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That Was My Reaction Too
Trump banned CNN, MSNOW, and Politico from the White House on Friday in response to media coverage he doesn’t like. This morning, all three filed legal challenges arguing that this was a blatant violation of the First Amendment. (See also: fork found in kitchen.)
Then the major TV networks turned the cameras off in solidarity.
In practice, that meant that Trump’s ribbon cutting ceremony was broadcast with no audio; only static buzzed atop footage of the coronation of his precious helipad. But more broadly, it means that we’ve crossed the rubicon in Trump’s ongoing and interminable war with our free press.
At long last, the media seems to have finally woken up to the fact that they are stronger together than they are fighting individual one-off battles against Trump in the most cowardly ways possible. Like, for example, by heaping millions of dollars to settle frivolous lawsuits into his pockets. Caving to Trump’s demands doesn’t advance their position. All it does is prove to him that they are weak, that he owns them, and that he can make them cave again.
That’s what he was betting would happen this time. It hasn’t.
Rather than retreating to their newsrooms to tie themselves in knots trying to regain access to the White House, these outlets banded together to fight back. CNN, MSNOW, and Politico have filed the legal challenges. The White House TV pool suspended its coverage. That means no White House event footage from ABC, CBS, CNN, NBC, or even Fox News.
While I certainly believe that depriving Trump of his precious microphones and cameras is an appropriate consequence for his actions, let’s be clear: this isn’t about retaliation. This isn’t a strategy or a negotiating tactic or even a punishment. This is the media taking the necessary step of organizing to demand the reinstatement of CNN, MSNOW, and Politico because press freedom is fundamental in this country and there is no other option. We have a first amendment right to a free press in the United States. Period.
So yes, the product of this move is that Trump will surrender the attention that he so desperately craves, but we don’t actually need to justify this any more than recognizing the fact that the Constitution affords Americans an assurance that the government will not attempt to ban the free press.
I wish it didn’t take two years into this autocratic president’s second term for the media to learn how to respond to these attacks. I wish we didn’t have to watch news outlets offer millions of dollars to this president to curry favor with him. I wish we didn’t have to wait for the AP to win a lawsuit in front of a district court judge before they were allowed back into the Press Briefing Room for the crime of calling the Gulf of Mexico the Gulf of Mexico. I wish, I wish, I wish.
Eventually, though, we landed at a place where legacy media finally learned the value of organizing to protect press freedom, understanding that banning one or two or three outlets effectively gives Trump tacit permission to ban anyone who doesn’t curry favor with him. It gives any future president tacit permission to ban anyone who doesn’t curry favor with them. The pendulum swings both ways, after all.
So while I understand that most people (myself included) will applaud the fact that Trump has effectively silenced himself and recognize that that’s a pretty damn effective strategy to get this media hound of a president to very quickly change course, that is not why the press is doing it, nor should it be why the press is doing it. The only justification that’s needed here is that we have a fundamental First Amendment right to press freedom in this country.
That alone is worth fighting for.
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I’ve seen some stupid shit in my life.
I watched an absolutely shitfaced grown-ass man sprint down a cobblestone street with both hands jammed in his pockets, entrusting his entire dental future to the footwork of a man who couldn’t have successfully operated a juice box. And I watched him go down mouth-first, having selected his fucking incisors as his preferred landing gear, and at least two teeth skittered into the gutter like loose Chiclets while his hands remained safely tucked away.
Thank God. Wouldn’t want to hurt a finger.
I watched a car full of teenagers flip off a state trooper because they’d mistaken the median between the local and express roadways for an international fucking border. Just a sedan stuffed with middle fingers and fully unearned confidence, cruising through the sovereign republic of Suck My Dick. And I watched that median end about four-fifths of a mile later. A tragically short republic.
(Okay, that was me.)
I watched a woman get so homesick for the house she grew up in that she roasted a marshmallow on a metal fork over her New York City stove, then put that fork directly into her fucking mouth. An adult. With voting rights. I heard the sizzle. Four little grill marks on her lip like she’d tried to French-kiss a panini press.
(OK, that one was me too, but you take my point.)
I’ve seen some (and done some) dumb shit.
But I have never seen anything as fucking dumb as this.
Because Donald Trump — that bunker-brained, bronzer-basted, bullshit-buttressed baron of bad taste, that swollen sultan of stucco, that fat Satan in a forty-inch fucking tie — is now saying he wants to put SNIPERS on his preposterous, pitiful, piteous, piss-poor, please-love-me participation trophy. 👇
Apparently the evil genius plan, temporarily not involving sharks with laser beams, though it’s early yet, is to recycle the exact same bullshit he used on the ballroom he wasn’t allowed to build to “make the case” for the arch he isn’t allowed to build.
You know. That two-hundred-and-fifty-foot, taxpayer-tapping, tomb-adjacent tribute to his own tremendous self.
That gargantuan, gold-leafed, grief-trampling gateway to a cemetery. A hundred million dollars of our money, fifteen million of it already shoveled out the door by the National Endowment for the fucking Humanities, to bolt a slab of granite to himself at the front gates of Arlington National Cemetery.
And he can’t help himself, because a hunk of rock is the only erection this man has ever gotten to stay upright past the thirty-second mark, and the entire planet already knows it.
But “please clap for my concrete cock” is a tough sell, so now his architectural schmeckle insecurity needs a military escort.
And he can’t even respect us enough to come up with a halfway decent lie. Just plops this down in front of us like a cat presenting a dead mouse and waits for somebody to tell him he’s a good boy:
“At the strong request of the United States Military.”
Oh, absolutely. The military begged.
And I’m a natural fucking blonde virgin who doesn’t drink and once fainted because somebody said “darn” at a christening.
Are we supposed to believe the Pentagon came to him, unprompted, hats in hand, medals trembling against their big military nipples, to request permission to stuff his taxpayer-funded stone stiffy full of drones, gunmen and live rounds?
“Please, sir. We’ve exhausted every other option. The security of the republic depends on making your decorative doorway shoot people.”
And he “agreed”. Bless his selfless little bone spurs. Imagine the courage it took to sit there and let a room full of four-stars explain that the thing he’d been whining for since last spring was actually his solemn duty to the nation.
You can practically hear the generals choking back tears.
“Our men can’t spend another Christmas without somewhere to store their tactical narcissist. Morale is collapsing. Sergeant Johnson hasn’t seen a gilded cornice in eight months.”
Next thing you know, the Joint Chiefs are standing around a conference table pushing little models of tanks across a map while one of them points at Washington with a pool cue:
“Gentlemen, we’ve identified the vulnerability. Not enough fucking arches.”
And by the way, just as an aside, who was it that ranked these “59 top cities and Capitals”?
Which fifty-nine, Donald? Where’s the fucking list? You can’t remember what country you bombed, but you’ve got municipal pageant results down to the runner-up?
Did number sixty get eliminated in the swimsuit competition? Did Brussels drop a baton and mouth “fuck” in front of the judges? Did Copenhagen show up without a headshot and have to borrow Oslo’s tit tape?
Was Vienna standing there in a borrowed ball gown, thirty seconds to explain what world peace means to her while Paris smiled through the Vaseline on her teeth and quietly called her a whore?
But I do need to know how we missed the semifinals of So You Think You Can Arch.
And look, I’m sorry Paris sent you an unsolicited arch pic, but we shouldn’t all have to live inside your heavily armed architectural schlong-measuring contest.
His cult of course, will swallow the sniper story whole, the way they swallow everything. Unfortunately for Donald, the rest of us need a little more convincing than the kind of men who buy the extended warranty on a fucking rotisserie chicken.
And he fucking knows it.
He knows nobody wants this. He knows the polling. He knows exactly how it plays to stick a hundred-million-dollar gluttonous, grasping, grabby, gimme-gimme grope for attention in the driveway of the cemetery where the actual heroes are buried, and he does not give a single fuck.
Because under the kabuki foundation and the fifteen-step comb-over, he knows the brutal truth.
He didn’t serve. Even his fucking feet needed nepotism. Other people’s kids got orders to report; Little Lord Fauntlefraud got bone spurs from a podiatrist who happened to rent his office from Fred Trump. A medical emergency conveniently located inside his daddy’s rental portfolio.
And now he wants to loom over the ones who actually went, his big beautiful bullshit visible from the graves of people whose parents couldn’t get them out of a war by calling the guy downstairs.
What the fuck are we commemorating? The Battle of Somebody Else’s Problem?
He wants history to remember his name.
He built nothing. He fixed nothing. He saved nobody.
The only permanent record with his name on it is a criminal one.
So now the vainglorious, vein-mapped, varicose Vesuvius of vanity waddles around the District in his little elevator shoes spraying himself on everything that isn’t nailed down, a wheezing Nebuchadnezzar in a girdle, a god complex with a golf cart, hiking a leg on the Mall and hosing down every marble surface in the capital like a diabetic tomcat working his way through a room full of curtains.
Because he can feel what’s coming the second he’s cold. Not that we forget him. That we get the fuck to work with a bucket and a wire brush and scrub his name off every goddamn thing he pissed it onto.
Which is why he’s bolting military equipment to his vanity projects like a man handcuffing himself to the furniture during an eviction.
He slapped “national security” on the ballroom nobody needed and thinks that means we bought the bullshit. Now he’s dragging the same sweaty sales pitch across the Potomac: if you won’t pay to admire him, he’ll tell you it’s “dangerous not to.”
Yes, there’s real security work going in underground over there. That’s the fig leaf, and it’s about four sizes too small. The courts already pulled the two apart: the buried infrastructure is one thing, the ninety thousand square feet of aboveground party barn squatting on top of it is another.
But apparently Ramses the Rotund discovered the greatest loophole in American government: want something gaudy, gilded, gargantuan and completely fucking unnecessary? Reclassify your personal wish list as a strategic defense imperative.
The Pentagon requires my chandeliers! CENTCOM specifically requested the marble! NORAD cannot possibly defend the continental United States without a cocktail terrace and sixteen fucking bidets!
He hears “defense spending” and lights up like a fucking pinball machine, because the only thing this man has ever defended in his life is that papery, piss-baby, porcelain-thin, perpetually punctured pride of his.
The entire federal budget repurposed as a blast door for one motherfucker’s feelings.
This isn’t the Department of Defense. It’s the Department of Don’t Care What You Dipshits Think, Daddy’s Doing It Anyway, Directorate of Just Look at the Fucking Size of It.
At this rate that Mar-a-Lago Medici is probably wandering through the White House right now pointing at shit he wants like a toddler loose in Costco.
“I want the ball pit from the McDonald’s PlayPlace.”
National security.
“Fill it with Adderall, loose Sudafed and my cocaine retainers.”
Counterterrorism.
“I need a 40-foot marble statue of myself. Shirtless. Riding a bald eagle. Give me the abs of a Romanian gymnast. Golf club in one hand, chocolate cake in the other. Bigger hands. I want to be able to finger Lake America. Give the bird my mug shot face and point my snausage crotch at Canada. They’ll know why.”
Cyber Command asked for it.
And this doesn’t end here. Every memorial, every monument, every building in the citadel of our democracy is next in line to get this secondhand, scratch-and-dent, spray-tanned strongman’s name spackled across the front of it.
Next up: the Donald J. Trump Center for Performing Arts and Precision-Guided Munitions.
“Please silence your phones, locate your nearest emergency exit and secure the fucking perimeter.”
The coat-check lady has Q clearance.
The Rockettes have been replaced by the 82nd Airborne and wardrobe is issuing Kevlar tutus.
Grandma unwraps one petrified disc of black licorice during Swan Lake and six sharpshooters acquire her position.
Act Two has been delayed because somebody parked a Reaper behind the fucking scrim.
And why stop there?
Hollow out the Resolute Desk and fill it with grenades.
Dress an Abrams tank up as the Easter Bunny.
Stick an aircraft carrier in the Reflecting Pool and hide it behind the peeling paint.
Gold-plate the nuclear football and have Vanna White present it every time somebody enters the Situation Room.
At least commit to the bit, asshole.
Anywhere else on Earth, a room of exhausted people spends eleven months arguing over which mountain, which desert, how many miles from the nearest road.
This fucking idiot walked into that meeting and said:
“I’m thinking a giant, ornate, golden arch and a ballroom.”
Nothing screams classified military installation like a colossal, conspicuous, camera-ready Corinthian cock ring visible from fucking space.
It’s stealth technology for people who think Liberace was being too subtle.
Covert operations by way of Caesars Palace.
A Wish-dot-com Versailles with a sniper’s nest in the attic and a Saddam-grade gold finish on the fucking doorknobs.
This isn’t national security.
It’s militarized megalomania.
A garish, gold-plated, gun-packed, government-funded glory hole for one man’s bottomless, blistering, building-sized need to turn the nation’s capital into his personal presidential peacock parade.
And THAT is the scam underneath all the stucco.
He wanted the ballroom.
He wanted the arch.
And now, what an astonishing coincidence, the United States military desperately “needs” both.
Every decorative boner His Royal Smallness dreams up magically develops a tactical purpose the minute somebody asks why the fuck we need it.
And this sure as shit, is NOT something we need.
Actual governments run by adults spend obscene amounts of money making sensitive military facilities boring, buried, hardened, hidden and difficult to identify. Secret tunnels. Blast doors. Decoys. Restricted schematics. Classified coordinates. Entire systems designed around one extraordinarily complicated military principle:
DON’T TELL EVERYBODY WHERE THE FUCKING WEAPONS ARE.
Meanwhile this man, who lies the way the rest of us breathe and has the impulse control of a cracked-out cockatoo, wants to raise a 250-foot gilded bullseye in the middle of Washington, announce what he plans to stash inside it, identify where the shooters will be positioned, brag about the caliber, and presumably put the finishing touch on American operational security: a fucking bedazzled sign reading “SECRET WEAPONS THIS WAY” while a Liberty Tax guy dressed as Uncle Sam spins an arrow on the sidewalk and Kid Rock works the valet stand.
It’s all just so exhaustingly fucking stupid, isn’t it?
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hey, here’s a super fun thing that Teddy Roosevelt said during a speech in Kansas City on May 7, 1918.
‘to announce that there must be no criticism of the President, or that we are to stand by the President, right or wrong, is not only unpatriotic and servile, but is morally treasonable to the American public.’
it seems that Teddy had been on the receiving end of flak for his criticism of then-president Woodrow Wilson — and T-Rose’s response to those telling him can the shit-talking was, ‘eat an entire bowl of fuck, pal. this is America.’
keep Teddy’s defense of freedom of speech in your mind as you listen to MSNOW reporter Akayla Gardner describe what happened to her when she tried to enter the White House yesterday.
“I attempted to scan my badge, which we have to do to be able to get into the White House grounds. it did not work. there was a red beeping light, and so the officer asked me to hand over my badge. he said that it was disabled. I asked why I was not able to get inside. he said it was above him.”
that’s right — on Saturday, Preznit Fuckwit made good on his infantile threat to bar CNN, Politico and MSNOW from the White House grounds — he did it in typical Donny fashion. he’s too big a coward to ever shitcan anyone to their face, so he weaseled out and just had reporters’ security badges disabled on the sly. how fucking childish is that?
do you think Teddy Roosevelt would have ever pulled any weak-tea shit like that? absolutely fucking not. look at this homey. he never backed down from a confrontation.
let’s compare and contrast.
yeesh.
but of course Teddy Roosevelt would have never gone after a reporter’s credentials — because Teddy was an adult who could take criticism as well as he could dish it out.
now let’s back up, because I know the very first thing you’re going to ask. ‘but Uncle Jeff, Donny can’t actually ban reporters, can he? I mean, that’s a blatant violation of the First Amendment, right? isn’t there some law against that?’
you’re darned tooting there’s a law against it. here’s what the DC Court of Appeals said about that kind of fuckery, back in 1977, when Robert Sherrill, a reporter for The Nation, had his White House press credentials summarily revoked because reasons.
“Although the White House is not required to open its doors to the news media, once it establishes press facilities for credentialed journalists, it cannot deny access based on the content of a journalist’s coverage.”
got that? you can’t revoke a reporter’s White House access, just because some fragile, thin-skinned piss-baby says they’re being very mean to him.
but when has ‘Donny can’t actually do that’ ever stopped Donny from actually doing that? respecting the law is not how tinpot mad-king-wannabees roll. so now we’re going to have some court battles in front of us.
lucky us.
of course, this whole fucktangle is about more than legal battles over who gets to be a reporter.
the larger issue is, what kind of country do we want? one where the government and those who report on the government engage in an open and honest dialog? or one where some cranky Diaperload-in-Chief gets mad at words, and tries to hide his shitty crimes from public view?
I know what Teddy Roosevelt’s answer would be.
you can’t have a functioning democracy without freedom of the press. our founders knew that — that’s why they made the First Amendment the very first amendment.
and contrary to whatever MAGA may think, there’s no clause in the Constitution that says anything about ‘in 250 years we try having a king again, only this time he’s really fucking dumb.’
now, if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to take a moment to talk directly to the media.
hey, worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press: look, I really don’t want to play blame-the-victims here, but it’s not like we didn’t warn you, over and over and over, until we were blue in the face.
‘stop treating Donny like some interesting variation on governance,’ we begged and pleaded during the presidential campaigns, ‘and start treating him like the demented fascist existential threat to democracy that that he is.’
‘trust us,’ you replied. ‘we know what we’re doing, and besides, Dear Leader would never eat our faces.’
yeah? tell me, how did normalizing all of Donny’s authoritarian bullshit work out for you, with Dear Leader now happily gnawing away on the faces of MSNOW, CNN and Politico? oh, and let’s not forget the Associated Press, whose own lawsuit against a ban is currently winding its way through the legal system. remember their crime? they refused to call the Gulf of Mexico anything but that, so Donny threw a shit-fit and revoked their access. what a fucking child.
let’s get real — no one should imagine that Donny’s going to stop with those four. he’s already threatening to extend the ban to other media outlets.
it must be particularly galling for Mathias Döpfner, the owner of Politico, to find that his own face is being chewed to bits — because he’s a right-wing shit-kazoo who’s just about as pro-Donny as you can get.
Politico’s parent company Axel Springer CEO Mathias Döpfner emailed his top executives shortly before the 2020 election to ask if any of them would “want to get together for an hour in the morning on November 3 and pray that Donald Trump will again become President of the United States of America.”
hey, maybe Mathias Döpfner might want to pray for Politico to get its press credentials back. that would be a bold strategy. let’s see if it pays off for him.
ree clue for Döpfner and his ilk: loyalty is a one-way street in the Donnyverse. it’s your job to worship Dear Leader. it’s not his job to return the favor. you’re always a single unfavorable news story away from shitcansville.
whenever Agolf Shitler takes a big, stinky dump all over the Constitution, what comes to my mind is that day back during the 2024 presidential campaign, when New York Times editor Joe Kahn said that defending democracy is a partisan act, and he won’t do it.
here’s the exact quote:
“To say that the threats [to] democracy are so great that the media is going to abandon its central role as a source of impartial information to help people vote — that’s essentially saying that the news media should become a propaganda arm for a single candidate, because we prefer that candidate’s agenda.”
can you imagine the top editor of a national newspaper saying that?
it’s this kind of lazy opposite-of-journalism that got us into this mess. the worthless scribblers never actually told the voters what was really at stake in the 2024 election. they just uncritically parroted the lies that seeped from Donny’s rancid anus-mouth, rarely ever fact-checking them.
remember this old saying?
JOURNALISM 101 RULE: If someone says it’s raining, and another person says it’s dry, it’s not your job to quote them both. Your job is to look out of the fucking window and find out which is true. — Now more than ever.”
well, The New York Times’ version is ‘if one side says that fascism is awesome, and the other side says fascism kinda sucks all ass, it’s not their job to tell the voters which side is right. oh no, that would be getting into ‘partisan bickering.’
awesome work.
when Donny comes for the NY Times’ press credentials, they’ll have no one to blame but themselves.
here’s what the remaining members of the White House press corps should do: boycott that shit. they should stay the fuck home until all the shitcanned reporters get their credentials back.
yes, I know — if all the legitimate reporters walked out, that would lezve only the MAGA hacks like Tim Pool in the room. but it would kill Donny to walk into a mostly-empty briefing room. he feeds off of attention, and pouts when he doesn’t get it.
but above all, a walk-out would be the right thing to do.
but will the WH press do the right thing? ha ha. sorry, but there’s nothing in this world that the worthless scribblers love more than their access to power. if you really think they’ll stand up for what’s right, I have six bankrupt casinos in Atlantic City to sell you.
oops — make that five casinos.
here’s your hero of the day: Michigan Senate candidate Abdul El-Sayed.
at a town hall the other day, El-Sayed — an actual medical doctor with a degree in public health from Oxford — teed off on that whale-head-chainsawing maniac, Bobby Brainworms. let’s give a listen.
that’s not a thing that should happen in the richest country in the world. and it kinda goes back to the fact that they appointed a guy who literally takes his kids swimming in Schitt’s Creek as health director for a whole country. and I just find it personally offensive that my dude works out in jeans. I mean, either he is not really working out, or he just has massive calluses on the inside of his legs. either way it is unnatural, all right? it’s not right. I think we all could agree that we probably need a public health senator right about now.”
I just love this guy to pieces. he’s funny. he’s charming. he’s got charisma up the yin-yang.
and, as I’ve noted before, he sounds like one of us.
let’s hope that Michigan’s voters send this guy to the Senate. what a fucking breath of fresh air he would be.
this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:
practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.
to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.
we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.
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Some Days The Anticipation Is The Only Thing That Keeps Me Going
as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
monday: and god said, ‘let there be stupid’
dumbfuck got off to a lightning-quick start this week, with our old favorite MAGAfied grifto-vangelist ‘pastor,’ Hank Kunneman, leading the way.
apparently, the Big Guy in the Sky personally phoned up the Hankster to give him the inside skinny on good things to come.
“the gas prices are gonna go down down down down down … God has been saying for a long time that gas prices are going down.”
hang on, what? God has a holy hand in our nation’s energy policies, and he’s been saying what?
may I just interject a moment? can I just point out a thing that the god-botherers overlook, when they’re forever telling us what God has up his sleeve? if there were a God, and he wanted to gas prices to go down, they would already be down. he would just snap his fingers, and boom — manifested. that’s the way omnipotence works, bro.
I mean, once you’ve let-there-be-lighted the entire universe into existence with a hand-wave, rigging the price of dinosaur juice should be piece of cake, no?
come on, let’s have a little critical thinking here. if God wanted cheap gas, would He really have sent the dumbest halfwit on the planet to clownfuck his way into an unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, and get the Strait or Hormuz shut down?
of course not.
I mean, there’s ‘working in mysterious ways,’ and then there’s complete batshit insanity.
tuesday: and god said, ‘let there be even stupider’
holy shit, the Almighty is sure having a busy week. here’s our other favorite god-bothering grifto-vangelist, Lance Wallnau, to play a vigorous round of ‘words, what do they even mean?’
“‘but I will pour out my spirit,’ the prophet said, ‘and your sons and daughters will prophesy. old men will have dreams.’ what does that mean? it means we’re going to have an upgraded AI supernatural prophetic capacity of prophetic intelligence. God’s gonna raise it.”
what did we all just listen to? what is this fuck-jumble of buzzwords? ‘an upgraded AI supernatural prophetic capacity of’ — wait, is the holy spirit turning itself into some kind of janky plagiarism robot? is that what we’re being told to get ready for?
oh, that’s just what we need: Jesus, but with six fingers and a propensity for hallucinating fake facts.
and, as AI Jesus so wisely counseled us in his Sermon on the Mount, ‘blessed are the grifters, for they shall separate the gullible from their money.’
what’s the deal here, is this some new cybernetic deity that we all need to grovel in front of?
no, not at all. what this is, is a naked cash-grab cooked up by Wallnau. he’s just vomiting out a bunch of high-tech-sounding mumbo-jumbo in order to get the rubes to plunk down their hard-earned dough on some farkakta conference he’s holding.
ace job, Lance. bravo — you’ve really brought grifting into the 21st century.
wednesday: and god said, ‘let there be even stupider than that’
okay, enough with these christofascist flim-flam men. let’s move on. it’s been a hot second, so let’s drop on in Bobby Brainworms and see what kind of fucknuttery he’s been getting himself up to.
we’re also looking at chemtrails, and the emissions from, uh, aircraft, and those potential impacts on health.”
Bobby, I beg of you — please don’t. it’s bad enough that people are now dropping dead from entirely-preventable measles, and being turned into human shit-geysers. please don’t waste the entire country’s time on the completely imaginary issue of chemtrails. they don’t exist.
what a great idea it was, to put a heroin-off-a-toilet-seat-snorting, dead-whale-head-chainsawing crackpot in charge of our nation’s health and well-being.
what could possibly go wrong?
look, as Janky Plagiarism Jesus also so sagely counseled us in his Sermon on the Six-Fingered Mount, ‘blessed are the meme creators, for they shall win the internet,’ so without further adieu—
source: Salty Canuck
source: GenXer 4 Apocalyptic Meh
source: Carina
and my own personal favorite—
source: Ginger
’nuff said.
thursday: and god said, ‘oh good, we’ve finally hit Peak Stupid’
I can’t even with these morons.
Every communist country eventually builds a wall. It's never to keep people OUT.”
come on, was it really every commie country, building these evil walls? Six-Fingered Plagiarism Jesus begs to differ.
Only one communist regime—East Germany (the German Democratic Republic)—built an explicit physical wall (the Berlin Wall and the Inner German border fortifications) directly through an urban area or around an enclave to stop its own citizens from mass defection. [1, 2]
it’s all so bone-crushingly stupid. the GOP, in a hair-on-fire panic over their coming electoral bloodbath in the midterms, have cranked their anti-commie hysteria into overdrive — but it’s incoherent as fuck.
hey, House Republicans, is this you?
what a stunning lack of self-awareness. oh, and while we’re on the subject of a stunning lack of self-awareness —
which quite naturally brings us to Friday, our favorite day of the week, because it’s time for…
friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™
on Friday, some fucking idiot’s day got off to a fascistic start, with the announcement that he was banning CNN, MSNOW and Politico from the White House.
the fucking idiot tried to pull this shit during his first term, and he failed — because despite the fucking idiot’s best efforts, we will have a First Amendment in this country. see you in court, asshole.
the fucking idiot had exactly one public event on his Friday schedule: an Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show, ostensibly about healthcare. but of course the fucking idiot immediately veered off topic.
oh look, the fucking idiot is still carrying a grudge about that time last year, when he got escalatored to smithereens at the United Nations.
this is why we gif shit for posterity’s sake — so that a year later, we can play it back and remind everyone that the fucking idiot and his Slovenian rent-a-wife were never in any danger.
in a bizarre moment during an event full of bizarre moments, the fucking idiot bragged about being just as repressive as China.
and of course the fucking idiot fell fast asleep the very moment someone else started talking.
but the lowest moment came when the fucking idiot actually admitted that indeed, he was ‘banning the free press.’
‘the free press’ — those were his words.
look, the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press had better get their act together and sound the alarm against this authoritarian bullshit, or it won’t be long before they completely lose the right to ever stand up and ask, ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’
and how fucking idiotic will that be?
this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:
practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.
to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.
we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.
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Colicky ManBaby Has Yet Another Meltdown
I've said it before: all journalists should just stop reporting on his rallies, press briefings ego fluffing sessions, and accordion-hands announcements. Stop hanging on every word that spews from his rancid anus-mouth. He's a malignant narcissist and if you stop giving him attention it will cut off his oxygen more effectively than anything else.
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Every Day It's Some New Horror
It Only Took Six Years...
BOUT DAMN TIME: Trump’s DOJ has finally admitted that Donald Trump lost the 2020 election.
Trump has spent nearly 6 years trying to argue that he defeated Joe Biden in the 2020 presidential election. He has investigated, intimidated, issued subpoenas, and tried to overhaul the voting system to prevent future “fraud,” alleging that the 2020 election was stolen from him... He never found any evidence.
That didn’t stop Trump. At Trump-a-Palooza just last week, Trump reiterated, “We won the presidency three times” and “If I have to I’ll come back twice- three times. You’ll say get this guy out of here, get him out.”
Ready for Trump to “get out,” Nicholas Wilson sued Trump for violating the 22nd Amendment, which reads, “No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice.” So if Trump really won in 2020, then he would have been elected to the office of President three times (which is more than twice), violated the Constitution, and must be removed from office immediately. Yay!
Trump’s DOJ couldn’t let that happen. They filed a motion to dismiss the lawsuit, arguing, “Plaintiff alleges that Trump was elected President in 2020, that allegation is untrue.” In fact, “Trump was elected President in 2016 and 2024. In 2020, Joe Biden was elected President.”
Wow, it only took them 6 years!
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That Will Do It
"I Don't Understand How People Can Be Afraid Of A Fat, Elderly Man Who Wears Apricot Makeup"
Here's what the brilliant E. Jean Carroll said about Trump: She's earned every penny of those $88 MILLION verdicts.
"I don't understand how people can be afraid of a fat, elderly man who wears apricot makeup, his hair done up like Tippi Hedren in The Birds and sits in a courtroom and moans and groans and complains and snorts. When the jury got a load of him, they were mesmerized. You've never seen anything like it…”
“He never sat still. And he talked the entire time, within earshot of the judge. He belittled Alina Habba, his own attorney. He would spit as he was talking. He didn't smell so good.”
"The high point was the moment he stood up, with steam coming off his back and hot air blowing out his ears because Robbie Kaplan [Carroll's lawyer] was giving the final argument and she was asking the jury how much it would take to make him stop. And she drove him so crazy, he stood up in the courtroom and left.”
“When a man is innocent... he stays and fights. He lost right at that second. He couldn't have looked more guilty."
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Congress Would Have To Be In Session To Do That...
He's Not Just A Moron. He's a Fucking Moron.
Vomiting It All Up. And There Is a LOT of It Tonight.
Apologies for the sheer number of these tonight. And I know a some of them are a little stale at this point, but to paraphrase the famous quote from Ferris Bueller, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, post promptly when you find something you could miss it." In bloging—especially blogs with a political slant—this is SO true!
And lastly...
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Right?!
so there we all were, just trying to make it though another fucked-up Monday, when out of the clear blue, we got hit with the News of the Century:
after three months of being hidden away from the public, Mitch McConnell was on his way to the Senate.
holy shit-kadoodle, Batman! he’s alive!
but then we got the video of The Esteemed Senator Turtlehump being wheeled out of his terrarium, and it was a big bowl of what in the actual fuck?
what bill of goods are we being sold here?
okay, there’s Mitch, clearly most sincerely not dead — but does he really look alive? we see him being wheelchaired from his doorway to his waiting car, but do we really see any sense of cognition — any sign at all that Mitch has any idea where he is, or what is happening to him?
even presidential side-piece Laura Loopy was all what on God’s green shitpile are they trying to pull?
Like I said, Mitch is brain dead. You can’t look at his face and say he’s not a vegetable. He’s not even responding to cognition tests. It’s like wheeling a corpse around. Worse than what the Democrats did with Joe Biden to be honest. He looks incapacitated. Brain dead.
the thing is, Laura’s not wrong. (I mean, not the part about Joe Biden, duh.) Mitch is clearly unwell.
later, when the MitchBot5000 showed up in the Senate, reporters were banned from recording video.
Some more photos of McConnell as he returned to the Senate for the first time in three months following a fall at his D.C. home.
Reporters were barred from recording video
perfectly normal stuff, am I right?
please do not record the senator while he is making grunting noises and shitting himself.
I mean, how do we know that’s not what Mitch is doing? they won’t allow us to find out.
could Mitch McConnell’s handlers kindly stop pissing on our heads and telling us it’s raining? it’s been over three months since McConnell was found unconscious on the floor of his house, and taken away in an ambulance. in all that time, there hadn’t been one single shred of evidence that Mitch was cognizant, or even alive. now that he’s finally here in front of us, all we want is an answer to a single question: is he competent to do his job? but instead of getting any answer from Team Mitch, we’re just cordially invited to go fuck ourselves.
what the hell? if McConnell is actually aware of his surroundings, why can’t we get any proof of it?
this is not how a functioning government works. this is how a clown show works.
wheeling a Zombie Mitch from location to location is just elder abuse at this point. why is he being dog-and-ponied around? is it because he grunted ‘iwaaaagwrrrrg’ and one of his handlers went, ‘Mitch says he wants to go to work’?
fuck off, Mitch. stay home. you’ve had a long, distinguished career of being the most evil person in the Senate, making life worse for We the People. bravo. job well done.
now step down, and try to enjoy what remains of your life.
* * *
there really need to be term limits, or age limits, in the Senate. look at Chuck Grassley. he’s 92. this session, he’s going to be expected to vote on things like data centers and AI. does he have the capacity to understand those issues? and it’s a bipartisan problem. three years ago, Democrat Dianne Feinstein died while in office at age 90. like McConnell, she had absent from the Senate for months, and when she finally returned, it was obvious that her brain had gone fuckity-bye.
When the fellow reporter asked her what the response from her colleagues had been like since her return, though, the conversation took an odd turn.
“No, I haven’t been gone,” she said.
four months after that conversation, she dropped dead. here’s what I wrote at the time.
look: I get why ancient Senators refuse to step down. it’s a cush job. the perks are awesome: power. free healthcare. a staff. travel. your face on TV. you don’t really have to work very hard, and you get shitloads of time off. and if you live in a safe, deeply-red or deeply-blue state, you don’t even have to campaign all that strenuously.
hell, I wouldn’t quit that job. would you?
of course you wouldn’t. you had to pry Dianne Feinstein’s job out of her cold, dead hands. is Mitch McConnell next?
come on, this shit ain’t supportable. term limits, now.
here’s some other cheery news we got yesterday. it turns out that some Putin-linked Russian oligarch bankrolled First Failson Cokey McSniffles’ lavish, private-island wedding.
New: Russian oligarch Umar Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses at Donald Trump Jr.’s lavish wedding, including renting out a private island and paying for the fireworks show.
perfectly normal stuff, am I right? I mean, who among us hasn’t had some corrupt crony of Putin’s drop a couple-hundred thou in our lap, so we can get hitched in style?
National security experts expressed alarm at Trump Jr. accepting the oligarch’s largesse, saying it raised an urgent question: What motivated Kremlev to spend a fortune cultivating the connection?
“If I’m paying for your wedding, at some point, you’re going to owe me something,” said Frank Montoya Jr., a retired career FBI official who held senior counterintelligence roles.
no fucking duh. of course Mister Oligarch is going to expect something in return. that’s how this ‘enjoy your free wedding’ shit works. at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’t corrupt.
naturally, House Republicans swore to get to the bottom of this scandal, vowing to immediately open hearings.
no, wait — what am I saying? Republicans didn’t promise to do any of that shit. instead, they had the most predictable response in the universe: look over there, it’s Hunter Biden!
Florida Rep Anna Paulina Luna: “there’s no evidence. we opened an investigation into Hunter Biden because of the evidence in the laptop that specifically pertained to influence peddling, and unless there’s a laptop that comes out with specific criminal evidence, I don’t think that opening up an investigation into Don Jr.’s wedding party is something that's a good use of taxpayer dollars.”
holy shit, An Appalling Lunatic is more brain-dead than Mitch McConnell. not this again. there was never any Hunter Biden laptop. what there was, was a tampered-with hard drive that someone claimed had come from Hunter Biden’s laptop.
in Don Jr.’s case, we don’t need anyone to gin up fake evidence. we’ve got evidence up the yin-yang. over to you, ProPublica.
Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses, according to records reviewed by ProPublica and interviews with three people familiar with the event.
In response to detailed questions, a spokesperson for Trump Jr. did not dispute the wedding payments from Kremlev. “Umar is a personal friend of Don,” he said.
can someone please copy the ProPublica article onto a laptop, and claim it came from Hunter Biden? maybe we can trick these Republican shitweasels into investigating it.
yesterday, the dumbest fucking moron in the known multiverse spent an entire day power-loading an infinite series of diapers, because AI.
Concerning AI, when, in the History of Business, did anyone see the Leaders of an Industry call for Regulation that, if strongly implemented, will drive them into oblivion and bankruptcy? AI taking over the World, destroying Humanity, and all other things bad, is a HOAX.
what Dear Leader was reacting to were the multiple stories that have been in the news lately about how the three largest AI honchos have all called for putting the brakes on the current race to build the smartest six-fingered plagiarism robots possible, lest these super-smart AIs start running wild and doing shit we can no longer control.
Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei published an essay asking that the pace of capability advance be slowed and committing his own company to embed outside evaluators with employee-level access. Sam Altman agreed and said OpenAI would do likewise. Elon Musk … wrote three words: “Dario is right.” Three rival laboratories in the most valuable commercial race on earth asked to be restrained, against their own immediate interest.
and that came right on the heels of this cheery news.
For three years, Jacob Coxon helped train increasingly powerful AI systems at OpenAI and Anthropic. On Sept. 8, he walked away.
“I resigned from Anthropic today,” Coxon posted on X. “Neither company is acting responsibly. They are racing straight to self-improving superintelligence and gambling with our lives.” His dire warning amassed more than 90 million views in less than 24 hours.
tell me, is is bad when the guy who helped invent the tech gets so terrified of what he’s done that he quits his job and starts blowing the whistle — and then, his own boss and the boss’s cronies go ‘he’s right, this shit’s hella bad’?
That sounds pretty fucking terrifying to me. isn’t that the plot of umpteen science fiction books any movies — some rogue AI decides that humanity needs to be killed to death — or turned into batteries?
literally everyone is concerned right now that the rush to build ever-smart AIs is a bad idea that’s in need of regulation: We the People, our elected officials — and even the homies who built the damned things. shouldn’t that tell you that something in fact needs to be done?
oh no, wait. there’s one dumb asshole who’s totally down with letting AI do its evil, unregulated thing — and he’s pulled out his favorite word: hoax.
I am the Hoax Buster, and I’m right now breaking another Hoax — That AI is going to take over, consume, and destroy the World, and that Robots will be marching into our Cities, and getting rid of us all! This is even wilder than the RUSSIA, RUSSIA, RUSSIA HOAX, or the Global Warming Scam. Thank you for your attention to this matter! President DONALD J. TRUMP
this fucking idiot — everything he doesn’t like is a hoax. yeah, as if the tech bros now clanging the alarms are hoaxing themselves. cool stor
why is Donny so dead-set against regulating the development of plagiarism robots ? because, as Robert Reich reports in his post from this morning, he and his failsons stand to make a mint off of AI tech.
So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?
Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.
remember what I said earlier about how, ‘at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’tcorrupt’?
but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.
So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?
Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.
but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.
The only control or “guardrails” that AI needs is a STRONG AND SMART (High IQ!) PRESIDENT
so that’s all we need, to keep from ending up as batteries to power the matrix? a smart president?
oh shit, we’re fucked.
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When Is This Dam Going To Burst?
impeach_the_imposters:
In December 2024, Adam Zarnowski, ex-CIA agent and author of Jörmungandr was personally involved in an NSA‑authorized forensic audit of the 2024 election. He says; "Kamala Harris and Tim Walz won—by a wide margin. Trump lost dramatically. There are multiple layers of complexity to this cover‑up, including transnational organized crime syndicates that extend far beyond the United States and our elections. To that point, I work in the human trafficking sector, which intersects with the stolen election(s) and has ties to Trump and Epstein—not to President Biden, Vice President Harris, or Governor Walz, but to the allied interests responsible for burying the audit.” — Adam Zarnowski, ex-CIA agent and author of Jörmungandr.
That's all very well and good, but when wil any of these criminals be punished for their crimes? Felon 45 is pretty much off limits—for now—but Musk? Haul his ass in!
And more than anything else right now, JUST ONCE, I'd like to see someone's fist wipe that smirk off Felon 45's face. Seriously.
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BOOM!
A massive federal clash just DETONATED.
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani signed an executive order barring federal ICE agents from entering any city-owned property without a judicial warrant. The bold directive covers public schools, shelters, and hospitals to protect immigrant rights. Is this crucial sanctuary protection, or dangerous defiance of federal immigration law?
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QUIET, Piggy!
When HE claimed FBI agents had been ushering January 6th rioters into the Capitol, SHE told him directly there was no evidence of that.
When HE insisted the 2024 California elections were being rigged in real time, SHE asked for evidence.
When HE said all he had to do was look, SHE pushed back again: “But that's not evidence," she said, calmly and without flinching.
SHE pressed him on his abandoned $1.8 billion "anti-weaponization" fund, demanding a straight answer on whether he was backing off it completely.
SHE confronted him on the 170 people who pleaded guilty to assaulting police officers on January 6th.
SHE cited his own words back to him on his "no new wars" pledge and refused to accept his attempts to rewrite history.
And HE responded the way he always does when cornered: he called her names, turned an ungodly shade of orange, and stormed off.
SHE. DIDN’T. FLINCH.
If ANY other president had behaved like this, we’d never let him live it down.
Why is the 34x convicted felon special?
To borrow from Tiedrich:
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Good news, guys! Donald Trump’s gonna give us five thousand dollars of our own money! What a magnanimous motherfucker. I haven’t seen generosity like this since the ATM gave me back my own fucking paycheck.
He just needs to find the money, get permission to spend the money, and have us reelect the people who could give him permission to spend the money right fucking now. Before they’ll help us pay our bills, we have to guarantee we’ll keep paying theirs.
So we have to give them the jobs they already have before they’ll do the jobs we’re already paying them to do. Try that at work. “I’ll finish stocking the yogurt when somebody guarantees my fucking pension, Brenda.”
And if they borrow it, we get to pay interest on our own fucking present. He gets his name on the check. We get our names on the debt. Somehow I’m financing Christmas and this son of a bitch gets to be Santa.
Congratulations! You’ve been preapproved to finance your own fucking bribe.
Welcome to the Publishers Clearing House of fucking Representatives.
He’s calling it the “Trump dividend.” Five grand if Republicans keep the House and Senate. The House and Senate they ALREADY FUCKING HAVE.
So why the fuck can’t they get moving on it NOW? Aren’t they in power NOW? They’ve got the White House, the House, and the Senate. What additional lever of fucking power are they waiting for? Do we need to run down to Home Depot and pick them up another fucking lever?
I’m sorry, did I miss the Schoolhouse Rock episode where the little singing bill sits on the Capitol steps refusing to budge until we guarantee his bosses another two years of government dental?
Do the smooth-brained, truck-nutted troglodytes have to elect them harder? Tattoo their names across their chests? Rename the cat Mike Johnson and the dog Donald Trump? Spend the next twelve years standing in the backyard in their bathrobes hollering, “Donald! Get your nose out of Mike’s asshole!”
Did they get the fucking trial version of Congress? What else do you need, you cash-catfishing, country-club cocktease? Does Mike Johnson need somebody to sign his folder?
And the five grand wasn’t the only pledge at this fucking direct-deposit tent revival. He promised them a check, they promised him their remaining cerebral function, and only ONE of those transactions required immediate payment.
This pompadoured potentate had them raise their right hands and pledge to HIM, “the greatest president in the history of the United States.” He even worked “cheat like hell like they do” into the voting pledge, because he couldn’t get through his own fucking loyalty oath without accusing Democrats of cheating.
And they call this rugged individualism. It’s a fucking cult, a star-spangled self-abasement seminar for these obsequious, oath-bleating, orange-idolizing ovines waiting for their dividend-dangling, deference-demanding Daddy to tell them what to say.
Baa, baa, bootlicker, have you any fucking shame?
Nobody ever asked me to swear a pledge of allegiance to Joe Biden, for fuck’s sake. Then again, I didn’t tattoo his face on my ass and turn a routine colonoscopy into a fucking presidential meet-and-greet.
Which brings me back to the five grand, because the electric company doesn’t accept a fucking oath of fealty. You can turn your entire ass into Mount Rushmore, but until the money clears, you’re still sitting in the damn dark.
Anybody can promise shit they never have to deliver. Hell, vote for me and I’ll give you a puppy, a unicorn, a hand job and a velvet painting of a sad clown with a goddamn poodle.
Don’t ask how. That’s second-term shit.
He said the economy’s doing “so well” that we’re ALL getting a payout. If it’s doing that fucking well, cough it up today, asshole. Why does my share of this magnificent prosperity have an election attached?
And how the fuck isn’t this socialism?
By THEIR definition. The one these flag-fondling, fiscal-purity fetishists drag out whenever somebody without a private jet needs help paying for a fucking root canal. One free school lunch and suddenly the cafeteria ladies are storming the Winter Palace with a tater-tot trebuchet.
Some exhausted woman needs help buying groceries and these holier-than-thou hemorrhoids want her employment history, her blood type, and a notarized explanation for the name-brand mustard. God forbid the indigent enjoy a condiment. You’ll eat your federally scrutinized sandwich dry, Deborah. This is America.
But put Trump’s name on the handout and the bootstraps brigade comes barreling down the aisle in paroxysms of panhandling. The Ayn Rand book club has turned into Supermarket Sweep, and Earl’s about to dislocate a shoulder getting to the fucking bonus ham.
What happened to personal responsibility, you sanctimonious, selective-socialism, subsidy-suckling sons of bitches? Did Karl Marx become a job creator when he learned to sign a check with a Sharpie? Does Das Kapital come in Realtree camouflage now?
Now look at you, standing under a DON’T TREAD ON ME flag, refreshing your banking app with the evangelical fervor of a man expecting Jesus to arrive by direct deposit.
“The government must never give people money.” Unless of course, the money can help Republicans keep getting government money for telling us the government must never give people money.
And these are the motherfuckers who call themselves the party of fiscal responsibility. The balanced-budget, belt-tightening, bean-counting bullshit brigade. They’d make Oliver Twist submit his fucking porridge request in triplicate.
Meanwhile, by August, nearly thirty percent of our entire outstanding national debt had accumulated during Donald Trump’s time in office. Roughly eleven-point-six TRILLION fucking dollars across his first term and this unfinished second one.
They’d convene a congressional inquisition over a poor woman’s premium paper towels while their bankruptcy-baptized fucking messiah treats a trillion dollars like he’s breaking a twenty.
But please, tell us more about the grandchildren. They’re always so concerned about leaving debt to the grandchildren. Until Grandpa needs another electoral ego massage, at which point apparently little Brayden can get a second fucking job.
The party of fiscal responsibility, my ass. These pauper-policing, plutocrat-petting deficit disciples are backing a promise with a trillion-dollar price tag to improve the customer reviews on their own shitty fucking performance.
And hold the fuck on. Weren’t we already getting five large from DOGE?
Elon, that chainsaw-brandishing, chest-thumping technofeudal twat and professional sperm spreader, tore through Washington while Trump floated sharing the savings. We got the chainsaw. We got the cuts. We did not get the fucking check.
I’ve received more actual cash from the washing machine.
The two-grand tariff rebates haven’t arrived either, which Stormy Daniels could’ve warned you is kind of his thing.
When The New York Times asked about it, this bronzer-brained, bloviating blowhard said, “I did do that? When did I do that?” Then he said the money would come later in the year.
Now the Geriatric Grift-of-the-Month Club is promising the sequel.
Wonderful. Another five thousand dollars I can’t spend. I’m almost not buying a fucking boat. I’ll name it Insufficient Funds and christen it with the champagne I didn’t order and can’t afford.
But don’t worry, because JD Vance, that oleaginous ottoman enthusiast, says tariffs could cover this trillion-dollar campaign coupon. The same import taxes we’re refunding by the fucking billions.
Even the Kohl’s cashier working through an edible understands a fucking return.
You can’t keep spending the receipt after you’ve given the money back. And even the tariffs we keep don’t magically become Donald Trump’s personal checking account. This hush-money Houdini wants to play sugar daddy with OUR credit card.
“Daddy bought you groceries!”
Daddy, that’s my fucking Discover card. You can’t pilfer my purse, buy me a pound of pastrami, and expect me to start calling you Big Poppa.
And why the fuck are we letting him near the purse in the first place? This Fozzie Bear with a four-foot tie bankrupted casinos.
Just fucking think about that. Think how hard you have to try to suck to bankrupt a casino. People walked in specifically to lose money, and he still managed to beat them to it.
Now this fiduciary fuckwit is promising five grand without an approved payment or a delivery date. At least the fucking Tooth Fairy tells you when to check the pillow. Nobody makes a six-year-old wait for his molar money until Pennsylvania demonstrates sufficient fealty.
But I’m supposed to sit here and clap like a trained seal because this slippery, spray-tanned, self-dealing, solipsistic snake-oil salesman has discovered that people who need money would enjoy receiving some?
Yes, Donald. I fucking KNOW people need money. We all need money. We need even more of it since your tantrum tariffs made the shit we were already struggling to afford more fucking expensive. You don’t get to slap a surcharge on surviving and then expect me to genuflect because you’ve waved a checkbook in the general direction of my overdraft.
I’d fucking love five thousand dollars. I’d love to replace my brakes without briefly considering whether Fred Flintstone had the right fucking idea. But I can be broke without volunteering to be bamboozled. Needing help with the bills doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to let this predatory, pomade-plastered prick use my financial anxiety to finish paying off his political mortgage.
And he’s counting on us needing that money badly enough to vote like it’s already in the fucking bank.
He doesn’t need to pay you before November.
He just needs you to believe him when he says he will.
But how fucking stupid do you have to be to fall for this shit?
Remember The Boy Who Cried Wolf? The intended audience still occasionally shits its pants, and even THEY grasp that you stop believing the fucking liar.
You shidiots finished it and demanded an investigation into who was funding the sheep.
He’s buying your loyalty on layaway, and you’re making the fucking payments.
And if you’re dumb enough, gullible enough, enough of a pudding-brained, promise-gobbling patsy to believe he’s going to deliver on this latest dangled fucking carrot after more than a dozen promises just like it that he suddenly doesn’t even fucking remember making, then you deserve to get fucking fleeced.
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It's Only A Matter Of Time...
it’s a well-known fact that Little Donny Fuckface is a quadrice-indicted twice-impeached once-convicted popular-vote-losing adderall-huffing dead-pedo-bestie-schmoozing East-Wing-destroying insurrection-leading ear-diapering testimony-ducking judge-threatening lawyer-ignoring debate-avoiding witness-tampering crypto-scamming disabled-veteran-dishonoring inheritance-squandering rube-fleecing clown-makeup-smearing language-mangling sneaker-hawking serial-sexual-predating draft-dodging casino-bankrupting butler-bullying daughter-perving hush-money-paying real-estate-swindling bone-spur-faking ketchup-hurling justice-obstructing classified-war-plan-thieving golf-cheating stock-manipulating weather-map-defacing war-criminal-pardoning horse-paste-promoting paper-towel-flinging race-baiting tax-evading evidence-destroying charity-defrauding money-laundering diaper-filling 34-count 80-year-old fluorescent-tangerine narcoleptic fart factory. we know this.
but do you know what else Donny is? a sweaty, festering pest-hole of megalomaniacal shit, that’s what.
“please raise your right hand. ‘I pledge to the greatest president in the history of the United States, that loves us so much he can’t even breathe. that I will go out with my family, my friends, I’ll do it any way, I don’t care if I’m registered or not. I’m going to try and cheat like hell like they do. they never— there’s never been bigger cheaters, they don’t care.’”
fuck off, bro. this is America. I’m not pledging anything to some malevolent burst trash-bag of personality defects.
seriously, who the fuck does this fucking fuck think he is?
easy question, easy answer: Donny thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. he’s that fucked in the head.
let’s be crystal clear about one thing: Donny is not God’s gift to anything. he’s a very naughty boy. now go away.
but do you know who else thinks they’re the center of the universe? infants. they have no conception of the world all around them. they care about one thing only: that there’s a tit in their face to feed on, when they need one. doesn’t that sound exactly like Dear Leader?
Donny functions on the same level as a week-old baby whose brain is still half pudding. he’s never evolved past the me-centric worldview of a diaper-shitting newborn.
and why should he evolve? he’s got an entire political party willing to shove their tit in his face. did you hear them in that video clip above, dutifully repeating his ferkakta pledge to cheat in the midterms? what in the actual fuck?
now feast your incredulous eyes on this. here’s an actual video that got played on the Jumbotron, just before Donny’s speech last night.
“on June 14th, 1946, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, ‘I need a caretaker,’ so God gave us Trump.”
holy shit, they literally cast Dear Leader as God’s gift to the universe.
they’re not being sarcastic. they actually believe this twaddle. remember, the whole purpose of this ‘Republican midterm convention’ wasn’t to promote Republican candidates. they gave the briefest lip service to the dipshits who are actually running in races this year. this ‘midterm convention’ was just an Emotional Support Tit, shoved into Dear Leader’s face so he could spend two days feeding off uncritical adoration.
that’s because the GOP is no longer a functioning political party. it’s now just some fucked-up cult whose prime directive is to make a colicky piss-baby feel good about himself.
I mean, at this point they’re not even pretending to be anything other than a cult.
CBS News reporter Ed O’Keefe: “is Vance your guy in 2028?”
MAGA: “my guy is who Donald Trump endorses.”
O’Keefe: “so it’s up to him to tell you?”
MAGA: “that’s exactly right…. people call us a cult. I don’t care.”
the entire Republican Party has lost its way — and I haven’t a clue how it finds a way back. they’re just too far gone at this point.
Preznit Fuckwit has run the GOP straight into the ground, just like he ran six casinos straight into the ground.
everything Donny touches, dies.
you would think that two days of maximum adoration would have put Dear Leader in a good mood — but you’d be wrong. Donny is too broken-inside to ever actually be happy. there’s not enough money, power, or attention the in world to satisfy him.
so of course this thin-skinned, eternally-unsatisfied shithead had to take it out on his favorite target — the nearest woman reporter.
reporter: “on the checks, we have $40 trillion in debt. if your economic policies are working, why do you need an incentive for people to turn out to vote?”
Donny: “I’m doing it as a reward for people having to put up for five years and four years of a horrible situation caused by Biden.”
reporter: “you also offered tariff refund checks—”
Donny: “not you.”
reporter: “you also—”
Donny: “NOT YOU! hey— NOT YOU.”
reporter: “—”
Donny: “your network and you, you’re the worst.”
Jesus H. Fuck, did you see the way this abusive sack of shit lunges at the reporter, and gets right in her face? who does that?
once again, Donny abuses a woman reporter. notice that he never pulls this shit on a man. he’s too cowardly. but if it’s a woman asking him a tough question? she’s a pig. she’s a bitch. she’s dumb. ‘NOT YOU!’
this is probably as a good place as any to note that my What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™ is now in its 2,355th day.
“…an amazing testament to the kind of man— ah— gha— mzzzzzzzbzt—[screen goes black]”
oh noes! United States First Failson Cokey McSniffle’s touching tribute to the misshapen garden gnome got all glitched to shit, too. so sad!
“he could go from fundraising, you know, making calls to zzZZZZckkkkk bububububillionaire to glrrRRRRRrr—”
try not to laugh.
oh, fuck it — laugh all you want. never stop mocking the shit out of these incompetent ass-clowns who couldn’t find their own dick with both hands and a flashlight.
folks, the date has been set for the fourth No Kings Day of Action: October 17, 2026.
Donny fucking hates No Kings. it ruins his day to be reminded that hundreds of millions of people all across the world hate his guts.
let’s ruin Donny’s day. let’s make No Kings Four the largest one yet. go here to find or host an event.
Wonkette’s Rebecca Schoenkopf, can you step in here for a moment, and show us how it’s done?
fuck you, you fucking fuck — now that’s a message we can all get behind.
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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