Living In The United States Of Embarrassment John Pavlovitz
A few months ago, I confessed to a close friend I’d been imagining myself in a way I never had before in over half a century of living here in America: I’d been imagining myself as an expat.
Seeing my social media timeline, now filled with breaking news that is the stuff of horror film and chilling 1930s newsreels, I’d been daydreaming about what it might be like to wake up in a place that doesn’t feel the way this one does: oppressive and disappointing, bitter and divided. I’ve pictured myself greeting the morning with expectancy, and moving through the day with the simple exhalation of belonging, of truly feeling at home in the place I call home.
At first, it was difficult to admit this newly-burgeoning fantasy of flight from my place of birth, until I found out how many here are similarly prone to daydreaming right now, as well. Over the last year, tens of millions of Americans moved from national pride to abject humiliation, exchanging the promise and possibility of what we could be for the grim reality of what we are. After the last election, we spent a few horrible days or weeks in stunned sadness, and most of the rest of the time since, alternating between rage and shame.
So many of us understand how horrifyingly ridiculous this all is. We see every illegal, immoral, violent thing this Administration is doing. We know how thoroughly batsh*t crazy our President is, and we’re well aware that he has absolutely no business running a street corner hot dog cart, let alone the Land of the Free and home of the Brave.
Every day seems to deepen the severity and magnitude of our never-ending national facepalm. That’s because this authoritarian regime filled with felons, grifters, insurrectionists, and sociopaths has put many of us in a precarious position that we’ve never been in our entire lives: we’re now ashamed of our homeland.
No, not of the ideas of Libery, equality, and Diversity that birthed this young and troubled nation, not the tremendous sacrifice that’s been offered by past generations in order to protect and preserve our fragile democracy, not the Nobel Constitution that once formed the very bedrock of our collective, not the things we’ve done together to this point to try and craft a country opening and welcoming.
But we are embarrassed by this President and his kleopcratic Cabinet, and we’re embarrassed to live in America as they represent it to the world. We’re ashamed that they are speaking for us, serving as our ambassadors, being our surrogates, because we know it all reflects terribly on those of us who call this place home. It’s exhausting to try to live, work, and study while holing your breath and hiding your face, alongside so many who seem proud of this ugliness that is defining us.
As a result, so many things are now shame-triggers for us: the mention of his name, the very sight of him, the flag, the word America. Hearing those first few words of our National Anthem, “Oh say, can you see…” is cause for mourning, because right now it’s nearly impossible to see those things we should still proudly hail.
Perhaps the only true comfort we’ve found in these days has been the solidarity of like-hearted humans who are equally humiliated; the affinity we have discovered together, like arm-locked, rebellious souls fiercely burdened to see one another through a terrible disaster. We are fellow captives trauma-bonding in a tenuous hostage situation that seems certain to end poorly. If misery loves company, then we are certainly finding such heavily grieving company now.
So yes, we are united here in our great embarrassment; people of every pigmentation, religious affiliation, orientation, and nation of origin. We are all greatly ashamed of the America that the world is experiencing and the one we see ourselves becoming. And no, most of us are not leaving, even if those loud and angry few who are not mortified but proud of a wannabe despot and his genuflecting gaggle of enablers would prefer we did.
We are staying to push back, to advocate for one another, to repair what is being damaged in whatever incremental ways we can. We are staying to be the dignified and rational response to the most undignified, irrational behavior by those in our leadership. We are staying because we know that our nation, as shameful as it is, is better than those who have commandeered it and made it into the blight on this world that it has become.
We’re shaking our collective heads here in the Land of the Freaked-out and the Home of the Facepalm, trying to make America good again despite our leaders… and we will.
are you sitting down right now? I sure hope so, because here’s some shocking news: it turns out that the guy who lied to us about bone spurs, and lied to us about hush money, and lied to us about his Ukraine phone call — and about a hurricane and covid and the election and his height and his weight and his golf scores and how tariffs work, and about thirty thousand other things — has been lying about his health.
I know, right?
apparently, Donny got wind of the fact that the Wall Street Journal was going to commit a wall-street-journalism by documenting all the ways in which Dear Leader is falling apart physically — and he reacted in the most Donny way possible: he phoned the Journal and started whining about how unfair they’re being to him.
In an impromptu phone interview that came after the Journal shared details about its reporting with the White House, the president expressed irritation about the public debate over his health. He has grown upset with his own White House staff for not promoting him as more vigorous.
spoiler alert: this whole ‘interview’ is just Donny lying his big dumb pumpkin face off, spewing the usual fever-swamp hallucinations about how he’s super fucking healthy — healthy like no one thought possible, maybe the healthiest person ever.
“My health is perfect,” he added.
whatever you say, President Rottinghand.
speaking of which, we’ve got it all wrong about Donny’s rotting hand. those bruises, apparently, happen because Donny’s been gobbling aspirin for decades.
The large dose of aspirin he chooses to take daily has caused him to bruise easily, he said, and he has been encouraged by his doctors to take a lower dose. But Trump has declined to switch because he has been taking it for 25 years. “I’m a little superstitious,” he said in the interview.
oh please, the only thing of Donny’s that ‘bruises easily’ is his paper-thin ego. but do tell us more about your crackpot theories of medicine, Mister Windmills Give You Brain Cancer — we can’t get enough of that shit.
“They say aspirin is good for thinning out the blood, and I don’t want thick blood pouring through my heart,” Trump said. “I want nice, thin blood pouring through my heart. Does that make sense?”
Donny wants nice, thin blood like no one thought possible — and he asks us if that ‘makes sense,’ not wanting thick blood gumming up the works.
of fucking course it doesn’t make any sense. don’t take my word for it. let’s listen to an expert. Dr. Jonathan Reiner was Dick Cheney’s cardiologist for thirty years, so I’m pretty sure he knows what he’s talking about.
“when we use any anti-coagulant, medications to prevent clotting, those don’t thin the blood. it’s not like changing something from gumbo to chicken soup. it doesn’t make it thinner, it makes you less likely to clot. it used to be that we would treat a lot of people with aspirin therapy to prevent heart attacks — but we’ve learned in recent years that particularly people over the age of 70, not only is there no benefit in terms of just primary prevention, trying to prevent a cardiac event by giving them aspirin, that there can be hazard.and the hazard can be bleeding. significant bleeding. so here’s the interesting thing about this. the president is apparently is taking 325 milligrams of aspirin per day, which is essentially one adult size aspirin tablet. but the dosage that we use for patients, even with documented chronic artery disease, is a quarter that. 81 milligrams per day. so why is the president taking an unorthodox dose of aspirin? the media has published many photos of his right hand, and now maybe his left hand, with his chronic bruise, and the White House has said that this is related to chronic aspirin therapy. so if you’re bruising a lot, and your doctor says you’re on too much aspirin, why wouldn’t you go down to a lower dose?”
ooh ooh! I know the answer to the doctor’s question: it’s because Donny’s a fucking imbecile who is serenely convinced of his own imaginary genius. he know more about doctoring than all the doctors.
of course Donny isn’t going to take the recommended dosage (which isn’t even recommended any more). small pills are for losers. real men chow down on the big-ass kind. so naturally Donny’s going to take the aspirin that goes up to eleven.
meanwhile, the White House is sticking to its ‘Donny’s fist is mangled because he shakes a lot of hands’ fairy tale — but even Donny’s own toadies know that’s a load of shit.
His physical signs of aging are becoming more evident to some of his closest advisers. His skin is so delicate that Pam Bondi, now his attorney general, caused his hand to bleed when she nicked him with her ring while giving him a high-five at the Republican National Convention in Milwaukee.
so, who is Donny shaking hands with that he’s ended up with punctures on the back of his hand? Wolverine?
Trump said he applies makeup to his hands after he gets “whacked again by someone.” He added: “I have makeup that’s, you know, easy to put on, takes about 10 seconds.”
if it takes Donny ‘ten seconds’ to cover his hand, I wonder how many seconds it takes him to spackle his face.
I’m guessing five.
obviously, we’re being lied to. no one is shaking Donny’s hand to the point where the fucking thing looks like someone slammed it in a car door. Donny has clearly been repeatedly receiving intravenous fluids for kind of ailment that they’re hiding from the public. it’s an insult to our intelligence for the White House to insist otherwise.
hey, here’s something else we’ve been getting wrong about Donny. he’s not a narcoleptic fart factory who chronically saws logs in public. he’s just relaxing his eyes.
“I’ll just close. It’s very relaxing to me,” he said in describing shutting his eyes. “Sometimes they’ll take a picture of me blinking, blinking, and they’ll catch me with the blink.”
you know, like he relaxed his eyes at the Pope’s funeral.
who among us hasn’t momentarily relaxed their eyes to the point where their mouth falls open and their entire body goes slack?
oh look, Donny and the White House are once again lying to us about every fucking thing.
when is an MRI not and MRI? apparently when it’s a CT scan, that’s when.
He has for weeks said that he underwent an MRI at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in October. When asked about the procedure by the Journal, Trump and his doctor said he got a different form of imaging: a CT scan. “It wasn’t an MRI,” Trump told the Journal. “It was less than that. It was a scan.”
Navy Capt. Sean Barbabella, Trump’s doctor, confirmed in a statement to the Journal that Trump had received a CT scan.
what in the actual fuck? after weeks of Donny and his flunkies telling us that he got an MRI, now it’s a CT scan? and even the doctor who released that farcical ‘summary’ about Donny’s MRI is now on board that it was a CT scan?
do you think maybe Dr. Barbabella could go on record and explain to us why, if we were all mistaken about which procedure Donny underwent, he didn’t correct us, y’know, two fucking months ago?
The White House declined to make Barbabella available for an interview.
oh. huh.
we’re either being lied to now, or were lied to then. I’m not sure which is the better scenario.
for the umpteenth time, Donny’s handlers are feeding us some some fairy-tale shit-sandwich about Dear Leader’s health — and we’re expected to shut the fuck up and swallow it wholesale.
I’m sorry, but this guy is not well.
look, Donny is suffering from a lot of shit. he is clearly not up to the rigors of presidenting. he disappears from public for days at a time, without explanation. he’s tired. he’s confused. his memory is shot. he can’t tell fact from fiction. he’s hard of hearing. his hands are rotting and his cankles look like they’re about to explode.
that’s a whole lot of pathologies. let’s put them all together and call it fuckbrainscabosis.
We the People have a right to know what’s going on. Dear Leader’s handlers need to stop jerking us around, and release Donny’s complete medical records. tell us why he got an MRI, or CT scan, or whatever the fuck we’re calling it today. and how about explaining to us once and for all how his shot-to-pieces ear magically regenerated itself.
and — as long as we’re calling for releasing stuff — let’s go. Dead Pedo Bestie Files. snap it up already.
“He has wiped off the books EVERY Eric Adams executive order issued on or after September 26, 2024, the day Adams was indicted on federal bribery charges.”
this is how it’s done — and I certainly hope that the next Democratic president is paying close attention.
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.
Apparently I’m at 82% of my allotment (100GB) of disc space under my website’s current hosting plan. While not a pressing issue immediately—and realizing it’s taken me twelve-plus years to get to this point (although my usage has increased over the years and just in 2025 alone I used 11GB*)—at some point I’m going to have to decide what to do about it. Based on this past year’s usage, maybe not next year, but definitely sometime in 2027.
In the meantime I’m going to start posting all images in .webp form to save space—as much as I hate that format and it requires an extra step on the back end.
So I’m asking my readers for your input. If I want to keep my current plan, I’m going to have to delete stuff eventually. Should I go back and delete the first few years of the blog’s posts and pictures, or should I wipe the whole thing and start fresh when I reach the inevitable “disk full” message?
Or should I be proactive as that day draws near and upgrade my hosting plan?
Obviously not ideal, as you can see…
*damn, that’s a lot of pr0n and Trump memes! (I actually used 15GB each year from 2022-2024, so it’s actually down.)
…but I would expand the dimensions by a few feet in all directions, throw in a second bathroom to get a master suite, and find some place for a laundry room. But I do like the overall “feel” of the house.=.
as another stupid year comes to a close in America, let’s remember some of the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
note: this is a long post. some email apps — gmail in particular — may truncate it. if this happens to you, click “view entire message” or “view in browser” or go here to see the entire post.
in the wake of Charlie Kirk’s murder, big strong conservatives, tears in their eyes, have been falling all the fuck over each other in a mad dash to lionize Charlie as a great man. one of the greatest men. a man like no one’s ever seen before. a man like no one thought possible. possibly the greatest man of all time.
Texas Rep. Troy Nehls: “Charlie Kirk was a man of faith, first and foremost. he loved his Lord Jesus, he loved his family, beautiful wife, beautiful children. just a remarkable, honorable man that was silenced with this assassin’s bullet. I would say if Charlie Kirk lived in the biblical times, he’d have been the 13th disciple.”
I’m going to have to disagree with Rep. Nehls, because I’m pretty sure that had the Kirkster lived in biblical times, he’d have been one of the Four Horsemen of the Shitpocalypse. Grumpy, Dopey, Sleepy, and Charlie.
it must be pointed out that the creator of this nightmare fuel, Simon Hedges, is most certainly not a wingnut, and produced that image as a goof. however, that didn’t stop the internet from doing what the internet does best: fail to recognize a joke.
by the way, after I’m finished writing today’s post, I will be sending an angry email to myself demanding that I fire me for being insufficiently respectful to Charlie Kirk.
it’s easy to forget, given the firehose of fucknuttery that is our current timeline, that DOGE is still a thing — and that a certain three-toed freak of nature chairs an entire House subcommittee about it.
that’s right, Congresswoman Sporkfoot is still holding pointless hearings, where she drags in some poor unfortunate expert and harangues them about whatever batshit is seeping from her head.
Marjorie Taylor Greene: “did man create the Ice Age?” witness: “no” Greene: “right. so none of were alive back then to know for sure.”
Congresswoman, are we sure about that, that none of us were alive back then? I’m asking because the Museum of Confluences in Lyon, France, features an exhibit on Neanderthals —
and there’s a woman in that exhibition who looks pretty goddamn familiar.
so I want to ask you again, Congresswoman, are you sure none of us were alive back then?
remember, you’re under oath.
October 1: give that skateboard the Nobel Peace Prize
[ten seconds of silence, as Grassley’s mouth moves, after which Lindsey Graham reaches over and turn on his mic] “I forgot to turn on my microphone. let me start again.”
I know, that’s pretty fucking funny — but let’s cut Chuckie Gee a break. as you know, he was first elected to the Senate in 1782 — and the US Capitol building wasn’t electrified until 1910. you know what they say about old dogs learning new tricks.
I gotta tell you, though: those ten seconds, when Chuckles was flapping his ancient gums and no sounds was coming out — those were the most peaceful ten seconds of my entire life.
October 20: hey Donny, I can see the Epstein Ballroom from up here
oh, how cuuuuute! someone strapped Secretary of Defense Flippy McCrushnuts into the child seat of a fighter jet, and took him for a joyride.
let’s be crystal fucking clear about this: Pete Kegstand was a passenger. no way was he flying the plane — not with his blood-alcohol level.
of course, the Department of Defense went out of their way to crop that video in a way that implied Piss-Drunk Pete was piloting that jet — because that’s what you do when your SecDef is a banty rooster with a paper-thin ego in need of constant affirmation that he’s something other than a two-bit Fox News weekend chat-show dunk-tank clown.
sure, but you know doesn’t have a functioning brain? MAGA, that’s who. those dumbfucks immediately started punching the air and going ‘Kegstand, fuck yeah!’
Community Notes, could you please explain to MAGA what they’re too dim to grasp on their own?
Amanda Grace: “so, I want to speak to these people that want to take part in these ceremonies today. that want to take part in horrific wickedness today. you are nothing more than a slave to Satan and his kingdom. he hates you, he cannot stand you, because whether you like it or not, you’re made in the image of God. and you are just a means to his end. you are a slave to his exploits. you are in bondage to do his bidding.”
lighten the fuck up, Francis.
holy shit, lady. I just wanted to dole out some candy to kids.
I’m pretty sure Satan has more important stuff on his plate right now, what with an entire White House to run.
seriously, could evangelicals please shut the fuck up already and let the rest of us have our fun? it’s not our fault that you can’t find joy in anything, so stop shitting all over ours.
November 13: first they came for whatever the fuck this is
Florida Rep. An Appalling Lunatic went on Newsmax and — [taps earpiece] hold on, I’m being informed that the Florida rep’s name is actually Anna Paulina Luna. goddammit, I keep making this mistake. sorry about that, Anna. let me start over.
Newsmax: “you’re on the record talking about, quote ‘non-human life-forms that could be interdimensional beings who are visiting us.’ can you just explain more, so people at home might know what that means.”
Lunatic: “yes, so that’s definitely a mouthful, but that is directly based on information that we received from witnesses. also information that we have obtained and witnessed via our investigations. there is some stuff that I can’t disclose what I have immediately seen in some of these SCIFs, but what I will tell you is, this is not some crazy conspiracy theory.”
spoiler alert: yes is it. it’s a crazy conspiracy theory.
I’d like to ask Anna if these interdimensional beings are in the room with us right now, but I’m afraid that she’d respond ‘yes, they are. duh. can’t you see them?’
this is why An Appalling Lunatic got herself elected to office — not to help her constituents, or to make anyone’s life better — but, apparently, to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck this is.
“and I sit as the high judge. NO ONE CAN IMPEACH ME. AND NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO IMPEACH TRUMP. I HAVE APPOINTED HIM— ANOINTED HIM. HE IS MY PRESIDENT FOR AMERICA, AND WILL BE SO UNTIL I AM FINISHED WITH HIS ASSIGNMENT.”
I’m kinda skeptical. if the Omnipotent Big Guy in the Sky were actually speaking through Kat, I’m pretty sure he’d know the difference between ‘appointed’ and ‘anointed.’
hey, I can also pretend that God is speaking through me. all I have to do is type in all caps. watch: HEY KAT, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
and please, let’s not mock Iwona for it. she didn’t choose her name, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she’s already endured a lifetime of teasing.
but there is one thing I’d like to ask Ms. Horyn’s parents.
WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?
why didn’t the person filling out the birth certificate snatch the baby out of Mother Horyn’s hands and say ‘you can have her back when you come to your senses.’
we don’t know how Iwona feels about any of this. she’s not saying. neither is her husband, Hugh G. Rection.
podcast bro Joe Rogan’s whole deal is that he’s a credulous meathead. he’ll sit there like a lump as some raving conspiracy loon barks out the batshittiest fever-swamp hallucinations imaginable — after which Joe will nod his head, take a long drag off a joint, and go ‘huh. I didn’t know that.’
“Jesus was born out of a virgin mother. what’s more virgin than a computer? if Jesus does return, even if Jesus was a physical person in the past, you don’t think he could return as artificial intelligence? artificial intelligence could absolutely return as Jesus.”
I think it’s high time (see what I did there?) for Joe Rogan to put down the joint — because I’m pretty sure he meant ‘Jesus could absolutely return as AI.’
this unknown twitterer says it far better than I ever could.
as someone who attended high school in the early 1970s and had many friends with older brothers, I can confirm that this is 100% true.
we should check in with Erika Kirk, the widow of misshapen garden gnome Charlie Kirk. she’s been though some shit lately. what’s that, Erika? you’ve got a ‘holiday season message’ for us?
“HOLIDAY MESSAGE: @MrsErikaKirk shares her — and what would have been Charlie’s — holiday season message: ‘Just rest…Love on your babies. Love on your family members. Life is short.’ Find Charlie Kirk’s final work, ‘Stop, in the Name of God,’ at http://45Books.com.”
hang on, did Erika actually end that message with a book plug? oh yes, she fucking well did!
yup, they’ve recreated the tent where the misshapen gnome was assassinated — and the cultists are all invited to take selfies in it. how fucktacularly ghoulish is that?
you know where they got this brilliant idea to fetishize tragedy, don’t you? from Dear Leader, who has turned an entire wall at the White House into a shrine to his Miracle Ear Nicking.
who the fuck does that?
that puts a wrap on 2025, folks. have a non-stupid New Year’s Eve!
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.
as another stupid year comes to a close in America, let’s remember some of the dumbest fucking shit that happened.
note: this is a long post. some email apps — gmail in particular — may truncate it. if this happens to you, click “view entire message” or “view in browser” or go here to see the entire post.
the world’s most tiresome assholes got another chance to completely lose their shit when James Fucking Comey instagrammed (and then deleted) a photo of seashells spelling out “86 47.”
but let’s leave the whole ridiculous “what could 86 possibly mean” manufactrovery aside for now, and focus instead on the aromatic mouth-farts of the rake-steppingist fuckwit in Congress — because James Comer Fudd knows exactly what the deal is.
“nothing would surprise me at all if that was intentional and they were trying to jizz up some type of coup.”
Christ on a cupcake, Comer Fudd, the expression is “gin up.” and how many coups do you know of that started with seashells? now stop trying to jizz up controversy and go home. we just started this post and we’re already fucking exhausted.
Nancy Mace — America’s self-appointed panty inspector — has a fetish. can you guess what it is?
that’s right, Nancy Mace is way too into posing in front of bathroom doors. and nothing makes Nance happier than finding — the horror! — an all genderbathroom, as happened this week during a visit to Austin.
oh my god. break out the smelling salts and help Nancy to the fainting couch — it’s the fucking fall of western civilization.
has this attention-starved busybody never been on an airplane? those are all-gender bathrooms. has Nancy Mace never been inside her own house?
oh, and that sign that Nancy is so horrified by —
that’s the ADA-mandated sign you see outside every handicapped bathroom. they’re literally everywhere and there’s nothing controversial about them. only one person uses them at a time.
Nancy knows this. she’s just being a performative-nonsense asshole and playing to the cheap seats.
folks, pour one out for hack scribbler Chris Cillizza. keep him in all your thoughts and prayers. Chris is going through some serious shit right now.
here’s how this tragedy went down: Chris drove two whole hours to watch his son play in a soccer tournament in Richmond, Virginia — and when the match was over and he returned to the parking lot, he found that his precious Tesla had been vandalized.
oh my god, that’s terrible. what did they do? did they set the car on fire? did they spray paint obscenities all over it?
no, it’s worse than that — so much worse. what this terrorist did was scotch-tape a piece of paper to Chris’ bumper.
oh noes! but wait. that doesn’t look like the bumper of a car.
of course it isn’t. Chris popped that sucker right off, took it into his house and snapped a pic of it.
so there was no damage?
well, Chris got his fee-fees completely hurted. that’s not nothing. look, why are you being such an insensitive prick about the living nightmare that Chris had to go through?
sorry. tell me what happened next.
I’ll tell you exactly what happened next. Chris was all this aggression will not stand, man —
wait — you’re telling me that instead of crumpling up the paper, tossing it away and getting on with his life, Chris Cillizza opted instead to punch himself in the dick by writing a thousand-word screed and calling attention to what a whiny dipshit he is? because the entire fucking internet is mocking him now.
yeah, that’s pretty much it.
I hope no one ever leaves a flyer for a pizzeria on Chris’ windshield. I’m not sure he could handle that much tragedy.
“we talked to an astronaut yesterday who’s on the moon, who’s a soldier.”
obviously, Dipshit Dan meant to say ‘international space station’ — but overcome by his boyish excitement over being on TV, he completely shanked it.
end of story, right?
wrong. Danny’s slip of the tongue caused the dumbest fuckwads on the planet — the I Did My Own Research crowd on Elon’s Nazi Bar — to orgasm on the spot.
“Interesting. It has been understood that we’ve had a presence there for a very very long time.”
I mean, obviously — and that’s not all they’re hiding from us.
“If you go on Rumble, pull up Super Soldier Talk. We have soldiers on Mars. Fascinating stuff on there!! You have to use portals to get there. Look for JP & I can’t remember a guy named James last name. Women too! Unreal what they go through & time travel involved too.”
portals and time travel and bears, oh my!
I have no clue what’s going on with this next not-tweet. my batshit-to-english translator is on the fritz.
“so we know the enemy has control of the airways. Where do the airways come from?”
it’s a totes legit question: where do the airways come from? I’m guessing the air.
now let’s hear from the lone dissenting voice in the whole comment thread below that clip on not-twitter.
tell me, who had the bright idea to make Marjorie Three Toes Greene chairperson of anything, and put a gavel in her hand? because nobody could have predicted that this ninny would immediately become intoxicated with power and make a noisy fucking fool of herself.
can someone get this spork-footed freak of nature a bag of walnuts, so she can at least do something useful while she bangs away like a two-year-old?
Reason #47 why jaketapper is a piece of shit: He looked at a collapsing democracy, women losing rights, climate hell, people being kidnapped off the streets, and thought: “You know what this moment needs? A cartoon Uncle Sam on a surfboard, high-fiving an eagle with a burger and Jack Daniels.”
Jake Tapper: The human equivalent of a sparkler. Briefly impressive to toddlers, completely useless in a crisis.
by the way, the comments under Tapper’s post are priceless.
where is the lie?
and because a meme is worth a thousand words, let me leave you with this.
let’s check in with anti-abortion activist Seth Gruber. Seth’s a real charmer, as I’m sure you’ll agree.
“one of the reasons we know that abortion is demonic and satanic is that so many of the feminists, or feminazis, to quote Rush Limbaugh … some of abortion’s most energetic and loud cheerleaders are ugly — and fat.”
wait — that’s it? that’s how you know someone is demonic? they’re fat and ugly?
excuse me for a moment, but I have to make a phone call
yeah, hi, Ghostbusters? can you head down to Motel-a-Lago? there’s a demonic infestation there. you’ll be looking for a guy on the golf course wearing a red hat. hey, thanks.
what happened to Naomi Wolf? she used be a garden-variety ‘wellness’ crank who dabbled in vaccine denial, but evidently the covid pandemic completely clownfucked her brain, because now she’s a full-bore conspiracy loon.
not only does Naomi find the evil machinations of the Deep State lurking around every corner — she seems completely befuddled by the sky.
“I don’t even know what this is, Salem MA”
ooh! ooh! ooh! pick me! pick me! I know the answer!
oh wait, the entire internet got there before me.
now comes the part where we throw our heads back in laughter —
— because the entire internet also showed up to mock the shit out of Naomi’s dumb-as-fuck tweet.
ok, I confess, Naomi. this is what clouds look like when the Jewish Space Lasers are scanning the Earth in search of fuckwit conspiracy loons to torment.
you remember Mike Collins. he’s the MAGAfied rage-muppet who got elected to Georgia’s 10th district in 2022 on the strength of a campaign ad wherein he treats a voting machine the way Kristi Noem treats a frisky puppy. Mike AR-15’d the shit out of that machine to prove that ‘Dear Leader actually won in 2020,’ or some such ludicrous fever-swamp bullshit.
well, the King Of All Dumb-Ass Ads is back — and now he’s running for Senate.
I’m not going to bother to show you the entire ad Mike’s brain trust cooked up to announce his candidacy, because seriously, it’s 37 seconds of who gives a shit. it’s just a bunch of nonsensical MAGA mumbo jumbo.
“Georiga.”Christ on a crepe suzette, how on earth did you imbeciles manage to fuck up the spelling of your own state?
August 7: the continuing adventures of Dildo J. Trump Jr.
oh look, the worst fucking people in the world have found a new way to call attention to their dumb-ass shitwaddery. they’re throwing green dildos onto the court during WNBA games. no, really.
why are they doing this? who knows? do the worst fucking people in the world really need a reason to do any of the stupid misogynistic bullshit they get themselves up to?
oh look, Cokey’s abusive father is throwing a green dildo from the roof of the White House down onto where a women’s basketball game is taking place. I guess it’s on the that parking-lot abomination where the Rose Garden used to be?
don’t ask me, I’m not the janky AI that generated it.
give it up, Junior. your father is never going to love you, no matter how many stupid-ass memes you post.
August 21: no, it’s pull yourself up by your own bootstraps
here comes Sean Duffy, the reality-show-has-been who grew up to become Donny’s Secretary Of Planes Falling Out Of The Sky, to demonstrate that there’s physical fitness, and then there’s whatever the fuck this is.
Sean, are you fucking kidding me? on what planet is that considered a legit pull-up? the Fox News flunkie who’s helping you is expending more energy that you are.
we absolutely need to gif this shit for posterity’s sake.
also, I have it on good authority from Rick Santorum that two men working out like this leads to people marrying their dogs.
you could livestream Bobby Brainworms’ entire life and call it Every Fucking Second In Stupid, because when it comes to the whale-head-chainsawing crackpot currently Making Polio Great Again, the batshittery never, ever ends.
but this week, researchers at the Centers for Dumbfuck Control were able to document the moment of Peak Brainworms Stupid, because — oh, joy of joys! — he’s learned a new word.
“I’m looking at kids as I walk through the airports today … and I see these kids that are just overburdened with mitochondrial challenges, inflammation — you can tell from their faces, movements, and lack of social connection.”
oh, how awesome. Bobby Brainworms has mitochondria-ray vision — and while he’s hurrying through Terminal B, trying to catch his connecting flight to Cloud Cuckoo Land, he’s peering through the skulls of every passing child, magically diagnosing all the pernicious shit going on in there.
and you thought kidnapping a dead bear cub and dumping it in Central Park was weird.
“Scientist here. Mitochondria do not present challenges to faces, movements, or social connections. Maybe those kids just don’t like you because you’re staring at them like a creep who wants to give them measles.”
’nuff said.
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.
