Hard Times & War Crimes: News From Hell (Ferret/Shower Cap)
I was looking over some old blog entries the other day, and it seems almost quaint to have written about comparatively trivial crap like, “wow, Scott Pruitt buys really expensive lotion haw haw haw” now that we’re breaking shit that won’t get fixed in my lifetime, but here we are. Might as well do the news, I 'spose.
(And yeah, you can get this post, with all those news links AND a preview image for my forthcoming comic, at: http://showercapblog.com/hard-times-war-crimes-news-from-hell/)
Tonight’s theme is Entirely Predictable Consequences, because, shockingly, the killing of Qassem Suleimani has not resulted in a spontaneous downpour of delicious frosting mingled with hailstones of moistest red velvet cake, but rather the fecal hurricane that any rational person could have seen coming from miles away, and isn’t it a dang shame there are no such people to be found anywhere in the executive branch of the United States federal government in this fresh new year? Like, you’d settle for a pushy intern at this point, wouldn’t you?
We learned Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops couldn’t help but slink around Marm-a-Lago over the holidays, desperately trying to impress the wealthy dirtbags who line his pockets with membership fees in exchange for the opportunity to wield the power of the American presidency simply by manipulating his fragile ego, teasing them something big and bomb-shaped, that rhymes with Munconstitutional Massassination, was coming soon regarding Iran, even while hiding the plans from the congressional Gang of Eight. It might behoove House Democrats to join Every Intelligence Agency on Earth and set up a little surveillance equipment down at the “Winter White House.”
Thuggish Theocratic Diplogoon Mike Pompeo is all peeved n’ pissy because America’s traditional European allies have proven somewhat less than eager to share the credit for Shart Garfunkel’s latest colossal blunder. Shit, even Boris “no, I look like this on purpose” Johnson is smart enough to tell Littlefinger “Actually, you can have the terrorist retaliation all to yourself, old boy.”
Yeah, Mike, it’s just an indecipherable fucking mystery why these people you’ve been pelting with shit for three long years aren’t gleefully leaping into the car you’re driving off a cliff (and in a stupid, suicidal, way, not an awesome, life-affirming, Thelma & Louise way, for the record). IS THERE ANYBODY IN THIS ADMINISTRATION WITH EVEN A PASSING FAMILIARITY WITH THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT?
Pentagon officials have convened a hasty game of Pin the Blame on the Dotard, leaking to the press details of what only the profoundly charitable would call the “decision-making process” behind the Drone Strike That Fucked Literally Everything Up. Seems Dorito Mussolini’s military advisors were in the habit of presenting him with a buffet of options, including one extreme “only a braindead moron would pick this one” choice, designed to make the other plans look more reasonable by comparison. Whoever could’ve imagined that playing silly little psychological games with an idiot manchild would backfire so spectacularly? Who, except, y’know...everybody? Fucking EVERYBODY?!?
Oh, and all that stuff about having two scoops of plump, juicy, intelligence that the strike was necessary to prevent an “imminent” attack? Yeah, that’s quickly turning out to be pure horseshit as well, and there’s no Colin Powell to razzle-dazzle the U.N. this time, but if you try to trot out, say, Stephen Miller to bamboozle the world, I will buy front row seats.
Some bored pollster/aspiring horror writer decided to ask a bunch of Republicans who they wanted to see run for President in 2024, and two of the top choices turned out to be Turdwaffle, Jr., and Princess Ivanka Turdwaffle, I guess because rank and file conservatives just like paying rich people to golf. Like, I get the concept of a cult of personality, but I guess I always figured there would something appealing about the personality, y’know? A mouth-breathing 40-year-old boy who looks like he diligently collected stray pubes from the locker room and glued them to his cheeks because he can’t grow a beard on his own? For PRESIDENT? Fuck, I’d get up and move if he sat next to me on the train.
Oh, but Son of Shart is out to prove me wrong, showing off his political bonafides by...sigh...by posting pictures of himself holding a gun decorated with this sad little cartoon of Hillary Clinton behind bars, and grinning like he finally, after years of humiliating failure and declining expectations, switched to pull-up diapers. You should most definitely nominate this kid, Republicans. The platform can be owning th’libs and...and...let’s face it, that’s all you care about anymore, so why not line up behind the Sultan Spraytan Subpar Son?
I can’t tell if it really falls under the mission of this blog to mention that Meat Loaf and Greta Thunberg are feuding, but for what it’s worth, Meat Loaf and Greta Thunberg are feuding.
But let’s get back to those consequences. It’s almost as though the Treasonweasel Administration felt bad about killing Suleimani, and decided to give him more or less everything he ever wanted to make up for it. So when the Cult45ers in your social media feed squawk WHY U LUV TERRORISTS SO MUCH, you can point out all the pesky real-world effects of the Bonespur Buttplug's recklessness.
Huge anti-American protests erupted all over Iraq and Iran, and god only knows how many angry young people will now wind up forgoing that long-shot theatre degree to pursue a career in terrorism instead. Anyway, as far as ominous signs go, you could do worse than the unfurling of a red flag, symbolizing vengeance, over the Jamarkaran Mosque in Qom, Iran. Increased hatred of the USA? Strengthening the autocratic Iranian regime? Point Suleimani.
The Government of Iran, of course, promptly announced they would no longer abide by agreed-upon restrictions placed on their nuclear program, golly, that’ll sure stick it to Obama, right? Anyway, back to the ol’ uranium enrichment labs, I bet it’ll be super-fun, like Breaking Bad meets Jack Ryan, oh wait, I keep getting TV and reality confused since we put a game show host in charge of national security.
And in Iraq, the Parliament voted to expel all U.S. troops from their borders, because, as anyone who’s ever read Miss Manners understands, it’s really quite rude to conduct drone strike assassinations when you’re a guest in someone else’s home. Anyway, in the aftermath of the attack, Iraq has been pushed further than ever into Iran’s willing arms, in case you’re wondering why Suleimani’s corpse has that sloppy grin on its face.
(In an apparent effort to forever eradicate the perception of American military competence in front of the entire world, the Cud-Brained Dolt Administration issued a letter announcing immediate and total compliance with Iraq’s request to Kindly Get the Fuck Out, only to walk that bad boy back a couple hours later, sending the Fucking Chairman of the Joint Fucking Chiefs of Staff out to announce, “Whoopsie, our bad, didn’t mean it, it turns out we are massive fuck-ups. Anyway, stand by, we’ve got some equipment en route that should help us pull our heads out of our asses, but don’t get your hopes up.”)
Oh, and U.S. troops in Iraq have now suspended anti-ISIS operations so they can hang around and wait for potential Iranian retaliation instead, that’s a fun rearrangement of priorities, isn’t it? It’s weird to have a President who’s done more to benefit ISIS than, say, the U.S. manufacturing sector, which is in recession due to Weehands McNodick’s Dumbass Trade War™️, and weirder still to have the party of "fiscal conservatism" and "national security" enabling him every disastrous step of the way, but y’know...interesting times and all that.
Anyway, this is what happens when you hand the keys to the most powerful military machine in history to a tantrum-prone narcissist with an insecure third-grade boy’s idea of “toughness”; the sugar rush of a button pushed and half a day’s worth of sensational headlines, followed by the inevitable, totally avoidable, crash, a price to be paid by untold thousands for years to come. History, scrawled in crayon, by a sociopath with single, dried-out, rabbit turd for a soul.
Indeed, the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor has responded to the snowballing pile of shit of his own making with his trademark brand of apocalyptic childishness, threatening to bomb cultural sites inside Iran (a war crime, of course, but get in line, The Hague), and to levy sanctions against Iraq for kicking him out before he could finish working his way through their complete set of Everybody Loves Raymond DVDs. Y’know, you catch more flies with honey than with pompous, belligerent, and ultimately hollow, bluster, Dotard.
As for the violence that’s almost sure to come, don’t worry, Mike Pompeo has already written off the casualties as merely “a little noise,” a casual reminder that he is a religious nutcase trying to use the powers of the U.S. government to give the end times an encouraging nudge whenever possible, sleep tight.
Meanwhile, Paul Gosar is still out there doin’ his best to provide a role model for all the shittiest kids in America, proving you can be an unrepentant bag of moldy dicks, and still get rewarded with wealth and power. You like photoshop so much, Paulie? Tonight’s graphic is for you.
Oh, and I see John Bolton is once again strutting around, tantalizingly flaunting his filthy mustache lingerie, promising to tell a tantalizing tale of treason, if only Mitch McConnell and the GOP-controlled Senate will subpoena him. Flash all the ankle you like, old man, I’m not buying your book.
In the wake of Murderstache’s tease, Marco Rubio reached miles up his own ass, past all the just-in-case plastic water bottles, to offer the theory that the Senate shouldn’t hear Bolton’s testimony because an old witch laid a curse upon the Upper House that forbids them from hearing new evidence in an impeachment trial, which is as silly as it is craven, and therefore awfully fucking silly indeed. Looking on the bright side, I think it’s cool that, even as a slovenly, drunken, moron in a beat-to-hell Captain America bathrobe, I still have more integrity and self-respect than a U.S. Senator.
Ok, that’s what I’ve got for y’all tonight. Anyway, we’re launching the kickstarter for the comic book very soon, tentatively on January 15th. If you don’t contribute, I’m gonna drink a bunch of cheap beer, eat some shitty bar food, come over to your house, and commit a war crime in your bathroom. You’ve been warned.
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It would be an honor. 
Great blog tonight, BTW. I am not sure how you keep your sanity.....or do you?
Hope so!
Carry on! 
I am intrigued by the title, and suspect it will be right up my alley. Will get in on the Kickstarter.
Thank you for slogging through the mess of it all - I laugh, sigh, and catch things I may have missed when reading your work.
Thank you!
