100,000 Human Capital Stock Units Have Perished; You Are Permitted a 5-Minute Grief Break (Ferret)
Greetings fellow human capital stock! I trust you enjoyed your holiday weekend, but it is now time to return to your unsafe workplaces, or, if you are too unhealthy to do so, to your nearest Soylent processing plant. I will round up the news with you, but only if you promise it won’t undermine your productivity, aka the only value you possess, you worthless serf.
(Yes indeed, this post can be found, with news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/100000-human-capital-stock-units-have-perished-you-are-permitted-a-5-minute-grief-break/)
Yes, we are all simply cattle to Shart House economic advisor Kevin Hassett, who really put a human face on the Turdmaggot Administration’s controversial Into the Meatgrinder With Ya, Pleb reopening strategy. It’s still adorable, if horrifying, that these clowns really imagine we’re going to die for their bank accounts.
Far be it from me to offer Team Treasonweasel advice, but maybe this particular moment in time, when your lethal incompetence is a massive, inescapable mound of raw, unprocessed dumbassery blocking out the very fucking sun, is not the appropriate point to be musing about conducting the first new nuclear weapons tests since 1992. I feel obligated to remind you twerps that you had real difficulties pulling off the goddamn White House Easter Egg Roll, so maybe leave the nukes alone until the grown-ups take over next January. If Wee Don wants to see ‘splosions so bad, he can fucking well rent Con Air.
Pornhub reports that traffic to videos of people fucking is way down, because America is instead jerkin’ it to the Entirely Deserved, Dignity-Annihilating Downfall of Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III. Jeff finds himself in the tragicomic role of Frankenbigot, helpless as the monster he created (well, endorsed and normalized, anyhow) ends his career and burns his legacy to so much hillbilly ash. Very few people bear as much responsibility for the raging turdnado that’s tearing through America as you do, Beau, and I hope the rest of your life is filled with hemorrhoids and paper cuts.
While an overwhelming majority of Americans support the mask-wearin’, social-distancin’ sacrifices necessary to contain the coronavirus (out of a desire to stay alive, and help others stay alive, which is partisan now, yay us), it’s the bleating nutjobs who snag all the headlines. Kentucky managed to round up the real crème de la outhouse of the Loser Terrorist crowd, who gathered in Frankfort to hang an effigy of Governor Andy Beshear from a tree, because they are terrorists and losers but mostly losers. My inner Chuck Todd* doesn’t want to take sides, but shitty white boys with lynching fantasies are cordially invited to gargle my ballsweat.
Bad news, Resisters...I know we’ve all been counting on framing the 2020 election as a referendum on the Marmalade Shartcannon’s myriad murderous failures, but now that the lead issue driving swing voters is a conspiracy theory about Morning Joe Scarborough murdering an intern a few years ago, I fear a second Turd Term is all but assured. Under normal circumstances, the shattered economy and astronomical unemployment rate would be significant, likely even dominating factors, but alas, I fear we are all bound for Scarborough Fair now, having been outwitted by the finest strategic mind this side of the leftover cheese dip you forgot about in the back of the fridge.
All of this is obviously very traumatizing for the deceased woman’s family, who will now be terrorized for the rest of their lives by rabid conspiracy theorists, like Seth Rich’s parents before them, to say nothing of Sandy Hook families. None of this matters to the Sociopath-in-Chief, of course, who would happily swap the misery of a few peasant strangers for a momentary distraction from his colossal fuckups.
Confident that he’d taken that whole re-election thing off the table with his wily ploy, Dorito Mussolini spent Memorial Day weekend shitposting like a meth-addled 4chan denizen and golfing like Nero Only Dumber and Less Talented. Big shout-out to Dr. Deborah Birx, I’m sure it’s just a dream come true to see your lifetime of expertise repurposed as a shield to allow a septuagenarian toddler to claim a little extra recess time.
And I see President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster is now flinging poo at North Carolina Governor Roy Cooper over the Republican National Convention, still inexplicably scheduled for August, on the “everything will be fine because reasons” theory of pandemic-fighting. Cooper is understandably concerned about opening Disneyworld Only for COVID-19 in his state, but you really couldn’t dig a mass grave large enough for the crowd Hairplug Himmler would happily condemn to death for the sugar rush of just one more Klan rally.
Naturally, numerous Republijag governors are now tripping over one another to host this human sacrifice demolition derby, valuing the fleeting approval of a rapidly-deteriorating narcissist who can neither write nor speak his native tongue over the lives of their own constituents. It’s like a game show where contestants compete for suffering, grief, and granite for tombstones.
Meanwhile, Presumably-Smilin’-But-We-Can’t-Tell-Cuz-He’s-Wearing-a-Mask Joe Biden has been proclaimed a sissy, a cuck, and an all-around girlyman by Strawberry Shartcake and his sad little cult of toxic-and-also-not-even-remotely-masculine masculinity. The source of Joe’s fatal wussiness is of course his insufferably prissy mask-wearing, because everybody knows real men don’t model safe, healthy behavior, they lick the insides of medical waste receptacles behind hospitals overwhelmed with coronavirus cases. I feel like Evolution is about to sit Dirtbag Machismo down for a long hard talk.
I see the Karenest Karen that ever Karened did the Karenest thing ever in the entire history of Karendom, committing attempted murder-by-cop against a black man who simply asked her to obey publicly-posted leash laws. Well Amy Cooper, that shitty, shitty thing you did cost you your job and your dog, but hey, at least you’re famous now.
And of course we passed the gruesome 100,000 COVID-19 deaths milestone this morning, prompting Donnie Deathcult to congratulate himself on all the fabulous presidenting he’s done this year, like a child demanding critical acclaim for the mural he smeared on the living room walls using his own diaper as a palette. He keeps trying to use the Obama/Biden response to H1N1 as a cudgel, somehow failing to understand that the comparison makes him look like a melted-in-the-microwave My Little Pony doll next to a couple of thoroughbreds.
Out of an abundance of concern for Bill at the Abject Horror Desk’s mental health during quarantine, I’m moving him off the Abject Horror Desk and into the newly-created Desperately-Needed Good News Bureau. Over to you, Bill!
Bill at the Desperately-Needed Good News Bureau: Thanks, Cap! This is so much nicer. Bigger office, too! Will I get a raise, you think?
Cap: Sorry, Bill, you don’t even exist. You’re just a device I use from time to time in my blog.
Bill at the Desperately-Needed Good News Bureau: So, no then? That’s okay, because I’ve got some Desperately-Needed Good News™️! Hey, remember back when Florida Republicans tried to work around an insanely popular ballot measure reenfranchising felons by imposing an unconstitutional poll tax? Well, it turns out unconstitutional shit can get struck down by a federal judge, just like my 7th grade civics textbook said! While the poll tax is no longer on the books, I am told it is enjoying its new home, up Ron DeSantis’ cheap authoritarian ass.
An intriguing rift arose in America’s most destructive marriage today, as Twitter slapped one of Fat Q*Bert’s lying anti-vote-by-mail posts with a big ol’ honkin’ fact check. Ruh roh, Shart-Shart, if you don’t have your disinformation platform, you’re just a confused, butthole-mouthed, old nitwit who doesn’t know how to dress himself.
Sigh. Even on a holiday weekend, these creeps can’t leave a poor put-upon chronicler alone. If it wasn’t for the beer, I’d be quite mad by now.
*I don’t really have an inner Chuck Todd, promise. Or at least, I better not. I didn’t order one.
= new reply since forum marked as read
Thank You so much.
