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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 06:48 PM
Number of posts: 467

Journal Archives

Everybody Enjoying This Sad, Silly Coup? Living in History Sure is Dumb. (Ferret/Shower Cap)

What if they threw a coup, and only the densest, skeeviest, mouthbreathingest clown school dropouts showed up? I swear, the textbooks of the future are going to switch without warning to comic sans when they reach this stupid, stupid period in American history.

(Find this one, with allllllll them nooz links, here: http://showercapblog.com/everybody-enjoying-this-sad-silly-coup-living-in-history-sure-is-dumb/)

Before we begin, a toast to the latest macabre milestone: our coronavirus death mound now measures a quarter of a million corpses high. “American exceptionalism” certainly carries a darker meaning in these waning days of 2020, as asymptomatic transmission and the wingnut disinformation bubble continue working their murderous magic, Laura Ingraham skipping merrily along, hand-in-hand with the Grim Reaper, in a plague-friendly perversion of the buddy system.

Rudy Giuliani, raw sewage leaking from seemingly every pore and orifice, called yet another press conference, as if to defiantly proclaim that yes, for a loser of less renown, the debacle at Four Seasons Total Landscaping would have been rock bottom, but I’m Amerikkka’s Mayor, dammit, and I’ve still got so much further to fall, Dante’s gonna learn a thing or two before I finally splatter.

Alongside Jenna Ellis and Sidney Powell because I guess Alex Jones and the Hamburglar were busy, Incesto the Clown bellowed and babbled the craziest fucking shit you will ever fucking hear; by the end of it, I honestly think he was speaking in tongues; you get enough cheap meth in these maniacs, everything comes out HUGO CHAVEZ AND GEORGE SOROS DID IT, y’know?

That’s just how things are now, during the Fuckwit Revolution, as the least intelligent people alive attempt to overthrow the U.S. government by punching themselves in the crotch over and over again.

It’s the weirdest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a bit like watching a video of some roly-poly baby bear struggling to open a jar, (sans the cuteness of course) and you’re all, “Wook at him! Him cannot get it open cuz him not haz thumbs,” but also there’s a small nuclear device inside the jar, so maybe we should take it away before the bear gets lucky?

Because we suddenly find ourselves at the point where the defeated incumbent President of the United States is saying, rather loudly, “The election didn’t go the way I wanted, I should now very much like to end democracy in America,” and the institutional GOP is all, “Donald just needs to damage to our institutions a little while longer, can’t you see he’s upset? Let him have this!”

Look, Martin Scorsese earned the right to inflict the last 35 minutes of The Irishman on us, but only after delivering decades of quality cinema; all you fucks’ve done is turn the motherfucking coronavirus loose on us like we’re a goddamn all you can eat buffet. Tell him he has to stop coup-ing or there won’t be any ice cream. Jesus.

The Dipshit Coup itself is, dear lord, SO much dumber than I expected, and my expectations were...I mean, c’mon, we’re talking about a Yosemite-and-Thailand-mispronouncin‘ clod, regularly thwarted by umbrellas and neckties. Just today, he retweeted a fake account, claiming to be his sister, because all you have to do to trick the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES into thinking you’re literally a member of his family is to make a Twitter account in their name; can you even IMAGINE how much Putin has been milking this fool?

My point is, even at THAT level of expectation, this shit is stupid beyond my wildest imaginings, like, What If the Pulp Fiction Suitcase Contained Stupidity, whether it’s alleging fraud in Michigan using data from Minnesota, or Rudy stopping just short of screaming “SIRI HOW DO YOU LAWYER?” in Williamsport. It shouldn’t be possible to fail this badly in public without combusting from shame.

Yes, it’s almost incomprehensibly dumb, but it is also dangerous, because this idiot death cult is growing discouragingly comfortable with political violence, as evidenced by the truly dispiriting outpouring of financial support for the child terrorist Kyle Rittenhouse, who posted $2 million bail today, and now walks free.

Speaking of shitty white boy terrorism, this week we learned some deeply fucked-up new details about the plans of that one white trash cell up in Michigan, so I guess it shouldn’t surprise us to learn rank-and-file Cult45ers are bombarding election officials with death threats; they’re just doin’ their humble part to bring a white nationalist dictatorship to America, by gum. I’m told we need to reach out to these people. I disagree.

The only signs the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor acknowledges his enormous, humiliating, landslide defeat on any level manifest in odd leaks about planned pettiness designed to make life harder for the incoming Biden Administration (and, by extension, the American people, some 70 million of whom apparently can’t wait to gobble up one last plateful of Tangerine Idi Amin’s shit) by recklessly “lighting fires” all over the world for no purpose greater than raw spite.

I really don’t have the heart to tell Wee Don that Joe is unlikely to take his seat behind the Resolute desk before a staffer removes the thumbtack he’s so childishly plotting to leave in place of the traditional gracious letter. They gotta steam-clean the joint, bro; between the lingering stench of experimental hair tonic and the inch-thick film of pure coronavirus adorning every surface, they’ll be running the country out of a Starbucks for the first few days.

Treasury Secretary Mnuchbag is getting in on the Torch the Oilfields in Retreat action, shutting down key emergency loan programs just as the fall surge begins to take its toll. This episode serves as a fun reminder that Mitch McConnell views his job, under a Democratic president, as “inflicting maximum harm until voters return the GOP to power,” and for no particular reason here’s a link for anybody who wants to help get Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff elected.

Speaking of Georgia, I see David Perdue got caught using his office for personal profit again, and I’m almost overwhelmed with whimsy, recalling the days when such serial corruption would have ended his political career. Of course, the contract between Republican officials and their voters is different now: you can rob ‘em blind so long as you trigger th’libs, and we all know Dave isn’t shy about deploying his dog whistle.

Willard Romney was widely praised for demonstrating Republican Bravery, which is sort of like regular bravery, only it comes weeks after the point it would have done any good. Whatever.

You’ll no doubt be pleased to learn Emily W. Murphy remains blissfully unconcerned about the damage she is single-handedly inflicting on the country by holding up the transition of power, which essentially amounts to humming Hakuna Matata at the funerals of the inevitable victims of her coronavirus response sabotage.

I see Rudy’s shitbrained kid caught himself a lil’ touch of the ‘rona. So did Rick Scott. This keeps happening, so I’m out of jokes on the subject, but of course the joke’s really on us, in that our country’s governing party is defined by a cultish refusal to ever learn anything about anything.  Ha ha...hoo. Fuck.

Junior caught it, too, huh?  I hope Kimberly reaches out responsibly to any donors she’s recently forced lap dances upon; contact tracing is very important.

...I honestly thought things would be at least marginally less cray-cray by this point. In hindsight, given the data, that was pretty foolish of me, but I take comfort in knowing that even after such an obvious mistake, I’m a goddamn genius next to the President’s legal team. Stay safe out there, my friends... 

Lindsey Graham and Other Naughty Would-Be Autocrats

Greetings from the purgatorial asylum we are calling...the Transition. All this mad, wacky, falling action is interesting enough, I suppose, in a Seriously Fiction Just Fucking TRY to Top This Shit sort of way, but if we could skip to the part where we all get to jump on a ship bound for the Grey Havens, that’d be wonderful, thanks.

(Get this post, in living color, with them links, here: http://showercapblog.com/lindsey-graham-and-other-naughty-would-be-autocrats/)

Republican politics right now is quite like that one Twilight Zone episode where the whole town lives in terror of the extremely powerful, extremely shitty kid who took them all hostage. From McConnell on down, they smile blankly and nod along as Fat Q*Bert belches up a never-ending cascade of deranged conspiracy theories, and if doing so only further radicalizes the Children of the Candy Corn into a frothy, anti-democracy rage mob, well, we’ve known for some time now this party was only ever going to learn the Frankenstein lesson the hard way.

And so, for now, America remains trapped in this grotesque limbo, the vital work of the transition of power placed on indefinite hold. I guess we all have to sit through the Manchurian Manchild’s crappy backyard talent show and politely clap at the end, because humoring this defeated assclown is apparently more important than gaining control of the pandemic that did not, contrary to the smug prognostications of wingnut “thought leaders,” disappear on November 4th.

Meanwhile, when she’s not busy singlehandedly obstructing the effort to combat the coronavirus, Emily W. Murphy spends her time browsing the want ads in search of her post-attempted coup gig. What’s it like, I wonder, in a job market like this, knowing you’re the one human being least deserving of employment? What does Emily’s resumé even look like? “Won the coveted Bloodiest Hands in the Federal Bureaucracy award, November 2020?”

The weekend’s Million MAGA March fell just a rounding error shy of a million marchers short of the promised turnout, giving Kaleigh McEnany the opportunity to test drive her Sean Spicer impersonation. She very nearly nailed it, though she wasn’t quite able to capture Spicey’s unconcealable shame. The Shart House learned to weed out such traits over the years, so thank God we prevented a second term, sparing the nation the fruits of those fumblingly fascistic first-term experiments.

The Velveeta Vulgarian is, of course, handling his defeat with all the grace and class of a teenaged Veruca Salt discovering she didn’t get the part she wanted in the school musical*, retweeting a spittle-soaked rant proclaiming Biden voters, aka the Vast Majority of the American Electorate, to be “ignorant, anti-American, and anti-Christian.” Not to get ahead of the biographers or anything, but I don’t believe Donald Trump is going to grow into the presidency.

A federal judge ruled that Giddy Goose-Stepper Chad Wolf was illegally appointed, meaning he was acting beyond his authority when he added DHS to the Confedrate train set in Stephen Miller’s basement. So can we maybe lock him out of his office now? Please? Somebody?

Down in the Georgia Senate runoffs, David Perdue is still too deathly afraid of Jon Ossoff to attend a debate, and I mean, I get it; Jamie Lee Curtis learned to keep a respectful distance from Michael Myers whenever possible, right? Whatever happens on January 5th, Dave’s gonna periodically wake up in a cold sweat, shouting PLEASE JON NO MORE, for the rest of his life.

A state-level Republican Party concealed a coronavirus outbreak within their ranks from their Democratic colleagues, endangering their lives. “Now hang on a minute Cap,” you’re thinking, “ Like the checkout lane Archie Comics digests of yore, you’re padding your page count by reprinting old stories!” and that’s a perfectly reasonable response, but you see, this was the Minnesota GOP, and you’re thinking of back in May, when the Pennsylvania GOP pulled this shit. Same murderous sociopathy; slightly different longitude and latitude.

“Trump Derangement Syndrome” is not, as some would have you believe, a fever that afflicts liberals; no, it’s a strictly conservative ailment, and it appears the condition is chronic. Why else would Republican Senators like Dan Sullivan and Ted Cruz throw petty little shitfits over mask-wearing at this late date? Election’s over, boys, there’s no need to keep playing along with the gaslighting, especially the parts that’ve been, y’know, killing thousands and thousands and thousands of us.

Oh, and just as a quick lil’ postscript here, I see Chuck Grassley caught COVID-19, HOWE’ER DID SUCH A THING OCCUR?

The scorecard I purchased to keep track of the Marmalade Shartcannon’s laughable attempts to overturn the 2020 election in court quickly became an illegible mess, but I can still make out a fuckton of Ls. In addition to the Cleveland Brownsian success rate, Fuckhead’s lawyers are now quitting in droves; I guess getting disbarred for participating in the dumbest of all possible coups while fully understanding you’re never ever ever ever getting paid saps the whole “President’s lawyer” gig of its prestige in a hurry.

Now I see Rudy Giuliani, hot off his smash hit residency at Four Seasons Total Landscaping, is bringing his trademark blend of gibbering incompetence and batshit disinformation to Hairplug Himmler’s legal team, all for the low low price of $20,000 daily. The tonal transition of the last couple weeks, from Václav Havel-esque absurdist nightmare to Will Ferrell Did This One For Money low comedy has been jarring, but, I must admit, welcome.

The intersection of Trumpism and the coronavirus outbreak is, dear lord, a gaping maw of cosmic horror that would make H.P. Lovecraft turn on the lights and cry out for his mother. We’ve somehow arrived at the Hospitals Are Overflowing With Patients Who Still Think Covid is a Hoax Even While Dying From Covid stage, and I truly never imagined I’d live to see madness on such scale.

Young Lindsepher Graham has a zany last-minute plan to destroy American democracy once and for all, and it’s so crazy, it just might work! Ok, I lied, there’s no chance of it working, but let’s sit for a moment with the information that a sitting United States Senator appears to have pressured Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger to simply dispose of all those meddlesome Democratic votes. Lindsey my lad, if there’s any sort of afterlife, you are now officially bound for that dusty table in a shunned corner of the great Senate in the sky where Joe McCarthy and John C. Calhoun while away eternity playing silent, bitter rounds of pinochle.

Look, principles are for all you peons, who’ve never known the exquisite thrill of wielding the power of the American presidency as easily as feeding a quivering narcissist’s ego on the golf course every now and then. “Tiger Woods couldn’t have done any better, Mr. President,” and suddenly you’re targeting missile strikes. I get it. I mean, you’re still one of our nation’s greatest traitors, Linds, and future generations will spit when they say your name, but I understand, power corrupts, and you’re a very weak man.

Whether by withdrawing troops from Iraq and Afghanistan against the advice of, well, damn near everybody, or even pursuing a reckless lame duck military strike against Iran, the Bonespur Buttplug seems intent on breaking anything he can get his tiny, inadequate, little mitts around, looking to leave as large a mess as possible for his successor. I don’t think we’ve ever explicitly attempted a petulance-based foreign policy, but I bet this doesn’t work either.

And now I see Michigan Republicans played around with refusing to certify the election results from Detroit, citing the controversial We Don’t REALLY Have to Let Black People Vote Do We theory. Meanwhile, Nevada Republicans are asking courts to either reverse or annul their state’s results, and Gameshow Göring just fired the nation’s leading cybersecurity official for publicly stating the 2020 election was free and fair. Is it just me, or is it getting a little fashy in here?

These are the days of our lives, folks, and the days of our lives are absolutely fucking cray-cray. Well shit, drinking got me through the election, and drinking’ll get me through this, too. Probably.

*Too autobiographical? Too autobiographical. 

Watching Donald Trump Lose, Over & Over Again, in Slow Motion, Isn't the Worst Thing (Ferret/SC)

Just on an emotional level, I find myself grateful for this transition period; if we switched from daily hate rallies to Biden-y normalcy overnight, we’d get the bends, surely. I guess I’m enjoying the leisurely stroll out of Shitty Wonderland, reminiscing about all the fucking horrors we’ve witnessed here. And even stumbling across a few new jagoffs along the way:

(On a non-emotional level, get this post in living color with nifty nooz links here: http://showercapblog.com/watching-donald-trump-lose-over-over-again-in-slow-motion-isnt-the-worst-thing/)

I know what these deadenders are attempting right now is technically kind of a coup, and I’m sure there’s always some risk that one of these new judges they scraped off a Federalist Society urinal will rule that voting Democrat is unconstitutional, but so far, it’s been perfectly schadenfreuderrific.

Like an aging slugger on a baseball team that’s fallen out of contention, the Velveeta Vulgarian is swinging for the fences, looking to pad his stats and cement his legacy as the GOAT...at losing in court. These cartoonishly frivolous election lawsuits never had any chance of succeeding, but as a passionate consumer of the burgeoning Flailing Failing Fascists genre, I appreciate the dedication to creating the content I crave.

Like, I fucking LOVE this thing where powerful conservatives, one by one, issue that “it sure was fun, but it’s time to fucking leave, you colossal loser” statement; every single time it’s like reliving the moment the election was called. Karl Rove, Geraldo, Whichever Koch Brother Is Still Alive, all part of the slow, steady abandonment of the vanquished manchild tyrant; you have to chuckle at all the disingenuous praise and condescending handholding as they ease him into his new reality, like a misbehaving toddler they’re trying to trick into the dog’s crate so they can abandon him on the side of some back country highway.

House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy is a notable exception to this trend, dimly parroting his Turd Emperor’s ridiculous propaganda, because when you’re the walking exemplar of Unjustly Elevated White Male Mediocrity, perpetuating kakistocracy is a matter of self-preservation. Kev wants America to give the drooling QAnon zealots of his incoming freshmaniac class a chance, even as Marjorie Taylor Greene announces her arrival in Washington by scaling the first available flagpole to pelt the locals with her own feces.

Yes, subtraction by addition is the name of the game in the Republican Party these days, and Alabama’s incoming Senator wants you to know the institutional brain drain won’t be confined to the House. Yes, Tommy Tuberville introduced himself to America as a man quite literally incapable of graduating from the third grade, and honestly, I’m choosing to celebrate the all too brief stretch of time when even the electorate that chose Jeff Sessions and this clownish football person saw, and recognized, the value of a good, good man like Doug Jones. May such days come again soon.

Anyhow, Smilin’ Joe Biden isn’t waiting around for a crayon-signed permission slip from his bunker-bound predecessor to begin assembling his team. the President-elect announced his coronavirus task force, filled, in a radical departure from current practices, with elite medical experts rather than the more traditional gaggle of boot-licking idiot yes men.

In addition, Old Handsome Joe named Ron Klain as his Chief of Staff. Now, Klain is not only incredibly qualified for this crucial post, but his experience as Obama’s Ebola czar is especially pertinent for the immediate challenges ahead. An excellent hire.

Wow. I’m so used to writing stuff like, “Impressed by an 87-minute anti-immigration Youtube rant he discovered by clicking a pop-up ad on a scat porn site, the President hired a white nationalist used mattress salesman to lead ATF; also, he was so blown away by the guy who beat him sixteen straight times at three-card monte on the sidewalk in front of the White House that he’s Secretary of Commerce now.”

...gonna be hard to keep this blog going under Biden, is all I’m saying. And you’ll never find anyone happier to be put out of business.

I actually can’t wait for the Boring Competence Show to take over my time slot, because the state of the pandemic is absolutely horrifying tonight, with damn near the whole country experiencing uncontrolled spread. Hospitals are filling up, and even old friends like PPE shortages and nursing home outbreaks are swinging by for uninvited winter visits, because learning from recent mistakes is for cucks, I guess.

Taking lessons from Vlad Putin, COVID-19 has weaponized the American public’s apparently insatiable appetite for disinformation, and while Donald Trump is technically still president during the lame duck session, it is the coronavirus that is the nation’s unofficial Daddy.

Now I understand that denying the objective reality of the pandemic was central to President Crotchrot’s campaign pitch (this is, after all, Hell), but now that the election is over, there’s really no reason to continue the murderous charade; just a quick, simple, “Hey everybody, wear masks and maintain social distance!” would save tens of thousands of lives, here on the brink of what looks to be a truly tragic winter.

But of course, even when you get past the mendacity, there’s still the sociopathy to deal with, and so we will face this rising crisis without a shred of assistance from the federal government, because the President of the United States is too busy fantasizing about his revenge on Fox News to help out, you see. (Oh, and OAN, I know you’ve turned his head for now, but in time he’ll leave you, too, for a younger, crazier propaganda outlet, you’ll see.)

Donnie Dotard’s farewell treat to the brave patriots of the Secret Service was, naturally, another round of Covid, because he’s cheap and the virus is free and, God knows, readily available, and also he ran out of old Xmas presents from Junior n’ Eric to regift.

Actually there’s plenty of coronavirus changing hands (lungs?) through the Shart House Secret Santa program. Corey Lewandowski, Don Young, and a whole ‘nother round of shitbag staffers caught it, likely at their own election night party, because they’re too fucking stupid to take simple, universally understood precautions, even in the company of known superspreaders...it’s pretty cool that this bowl of assholes won’t be in charge soon.

Of course, there’s still Rand Paul, ranting like an itinerant preacher on a college campus about throwing away masks and other equally nutty shit, and boy howdy, Trumpism sure did a number on young Rand, didn’t it? Once a stodgy libertarian scold, he’s really let his hair down and gone Full Death Cultist lately; it’s like some late 90’s Julia Roberts vehicle filtered through Lou Dobbs’ NyQuil nightmares.

Ok, look. I get that we’re Democrats, and that means a steadfast commitment to finding the grey cloud attached to every silver lining, but everybody understands we don’t have to jump straight to the self-flagellating postmortems during our hard-earned victory party, right? Like, at least finish your cake, y’know?

I just want to point out that today was the day all the news networks officially called Arizona and Georgia for Biden and Harris, and I say that’s a perfectly valid excuse to start celebrating all over again. It’s a new map we’re building together, a new path forward for a new America. Between Georgia, and Arizona, and the absolutely historic fucking landslide in the popular vote, we’re allowed to strut. We should strut.

Anyway, I see Shart Garfunkel emerged from his basement long enough to take another feeble stab at claiming credit for the Pfizer vaccine, tossing in a little spite towards Governor Cuomo before fleeing questions on how he felt about losing so very, very, very hard, like the great big fucking loser he has always been.

Ok, that’s an appropriate amount of madness for the moment, I think. Go ahead, slide on into that weekend, folks. Maybe even turn off the news altogether, I’ll keep an eye on the bunker for ya...between beers, of course. 

Spread My Ashes at Four Seasons Total Landscaping, Dammit! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Forgive me if I’m a little off my game tonight, friends; I just feel a bit...I dunno, it’s hard to describe. It’s a vaguely familiar sensation, but I can’t quite place it. It isn’t dread, or disgust, or outrage, or any of the negative emotions one simply accepts as part of the burden of being alive in 2020, just this odd, tickling feeling. Haven’t been able to shake it since, oh, since about midday Saturd-OH HOLY CRAP, IT’S HOPE!

(As ever, get this post WITH nifty links, here: http://showercapblog.com/spread-my-ashes-at-four-seasons-total-landscaping-dammit/)

Because after an interminable, malingering cliffhanger that seemed to warp the very laws of time, the election was finally, FINALLY called for Biden, and advertising slots on cable news networks receded to saner levels.

Obviously, we can’t completely rule out the Surprise Desperate Coup Attempt until Joe n’ Kamala are safely sworn in, but aside from a few fanatic dead-enders, and Don Jr., who’ll surely never be able to pay off his coke dealer without access to the U.S. Treasury, institutional Republicans seem content to distract the Deposed Dotard with doomed lawsuits and just enough public support to avoid the dreaded Mean Tweet, the mere threat of which reduces allegedly-powerful Republicans to quivering piles of treacherous gelatin.

Because a truly terrifying chunk of the GOP is so thoroughly brainwashed that they genuinely believe their beloved Hemorrhoid Emperor is being unjustly overthrown via a fraudulent election. And even now, with history’s eyes wide open, Mitch McConnell and his craven crew cannot muster enough love of country to even lightly douse the flames of fascism raging through their base; no, if it means clinging to power for another term or so, destroying the nation’s faith in democracy itself is a price they’re only too willing to (make the rest of us) pay.

So yes, Chief-Thuglomat-for-Now Mike Pompeo enjoyed his little “joke” about the transition, but we all know he practices his wee wannabe Hitler speeches in the mirror every morning while he ties his tie. He’ll network his way around the country now, to see how many donors he can get to bite on his Trump Without the Baggage hook. He won’t be alone.

Of course, within Shartopia, it’s not all sparkle-eyed dreams of the Reich to Come: Corey Lewandowski has been hospitalized with vertigo after hours spent repeatedly checking to see whether his refrigerator was indeed running, as the Treasonweasel campaign’s pathetic “voter fraud hotline” experienced precisely the fate literally any thinking being could have foreseen.

Even as their legal strategy to cling to power struggled to attain the level of farce (don’t worry, I’m getting there), the Turd Family Robinshart effortlessly evolved their grift with a degree of speed and skill one wishes they had thought to apply to the MOTHERFUCKING PANDEMIC, swiftly passing the hat around for donations to fuel their futile legal flailing, ASTERISK sixty cents out of every dollar go towards retiring the campaign’s debt, THANKS RUBES.

I’m starting to believe the Children of the Candy Corn understand Gameshow Göring is simply stealing from them, and that they’re perfectly happy to have their pockets picked, in the same way a gambler doesn’t truly mind losing another week’s paycheck; he bought one more night at the casino, which was all he really wanted, deep down.

Mendaciously claiming credit for the welcome news that Pfizer had achieved a major breakthrough in their development of a coronavirus vaccine must’ve sent nostalgic smiles circulating through the West Wing’s defiled halls; why, it seems like only yesterday they were merrily bumming a ride on the Obama economy, grateful the purloined proximity to prosperity still shielded them from the consequences of their international trade blunders.

Personally, I don’t think introducing new villains is necessary, or even appropriate at this point in the story, but nevertheless, here is Emily W. Murphy with yet another fresh turd for the punch bowl. Emily is the proverbial one-job haver in the popular YOU HAD ONE JOB meme, and that job is to sign the letter allowing the Biden transition team to begin the work of cleaning out the Augean stables. Like the giddy little fascist bureaucrat the holder of this office under Trump was always going to be, Emily is refusing to sign the letter, so now everybody has to just stand around, in a room overflowing with shit, wasting time.

Now yes, this is exactly the sort of childishness we’ve come to expect from the Manchurian Manchild and his team, but there are real national security risks here, so maybe we’ll get lucky, and this leveled-up Kim Davis will stumble accross some sort of magic potion that helps her get the fuck over herself.

The petulant Pentagon purge is underway, with Defense Secretary Mark Esper defenestrated alongside several other officials and replaced by, I assume, Devin Nunes’ butt acne at this point. I figure they’re most likely done tear-gassing Americans in front of churches by now, though I suppose we can’t rule out a “Well, I just nuked London, have fun!” note awaiting Smilin’ Joe in the Oval.

But seriously, I’m seeing that we needn’t fear a military coup here, it’s likely just a bit of frenzied document shredding to make things harder for the investigations to come, though I believe it is sub-optimal, health-of-democracy-wise, that I do indeed draw comfort from this distinction.

I hope Joe has the White House boiled before moving in, however, because damned if that butthole frat house didn’t manage to sneak in one last coronavirus outbreak, apparently at their own election night party, just for extra comeuppance, this time snagging Mark Meadows, David Bossie, and “Dr.” Ben Carson. Truly, the best people.

Budding mini-Trumps Kelly Loeffler and David Perdue launched their Senate runoff campaigns by reminding the electorate of their manifest unfitness for office, demanding the firing of Georgia’s Secretary of State for the nigh-unforgivable crime of counting the people’s votes fairly, and if you’re having trouble reconciling this with the GOP’s catchy new “count every legal vote” slogan, may I suggest you pick up your official Shower Cap Secret Decoder Ring? The one that’s just a cheap piece of plastic that says REPUBLICANS LIE? See, you get it now.

And now I see William Barr is leaving the door open for one last stab at redacting American democracy once and for all, legitimizing Tangerine Idi Amin’s latest autocrat shitfit with an official Justice Department investigation. Y’know how when Dorothy gets to the Scarecrow and she’s all weepy because she’ll miss him most of all? It’s like the precise mathematical opposite of that with you, Bill.

But enough crap, let’s move on to the good stuff, shall we?

As expected, the weekend saw the launch of the heavily-anticipated Fall of an Idiot Death Cult postmortem genre, which I intend to gorge myself upon in Roman fashion. It’s going to be a circular firing squad inside the hazardous waste bin behind an oncology clinic.

I’m optimistic that watching the rats rip each other to shreds, even as the lice and maggots that live on the rats in turn rip themselves to shreds, will provide sufficient entertainment to carry me through this long winter of quarantine. Still, with stories like “Kimberly Guilfoyle Offers World’s Most Terrifying Lap Dance in Exchange For Donor Buxx already dropping, I worry we may’ve peaked early.

I confess, I did not expect Rudy Giuliani, of all available dirtbags, to ride to America’s rescue in her hour of need, but while the tiny-fisted tyrant at the other end of his leash trembled in a piss-soaked corner of his bunker, Rudy, as though possessed by the very God of Catharsis, set forth to deliver unto a weary nation the eviscerating public degradation of Trumpism we deserved, dammit.

And so, next to a roadside crematorium and the saddest sex shop this side of a Todd Solondz film, in the company of a known sex criminal, Amerikkka’s Mayor forever transformed the parking lot behind Four Seasons Total Landscaping* into Mecca For People Who Like Watching Fascist Assholes Humiliate Themselves.

I like to think the inevitable Hollywood prestige pic based on these batguano-crusted days will end at this point precisely. Giuliani’s punctured ramblings about courts and networks fading out as the credits roll, pausing periodically to note the no-doubt-disappointing eventual prison sentences of the chief collaborators.

In conclusion, I’d just like to say GEORGIA GEORGIA GEORGIA GEORGIA GEORGIA, because that’s where your head should be until January 5th.

*In the interest of honest chroniclin’, it must be said that yes, in this most desperate hour, the President of the United States of America had selected as his lead attorney a man who was incapable of distinguishing a small landscaping company from a luxury hotel. They were stupid, stupid men, and times, as I have often expressed along this journey, were cray. 

On the Eve of (CALL IT ALREADY, KORNACKI, YOU BASTARD) Victory, I'd Like to Say Thanks (Ferret/SC)

My friends, please forgive me, I need to do something a little different tonight.

(Not so different that you can’t find it on me lil’ blog site: http://showercapblog.com/on-the-eve-of-call-it-already-kornacki-you-bastard-victory-id-like-to-say-thanks/)

First of all, I don’t think I could possibly handle reliving this week; it was overwhelming and exhausting the first time ‘round, and besides, there are only so many ways to say, “and then I refreshed the page yet again, my intimacy with the county maps of Pennsylvania and Georgia growing so deep the disembodied outlines of Gwinnett and Allegheny haunted me in my fleeting moments of sleep.”

(Also, I drank a great deal, and feel certain I missed a detail or two. Last I remember, the Cubs won the World Series, and somebody found some e-mails on Anthony Weiner’s laptop...did I miss anything?)

Just to get the bare minimum level of chroniclin’ out of the way so the boss doesn’t ride my ass, yes, Tangerine Idi Amin, as expected, delivered his horrifyingly fascistic yet amusingly low-energy little speech, rejecting reality and democracy once and for all, inciting his shitbag cult to some rather frightening public displays which I pray don’t escalate any further.

But it doesn’t feel nearly so dangerous anymore; we all know a broken man when we see one. Y’know, for a career criminal who (ghost) wrote the book on one-way loyalty, somehow the dumb shit has been caught completely off guard by this heaping spoonful of his own medicine, administered by Mitch McConnell without even the courtesy of soothing airplane noises. Dolt.


I started tinkering with this post Tuesday night, when we were still a bit shellshocked by the unexpected composition of the electorate; when we learned the pollsters had once again failed to detect the seemingly infinite waves of the MAGA horde, like we were trapped in an old Gauntlet cabinet with more of the little fuckers than the stack of quarters mom gave us could hope to cope with; when the visions of sugarplum fairies and expanded courts dissipated, and American monsters seemed to lurk in every shadow.

I understand that to a great extent that emotional moment has passed, as we’ve watched the Biden/Harris landslide accumulate, vote by excruciating vote. We deserve our weekend of celebration and release; I personally plan on devoting most of my Sunday to just exhaling, possibly for 3-4 hours at a stretch.

Anyway, I don’t want to spend this moment wallowing in the filth of Trump and Trumpism, there’s plenty of that waiting for us in the days ahead, as a White House full of cornered rats chew through one another’s very flesh, desperately seeking exits that no longer exist. And of course one wants to block out adequate time to fully appreciate the splendor of the Dobbses and the Hannitys in decline, the tantrums they throw as reality’s grim hammer smashes their precious marionette to pieces. Certainly whichever streaming service offers me the best seat to observe Steve Bannon’s ongoing downfall has earned my subscription money.

Time for all that soon enough. Like I said, I’d like to do something a little different tonight.

I’d like to talk about you.

It’s been a tricky week to navigate emotionally, but you’ve absorbed Tuesday’s House and Senate disappointments by now and you’re ready for the new fight in Georgia. You’ve learned how to do that over the last four years, haven’t you? How to do take punch after punch, and periodically a sledgehammer, and just keep on coming.

We’ve all had to. The bastards’ plan, and I guess you have to give them credit for sticking to it, was to pelt us with shit every hour of every day until we broke down, but we didn’t break down. We took it, all of it, for four years, and we didn’t look away and we held each other up and we found, each of us in our own way, the ability to give as much as we had to give.

And it was enough.

It was just enough, actually.

Because holy shit, the hydra had a few more heads than we were expecting. More fucking heads than even Rasmussen dared to conjure. And a coalition we thought would frolic to a landslide turned out to be juuuuust big enough to deliver the map-changing statement win the nation needed.

Like 2016, the margin for error was narrower than we understood. Unlike 2016, we never took our eye off the ball, we worked every day like we were ten points behind, and this time, even the last-minute appearance of millions of surprise scumbags wasn’t enough to defeat us.

Which is why the pundits mocking the millions of dollars we sent to long shot campaigns like Amy McGrath’s and Jamie Harrison’s are so wrong. They’d have you believe that was folly. It wasn’t. It was hope.

Hope was not always easy to come by, with a President regularly inciting terrorism from the Oval Office, but you didn’t lose hope, did you? Okay, you did, once or twice, we all did, but when you needed a few days to put your head and your heart back together, somebody picked up the slack for you, and you returned the favor in time.

And yes, we hoped the voters of even the reddest states would see the stark disparity between what the two parties were offering this year and make better choices. That hope built this coalition, the largest in American history, and tonight I’m honestly kind of in awe at how that coalition turned out to be barely, but exactly what we needed to win.

Just enough young people were inspired to show up. Just enough NeverTrump Republicans put party over country. Just enough women and non-white voters turned out, and you have to believe that has something to do with the long overdue diversification of the party’s elected officials, particularly our talented and inspiring Blue Wave freshmen class.

And if we hadn’t won the Blue Wall state governments in the midterms, if it was loyal Trump stooges administering these elections and counting these ballots right now, could we trust the results to be the same? Remember how much work we did in 2018? Turns out it was worth it; we needed every bit of it.

I think we’ve learned the arc of history doesn’t bend towards justice on its own; it takes serious elbow grease to wrestle that fucker into place. It truly appears as though we needed every single drop of sweat from every single one of us, 75 million Americans giving everything they had to give, as one, together, to win this fight.

And from where I’m sitting, that means we couldn’t have pulled any of this off without your work, YOU, reading this right now. Without that Saturday afternoon you spent text banking, that cousin you talked into registering to vote for the very first time, that $5 donation you sent to a candidate in a district you’ve never once set foot in, Donald Trump might have ridden a wave of hate to a mandate to end all the best things about this country.

For the rest of my life, I’ll feel a chill down my spine, thinking about what that second term would have meant, with all the babysitters replaced by willing collaborators. This was no longer the Adam Sandler/Kevin James crew of bungling dipshits who couldn’t find the light switches; they’d figured out what they wanted to break and where the weak points were. Shit, they tried to destroy the entire fucking US Postal Service on a desperate whim, just to steal away our sacred right to fire them for their failings.

And whatever evil shit Bill Barr was cooking up in the dark corners of his fascist imagination...let me just say I’m thankful we won’t be shelving that particular book in the non-fiction section.

Because we beat the twisted fucks! And I truly believe, however great or small your contribution to the fight, we wouldn’t have won without you. And I hope that exorcises any lingering ghosts of 2016 for you, and I hope that in those long dark nights that come to us all from time to time, you remember the work you did when it mattered most, and the memory of it brings you peace. You deserve that. You earned it.

Anyway. Thanks for listening to me yammer on like this, we’ll get back to poo jokes next week. In the meantime, let’s get to work whoopin’ a couple of Georgia grifters’ asses, huh? Let’s reunite some families!

(Ok, for now let’s keep on waiting for the damn election to get called. I really thought it would’ve happened by the time I was done. Yeesh.) 

Flushing Day is Upon Us At Last! Oh Joy! Oh Rapture! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Well, my antifa comrades, I can scarcely believe the day has finally arrived. Operation: Jade Helm has entered its final stages, and the destruction of the suburbs is imminent.  Time to see what this coalition, forged by four years of relentless Resistance, can do. What a long strange trip it’s been, amiright? (Extends hand for high five. Waits. Retreats from sea of glares.)

(Yes, this post too, can be found, with news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/flushing-day-is-upon-us-at-last-oh-joy-oh-rapture/)

I’m posting this from an old laptop of Hunter Biden’s, by the way. You can buy ‘em wholesale at Crazy Rudy’s Discount Russian Propaganda Emporium; they’ll even throw in a semi-automatic rifle with the serial number filed off PLUS a bump stock AND a toaster oven if you can recite your favorite QAnon conspiracy theory without shitting yourself. (To date, no Trumpists have successfully completed this challenge; they are a famously incontinent lot.)

President Shartcannon’s final weekend of campaigning has been surprisingly subdued and conventional...for the high priest of a white supremacist death cult, anyway. It’s mostly the same old This is How Grandpa Got Banned From Applebee’s For Life screeching we’ve learned to tune out, with a little extra desperation born of late-night visits from Dickensian ghosts thrown in for flavor.

I confess, “Joe Biden wants to dismantle the Washington Monument for...some reason” was an inspired spaghetti strand to throw at the wall, but alas, it won’t stick any better than your previous efforts, my darling little fabulists, because you forgot to light the burner under the pot in the first place.

Of course, with all his maskless superspreader rallies, it’s not so much Joe Biden that Gameshow Göring is running against, but reality itself. We’ll see how that plays at the ballot box soon enough, but on the ground, Reality remains undefeated; a new Stanford study links these loser shindigs to 30,000 Covid infections, and 700 deaths. Now, if I were desperate to recreate the razor-thin margins that propelled my previous surprise victory, I wouldn’t spend so much time killing off my most loyal swing state supporters, but then, I wouldn’t appear in public with a necktie hanging down to my fucking knees and pants that look like I’m dressed up like the back end of a hippopotamus, either.

Still, even as their Turd Emperor flails and falters, the rank and file crotchtumors of Cult45 have been poring over their Junior Brownshirt Handbooks to find fun n’ fashy ways to contribute to the effort to end democracy in the United States.

A caravan of the shittiest thugs in all of Texas decided that America didn’t resemble Fallujah quite enough for their liking, and so they engaged in a little recreational vehicular terrorism, surrounding a Biden campaign bus and trying to force it off the road. When shit like this happens in other countries, news anchors tend to use phrases like “sectarian violence,” but the Bonespur Buttplug hasn’t been this thrilled since he learned he could charge the Secret Service to pee.

Of course, not all American terrorists drive trucks; some, it appears, can be found behind the wheels of police cruisers, violently enforcing institutional white supremacy while drawing a taxpayer-funded salary, as in the case of the uniformed goons who tear-gassed a crowd of entirely peaceful Black Lives Matter protesters in North Carolina, rather than allow them to continue their planned march to the local polling station.

Shit like this was presented to me in school, via grainy black-and-white news footage reproduced on VHS, as the savage behavior of a vanquished past. “Don’t worry,” said the social studies teacher, “We’re better than this now, your parents’ generation figured everything out.” And I believed ‘em. In fairness, I was a bit of a dumbass*.

I suppose after all these new entries on the It’s Happening Here inventory sheet, the weekend’s acts of mere traffic obstruction in New York and New Jersey seem comparatively tame, but still, let’s nip that shit in the bud before this dirtbag book club gets any deeper into Mein Kampf, okay?

Having added “craven sycophancy” to his catalog of addictions, Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet plans to replace the handful of adults who have managed to linger in the corners of his administration with a shiny new crew of Chad Wolfs and John Ratcliffes. Or should that be, “Chads Wolf and Johns Ratcliffe?” POINT IS, no more gatekeepers, only accomplices.

And it goes without saying Weehands McNodick is sick of sharing the spotlight with that smartypants Dr. Fauci, he’s almost as bad as Reality, undermining the disinformation and wishful thinking and whatnot. I don’t expect America’s Handsomest Epidemiologist to make it through the week, frankly; President Crotchrot let the virus kill us off by the tens of thousands when he was still trying to get us to vote for him, I shudder to imagine how he’ll handle rejection.

I see Scott Atlas took a break from his regular endeavors, assisting the coronavirus in its spread through the American populace, to moonlight as a useful idiot on RT. I feel like sending your top health care advisor out to dance for Putin’s pet propagandists during a pandemic is disqualifying for the presidency, but then, I thought the “they're rapists” speech was disqualifying, too. Cool party you got there, Republicans.

Word on the street is, Hairplug Himmler plans to simply declare himself the victor at some point on Tuesday night, regardless of the number of uncounted votes, and hey, why not? When you’ve got a millions-strong rube army who dementedly interpret your endless hours of television watching as a heroic battle against a satanic deep-state pedophile cabal, why not simply keep on lying? I mean, sure, there’s always the possibility of further violence, but with sociopathic narcissism taking care of any pesky feelings of guilt, what’ve you got to lose, really?

This is why his broke-ass campaign has made the ritual post-rally Abandoning of the Bumpkins a regular feature of the Trump experience. Since we live in Hell, I’m certain there are a few breathless NYT/WaPo articles, interviewing the deserted, who proclaim, like so many Appalachian diner patrons, that being left to die in the cold hasn’t shaken their faith in Sultan Spraytan, not one bit, we prioritize hatred over even self-preservation, dagnabbit...but I’ve managed to avoid reading ‘em so far, thank god.

Fortunately, Team Treasonweasel’s despicable efforts to undermine the election through the courts have generally failed, from Nevada to that scumfuck Hail Mary where Texas Republicans tried to just set 127,000 ballots on fire on account of how they were likely to favor Democrats. C’mon, Fundamental Institutions of American Democracy! We just need you to hang in there a little while longer, the clock’s finally running down...

And so, on the eve of his likely firing, the Velveeta Vulgarian once again retreats into his increasingly fortified bunker, to await tonight’s inevitable procession of phantoms; the restless spirits of those he left to die in Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria; the victims of the mass shooting in El Paso, the victims of the Tree of Life synagogue shooting, all the victims of all the monsters who felt emboldened by the president’s hateful words to act on their violent fantasies; the legion of Covid dead, and countless others, forgive me, I’m too angry to keep going. Despair, and die, you diarrhea-gargling human cancer.

Motherfucker. I fantasized about wrapping up election season with some rousing sermon on decency and democracy and all that good good stuff, but the truth is, like all of y’all out there, I’m worn the fuck out, and while I’m confident tonight, right now, I just need to get shitfaced and play video games for a bit. Anyway, you don’t need me to tell you what you’ve been fighting for, do you?

Thank you for resisting with me, folks. Thanks for reading these silly little rants. Thank you especially for using the Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide to donate to the Democratic Party’s awesome candidates, we raised nearly $40,000 with that site, and I’m genuinely prouder of that than anything else I’ve done in my life.


I still don’t really understand how I ended up doing this, but I’m endlessly thankful that I stumbled across such a bizarre little path, and that I got to meet so many fantastic, passionate patriots while wandering along it.

Anyway, if you’re not busy tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this), I was thinking maybe we could all get together and save our country from a gang of malicious fuckups? Wear somethin’ sexy.

*I feel like I should provide a link to some sort of visual proof of my middle school dumbassness, but none of that stuff is digitized, sorry. I was really into Ninja Turtles, and I had those glasses that turned into sunglasses when you went outside, if that helps. 

Election Week in Hell: An Expectedly Butthole-Heavy News Cycle (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Ah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year! No doubt you’re enjoying your frantic doomscrolling, your increasingly nuanced opinions on individual pollsters, and the mocking striptease of the calendar, peeling off those last few pages, as we await our fate. I’ll cut you a deal: read my blog and you’ll wind up, if nothing else, five minutes closer to Tuesday.

(As always, this link whisks you away to a magical land of color and links: http://showercapblog.com/election-week-in-hell-an-expectedly-butthole-heavy-news-cycle/)

Because the demented carousel never stops, no sooner had I posted my last rant than news broke of Shart Garfunkel abandoning a flock of loyal fans to freeze to death in the cruel Nebraska night, without so much as a Dixie cup full of Kool-Aid to keep warm. Just in case, y’know, the symbolism has been too subtle for anyone.

Frankly, I thought the universe was already laying it on a bit thick just by sending the pandemic in the first place; surely if the audience has learned anything about Donald Trump by now, it’s that he’s a sociopath who would shove you into a wood chipper for a nickel, but no, it seems some of y’all out there are slow learners, so I guess we’re breaking this down to the Only Atticus Can Stop the Mad Dog level. We’d send him door to door, to steal your change jars and grope your daughters, but he gets colicky if he doesn’t get at least ten hours of cable news in.

Well, you don’t need me to tell you early votes keep rolling in at a historic pace. When I started this draft, 84.6 million Americans had already voted; by the time I posted, that number was up to 86.3 million. And while yes, we expect an avalanche of white nationalist shitsacks to befoul the polls on Election Day itself, the available data so far is pretty close to everything we’d hoped for: youth turnout is through the roof, and other wings of the coalition seem to be showing up.

Republicans have resigned themselves to losing the election, though not, of course, to the corresponding ceding of power. Time for the extremist Trump/McConnell judiciary to earn their keep? So far, Marc Elias and his crack team of election lawyers have a Tony Gwynn-like batting average, though the dying, democracy-crushing wail of the regressive minority pulls off a successful corruption of the process here and there, as in Minnesota, where a Republican-dominated court decided it wouldn’t be too unforgivably activist of them to change the rules for voting less than a week before the election, so long as maybe a few thousand Democrats wind up disenfranchised.

Here at the end of the line, obviously no lie is too large for the flailing Turdmaggot campaign. You can’t blame ‘em, really; when your base is so thoroughly brainwashed that uncomfirmed internet posts incite them to erect shitty mini-Maginot Lines in their communities to fend off imaginary Busloads of Antifas™️, why not go big? Why NOT congratulate yourself for ending a pandemic that’s actually surging, overwhelming hospitals and infecting more Americans than ever before?

Why not accuse the very front-line health care professionals who’ve been risking their lives for us for months, while Donald Trump golfed and yelled at the television all day long, of over-counting coronavirus deaths for illicit personal profit?

On the flip side of this sinister denialist coin, the Let’s Mulch the Plebs Administration wishes all you peasants would just get on with dying at the rates necessary for their monstrous herd immunity “strategy” to work. Expect a second Trump term to include mandatory indoor Twister tournaments until the mass graves have met the Scott Atlas-approved acreage targets.

So you see, hosting superspreader hate rallies all over the country isn’t mere murderous recklessness, but a two birds/one stone kinda thing, and at the risk of earning a spittle-drenched SO MUCH FOR THE TOLERANT LEFT comment, MAGA Nation’s rabid voter base pursuing herd immunity while those of us in the sane majority take widely-understood precautionary measures may not be the worst thing for the country in the long run.

Because they’re not going to stop killing us any time soon. We celebrated our nine millionth COVID-19 case today; I forget, is that one paper, or jade, or should we just assume one can’t go wrong with 2020’s all-purpose gift for any occasion: a funeral shroud?

Amidst the carnage and tragedy, we’ve now heard old audio of Jared Kushner boasting about prying the reins of power away from the dastardly experts, with all their filthy science. My god, the madness of that. Like, if you were watching a Spider-Man movie, and the bad guy started monologuing about “taking the country back from the doctors,” you’d roll your eyes and change the channel.

Marsha Blackburn is getting impatient for Full Fascism to arrive, and she would like to speak to the manager, please. Honestly, what’s the good of the so-called power of a U.S. Senate seat if you aren’t allowed to bring your jackboot down upon your critics’ necks? People are saying Blackburn’s offices back in Tennessee feature moats with drawbridges that will only be lowered if you know a password that’s released to the public exclusively on 8chan, but I can neither confirm nor deny that at this time.

I see Georgia Senator David Perdue backed out of his final scheduled debate on the grounds that it would be unfair to ask him to speak from the bottom of Democratic Party candidate Jon Ossoff’s shoe, where Perdue has resided since the royal ass-whoopin’ Jon delivered in their previous encounter. Davey Boy is a racist sack of trash and I hope he loses his job next week, but I kinda see where he’s coming from here. I would not want a second helping of what Ossoff was dishing out, either.

Speaking of embattled Republican Senators humiliated into non-existence before our very eyes, if Martha McSally wasn’t Martha McSally, I’d feel sorry for her right now, but she is, so fuck her. Anyway, you can take the wages of your treason to the weekly poker game at Jeff Sessions’ place, Madame Senator-for-Now.

We were assured Brett Kavanaugh was a jurist of the highest imaginable caliber, and not the drunken, screeching yahoo he appeared to be, that his voice was so necessary on the Supreme Court that elevating his subpar ass to that bench was deemed worthy of chasing women out of the Republican Party for a generation, via the hectoring condescension of Susan Collins, and the mediocre white boy rage of one Lindsepher Olin Graham.

I bring this up because one of young Brettward’s recent opinions apparently contained such comically obvious errors that a swift public shaming led to a hastily-issued correction. Cool that a dude who the internet can effortlessly eviscerate with a casual fact-check gets to spend the rest of his life deciding what rights the rest of us schmucks get, innit?

We tend to forget about Wilbur Ross, as he is generally presumed to be napping, but it seems he’s been quietly criming throughout his tenure as Commerce Secretary, remaining on the board of a joint venture with a state-owned Chinese company for years, even while leading the Shart of the Deal’s dumbfuck, self-immolating trade war. Does this surprise anyone at this point? After Pruitt and Zinke and all the televised ritual groveling sessions that would make Stalin blush, I no longer expect the interests of the American people to even come up at the Cabinet level.

Speaking of that particular organized crime ring, Chief Thuglomat Pompeo and his odious grifter bride have also, it seems, been violating norms, ethics rules, and laws in pursuit of Mike’s ravenous, unseemly, theocrat ambition, including what I was once led to believe was the greatest sin a human being could commit, Conducting Governmente Business ‘Pon Thy Private E-mail, though of course we all understand wingnut doctrine will always adapt and evolve into Whatever Bullshit We Need the Rubes to Swallow This Time.

Ok, before we go any further, I need you to get to your fainting couch. If you don’t have a fainting couch, they’ve got ‘em on Amazon, I’m sure if you write Jeff Bezos into your will, they can have one there within an hour, ANYWAY it turns out the documents at the center of the cut-rate wannabe October surprise regarding Hunter Biden are faker than Rudy Giuliani’s new teeth. Or his patriotism.

No one is more disappointed to see this story so conclusively debunked than Tucker Carlson, who engaged in some Reed Richardsian contortions to back his way out of the promised Biden bombshell he would no longer be able to deliver. It was kinda funny to watch, until you remembered Liar Tuck’s audience doesn’t care about silly shit like logical consistency, they just want to be told who to hate. 

Lately, I’ve really grown to appreciate the pure, manic, dipshit anti-genius of Michael Caputo, who you may remember from the recent Army of Vaccine-Wielding Mall Santas story. Anyway, this time he got caught trying to hijack 265 million taxpayer dollars for reelection ads disguised as a public health campaign, featuring oodles of shiny celebrities, but not the ones who believe gay people deserve rights, because this is the Trump Administration, dammit, Where Hate Comes First™️*

Now, while we’re all focused on removing them from office, the Wad of Pubic Hair in the Corner of a Denny’s Men’s Room Administration has been quietly checking off items on their atrocity bucket list, from ending protections for grey wolves in a pathetic bit of last-minute electoral pandering, to, my God, expelling migrant children into Mexico even if they originally came from elsewhere, just throwing kids into the void without family or guidance...what sort of monsters would do such a thing? 

That’s the point of the whole unceasing fascist disinformation hurricane, of course; to overwhelm our attention span, to exhaust our capacity for outrage, so we’re too busy fighting to free children from cages to care if the Kushners are selling the nation’s foreign policy to the highest bidder, or to care about the Turkey thing, for example.

I read more news than anybody I know, and I haven’t had time to even click on the Turkey thing yet. Let’s do it now. Oh, ok. So Erdogan is buying the Dotard off (and cheaply, like always) hoping to shut down an investigation into a state-owned Turkish bank over evading U.S. sanctions on Iran. If I didn’t have a frickin’ political blog, I never would’ve even bothered to read that one, there’s simply been too much other shit to deal with.

So this is yet another story that would have been, for any of Tangerine Idi Amin’s predecessors, the single largest scandal in American history. Doesn’t even feel like major news today, does it? Corruption at that level, like some shithole nation you’d set a Michael Douglas/Kathleen Turner film in, and just...crickets.

Ok folks, that’s what I’ve got tonight. I want to thank everyone who pledged to the Kickstarter for the comic. You’ve helped make one of my oldest dreams come true, and that’s a debt a fella can’t easily repay, though I do hope you enjoy the book when it comes.

Oh, and don’t forget, I’m moving next week’s post up to Monday. I know we all have plans for Tuesday night, binging The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. and whatnot. Stay safe out there, Resisters! And VOTE! By the way, the Fascist-Flushing Action Guide is still open to receive your final donations!


*Yeah, I used the ™️ gag twice in the same blog. Fuckin’ sue me. 

Despotism, Defeat, Disease and Death: As a Closing Argument, It's...Unconventional (Ferret/Shower Cap)

For a moment, it looked like things might almost quiet down a bit for the home stretch, but now it’s sweeps week, motherfuckers, and 2020 is here to deliver one final atomic wedgie before leaving us to our fate. Look, we all know time’s gonna pass glacially between now and next Tuesday, so you may as well wade through the sewage with me...

(Yeah yeah yeah, you want it with links? You know what to do: http://showercapblog.com/despotism-defeat-disease-and-death-as-a-closing-argument-its-unconventional/)

Voting Early for Joe Biden is the hottest thing goin’ these days; it’s a legit blockbuster with 792% on Rotten Tomatoes; Zombie Roger Ebert calls it “Raw Americana so goshdarn heartwarming it’d make Frank Capra splooj right in his pants.” Our coalition, the Legion of the Decent, are turning the fuck OUT. We are making our voting plans and seeing them through. We are triple-checking that our ballots have arrived safely and been accepted. 2016 is not a lesson we’ll need twice, thank you very much.

But if you’ve been waiting to mail in your ballot, unfortunately the time to safely vote by mail has passed. Louis DeJoy, uncharacteristically for a Trump appointee, actually did the job he was hired for; regrettably that job was sabotaging the Post Office in order to make it harder to vote. SO, especially if you live in a swing state, you need to either drop your ballot off at an approved location, or vote in person. Do not trust the mail at this late date. (We’re having all the fun, here in Donald Trump’s Amerikkka, aren’t we?)

And if you’re looking to scratch that “I should be doing more, dammit!” itch, Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide is still right here waiting to funnel your last-minute donations to the Dem candidates who need ‘em most.


Now, you probably see the coronavirus outbreak as an enormous, largely preventable, American tragedy, one that has ended nearly a quarter of a million lives, crushed the economy, and caused immeasurable human suffering, but from another point of view, the pandemic is merely An Extremely Unfair Thing That is Happening to Donald Trump Personally. Admittedly that perspective is completely deranged, but it’s the official position of the President of the United States, so we have to take it seriously, at least until we get through Election Day without any airstrikes ordered on “urban” polling places.

In fairness, it certainly must be challenging, seeking re-election in the midst of a disaster one has caused directly, but then, one had ample opportunities to listen to Dr. Fauci, or to follow the Obama/Biden pandemic playbook, but instead, one decided to stick one’s tiny, inadequate fingers in one’s ears, and pretend the problem didn’t exist, didn’t one?

Y’know, Government Cheese Goebbels really can be quite creative when it comes to developing authoritarian solutions for his political problems. His latest bit of despotic brainstorming led him to propose that media coverage of the pandemic be outlawed under campaign finance laws, and I guess objective truth does work in your opponent’s favor when you’re the most massively murderous failure in American history, sure, but if you’re worried about your enemies using your record against you, maybe try fucking up less.

Anyhoo, if you really want to keep the pandemic off the front page, Dotard, may I suggest going at least a month between outbreaks at the White House? This time it’s Mike Pants’ staff that COVID-19 is tearing through like oral herpes through Spinal Tap (in the outtakes, anyway). Mark Meadows tried to hide this shit from the public, indeed from rally attendees, which seems kinda homicidal, but Mikey Hairshirt was never gonna stop holding these superspreader events; the loyal supporters he infects this week won’t die until long after their votes have been counted, so fuck ‘em, right?

The Emperor of Hemorrhoids himself remains the coronavirus’ very best friend, with his creepy little rage parties linked to outbreaks all over the country, including three just in the state of Minnesota. God, the madness of that. He was never going to win Minnesota, it was never anything but ego-stroking folly to set foot in the state at all, oh well, a few hundred people are sick, a few dozen will die, ho hum, is Hannity talking about me tonight?

Now, I’ve grown accustomed to a level of pure radioactive madness that would kill an ordinary man, but watching this Adderall-addled slug slither through the country, belching up lies and plague to audiences that eagerly devour both like ravenous baby birds, it’s...it’s a bit much, friends. I think I saw George Orwell pop up for a minute, as a Force Ghost; he took everything in, muttered something about being “too old for this shit,” and vanished.

I never thought one man’s pathological refusal to admit error could cause so much carnage, but then, I never understood how many American lives Mitch McConnell and his ilk would be willing to swap for a few more years of minority tyranny. And so we’ve lost control of the virus so completely that states are once again talking about rationing care, just like in the darkest days, a goddamn lifetime ago. It shouldn’t be possible to bring the United States this low, yet here we are.

Meanwhile, Meadows’ final message to the electorate is an extremely public proclamation of surrender to the coronavirus, I guess cuz why not try honesty, if only for novelty’s sake? Yup, dude actually went on the Sunday Shoz to confess the crisis is simply too much for his team of braindead grifters to handle, feebly adding, “On a personal level, COVID-19 straight up kicked my ass. It took my lunch money and forced me to watch as it made sweet love to my wife, pleasuring her in ways I could never hope to.”

Shit, no wonder there’re veritable flocks of Unnamed Poosquirt Administration Sources engaging in a rousing game of Pin the Blame on the Chief of Staff lately. Yeah, I guess things have gotten extra shitty with rat turd sprinkles on top since Mark took over from the last babysitter, but if any of you anonymous enablers imagine you’re escaping accountability, well, good luck navigating the circular firing squad to come.

Anyway, seems Marky Mark was the mastermind (and I use the term extremely lightly) behind the plot to stave off the flight of senior voters from the GOP with last-minute $200 bribes, remember that? Cleverly, he announced the payoff publicly before making sure he could actually deliver it, and, because he is an incompetent clown incapable of pouring himself a bowl of cereal without serious risk of hospitalization, it turns out he can’t make good. I wouldn’t worry about it, bro; people LOVE being lied to, especially about money.

Meadows is not exactly a wartime consigliere, y’know what I’m sayin’?

I mean, other members of Team Turdmaggot are at least making an effort, y’know? Michael Caputo didn’t let an extremely public breakdown stop him from developing plans to spend 250 million taxpayer dollars deploying “Santa Claus performers” as a vaccine-distributing army.

Good god, what toads are these blithering fuckwits licking? Hey, maybe before implementing your Ernst Stavro Blofeld scheme to weaponize mall Santas, why, for the love of God, WHY don’t you give masks, social distancing, and contact tracing a try? WHY ARE NONE OF THESE PEOPLE EVEN CONSIDERING THE SHIT THAT WORKS?

...follow-up question, why is anyone voting to re-elect this Clowncar Full of Pig Anuses, these anti-competent crotchwarts that have spent the year actively obstructing solutions that have worked everywhere else in the world? It’s a cult, I get that, but...as ol’ Handsome Joe would say, “C’mon, man...”

Well, maybe Rudy Giuliani can get a refund on that Make Your Own Comey Letter kit he ordered off a 2 a.m. informercial, cuz it looks like he won’t be delivering any October surprises this year, outside of Borat films, anyhow. A last minute attempt to launder his bullshit disinformation through the Wall Street Journal’s editorial page fell apart, because apparently there’s still a mirror or two remaining in even a Murdoch-owned newsroom.

But the closing argument isn’t just mass graves and foreign meddling, and Jared Kushner clearly wants the movement to return to its roots, as the primal, racist tantrum of the white and subpar. See, Kushner thinks Black Americans are just too lazy and ungrateful to appreciate all Hairplug Himmler has done for them. Subtle.

It’s obviously super-welcome, particularly here in the economy Kushner and his idiot manchild father-in-law destroyed, this lecture from a mewling dilettante who was born on third base and thinks he built the stadium by hand. Well, I suppose it’s the plebs’ own fault for not pulling themselves up by the bootstraps and using the official foreign policy of the United States government as collateral to bail out their dipshit family’s gargantuan real estate screwups. You’re the American dream in (semi) human form, Jar-Jar.

I see the NRCC is now openly embracing QAnon, funding Marjorie Taylor Greene’s campaign, despite her safe seat and lack of opponent, because hey, they liked it, so they put a ring on it. Those’re some rad priorities you’ve got there, Republicans; maybe you can hold the next RNC in Guyana.

And yes, Amy Coney Barrett, that nutty theocrat, has been confirmed to the Supreme Court, and I’m sure she can hardly wait to start rapping our heathen knuckles. Sure does suck. Doesn’t seem fair, cuz it’s not. I sure am grateful for the proximity of an opportunity to electorally punish this power-mad white supremacist death cult, aren’t you?

Having successfully completed his heist, like a jowlsy, decomposing Danny Ocean, Wrinkly Gamera gaveled the Senate into recess, with nary a concern for the millions of Americans suffering the consequences of his party’s disastrous failings. You didn’t think they’d pass a needed coronavirus relief bill, didja? Silly Rabbit, Republican power grabs are for plutocrats! The whole POINT is keeping the filthy masses in their place!

What a time to be alive. Fuck.

Anyway, this is the last time I’ll be begging y’all for money for a spell, because the Kickstarter for my second comic book, MINE, must end Thursday morning! Check out our info page, there’s a nifty little trailer and everything. And hey, thanks so much for your support and encouragement over the years; it’s dream I’d never have even chased without you folks. I owe ya. Truly. 


Just a heads up, I’ll be tweaking the blog schedule a bit, as I imagine everyone will have other shit on their plate next Tuesday evening. Tentatively, the plan is to do one final pre-election blog on Monday night, but we’ve all seen what 2020 does to plans.

One way or another, I’ll see y’all this coming Friday. Stay safe out there, Resisters! Also, VOTE! Kinda sucks that it’s tough to do both at once, but this is, after all, Hell. 

Goody Higgins is a Witch, and Other Tales of Republican Madness (Ferret/Shower Cap)

So, everything is, obviously, still largely insane, but, I dunno...it’s starting to feel like maybe we’re near the end of the detox scene in Trainspotting? Like, we got through the baby-on-the-ceiling part, and maybe we’re finally approaching a point when life will be more than incessant, hallucinatory awfulness all the time? That’d sure be swell.

(Catch this post, in living color, with nifty nooz links, here: http://showercapblog.com/goody-higgins-is-a-witch-and-other-tales-of-republican-madness/)

Hey, if you’ve been waiting until the last minute to pitch in, financially speaking, to the battle for the House and Senate, well, the last minute has arrived, my friend. Why not take a quick pass through Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide? I promise you’ll find a few candidates worthy of your support.


Treasonous Cousin-Fucker Rudy Giuliani’s life has descended into raw humiliation porn along the lines of Election or Meet the Parents, and I am not only enjoying it in real time, I have pre-ordered the multi-disc special edition DVD box set, featuring a commentary track by Rudy’s Russian handlers. Even fiction seldom delivers such satisfying comeuppance, but in real life? To a wealthy white Republican male? It’s almost too rich, too good, like fucking in giant fondue pot.

Anyway, staking your big October surprise on foreign disinformation distributed by a drooling fuckwit who merrily skips straight into a hotel bedroom with a giant, flashing neon sign on the wall that says HONEY TRAP? Yeah that was a home run, Sun Tzu. I mean, the Kremlin can’t be THAT much more sophisticated than a Sacha Baron Cohen film crew, right?

Y’know, I’ve been so focused on the Velveeta Vulgarian’s domestic failings (what with the quarter million dead folks n’ all) that I completely forgot about the way he’s turning my beloved homeland heel on the global stage. Yes, between Chief Thuglomat Pompeo’s zeal to join the world’s shittiest autocrats in some sort of League of Anti-Abortion Rights Jagoffs, and the push to mendaciously label human rights organizations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch as anti-Semitic, President Crotchvoid just keeps on transforming the United States of America into the sort of nation we’ve traditionally joined alliances against.

Word on the street is, Government Cheese Goebbels is looking to fire Christopher Wray, over the FBI director’s reluctance to produce a sequel to 2016’s “The Comey Letter,” that critically-reviled ode to misplaced self-righteousness that plunged the entire fucking planet into darkness and chaos. Good on ya, Chris.

In contrast, DNI John Ratcliffe emerged from his default position, attempting to suckle on Donald Trump’s butt acne, to dutifully spread his farthuffing fascist master’s latest desperate spin. In a pathetically transparent attempt to elbow former President Obama’s excellent campaign speech off the evening news, Yes-His-Name-Really-Is-Ratcliffe’s hastily-convened press conference attempted to cast a series of e-mails, allegedly from the Proud Boys, threatening Biden voters with physical violence, as a plot against Donnie Dotard because...reasons. You know the magic has gone out of a would-be dictatorship when the gaslighting gets this lazy.

I see Mitch McConnell’s body has begun visibly rotting away right in the middle of his career-capping anti-democratic power grab, in case anybody was considering cutting a deal with that Kentucky bog witch, thinking she could never hope to make good on her outlandish promises or ominous threats...I mean, Mitch looks like he spent the week performing colonoscopies on demons.   

Anyhoo, Wrinkly Gamera and his morally bankrupt caucus continue their slow-motion heist of RBG’s Supreme Court seat, merrily violating rules and norms when necessary, while gleefully delivering hectoring lectures on the Passion of Robert Bork when the absurd procedural calendar permits time for speechifyin’. All this political theatre is dull and irritating, I know I’m going to hate the ending, and honestly, I wish they’d just get on with it, because I need to pee*.

I see some shitty white boy losers had their loser terrorist plots against Smilin’ Joe and Kamala foiled, because all Trumpists are shit-brained failures, who, like their Ruptured Hemorrhoid Emperor, cannot do one single thing right. Let’s see, there’s the teenager with an AR-15 and child pornography, and the shitweasel in Maryland, did I miss anybody? Forgive me, all these mouth-breathing dumbasses look alike to me.

(Y’know, an underreported factor in the election is the sheer number of Cult45ers who won’t be able to make it to the polls on account of being imprisoned on felony charges.)

Turns out when you fuck around with Americans’ right to vote, they get really fucking angry. Also, they vote the very minute you let them. The early voting numbers are...holy crap, Resisters, I didn’t expect y’all to fuck around or anything, but you are NOT FUCKING AROUND out there. With eye-popping, historic numbers every single day, honestly, I don’t understand how Mark Meadows is smuggling all the overflowing diapers out of the Oval Office without drawing media scrutiny.

Still, grassroots MAGA hooligans are pitching in wherever they can, because the party that suppresses the vote together...um...shit. I seem to have backed myself into a corner here. Impresses the goat together? “Blesses the scrote together” certainly fits the house style, but it makes no damn sense, sooooooo...y’know what? Forget I started this paragraph.

THE POINT IS, from illegally surveilling voters in Philadelphia to armed goons playing poll watcher in Florida, the Taintfungus Campaign, understanding they don’t have a snowball’s chance in Jimmy Inhofe’s front pocket of winning fairly, will use every trick in their filthy, fascist book to keep us from exercising our rights.

To these thugs I say, “Lil’ man, you may as well take your toys and go home, we’ve been waiting four long years to do this, and it’s gonna take a helluva lot more than some dickless Call of Duty cosplayers to intimidate us.”

At the final debate, in a virtuosic display of rhetorical brilliance that prompted Zombie Seneca to rise from his grave to slow-clap in awe, the Marmalade Shartcannon successfully vanquished all talk of the raging coronavirus outbreak from the public discourse, replacing it with a bipartisan white hot rage that Hunter Biden, surely history’s greatest criminal, is free to walk the streets, committing God knows what additional atrocities, even as we speak.

...in his own mind, anyway. Here in reality, he mostly just lied and lied and lied, between bursts of genuinely batshit ranting laced with the indecipherable jargon of the wingnut media bubble.

We quickly came to understand why his “strategy” during the first debate was to screech like a marmot in a blender every time it was Old Handsome Joe’s turn to speak: he’s utterly, conclusively outclassed, and the side-by-side comparison of a compassionate elder statesman who knows the issues inside and out to a yelping slug, shitting noxious hatred from every orifice at once, didn’t exactly benefit the incumbent.

...but because Fat Q*bert never quite dry-humped the lectern, the unteachable media applauded his improved “tone” anyway. And Jesus wept.

Embattled Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, taking a page out of Gameshow Göring’s despot playbook, has fired or otherwise sidelined four of the seven whistleblowers who revealed his corruption to the public, and we really have to do something about this whole Criminals Get to Fire the People Investigating Them thing. I feel like we shoulda caught that one before it left the kitchen, honestly.

What else, what else...so, Clay Higgins is A) a United States Congressman, with the power to craft the laws the rest of us are compelled to follow, and B) completely, totally, chipmunk-who-got-into-the-meth-jar insane. Seems Clay’s wife had a little dream where “federal squads” took away all their precious bottled water and canned ravioli, and so he took to social media to bemoan the tragic loss of freedom...in his wife’s dream. Which he claims is a “premonition.”

And so, Clay Higgins, not, in fact, from a padded cell, but rather from his seat in the United States House of Representatives, laments the state of the fallen world of his MOTHERFUCKING WIFE’S SUBCONSCIOUS, demanding the rest of us share in his goofy paranoia because he is so ass-backward goddamn stupid that he believes he married an oracle.

Y’know, one of the unfortunate side effects of Democrats’ recent swing-district dominance is that the dwindling House GOP Caucus increasingly resembles an orgy at the Heritage Foundation after Gym Jordan and Louie Gohmert hijack a truckload of opioids.

I see Lou Dobbs is trying to get Lindsey Graham fired. This could be Lou's entire destiny, the misbegotten sack of shit. Like, maybe he's White Nationalist Gollum. 

Ok folks, I’ve only got a couple more chances to plug my new comic, MINE; the Kickstarter closes in five short days. If you dig SPACE POLITICS, you’re gonna love this book. I seriously do write these comics with you folks in mind, and I think we’ve got a lovely little space fable for the politically inclined here. Check it out.


Ok. That’s enough insanity to last you through the weekend. If you need a snack, why not try some videos of Shart Garfunkel mindlessly ranting while his rabid fans flash white nationalist hand signals? Some ”closing argument,” huh?

*Ideally right on Willard Romney’s hypocritical shoes. 

I Mean Yeah, If I Fucked Up This Bad, I'd Rather Talk About Hunter Biden, Too. (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Don’t get me wrong, the addition of hope and anticipation to the customary outrage n’ despair cocktail has been a largely positive development, but, well, I may be feeling just a wee bit overstimulated lately. Anyway, I’m sure fourteen days of time passing like those last minutes before you’re allowed to wake up your parents on Xmas morning will be a breeze to bear, and I will in no way gnaw my fingernails down to the wrist.

(Ya want this post with news links? Yer in luck: http://showercapblog.com/i-mean-yeah-if-i-fucked-up-this-bad-id-rather-talk-about-hunter-biden-too/)

Well, the Velveeta Vulgarian’s handlers have settled him into a comforting little schedule of safe-space rallies in the reddest swing state communities available; maybe it’s not the best strategy for reaching persuadable undecideds, but at least it keeps him from blurting gibbering nonsense like “LIBERALS WANT TO BLOW UP MOUNT RUSHMORE” on national television.

Anyway, Shart Garfunkel is lying more than ever, which is sort of revoltingly impressive in its own way, like the finals of the World Gravy Drinking Championship*. And of course he’s still attacking Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer, in precisely the same ways that already inspired one white supremacist plot to kidnap and execute her, and while I’ve never been a fan of the so-called War on Terror, I confess I never thought I’d see the American President switch sides.

There’s lots of “rats fleeing a sinking ship” commentary these days, as vulnerable Republican Senators have suddenly realized this Trump fellow possesses an imperfection or two, but that’s not what’s going on here. We’re not talking about rats, this is the CREW OF THE SHIP, the very craven loyalists who put down the mutiny that might have saved us all, the ones who carried out Bloated Blundering Bligh’s orders as he steered the nation directly into an iceberg that turned out to be sixty tons of frozen, floating sewage, who’re trying to act as though the Turd Reich’s many crimes and failings just...I dunno, just happened while everybody was busy with the Sunday crossword.

John Cornyn wants us to know that despite all his public cowering and enabling, he was super-principled in private conversations that totally took place in real life, just ask his Canadian mistress. Oh, you’re useless in private as well? Guess that makes you a pretty shitty Senator, John-John; you should resign.

Trigger Warning: cyclopean horror on a cosmic scale. I...hesitate to even cover this. I know we’re battle-hardened after four years of non-stop atrocity, but maybe that means we’ve earned the right to look away now and then. No. We must gaze upon evil if we are to defeat it, and thus I call upon ye to screw your courage to the sticking place and gaze upon the abomination that is...Donald Trump dancing.

I see Mike Love’s fake Beach Boys played a fundraiser for the Committee to Re-Elect the Taintfungus, to the chagrin of Brian Wilson and Al Jardine, aka the actual Beach Boys. I guess when your brand is Rock’s Biggest Asshole, you have to pull shit like this to stay relevant.

Still, in the Battle of the Boys, even with the Faux Beach taking the field alongside the Proud, you ain’t got shit, Dotard, cuz the motherfuckin’ BEASTIE BOYS, for the first time ever, licensed a song for use in a political ad, in support of Smilin’ Joe Biden. Huh, I’m in a coalition with Bill Kristol and Ad-Rock; shit’s been real weird lately.

By the way, did anybody call Love’s impostor crew the Bleach Boys yet? See, this is a white supremacist joke AND a he-told-us-to-drink-Clorox joke, so you’re really getting a bargain with this paragraph...obviously, things’re going really well in your political satire blog when you’re explaining your gags.

Well, President Ostomy Bag wants you to know he’s TIRED OF COVID. Not so tired that he’d use the awesome powers of his office to fight it, or even publicly model simple, effective behaviors, like mask-wearing and social distancing, which would save tens of thousands of lives, but tired of the way his botched pandemic (non-) response has kidney-punched his re-election hopes.

Yeah, we get it, you’re tired of Covid, because it’s a political anchor wrapped tightly around your hideous, molten-circus-peanut cankles. We’re sick of it too, of course, but more because it’s destroyed our jobs and closed our small businesses and, y’know, COST NEARLY A QUARTER OF A MILLION OF US OUR LIVES.

Still, the media are “dumb bastards” for covering the ongoing crisis that’s killed hundreds of Americans every single day for months, rather than, say, Hairplug Himmler’s pathetic fixation on the already-awarded Nobel Peace Prize, or the way he’s managed lately to smear that pulped yam make-up over almost his entire face, without the embarrassing trademark scalp line...almost.

Meanwhile, demonstrating the keen sense of strategy that has allowed Kim Jong-un to beclown him on the world stage for lo these many years, the Shart of the Deal has all but declared open war on America’s beloved, trusted, Dr. Anthony “If it weren’t for me he’d be pumping Lysol into the water supply” Fauci.

Because as awful as Eight Months of Chaos and Quarantine Born of Shit Leadership have been, voters are being told that the REAL problem isn’t the lethal virus the incumbent has failed to contain, or the ensuing economic carnage, but HUNTER BIDEN who...oh, man. He did all kindsa bad shit. He’s the Boogeyman wrapped in the Babadook dipped in warm liquid sin, and he’s gonna huff and puff and blow your Suburban Housewife American Dream down.

I’m not sure what Hunter is supposed to’ve done, honestly, though Senator Ron Johnson (R-Leningrad) certainly isn’t shy about playing the Hey Everybody You Already Hate is Also a Pedophile, What a Coincidence card, but then, he’s an idiot and a monster and a puppet. Yeah, yer mom must be proud, RoJo, her boy’s a multi-millionaire and STILL Putin’s lapdog.

Anyway, the whole bullshit story fell apart immediately, unsurprisingly, since it was apparently too blatantly shady for even such icons of journalistic integrity as Fux Nooz and the New York Post. Look, Rudy Giuliani did his best, okay? It’s just that all he had to work with was paste and uncooked macaroni, and to be fair, the instructions were in Russian.

The bad news is, the feral Republican base doesn’t need a story to make sense, and they won’t care about the fact-checking, all they want is a steady stream of reasons to hate whoever the Murdoch family wants them to hate.

On a 4-4 tie, the Supreme Court rejected the Pennsylvania GOP’s latest anti-democratic voter suppression attempt, but folks, Amy Coney Barrett is on her way, and soon there will be no more ties, only an extremist wingnut court, intent on using their stolen, illegitimate power to impose minority rule on a country that’s ready to leave Republican regressiveness behind. No jokes in this paragraph**, just a plea for you, Dear Reader, to get radical in a hurry about court expansion, about ending the filibuster, about statehood for D.C. and Puerto Rico. I love my party, I do, but they’re only going to take these drastic steps if we show them we have their backs.

You either enough make enough noise to change the world, or let ACB and her gang of theocrats whittle your rights away for decades.

In case you’re wondering why all the bald eagles are projectile vomiting and the Statue of Liberty is rotting away to nothingness before our very eyes, well, Redactor General William Barr has proclaimed that Gameshow Göring is acting in his “official capacity” as President when he battles the legion of sexual assault/harassment accusations against him, so we, the chump taxpayers, get to foot the bill for his legal defense.

I see we’ve got a fresh set of rules for the final presidential debate, including muted mics, and if I may be so bold, I’d like to propose that if others need to erect technological barriers in order to force you to behave like an adult for ninety minutes, leadership is not your calling.

And now I see Strawberry Shartcake is somehow incapable of navigating an hourlong conversation with 60 Minutes without throwing a very public tantrum and ok, look. This is a small story, but completely disqualifying. It’s not even the most disqualifying story in this blog post, and surely unworthy of cracking the Top 500 Reasons Donald Trump is Unfit for Human Interaction Let Alone Public Office, but it, by itself, should make every American, regardless of political affiliation, say, “holy crap, keep that unstable freak away from power!”

And yet.

Meanwhile, we learned the Turdmaggot Administration, in its zeal to terrorize migrants, has misplaced the parents of 545 children separated back in the heady days when John Kelly was too busy ripping families apart to leak “Oh, I knew that Donnie kid was trouble the moment he walked in” quotes.

Five hundred and forty-five children. This is why it’s okay, whenever you encounter some hectoring evangelical claiming to be “pro-life,” to just puke right on their shoes.

I see two stories of massive Trump corruption broke while I was writing tonight, but they’re probably too complex to land, thanks to the Republican strategy of overwhelming the public with unceasing bullshit propaganda. We’ll talk about Hunter Biden’s imaginary crimes, not Conman Don’s Chinese business ties. Not enjoying myself, here in Hell. Sorry, just being honest.

There’s still time to shoot some cash to our incredible team of Dem candidates n’ incumbents, which is why I made Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide! We’ve raised more than $30,000 so far...keep it comin’, Resisters!


Ok. Crunch time for my Kickstarter, friends. MINE is a nifty little space fable about leadership and limitations, it’s literally written with my political junkie audience in mind. You will dig it. And if you missed my first book, THE WORTH & THE COST, you can snag a copy of that one, too!


That’s all I got tonight folks. Back to watching the clock. If you haven’t voted yet, vote, you beautiful people, VOTE!

*I do not know if this is a real thing, nor do I wish to know.

**”There are jokes in the other paragraphs?” is an entirely worthy retort, but you’ll have to do better than that. 
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