were you raised by wolves?
if ever shit needed to be giffed for posterity’s sake, that time is now.
Jesus fucking wept.
tuesday: oh, please
as you watch what just might be the cringiest video ever shat out by a six-fingered plagiarism robot, keep in mind that it was posted to not-twitter by the Space Nazi himself.
oh my god, look at this fucktastic nightmare fuel. I’d rather be caught on camera rubbing snots in my hair, than be seen posting this infantile drivel.
eww. just eww.
wouldn’t you be embarrassed to post such a thing about yourself? I mean, I’m embarrassed for the Space Nazi, just from watching this piece of shit.
I also just threw up in my own mouth a little.
imagine being so fragile and needy, that you need this kind of constant validation; this constant need to prove to the world how awesome you are.
shouldn’t being a fucking trillionaire be its own self-validation?
dude has all the money. he could be doing anything right now. literally anything. he could be having experiences that you or I could only dream about. instead, he spends hits entire life broadcasting his bottomless need for affirmation onto his own Nazi bar and child porn emporium.
that’s just fucking sad.
oh, and here you go, Elon — the internet fixed it for you
wednesday: Obama turned me into a newt
it’s heartening to learn that in the MAGAverse, the answer to ‘why are bad’isn’t always ‘because Joe Biden.’
sometimes it’s ‘because Obama.’
Jason Selvig of the Good Liars: “are you worried about high gas prices?”
cultist: “no. no… we’ve seen worse, haven’t we?”
Selvig: “do you blame Trump for the high gas prices?”
cultist: “no, I blame what’s happening in Ukraine— er, I mean Iran. I’m sorry. I blame what’s going on in Iran.”
Selvig: “what’s happening in Iran?”
cultist: “uh, all the, all the, uh, um, ships being stopped, the oil being stopped. [trails off] I’m getting confused.”
Selvig: “but that’s all stopped because Trump went to war with Iran.”
cultist: “got to stop what they’re doing. do we want a— do we want a nuclear explosion? because that’s what they’re gonna do. we all know that. we all know that they had the power to do that. we want some isotopes, too. we want to see who did that, which we know is Obama.”
Selvig: “Obama did what?”
cultist: “he gave them the, um— [motions uselessly with her hands].”
this is what we’re up against, folks. this woman’s brain is so MAGA-pickled that she dutifully parrots all of Dear Leader’s talking points — but if you ask her to explain just what it is that Barack HUSSEIN Obama did, she can’t do it. she has no fucking clue what she’s supposed to be so mad about.
also: ‘we want some isotopes.’
we do? I didn’t even know that isotopes were on our national shopping list. someone should ask MAGA to explain what an isotope is. I’m pretty sure the answer you’ll get is ‘it’s that sportsballs team from The Simpsons.’
Jesse Watters: “if Democrats do win the midterms, is Trump getting impeached again?”
JD Vance: “I’m sure he’ll get impeached.”
don’t threaten us with a good time, Couchfuck.
“look, they have nothing to actually run on or govern on.”
oh, please do fuck straight off, JD. you’re accusing-confessing again. it’s you fascist fuckadoodle-doos who have nothing to run on. look at what you’ve got. high gas prices. unaffordable groceries. masked federal goons shooting anyone who looks at them funny. a fucking shit-geyser epidemic, for fuck’s sake. you can’t possibly run on any of that. that’s why every other word out of your mouth is ‘communist.’ it’s all you’ve got.
“their entire obsessive focus is that they hate Donald Trump.”
you say that like it’s a bad thing.
friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™
on Friday, some fucking idiot had just one item on his public agenda — a campaign rally for Bruce Blakeman, the future answer to the Trivia Night question that no one will be able to remember: ‘who ran against Kathy Hochul for Governor of New York in 2026?’
I mean, I had to look it up just now, because I couldn’t dredge up his name, twenty-four hours later.
I have to agree with Molly Ploofkins here: ‘why are these uniformed police officers attending a partisan political rally in the middle of the workday?’
the fucking idiot took it upon himself to remind everyone that he’s way too into young girls.
Trump: “These young, beautiful girls. These young, beautiful girls. These young, beautiful girls in the White House. You know, they come in. Now, I’m not supposed to say beautiful, but what the hell? These young, these gorgeous, beautiful girls, they want to be safe.”
the fucking idiot bragged about making your life worse.
Trump: For you to pay a tiny, little bit more for your gas, just remember it’s so that an evil country cannot have a nuclear weapon. Remember that when you have to pay a little bit more. You’re at $4. It’s okay. I’ll never apologize. I did the right thing.
I’m not even sure what the fucking idiot’s point is here.
Trump: They keep talking about ‘affordability, affordability,’ and then they started screaming affordability, and you know I made the statement, but they always misread it, but I said the Democrats saying that is a hoax because they’re the ones that caused the affordability.
so, the Democrats caused ‘the affordability’? I guess that’s … bad?
the fucking idiot’s rancid anus-mouth made promises that reality isn’t going to allow him to keep.
Trump says that after Iran is defeated he’s going to declare the Strait of Hormuz a territory of the United States
keep dreaming, you fucking idiot. how’s stealing the Strait even supposed to work?
but the fucking idiot’s lowest moment came on the tarmac before the event, when he told the five thousand sailors who have been trapped aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln for the last eight months, without milk, fresh food, fully-functioning toilets, or even a day off, to pretty much go fuck themselves.
Reporter: Family members of service members are concerned about conditions on the Lincoln.
Trump: No they’re not.
Reporter: Has the deployment gone on too long?
Trump: No. Not nearly long enough.
and, despite the fucking idiot having had the nerve to say that in front of every member of the White House press corps, not one reporter stood up to ask, ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’
how fucking idiotic is that?
this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:
practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.
to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.
we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.
Everything is broken, isn’t it?
0 comments
Vomiting It All Up
the performative screech-monkeys of the entire wingnut outrage-industrial complex are shitting themselves raw over the mere existence of Michigan Democratic Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed, and I am so fucking here for how he’s kicking their tiresome asses in response.
El-Sayed is so good at this. listen to him tee off on that doughy pantload, Couchfuck McGee.
“is that Peter Thiel’s boy, with that Ohio charisma he’s got? I think we’ve had enough of him. the last thing that he said that made any sense was Hillbilly Elegy — after he said that Donald Trump had no business being president of anything. that was the last time he made sense, and then he decided to suck up to power. but that’s exactly what this is about. you got Republicans who will do anything for power and money, including corrupt their office.”
as I’ve said before, Abdul El-Sayed sounds like one of us. he’s snarky as fuck. he does everything we’d want him to in that clip but refer to JD Vance as ‘that doughy pantload Couchfuck McGee.’
we’ve all seen the video of Abdul commenting on Dear Leader’s diaper-filling habits, but let’s play it again, because it’s oh-so-satisfyingly good
Sky News reporter: “[Trump] says you’re full of shit.”
Abdul El-Sayed: “at least I don’t let mine go in the middle of the Oval Office.”
Abdul also wins at social media.
“I know it’s complicated for you, habibi. I’m happy to teach you how this works at our next debate…if you’re not too much a coward to debate me.”
‘habibi,’ by the way, is the Arabic word for ‘my beloved’ — and El-Sayed is employing it sarcastically, in the same way southerners say ‘bless your heart.’
but he’s not just a snark factory. he’s thoughtful. listen to him explain how the dumbfuck exercise videos farted out by Piss-Drunk Pete and Bobby Brainworms are just a hollow version of masculinity.
you asked me about like Pete Hegseth and RFK, that, like, they’re trying to speak to this particular group of people, and it ends up trying to like, again, just create one more performance that is like, the way to be a masculine person. and you know, as we’ve thought about it on the campaign, [lifting weights] is something that I’ve always done — but a lot of what I’m trying to do is be like hey, look, being a man is not about how you show up at the gym. it’s like how you show up for your family. it’s about how you show up in your community.”
El-Sayed gets it. you show up — for your family, for your community, and for your country. do you think Piss-Drunk Pete or Brainworms have ever shown up for anyone but themselves? of fucking course they haven’t.
as always, the moral rot starts at the top. Dear Leader loves only three things in this world: money, power, and his own porcine self — and not necessarily in that order. he’s the fucking president, and not once has he ever put his country ahead of his own greedy self-interest.
you know who else gets it? New York City’s islamocommunofascist Mayor, Zohran Mamdani.
If it looks like an Amazon delivery and drives like an Amazon delivery, then it’s an Amazon delivery, right? Not according to Amazon. Big companies like Amazon have built a vast network of subcontractors who deliver their packages while shielding them from accountability. It leaves our workers unprotected and our streets less safe. It’s time for a change. I’m proud to support the Delivery Protection Act to crack down on exploitative subcontracting and build an economy that works for everyone.
Mamdani, too, is so fucking good at this. it’s like he was made for standing in front of a camera.
but Zohran’s not just a pretty face. he wants to build a better world, and level the playing field for everyone. that’s why, as he explains in that video, he’s backing legislation that would force Amazon to stop reclassifying their drivers as independent contractors, which enables Amazon to weasel out of providing them benefits such as healthcare.
you know who else is good at this? Wisconsin Rep. Francesca Hong.
reporter: “were you prepared for this intense pushback you received, especially from Republicans, framing you as far too extreme for Wisconsin?”
Francesca Hong: “what’s extreme is Congressman Tiffany, a long-time DC Congressman, has voted against the interests of Wisconsinites over and over again. what’s extreme is that he’s an election denier. what’s extreme is that he continues to protect Epstein and pedophiles.”
Wisconsin Democrats really biffed it when they failed to pick Hong to be their candidate for Governor in yesterday’s primary. don’t make me come over there, Wisconsin, and explain how badly you just fucked up.
Democratic Socialists like El-Sayed, Mamdani and Hong — they’re not just twenty-four-seven charisma generators.
they get it. they get what’s wrong with America: government is broken. politics is broken. late-stage capitalism is broken. none of that shit works for We the People any more.
and if you needed any more proof that everything is fucked all to shit, did you know that Fishin’ Trip Sammy Alito has been enriching himself off the cases he’s been ruling on?
The supreme court justice Samuel Alito gained up to $2.9m from his fossil fuel interests between 2005 and 2024, a new review of financial disclosures shows.
The findings come as the supreme court prepares to take up a case in which the oil companies Suncor Energy and Exxon asked the justices to find that federal law prevents subnational governments from filing lawsuits against fossil fuel producers for the climate-warming effects of their products.
what kind of shithole country allows this to happen? what kind of shithole country looks the other way while corrupt judges rake in the dough like it’s going out of style?
this is the kind of fuckery we used to mock tinpot third-world autocracies for. congratulations, America, you’re some penny-ante kleptocratic backwater. we’re number one!
it’s bad enough that Fishin’ Trip Sammy goes on all-expenses-paid luxury vacations with the oligarchs who tell him how to vote. now we’re finding out that Sammy’s been fattening his own wallet all along.
how fucking broken is that?
Republicans are scared shitless right now. they know that their policies totally fucking suck, and that they’re going to get creamed in the upcoming midterms — and so they’re lying their fucking faces off about the Democratic Socialist agenda.
“they’re crazy enough, yes. they want to cancel Thanksgiving, they want to cancel Christmas. look, these communists hate America. they hate capitalism. El-Sayed is also an Islamist, as is Mamdani, and look, you’ve seen the green-red convergence, where the communists and the Islamists, they want Sharia law, they hate Jews, they hate Christians, they hate capitalism, they hate America.”
shut the fuck up, Esteemed Senator Fidel Cancun. none of that that shit is true, and you fucking well know it. well, except for the part about hating capitalism. so we’ll give you that one, beardo. ace job, Ted — you got one right. take a victory lap.
El-Sayed, Mamdani and Hong grew up in this world that no longer works for We the People, and they’re fucking well tired of it. they’re tired of Republicans who work only for their oligarch overloads. they’re tired of watching Preznit Fuckwit and his felonious family rob this country blind. they’re tired of useless Democratic establishment lumps like Chuck Schumer writing one strongly-worded letter after another. let me tell you where you can stick those letters, Chuck.
Democratic Socialists like El-Sayed, Mamdani and Hong have decided that if anyone’s going to fix this shit, they themselves are going to be the ones to do it.
they’ve earned our support.
fuck yeah.
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.
0 comments