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Shitposting since 2005


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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.
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femininstnewsnow: Everything this man touches turns to manure.
As if wrecking the economy weren’t enough. As if launching an unauthorized, disastrous war in Iran weren’t enough. As if picking a trade fight with Canada weren’t enough. As if planning a $200 million ballroom bunker weren’t enough.
Now, the destruction has come for the trees.
The majestic weeping willows outside the Kennedy Center—part of the beauty of Washington’s public landscape—have reportedly been destroyed. It comes just weeks after iconic cherry trees were cut down near the National Links to clear space for a larger golf course where private tournaments could be held.
This is the pattern: public treasures sacrificed for private vanity. Institutions hollowed out. Alliances strained. Nature bulldozed. And always, somehow, the priorities seem to lead back to spectacle, self-enrichment, and a bigger stage for one man.
Our country’s landmarks, public spaces, economy, and relationships with allies are not props. They do not belong to any president’s ego.
He won’t stop until he’s destroyed the entire country.
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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. 🇨🇦

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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.
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Why else do you think he wants that bunker under the Ballroom?
He has no intention of leaving, regardless of the outcome of the election.
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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.
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