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“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.
Every Accusation…
“President Trump alleged Tuesday that the July 13, 2024, attempt on his life in Butler, Pa. was part of a ‘Democratic plot’ against him.”
“Everybody knows the Crooked Joe Biden FBI didn’t do what they should have with respect to the Lunatic who shot me in Butler, PA.”
“By the time I got into Office, on January 20th, most of the information was missing, altered, corrupted, or gone. New info was just found! Why wasn’t it seen long ago? This was all a Democrat Plot, to get me out of the Election, that failed.’”
Show us the evidence, Biff.
I still don’t believe this attempt was a conspiracy (they are too incompetent to pull it off). It’s not that they have a moral core, just that they are buffoons who couldn’t arrange a one-car funeral procession in a town with one street.
[source]
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Ravers 🤣
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At Least He’s Honest…
Won’t Someone Please Think Of The Billionaires?
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?!
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Am I A Bad Person For Laughing At This?
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You’ve caved to your billionaire buddy Robert Kraft, you’ve deferred to the pearl-clutching Pink, you’ve fallen in line behind your promoters, and you’ve kowtowed to a handful of football stadium owners and allowed rapper Macklemore to be bootedfrom your tour for saying the words “Free Palestine.”
I can imagine how traumatic that must have been for your audience, the emotional scars they must be carrying right now from being asked to see the Palestinian people as deserving of dignity and self-determination…. the horror.
My newsfeed is absolutely littered with news stories, think pieces, and video critiques lambasting you for what people are saying is your cowardice, your selfishness, your obvious racism, your thinly veiled Zionism.
And with the fierce media firestorm raging all around you right now, I wonder if anyone’s considered your feelings, what it’s like to walk a mile in your custom Air Jordans.
I mean, this couldn’t have been an easy decision for you. In this economy, a guy with a net worth of 400 million has to stay on the road to keep the lights on, right? We can’t have you missing any meals out here, can we?
Oh, sure, tens of thousands of Palestinians have been brutally murdered, once vibrant cities leveled to dust, and an ancient culture violently erased. Yes, generations of human beings have been assassinated, starved, tortured, and burned alive. And yeah, children are being raped and shot and ripped from their mutilated parents in these very moments, but the show must go on, right? Can’t let a little genocide stop the party.
So what if a few thousand miles away an entire country is being wiped off the map with the taxes of your fanbase, you got a gig to do, merch to move, a few more homes to add to the mere three dozen or so you’re being forced to make do with.
You’ve dismissed Macklemore for having the audacity to choose integrity over the paycheck, for giving a damn about thousands of brown-skinned people who can’t buy concert tickets or boost your streaming numbers, and you’re going to bravely carry on with business as usual, playing the part of the happy, humble white savior of soccer moms and suburban preteens everywhere.
You’ll continue packing out stadiums, basking in the breathless adoration of a mix of the uninformed, the lazy, and the heartless; people who either don’t know what’s going on in Palestine or who simply don’t care enough to be inconvenienced enough to opt out (though you could inform and inspire them).
And you’ll get up there awash in spotlights and the intoxicating roar of an army of the most privileged people on the planet. You’ll wear that grinning everyman facade you’ve perfected. You’ll joyfully churn out your loops and whirl around in the middle of a massive sea of humanity (the largely white kind, the kind whose worth and safety might actually matter enough to you for you to get “political,” as you did with Ukraine, btw).
I’m sure it’ll be a blast… but not the kid-killing IDF kind.
But I wonder if the crowds at the shows will sing loud enough to cover the screams erupting from the rubble of Palestine. I wonder if the stratospheric tour revenue will be worth the suffering you’ve ignored to get it.
Maybe I’m being too hard on you. Maybe you’re really struggling with this. Maybe you’re going to have a change of heart and show some courage and something resembling a spine, and allow your humanity to take the lead. Maybe I’ll end up apologizing to you for underestimating you. I would welcome that, because it would mean you decided to leverage your privilege to save the lives of people who are being treated like animals.
But right now, Ed, for a guy who’s made a fortune with words, it’s your silence is most telling. You are choosing to say nothing, and there is a cost to that, too. Unfortunately, you won’t be the one paying the highest price.
Maybe you are exactly what they say you are. Maybe you’re a coward, or worse. Maybe the people of Palestine aren’t worth the show guarantees you’d have to part with to stand up to the bullies and the Zionists. Maybe it isn’t that you’re not willing to take sides (because you have been), but that the Palestinian people don’t fall within the borders of your empathy or the comfort of your courage.
I suppose no matter how successful and powerful someone gets, every person has their price, and yours was a 10-city tour.
The Palestinian people deserve our discomfort, Ed. They deserve to be on our breath because the voices of white people can carry their cries to people in the world who need to hear them, despite how uneasy it makes them.
It’s just really sad that with the size of the stage and the reach of the microphone you’ve been handed, and with the voice you’ve been given that could resonate so loudly on behalf of imperiled human beings, you have such moral laryngitis now.
Enjoy the rest of the tour, Ed… knock ‘em dead out there.
Free Palestine.
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so there we all were, just trying to make it though another fucked-up Monday, when out of the clear blue, we got hit with the News of the Century:
after three months of being hidden away from the public, Mitch McConnell was on his way to the Senate.
holy shit-kadoodle, Batman! he’s alive!
but then we got the video of The Esteemed Senator Turtlehump being wheeled out of his terrarium, and it was a big bowl of what in the actual fuck?
what bill of goods are we being sold here?
okay, there’s Mitch, clearly most sincerely not dead — but does he really look alive? we see him being wheelchaired from his doorway to his waiting car, but do we really see any sense of cognition — any sign at all that Mitch has any idea where he is, or what is happening to him?
even presidential side-piece Laura Loopy was all what on God’s green shitpile are they trying to pull?
Like I said, Mitch is brain dead. You can’t look at his face and say he’s not a vegetable. He’s not even responding to cognition tests. It’s like wheeling a corpse around. Worse than what the Democrats did with Joe Biden to be honest. He looks incapacitated. Brain dead.
the thing is, Laura’s not wrong. (I mean, not the part about Joe Biden, duh.) Mitch is clearly unwell.
later, when the MitchBot5000 showed up in the Senate, reporters were banned from recording video.
Some more photos of McConnell as he returned to the Senate for the first time in three months following a fall at his D.C. home.
Reporters were barred from recording video
perfectly normal stuff, am I right?
please do not record the senator while he is making grunting noises and shitting himself.
I mean, how do we know that’s not what Mitch is doing? they won’t allow us to find out.
could Mitch McConnell’s handlers kindly stop pissing on our heads and telling us it’s raining? it’s been over three months since McConnell was found unconscious on the floor of his house, and taken away in an ambulance. in all that time, there hadn’t been one single shred of evidence that Mitch was cognizant, or even alive. now that he’s finally here in front of us, all we want is an answer to a single question: is he competent to do his job? but instead of getting any answer from Team Mitch, we’re just cordially invited to go fuck ourselves.
what the hell? if McConnell is actually aware of his surroundings, why can’t we get any proof of it?
this is not how a functioning government works. this is how a clown show works.
wheeling a Zombie Mitch from location to location is just elder abuse at this point. why is he being dog-and-ponied around? is it because he grunted ‘iwaaaagwrrrrg’ and one of his handlers went, ‘Mitch says he wants to go to work’?
fuck off, Mitch. stay home. you’ve had a long, distinguished career of being the most evil person in the Senate, making life worse for We the People. bravo. job well done.
now step down, and try to enjoy what remains of your life.
* * *
there really need to be term limits, or age limits, in the Senate. look at Chuck Grassley. he’s 92. this session, he’s going to be expected to vote on things like data centers and AI. does he have the capacity to understand those issues? and it’s a bipartisan problem. three years ago, Democrat Dianne Feinstein died while in office at age 90. like McConnell, she had absent from the Senate for months, and when she finally returned, it was obvious that her brain had gone fuckity-bye.
When the fellow reporter asked her what the response from her colleagues had been like since her return, though, the conversation took an odd turn.
“No, I haven’t been gone,” she said.
four months after that conversation, she dropped dead. here’s what I wrote at the time.
look: I get why ancient Senators refuse to step down. it’s a cush job. the perks are awesome: power. free healthcare. a staff. travel. your face on TV. you don’t really have to work very hard, and you get shitloads of time off. and if you live in a safe, deeply-red or deeply-blue state, you don’t even have to campaign all that strenuously.
hell, I wouldn’t quit that job. would you?
of course you wouldn’t. you had to pry Dianne Feinstein’s job out of her cold, dead hands. is Mitch McConnell next?
come on, this shit ain’t supportable. term limits, now.
here’s some other cheery news we got yesterday. it turns out that some Putin-linked Russian oligarch bankrolled First Failson Cokey McSniffles’ lavish, private-island wedding.
New: Russian oligarch Umar Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses at Donald Trump Jr.’s lavish wedding, including renting out a private island and paying for the fireworks show.
perfectly normal stuff, am I right? I mean, who among us hasn’t had some corrupt crony of Putin’s drop a couple-hundred thou in our lap, so we can get hitched in style?
National security experts expressed alarm at Trump Jr. accepting the oligarch’s largesse, saying it raised an urgent question: What motivated Kremlev to spend a fortune cultivating the connection?
“If I’m paying for your wedding, at some point, you’re going to owe me something,” said Frank Montoya Jr., a retired career FBI official who held senior counterintelligence roles.
no fucking duh. of course Mister Oligarch is going to expect something in return. that’s how this ‘enjoy your free wedding’ shit works. at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’t corrupt.
naturally, House Republicans swore to get to the bottom of this scandal, vowing to immediately open hearings.
no, wait — what am I saying? Republicans didn’t promise to do any of that shit. instead, they had the most predictable response in the universe: look over there, it’s Hunter Biden!
Florida Rep Anna Paulina Luna: “there’s no evidence. we opened an investigation into Hunter Biden because of the evidence in the laptop that specifically pertained to influence peddling, and unless there’s a laptop that comes out with specific criminal evidence, I don’t think that opening up an investigation into Don Jr.’s wedding party is something that’s a good use of taxpayer dollars.”
holy shit, An Appalling Lunatic is more brain-dead than Mitch McConnell. not this again. there was never any Hunter Biden laptop. what there was, was a tampered-with hard drive that someone claimed had come from Hunter Biden’s laptop.
in Don Jr.’s case, we don’t need anyone to gin up fake evidence. we’ve got evidence up the yin-yang. over to you, ProPublica.
Kremlev footed the bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars of wedding expenses, according to records reviewed by ProPublica and interviews with three people familiar with the event.
In response to detailed questions, a spokesperson for Trump Jr. did not dispute the wedding payments from Kremlev. “Umar is a personal friend of Don,” he said.
can someone please copy the ProPublica article onto a laptop, and claim it came from Hunter Biden? maybe we can trick these Republican shitweasels into investigating it.
yesterday, the dumbest fucking moron in the known multiverse spent an entire day power-loading an infinite series of diapers, because AI.
Concerning AI, when, in the History of Business, did anyone see the Leaders of an Industry call for Regulation that, if strongly implemented, will drive them into oblivion and bankruptcy? AI taking over the World, destroying Humanity, and all other things bad, is a HOAX.
what Dear Leader was reacting to were the multiple stories that have been in the news lately about how the three largest AI honchos have all called for putting the brakes on the current race to build the smartest six-fingered plagiarism robots possible, lest these super-smart AIs start running wild and doing shit we can no longer control.
Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei published an essay asking that the pace of capability advance be slowed and committing his own company to embed outside evaluators with employee-level access. Sam Altman agreed and said OpenAI would do likewise. Elon Musk … wrote three words: “Dario is right.” Three rival laboratories in the most valuable commercial race on earth asked to be restrained, against their own immediate interest.
and that came right on the heels of this cheery news.
For three years, Jacob Coxon helped train increasingly powerful AI systems at OpenAI and Anthropic. On Sept. 8, he walked away.
“I resigned from Anthropic today,” Coxon posted on X. “Neither company is acting responsibly. They are racing straight to self-improving superintelligence and gambling with our lives.” His dire warning amassed more than 90 million views in less than 24 hours.
tell me, is is bad when the guy who helped invent the tech gets so terrified of what he’s done that he quits his job and starts blowing the whistle — and then, his own boss and the boss’s cronies go ‘he’s right, this shit’s hella bad’?
That sounds pretty fucking terrifying to me. isn’t that the plot of umpteen science fiction books any movies — some rogue AI decides that humanity needs to be killed to death — or turned into batteries?
literally everyone is concerned right now that the rush to build ever-smart AIs is a bad idea that’s in need of regulation: We the People, our elected officials — and even the homies who built the damned things. shouldn’t that tell you that something in fact needs to be done?
oh no, wait. there’s one dumb asshole who’s totally down with letting AI do its evil, unregulated thing — and he’s pulled out his favorite word: hoax.
I am the Hoax Buster, and I’m right now breaking another Hoax — That AI is going to take over, consume, and destroy the World, and that Robots will be marching into our Cities, and getting rid of us all! This is even wilder than the RUSSIA, RUSSIA, RUSSIA HOAX, or the Global Warming Scam. Thank you for your attention to this matter! President DONALD J. TRUMP
this fucking idiot — everything he doesn’t like is a hoax. yeah, as if the tech bros now clanging the alarms are hoaxing themselves. cool stor
why is Donny so dead-set against regulating the development of plagiarism robots ? because, as Robert Reich reports in his post from this morning, he and his failsons stand to make a mint off of AI tech.
So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?
Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.
remember what I said earlier about how, ‘at this point, I think I’d be shocked if Donny and his family managed to do something that wasn’tcorrupt’?
but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.
So what explains Trump’s absolute refusal to regulate AI? Could it possibly be that he and his family have personal financial stakes in it?
Indeed, Donald Jr. and Eric Trump have invested substantially in American Data Centers, a firm created to support AI cloud computing and AI infrastructure.
but Donny says not to worry, because he knows more about six-fingered plagiarism robots than all the six-fingered plagiarism robots — and he knows exactly what’s needed to keep things from getting out of hand.
The only control or “guardrails” that AI needs is a STRONG AND SMART (High IQ!) PRESIDENT
so that’s all we need, to keep from ending up as batteries to power the matrix? a smart president?
oh shit, we’re fucked.
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Weekend At Mitch’s
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Gee Ted, You Say That Like It’s A Bad Thing!
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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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When Supermarkets Sue To Block Affordable Food They Admit Their Prices Are The Real Problem
adhd_memetherapy: The grocery industry in New York City spent decades pulling out of low-income neighborhoods, then charged those same people more when they were forced to shop at their relocated stores. Now the city wants to open five stores of its own, one per borough, in those exact neighborhoods, selling groceries around 30 percent cheaper so that working-class people can have an affordable option. The supermarket lobby is distraught because their overpriced food can’t possibly compete with stores that don’t run on the hyper greed model that every corporation in this country runs on or learned to implement in their MBA programs. So instead of competing, like the system of capitalism was designed for, they’re trying to sue to stop it before a single one of these city run marts opens. Five stores in the Bronx and Harlem aren’t going to bankrupt anybody. What scares them is a city proving in public that it can feed people cheaper than they do without price gouging everyone. And look at who’s actually paying for the lawsuit. It was filed with the backing of the America First Policy Institute, Larry Kudlow’s Trump think tank, which has never cared about a bodega in the Bronx in its life. They’re in it because Chicago and Atlanta are already looking at copying this, and if a socialist mayor in the biggest city in the country shows that the government can sell you eggs for less than Kroger can, every other city is going to want one too, and there goes the story they’ve been telling us for fifty years about how the private sector always does it better.
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But WILL He?
Thomas Massie said: “Congress has a few more days in session before the election. I should do a discharge petition to give out $5,000 checks before the election. I wonder how many republicans would sign it?”
Marjorie Taylor Greene responded: “😂 do it. Since none of the Republicans bemoaned his $5K vote buying scheme, and all of leadership was there, surely they will jump on the opportunity to get it done.”
Just some rough math, if there’s 270 million adults in the USA and he gives them all $5000. 270,000,000 x $5000 = $1,350,000,000,000. I wonder wheres he’s gonna get $1.35 trillion dollars from? Probably your own pockets
And while they’re at it, can they add my DOGE & Tariff checks too?
I’ll believe it when I see it.
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Be Gay, Do Witchcraft, Hex Fascists
One button, one truth: the machine obeys; she never will. BORN TO DISOBEY, starring Vivian Wilson (the eldest daughter of Elon Musk and his first wife, Justine Musk née Wilson).
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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…
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I Never Realized That Coke Was So Popular In Japan
…because these sellers are either on it, or are trying to support their habits.
$400 tops, even “new, unused” and with all the original accessories.
I want so badly to hit that “Message” button and ask,
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Don’t Worry John. We’re ALL There.
I feel like I’m losing my mind.
That thought runs through my head more than I’d like to admit these days.
As someone who has navigated the past three decades with a mental illness, I’ve gotten used to the crushing despair that visits from time to time, sometimes staying for a few bleak moments before departing as quickly as it came, other times moving in for weeks or even months, derailing recent progress and swallowing up my tenuous joy.
I have endured the darkest nights of the soul, and I’ve passed through protracted seasons of utter hopelessness.
Yet, as difficult as those times have been, they were always the exception; brief or extended detours from an otherwise manageable and often even enjoyable existence. I could usually be certain that, despite their ferocity, these internal storms would eventually pass and a gentler, more stable state would settle in.
I’m not sure I can say that anymore.
In fact, if I set aside the weight of others’ personal and professional expectations of me, the facades of competence I work incredibly hard to maintain, and the worries of judgement, disappointment (or worse, pity) that may or may not come, I gotta say there’s a twenty-four-seven sh*t show going on inside my head.
A pervasive, insidious, and increasingly loud sense of dread is pretty much ubiquitous now.
It sits alongside me in traffic as I think about my neighbors abducted from their workplaces and children lying under rubble half a world away.
It hovers over my shoulder as I am hit again and again by an unrelenting flood of suffering flickering wildly through the screen in the palm of my hand that I can’t seem to put down.
It sits like a massive stone upon my chest at night, as I inventory the nightmares of the day, and wait for sleep to come, knowing it will likely not be restful.
It greets me in the morning with a sudden jolt of panic, the second I happen upon the horrors du jour curated by powerful people who seemingly cannot be stopped.
I do my best to beat those stubborn black thoughts into submission or at least soften their jagged edges with the well-worn stockpile of coping strategies I’ve used and endlessly recommend to others: meditation, therapy, prayer, volunteering, exercise, nature, travel, fasting, medication, journaling, community, touching grass.
Yet, if I’m honest, these have become an exercise in diminishing returns, rarely offering more than a short respite from the feeling that things in my head are not improving anytime soon.
And far from some nebulous, undefined source, I can precisely pinpoint the authors of my despair:
It’s the unthinkable cruelty that appears to be contagious.
It’s the seemingly inexhaustible capacity some have for hurting fellow humans.
It’s the apparent apathy of so many others.
It’s the brokenness of systems that seem beyond repair.
It’s what feels like the irreparable relational fractures that have been revealed.
It’s the burning of the planet, the disregard for the vulnerable, and the mockery of empathy.
It’s the realization that no one is coming to save us and we may not even be willing to save ourselves.
These are quantifiable, tangible realities; or at least they point to those things. This isn’t some negative mindset that positive thinking will magically remedy. I can’t manifest my way out of it or speak it out of existence. This is terrifyingly real, and knowing that actually helps a bit. It’s a comfort to realize this is not all in my head.
Look, there are things I know to be true about the hell we are all living through right now:
I know that I am not responsible for carrying all of it.
I know I can only stay in the small space of my agency.
I know that there are tens of millions of people working tirelessly to push back against the same darkness I am.
I know that all evil empires fall, that every malevolent regime is temporary, that things are never as black and white as they might feel.
I can know all of these things with great certainty, and still feel like the sky is falling.
I’m still functioning, still doing my work, still making plans, still finding moments of joy, still stepping into the trenches of the fight, still creating, still endeavoring to “live well as the greatest resistance”, but there remains the lingering grief over how much has been lost and the sad realization that we didn’t have to be here.
I think feeling that is less a sickness and more a sign of humanity.
Please hear me: this is not a cry for help, an invitation of sympathy, or a solicitation for solutions; maybe more a plea for solidarity.
It’s the difficult admission of a far-from-ideal mental state that I wish I didn’t find myself in, in the hope that I’m not the only one whose head is a scary and disorienting place right now.
Maybe you might encounter these words and suddenly recognize the symptoms of a lingering sorrow that you haven’t been able to shake, a fear that does not relent, and a rest that does not come.
Maybe if we all admit how not well we are, that will be the healing we need to keep going for one more day.
Is your head a mess these days, friends, or is it just me?
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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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EVERY ACCUSATION IS A CONFESSION
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