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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 06:48 PM
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This Week in Hell: If the Cornavirus Don't Getcha, the President Will! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Hey, everybody. Hope you’re doing reasonably well out there, in this bizarre reality where the President of the United States is actively trying to kill you. If he shows up at your door, remember, just throw an open umbrella at him, and he’ll become confused and run away. Anyhow, the news:

(You guessed it, this post is available, with news links, at: http://showercapblog.com/this-week-in-hell-if-the-cornavirus-dont-getcha-the-president-will/)

President Crotchvoid is likely to feel extra murderous now that Senate Democrats slipped a provision into the coronavirus stimulus bill prohibiting him from getting any bailout money for his tacky-ass golf clubs, or Trump Waffles, or whatever other business venture he’s chosen to fail at next. Shit, even the regular golf grift is on the shelf for now...poor little guy, if he wants to rip off taxpayers during this crisis, I guess he’ll have to resort to stealing wee packets of Splenda from the West Wing break room.

Or maybe the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor is just pissy because, after years of antagonizing our international allies and economic partners, he’s now forced to go door to door, holding out his tiny, inadequate, little hands, begging for the very supplies he deliberately chose not to have produced here, back when he thought he could lie and bully his way out of this jam, as though a pandemic would be just one more contractor he didn’t feel like paying. He’s a walking fable, our Dotard.

Mike Pompeo is certainly helping the international outreach effort, shitting in the punch bowl at a meeting of the top diplomats of the G7, obstructing the issuance of a simple group statement by rejecting the agreed-upon COVID-19 nomenclature, demanding instead that everyone call it the It’s All China’s Fault and Also My Boss Weighs 239 Pounds Virus. The Pompeo tenure will ultimately be a useful experiment, I suppose...I mean, I doubt anybody ever really thought that petulance and bigotry were desirable traits in a Secretary of State, but at least now we know for sure.

If anybody’s happy about Pompeo’s antics, it’s Former Earwig Magically Transformed by a Witch Into a Senator Tom Cotton, who has started emitting creepy, inhuman, noises akin to unearthly mating calls at the prospect of using the outbreak as an excuse to start a war with China. When it comes to conflict with China, Cotton is hornier than a 7th grade boys’ sleepover with their first Playboy. Keep an eye on this creep, he wants to be President himself someday.

The Committee to Re-Elect the Turdmaggot is starting to wake up to the fact that Boss Shart has been providing his opponents so much attack ad fodder he’s probably vulnerable to prosecution for illegal in-kind donations to the Biden campaign. They’ve sent cease and desist letters to television stations airing one particular ad from a Dem PAC, which is, in all fairness, a jackhammer applied directly to the presidential scrotum, and, hilariously, comprised entirely and damningly of the President’s own fool words. They’re even threatening the FCC could yank the stations’ operating licenses, just to drop a few authoritarian croutons on their pathetic whinging salad.

Well, the teevee networks are struggling with the ethics of giving Sharty McFly free air time every day for the disinformation parties he has sinisterly labeled “coronavirus briefings,” because between spreading lies that will get countless thousands killed, and handing their airwaves directly over to his damn campaign, they’re essentially swapping ratings for the downfall of civilization. It’s like, fool me once, shame on you, fool me 17,442 times, plunge the nation into an era of darkness, despair, and death...is it really so much to ask the media to learn this ONE lesson before he kills us all?

Well, the Shart Administration’s EPA flipped the sign on the front door over to “closed,” suspending...um, holy shit...suspending ALL environmental rules indefinitely, allegedly because of the whole coronavirus thing, which of course makes no sense, and in fact now seems like a particularly unwise time to challenge Americans’ immune systems with a fresh load of unregulated pollutants. Another massive giveaway to corporate donors at the expense of us plebs, while we’re mostly just focused on surviving. Deeply evil shit here, folks.

I fear the coronavirus is likely to remain a blue state problem, friends, because while Democratic Governors like Andrew Cuomo, Gretchen Whitmer and J.B. Pritzker have taken the hard steps necessary to contain the disease’s spread, issuing shelter in place orders, the REAL MURICAN leaders are smart enough to treat the issue not as a medical problem, but as the latest front in the culture wars! Alabama’s Kay Ivey defiantly insisted “we are not California,” while Mississippi’s Tate Reeves further upped the ante by insinuating his state was “never going to be China.” Ok, kids, I’ll play. Is your state bigger than a breadbox? I can figure this out in 20, I promise.

You have to imagine some time next week, one of these clods will call a press conference to demand COVID-19 say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays” as it ravages their state’s population. In related news, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis finally found his thumb; it was up his ass.

Whitmer, by the way, tells us that vendors have told her that the Feds told them not to send crucial medical supplies to Michigan, and what a demented little game of “telephone” we’ve played in this sentence. While I certainly hope voters in this pivotal swing state pay attention to the way the President of the United States is working to murder them, politics aside, may I be so bold as to suggest that allowing this sociopath to hand-pick who lives and dies based only upon his whims and grievances is, um, maybe bad. Like, we’re no longer dealing with amusingly pathetic little lies about crowd size or phone calls with foreign leaders gushing with praise; this about a catastrophic shortage of life-saving resources, and a needy, vindictive, madman sitting atop the pile, dispensing and withholding the very right to stay alive like a shitty, spray-tanned, Lear.

Y’know, to a certain extent, you can’t blame Tangerine Idi Amin for his failings during this crisis, in that he’s just behaving according to his deeply fucked-up, hopelessly damaged, tragically limited, nature; I mean, if you lock your dog up inside all day, it’s gonna shit on the floor. But never stop blaming, and never forget his craven Republican enablers, and let’s set aside a special place in hell for the 52 Senators who saw ironclad evidence of Trump’s crimes and betrayals, and refused to remove him from office, inflicting his disastrous, murderous, incompetence on the rest of us. Mitch McConnell, you thought you could handle him, that you’d tamed a monster that eats decency and craps out conservative judges, but now he’s out of control and thousands of us have to die for your arrogance and amorality. You will not be receiving an Xmas card from me, sir.

Ah, it seems like only yesterday when U.K. Prime Simpleton Boris Johnson was bragging to the world about shaking hands with coronavirus patients, well guess what Boris just got? No, not a pizza. Not a PlayStation. What? No, he didn’t get a DVD box set of beloved children’s film franchise The Land Before Time! C’mon, this is easy. No, Boris Johnson did not get...a haircut. Cute. THE CORONAVIRUS, OKAY? He got the motherfucking coronavirus! OBVIOUSLY. Jerks.

Florida Congressdipshit Matt Gaetz, always on the lookout for opportunities to curry favor with the feral assclowns of Cult45, raised his voice in (faux) righteous anger about a tiny sliver of the $2 trillion stimulus bill earmarked for Howard University, a, and what a zany coincidence for a target of Gaetz’s wrath, historically black university.  With a hospital serving as a coronavirus treatment center. Sorry your team forgot stamp WHITES ONLY on the cover of the bill, Matty, but them’s the breaks.

Well, the Marmalade Shartcannon went on Hannity last night (postponing a scheduled phone call with Chinese President Xi Jinping, just to demonstrate his perverse priorities) to muse that this whole “ventilator shortage” thing just didn’t sound right him, and by God, there is no phenomenon in all human history more baffling than Donald Trump’s entirely-unearned self-confidence. YOU FAILED AT THE CASINO BUSINESS, YOU UNBELIEVABLE DUMBASS. The very first fishy life form that ever dragged itself out of the primordial swamps couldn’t have fucked up a casino. It would’ve been all “holy shitballs, it sure is hard to walk around on these barely-evolved flippers, but making money off slot machines and blackjack? Fuck yeah, I can handle that,” so what I’m saying is LISTEN TO THE MOTHERFUCKING DOCTORS AND SCIENTISTS, YOU FUCKWITTED DOORSTOP.

Anyway, after backing away from negotiations with General Motors to produce ventilators amid Jared Fucking Kushner’s concerns that he’d get stuck with a bunch of surplus ventilators that’d just lie around in the corner of the Marm-a-Lego conference room, gathering dust, Dorito Mussolini finally, finally did what everybody’s been yelling at him to do for weeks, and used his power under the Defense Production Act to order GM into production, or as he put it, “Invoke P,” repurposing the command he once gave in that fateful Russian hotel room, that got the whole world into this goddamn mess in the first place. Or maybe he hasn’t actually done it yet, nobody knows, because he is very very dumb, and very very bad at his job.

After years of unprecedented partisan animosity, it was almost refreshing to see everyone, Trump, Democrats, Republicans, Dogs, Cats, Hatfields, McCoys, come together to shit all over Kentucky Congressjag Thomas Massie, who threw a tantrum over the coronavirus stimulus bill, and made dozens of his colleagues fly back to Washington to change his diaper. Since there are now 5 members of Congress who’ve tested positive for COVID-19, this dork’s selfish stunt was extra reckless, but again, being Republican means never having to say “I accept the consequences of my actions.”

Well, despite the Massie Meltdown, the stimulus bill passed. The Velveeta Vulgarian childishly refused to invite Speaker Pelosi to the signing ceremony, because he’s still mad Nancy won’t let him visit his balls, which she has kept in an ornamental thimble on her desk since she mercilessly destroyed him in the late ‘18/early ‘19 shutdown fight. Well, Shart-Shart, if you really needed that tiny, petty, victory, I hope it sustains you for a bit, because if you haven’t noticed, when it comes to your whole “open for business by Easter” pitch, COVID-19 hasn’t been returning your calls.

And no doubt some of y’all are worried about the recent surge in the Candycorn Skidmark’s approval ratings. I say, if the rally-‘round-the-flag effect can’t even get you to 50-50 during the biggest crisis since 9/11, you’ve got problems, Bub. And when the country isn’t open by Easter, and when the consequences of his inaction continue to mount, and the death tolls rise ever higher, we’ll see the limits of going out on television to congratulate yourself on all your wild success.

Yyyyyyeah, rough times, y’all. Um. I hope the President doesn’t kill you. I hope we all get to go to restaurants again someday. I hope, um, what’s the third one there? Oops. AW SHIT SURPRISE RICK PERRY JOOOOOOOKE, CAP OUT! 

This Blog is Better Than the Disease, But Worse Than the Cure, or What Do You Even Wear to a Culling

Well, it was difficult to find time in my busy schedule of drinking beer and perpetually re-sterilizing every inch of my apartment, but I figured I’d drop by for a quick news round-up. It’s been a real positive, uplifting, week, full of daisies and puppies and exotic French pastries, except for that one thing that’s fucking up every aspect of life on Earth. Also there were no daisies, puppies, or pastries. Sorry.

(Yes, yes, find this post, WITH nifty nooz links, here: http://showercapblog.com/this-blog-is-better-than-the-disease-but-worse-than-the-cure-or-i-dont-even-know-what-to-wear-to-a-culling/)

In the midst of the greatest global emergency since the international success of the Blue (Da Ba Dee) song, the Shart House has been hard at work. On containing the virus, or procuring desperately-needed equipment for the hospitals about to experience catastrophic shortages? Don’t be silly, the Clowncar Full of Bleeding Rectums running the country is focusing on the really important shit: a government-wide communications strategy to blame China for everything from the coronavirus to the economic crash to the photographs that make Tangerine Idi Amin’s ass look half a mile wide in golf pants.

Beyond the endless, fatal, fuckups, the Turdworm Administration is also staying on-brand by using the coronavirus crisis to attempt a clumsy dictatorial power grab, how predictable, if terrifying. Yes, Redactor General Billy Barr wants the authority to detain folks indefinitely without trial during emergencies, and you can go ahead and mark me down as FUCK NO, YOU FART-SNIFFING FASCISTS on that one. I swear, that Barr kid is like a poorly-trained dog, always snatching food off the counter if you turn your back on him for a minute...only with freedom instead of bacon.

Is there anything Rand Pauler than Rand Paul catching the coronavirus, and smugly going about his life, giving a staunch libertarian middle finger to social distancing, lunchin’ with his homies, spreading his disease (in addition to his everyday Paul family cooties, of course) all over the Senate gym, sending several of his colleagues into quarantine? You’re such a rugged individual, Rand! Surely you won’t require any medical treatment, we can just drop you off at the edge of the jungle with a bow and arrow, and you can hunt and kill your own ventilator.

Republicans, bless their blackened, bile-pumping, little hearts, tried to structure the emergency stimulus bill so it would dump $500 billion directly into a bucket in Steve Mnuchin’s office, which he would then disperse however the fancy struck him, with no oversight whatsoever, and even the added proviso that he could conceal the identities of the recipients for six months. Like, “Surprise! We gave sixty million dollars to Marm-a-Lago while every small business in your hometown withered and died!” I’m just trying to imagine the possible non-corrupt reasons to keep stimulus payments secret, and giving thanks that the crooks in charge aren’t better crooks.

Turns out last July, Hairplug Himmler, in one of those fits of very stable genius that overtake him from time to time, figured he’d trim down the big, bad, government by eliminating the position of a certain CDC expert. Whose job was to monitor disease outbreaks. In China. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, and in the end, this would have simply meant one more expert for the bloated jackass to ignore, but honestly, if, hypothetically, Donald Trump knew in advance this outbreak was coming, and he wanted it to inflict maximum damage on the United States...is there anything he’d have done differently? He is a machine that fucks things up, and is damn near perfect in that regard.

All of us are having trouble adjusting to life under quarantine, of course. Routines have been disrupted, and emotional needs are going unmet. It’s really tough to live without all those little snippets of human contact one takes for granted; the familiar strangers from your morning commute, the barista who starts your drink the moment you walk in the door, the joggers and dog-walkers and stroller-pushing young parents who populate your neighborhood sidewalks. And if you happen to be a tar-souled narcissistic egomaniac, hopelessly addicted the adrenaline rush that comes from whipping angry mobs into deranged, hateful, frenzies, well...then you’ve got real problems.

Luckily for him, if not for the safety and health of the general public, the Marmalade Shartcannon has jury-rigged a passable substitute for his Klan rallies, and he even gets to pretend they’re press conferences. The howls of blind adulation may be missing, but the other elements translate rather cleanly: self-praise, whinging victimhood, sinister misinformation, and all the lies you can handle for only 7.99, add the dessert bar for just a dollar more.

Not to disrupt any boiling frogs or anything, but it is Ken-Russell-on-bad-acid insane that we find ourselves at this dizzyingly fucked up point, where this self-serving madman, this barely-human poosquirt, is handed this enormous platform, every single goddamn day, to shamelessly belch out whatever dangerous fabrications he imagines will hold his poll numbers up for a few more hours, without a single passing thought for the well-being of his millions of constituents, and nobody seems to know how to stop him.

It’s very strange, not being able to believe the President during a time of crisis, but I confess it’s even stranger that anyone anywhere still trusts that mendacious bag of excised colon polyps. Like, folks, this is the same sad little clown who launched his term with a pathetic series of falsehoods about the size of his inauguration crowd, you’re really gonna defer to his snake-oil-peddling ass when it comes to medical treatment? Over the actual FDA? And real doctors? Unbelievably, some folks do, and Fat Q*Bert’s cynical pimping of an untested malaria drug as a miracle corona cure, while a transparent bid to trick the stock market into thinking everything’s copacetic, has actually prompted nationwide shortages, to the chagrin of those who actually, y’know, need the stuff to live.

And of course, a man has already died, and his wife was hospitalized, after swallowing chloroquine phosphate on their Turd Emperor’s expert advice. While President Crotchrot’s handling of the entire situation has been a disaster sandwich between two slices of What the Fuck is Wrong with You, you have to give the old dolt credit, he keeps finding innovative new ways to get people killed.

With the nation looking to the steady, even, hand of New York Governor Andrew Cuomo for much-needed comfort, his Florida counterpart, a walking butter statue by the name of Ron DeSantis, refuses to take necessary precautions and lock down the Sunshine State, even as, to the shock of literally no living thing, spring break beach partiers who defied calls for social distancing have begun coming down with COVID-19. It’s certainly an unconventional political strategy, actively facilitating the deaths of thousands of your constituents, and I’m excited to see how it plays out when Ronboy seeks reelection in 2022, assuming we aren’t all clubbing one another with tire irons over ten-year-old cans of Beefaroni by then.

So, a fun way to pass time during quarantine is to start a “Fauci watch” group with your friends on social media, wherein everyone makes bets on how long it will take for Government Cheese Goebbels to finally fire the only member of his team that still holds the public's trust, for the high crime of Telling Folks the Truth Rather Than Comforting Lies That Will Only Get More Americans Killed in the Long Run. Frankly, between his competence and expertise, I’m surprised Dr. Fauci hasn’t been replaced by Diamond and/or Silk already.

Sorry serfs, but your feudal overlords have grown weary of this whole “taking the steps needed to combat a global pandemic” thing, now that the truly important shit (money) is involved, so it’s time for all you filthy takers to get your asses back to the charnel house, excuse me, the “workplace.” Yes, the malignantly wealthy, through the mouths of their demonic spokesgoons at Fux Nooz, have announced “the cure is worse than the problem,” because all this life-saving social distancing has cut into their yacht-and-racehorse funds, which simply will not do...why can’t the lesser classes have the good manners to understand how expendable they are?

President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster really wants to “re-open” the economy, and he’s not gonna let anything silly, like “scientists and doctors,” or “mountains of human corpses” spoil his fun. One of the few remaining functional processes in the wad of used chewing gum he has for a brain reminds him constantly that bad economy = no reelection = no presidential immunity = bunkmates with Harvey Weinstein, so please understand he would giddily accept any death toll, however high, to get the stock market back up, even it means going from hospital to hospital to personally unplug ventilators with very own (tiny, inadequate) hands.

Defying all common sense and basic decency, the murderous idiot actually wants to relax the standards that haven’t even been in place long enough, or universally enough, to slow the spread of this wily motherfucker. He’s openly fantasizing about shit being more or less back to normal come Easter. When that doesn’t happen, because the body count will have a couple more zeros tacked on by then, expect him to recklessly tell the nation that COVID-19 can be cured by ingesting a mixture of bleach, paprika, and Marshmallow Peeps.

(It goes without saying that doing things Donnie Dotard’s way only leads to the worst of both worlds; more senseless deaths, and all the economic damage plus more to boot, but you have to look at it from his point of view...I mean, what if tomorrow never comes?)

In addition to the ridiculous cure/disease branding, he’s test-driving some fresh new bullshit about quarantining leading to a massive wave of suicides, presumably because folks will just be so goshdarn distraught at the financial losses of the Republican donor class. Can’t speak for y’all, but along with my stash of Pringles and beer, thinking about Sheldon Adelson’s vanishing billions is just about all that’s keeping me going lately. In fact, ruminating on it right now, I’m about as far from suicide as the night I lost my virginity.

Texas Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick is certainly eager to serve as conductor aboard America’s 3:10 to Yuma, taking it upon himself to speak for all of the nation’s elderly, and volunteering them as willing sacrifices to the voracious volcano god men call the Dow Jones. Ah yes, as the saying goes, when the going gets tough, the tough immediately propose mass murder of the old. It’s been, like, a week. Dan. Bro. Let’s pursue a few non-genocidal solutions before we jump right into Soylent Green territory, okay?

And yes, even as the turds deposited by this shitstorm bury us up to our goddamn necks, the Treasonweasel Administration is STILL fighting in court to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, because obviously what this country really needs right now is a few million more uninsured folks, especially with the ranks of the unemployed swelling by the hour, with no place to turn for insurance but the Obamacare exchanges. Their unerring instinct for making shitty situations even shittier leads me to believe that while the medical equipment shortage isn’t likely to be addressed any time soon, Stephen Miller will likely organize the release of immense swarms of bees into every hospital in America within the week.

Anyway, the rest is all most bad news. The Olympics are postponed and Terrence McNally died and Donald Trump didn’t. What can I say? It’s kinda like “It’s raining men” only with shit instead of men.

To all my readers out there, I don’t think I need to say this, but I value you a great deal more than the stock market,* so please take care of yourselves out there. We’ll pull through this crap, and the party we throw when we finally fire these rat finks in November will be all the sweeter for it. See y’all soon.

*Not you, Kevin. 

Maybe the Quarantine is to Keep Us From Storming Richard Burr's Office (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Well, I am 31 flavors of quarantined and goin’ a little stir crazy, my friends. I’m about to paint a face on a volleyball and start talking to it, y’know, like in that really obscure Cast Away movie? Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’m the first one to make that joke, so just congratulate me and we’ll move on to the news...

(As usual, you can find this post WITH nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/maybe-the-quarantine-is-to-keep-us-from-storming-richard-burrs-office/)

Obviously we’ve all got a lot on our plates, in fact our plates are piled ten feet high with camel shit, but I hope everyone still manages to find time to appreciate the little things in life...like Felonious Rabbit Shipper Duncan Hunter getting sentenced to 11 months in prison for various acts of campaign finance fuckery. I may be spending the next few months huddled on my sofa, rationing Miller High Life, but at least I’ll get to make my own calls about when the lights turn on and off, Dunky-Dunc.

Having learned not one fucking thing from the current crisis, exacerbated as it has been by their pudding-headed purges, the Turmaggot Administration just keeps on hollowing out the federal government’s core of institutional expertise, and replacing it with a pack of feral assclowns harvested from the comments section of the Daily Caller. The head of the Office of Personnel Management resigned suddenly on Tuesday, as his department keeps filling up with douchebag college kids. Oh, and the acting director of the National Counterterrorism Center was fired by Richard Grenell, an over-glorified internet troll who shouldn’t have firing authority at a Forever 21, let alone anywhere within our national security apparatus.

Not so very long ago, the great state of Wisconsin was represented in the U.S. Senate by Russ Feingold, but I guess the cheeseheads got tired of brilliance and decency, and so they replaced Feingold with an oversized human thumb with a face drawn on it. That thumb, Senator Ron Johnson, doesn’t get why everybody’s freaking out over this whole “pandemic,” thing, after all, you’re looking at “only” 3.4% of the population dying off! Why, Johnson is downright pissy that Murica refuses to pull itself up by its bootstraps (without hand-washing afterwards, obviously) and take that 11-million-corpse hit like a man! Anyway, I hereby nominate RoJo to serve as Secretary of Bedside Manner for the duration of this crisis, assuming he can juggle the duties with those of his existing post, as Dumbest Man in the Senate.

I think there must’ve been a memo pinned to the bulletin board in the GOP break room this week, reading, “Ok, we’re gonna be even more openly evil now. Also, the ritual sacrifice of migrant babies has been cancelled due to coronavirus concerns,” because Rand Paul is suddenly feelin’ himself enough to stand shamelessly on the Senate floor, displaying a chilling level of calm as he casually divided the population into “people” and “non-people.” I’d suggest it’s actually Rand himself who comes off as significantly less than human here, but what do I know, I’m just a normal, non-white-supremacist, dude.

Well, COVID-19 can officially scratch "U.S. Congressman” off of its scavenger hunt list, as Utah’s Ben McAdams and Florida’s Mario Diaz-Balart have both tested positive and self-quarantined. Quite the collection you’re amassing there, Mr. Coronavirus...Tom Hanks, Monaco’s Prince Albert II, Idris Elba, half of the NBA players I’ve heard of...humanity is just one big game of Pokémon GO to you, isn’t it? And while I was drafting tonight, the Shart House announced a staffer in Vice President Mike Pants’ office has the thing as well. If we can just quarantine all these bastards as far away from the levers of power as possible, we might just make it through this thing.

I hope everyone is adjusting reasonably well to their “new normal.” It’s a lot to take on all at once, god knows...social distancing, toilet paper hoarding, and this weird thing where the President of the United States holds a press conference every morning during which he lies about the progress he’s made fighting the outbreak, and then we spend the rest of the day unraveling his fabrications. Hospital ship dispatched to desperately ailing New York City? Nope, she’s in port for repairs and won’t be ready for weeks. Limitless testing, available to all who desire it? No, we’re still miles behind other countries. Miracle malaria drug repurposed to battle coronavirus? Pure fucking fantasy. The doddering old bastard is simply incapable of learning, he really thinks he can lie his way out of this shit. And before you even ask, no, fuckhead, I don’t think COVID-19 will go away if you offer it some of your father’s money.

While the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits clearly doesn’t have the first fucking clue how to lead the nation through this emergency, you really can’t deny his natural, pampered-rich-boy, talent for blame-throwing. He’s a fucking savant when it comes to passing the buck. And so naturally, his focus isn’t on combating the coronavirus, but rather on rebranding it as “the China virus,” because stoking white nationalist hatred is a lot easier than, y’know...leadership. He’s hampered America’s response at every turn; we don’t have enough tests, enough masks, enough hospital beds, enough respirators, but thanks to the Grand Wizard Grifter what we do have is a spike in anti-Asian hate crimes. I hate him so very, very, much.

When he’s not seasoning the already hopelessly befouled stew that is our news cycle with his trademark blend of incompetence and racism, President Crotchrot likes to offer his what-if-Marie-Antoinette-was-an-elderly-jackass-who-couldn’t-tie-a-necktie thoughts on class conflict. When asked how, precisely, wealthy NBA players were able to get tested while so many patients, and even ER personnel were left up shit creek sans paddle, he mused that this was simply “the story of life,” no doubt fantasizing about the fast-approaching day when his lower-class media critics would be ground to mulch and sprinkled across one of his tacky-ass golf courses.

As we head towards negotiations for the massive stimulus package to rescue the economy from Fat Q*Bert’s historic, murderous, blunders, you’ll no doubt be shocked, SHOCKED, to learn that in the early draft of the Republican version of the bill, “about 22 million people earning under $40,000 a year would see no benefit.” Just like Wee Don can’t give up his bigotry, Senate Republicans can’t resist any opportunity to stick it to the working poor. We’re probably less than a month away from Mitch McConnell calling a press conference to suggest A Modest Proposal For Preventing the Children of Poor People From Being a Burthen to Their Parents or Country, and For Making Them Beneficial to the Publick.

We’re all worried about each other during these tumultuous times, but I want you to rest your head easy tonight, knowing that while untold thousands are infected, and perhaps even dying, Senator Richard Burr is gonna be okay. See, Dick (Can I can him Dick? I’m gonna call him Dick.), being a big fancy Senator and all, had access to the latest, greatest, information and intelligence on the coronavirus and its spread, which is to say, the motherfucker knew what was coming.

...and, like any decent human being would, he immediately informed the public of the danger they were in, right? Right? I mean, warning your constituents about the imminent outbreak of a deadly disease, that’s...that’s a mighty low ethical bar to clear, don’tcha think? Well, Dick, because he’s such a dick, kept that information to himself, save for a handful of wealthy donor chums. Oh, and he took his insider information and used it to dump a million bucks or so in stocks, before his money got wiped out in the inevitable market plunge alongside all those loser plebs’ retirement accounts HAW HAW HAW SUCK IT, PEASANTS.

Folks, if I get the coronavirus and die, cremate my body, shove a funnel into Richard Burr’s traitorous mouth, and force every single grain of me down his rat-bastard throat. That is my last wish. 

And just as your blood got to boiling at the realization that one of the very public servants tasked with getting us the fuck out of this shitstorm is in fact nothing but a dirtbag germ war profiteer, enriching himself while leaving the rest of us to get sick and die, you learned that ANOTHER Senator, Georgia’s never-faced-an-electorate, appointed-by-illegitimate-Governor-Brian-Kemp Kelly Loeffler, pulled the EXACT SAME SHIT, and I assume by now you’re exploding with rage like a Warner Brothers cartoon, skin turned bright red, smoke blasting out of your ears to the sound of shrieking train whistles.

If anybody had concerns about Strawberry Shartcake’s mental capacity during a time of extreme stress, boy howdy, your concerns were well-founded. In today’s press briefing/propagandathon, NBC News’ Peter Alexander asked him the entirely reasonable question, “What do you say to Americans who are scared?” and holy balls of pure fuck, the President of the United States staged the most horrifyingly pathetic (or pathetically horrifying?) authoritarian meltdown, like the spoiled bastard child of Joseph Stalin and Richie Rich (come to think of it, has anyone tested his DNA on that one?).

What’s nuts is, this was such a softball question, Sean Hannity would be embarrassed to ask it. It’s a lay-up, you dolt. “Hey, people are scared, say something comforting!” “NO THANK YOU I WOULD PREFER TO PISS MYSELF SO HARD I TEAR A HOLE THROUGH MY DIAPER AND EVEN MY RIDICULOUS CLOWN PANTS IDEALLY ON LIVE TELEVISION IF AT ALL POSSIBLE” and anyhow, I don’t think Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops has this whole “Comforter in Chief” thing down just yet.

And yeah, everything else is just peachy fuckin’ keen. The stock market keeps on reenacting Jules Verne novels, homebound dumbasses are clogging their plumbing with disinfectant wipes, Republicans in Kentucky are STILL pushing voter suppression laws, and we’re all trapped at home watching the death toll rise in Italy, knowing that our own country could have learned from their mistakes but instead decided that learning is for cucks, but hey, I just saved a bunch of money on my car insurance.

Ok, folks, I’m tapping out for the week. So far, my beer hoard has held up, but I’m taking it one day at a time. Stay safe, stay home, and wash those hands, dammit! I’ll see y’all soon. 

Welcome to Shower Cap's Socially Distant Quarantine Shindig! BYOB! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Oh, man. I thought shit was cray back when we could leave our homes. Well, before everybody descends into Edgar Allan Poe-style madness, let’s round up the news, it won’t be so - HEY! PUT DOWN THAT AXE, BRO!

(Pandemic or no pandemic, you can find this post, with nifty nooz links, here: http://showercapblog.com/welcome-to-shower-caps-socially-distant-quarantine-shindig-byob/)

When last we spoke, the Velveeta Vulgarian had cleverly (in his own mind, if not here in the real world, where all us poor saps are trapped) attempted to stick his tiny, inadequate, finger in the dike of the rapidly-hemorrhaging economy, with a last-minute press conference, designed to hoodwink the markets with a rose-tinted view of his administration’s bungled response to the coronavirus crisis. Additional cracks manifested almost immediately, with Google responding to President Dumbass’ promise of an all-purpose testing site that also tracks your footsteps and juliennes potatoes by saying, “Wut? We never said we’d do that,” and damn, the crooked old bastard really doesn’t understand yet that he can’t lie his way out of this one, does he?

Well, the Surgeon General has finally focused his full attention on battling the coronavirus. Hang on, that’s not quite right, that should read “the Surgeon General has finally focused his full attention on battling the media, for reporting all of his team’s myriad failures in the fight against the coronavirus.” Hey asshole, the blood on YOUR hands is dripping all over our nice clean carpet, our nice clean tablecloth, and, oh yeah, our nice clean grandparents/parents/immunocompromised friends. If you don’t want to be criticized for fucking up, why don’t you try fucking up less for a change?

If there’s a Pulitzer for Outrage Porn, the Failing New York Times surely locked it up early, with their profile of an odious little turdgobbler down in Tennessee, hoarding hand sanitizer in order to turn around and sell it to desperate folks at enormous markups, essentially the pandemic version of a war profiteer. Look, I don’t wanna go too hard on an enterprising young fellow exercising his entrepreneurial spirit, I just think we should seize his every asset and put him to work in one of the field hospitals that’ll be popping up soon.

So, Shart Garfunkel’s stock-market-pummeling mid-week Oval Office address caused a panicked stampede of Americans traveling abroad, sending them scrambling to get back into the country before the dumb fuck could line airport runways with spikes or some shit, because OF COURSE IT DID. This was a 100% predictable consequence of that speech; a fucking HAMSTER would’ve watched it and gone, “Oh hey, there’s totally gonna be a big huge crush at airports handling incoming international flights, we should get ready for that shit.” But of course, nobody in the entire Turdmaggot Administration thought of that, because we are governed by folks with sub-hamster-level intellects right now.

Anyway, because nobody thought to prepare for the inevitable rush of folks looking to get home, airports were clogged with passengers waiting for hours in tightly-crowded rooms, and if any one person in those rooms happened to have the coronavirus, congratufuckinglations, now they all do. Since apparently not one member of this nougat-brained administration can think even ten minutes minutes ahead, maybe somebody should challenge the Germophobic Jerkoff to game of chess, with the Presidency on the line. Or Chutes and Ladders, even.

I never read any of the Shart of the Deal’s ghostwritten books, but I assume there’s a chapter titled “Never Under Any Circumstances Miss an Opportunity to Show the World You’re an Irredeemably Evil Shitgeyser,” because the greatest challenge of his presidency has been met by perhaps his greatest act of appalling scumfuckery, as the diarrhea-souled monster actually tried to bribe a German company into turning its research, and any potential vaccine, over to America...exclusively.

Dear God. No doubt, the Adderall-Addled Assclown fantasizes about sitting on a throne atop a mountain of corpses, dispensing vaccines, one by one, to suddenly submissive world leaders in exchange for groveling. “Don’t you regret those handshakes now, Emmanuel? Not so snooty today, eh, Angela?” Anyway, the next President should possess at least one thimbleful of decency, preferably more. Call me a bleeding heart libtard, it’s just what I think.

On Sunday, the Federal Reserve did some of that Federal Reserve shit that I won’t pretend to understand. Monetary policy on this level is sixty miles over my head, so headlines may as well read “The Federal Reserve decided schambrong the flumdoozle and lower the spoondangular hippostenoob, hoping to stave off economic catastrophe.” I’m just waiting for men in dark suits to knock down my front door and requisition my change jar; until that happens, I figure we’re not quite in end-of-the-world territory...yet.   

Bad news, Resisters! Two-Time Winner of the Prestigious “Craziest Trump Surrogate” Trophy David Clarke is onto us, uncovering the dastardly plot by our Lord and Master, George Soros, to destroy capitalism and also ban bloviating nutcases from wearing crackerjack prizes on their jackets in sad attempts to cosplay third world generalissimos. Clarke is pissed off that Twitter deleted his rant, so maybe he’ll go back to his roots, and find some jail where he can torture babies and the mentally ill to death again.

Perhaps worried that the American people were placing TOO much faith in a federal government that has not only stumbled at every turn, but actually sought out heretofore undiscovered turns simply to stumble at them, Florida Senator Marco Rubio figured he would helpfully use his Twitter platform to dispel rumors of the imminent imposition of “Marshall Law,” in the event anyone was terrified about the possibility of conquest by a zombie army led by underrated character actor E.G. Marshall. It’s possible that Rubio meant to say “martial law,” but that would mean one of the young intellectual leaders of the Republican Party was an absolute moron who doesn’t even OH RIGHT I forgot, we live in Hell.

(I feel like if the entire Senate Republican Caucus was forced to sit down and take a seventh grade civics test, and the results were released to the public, the stock market would spontaneously combust.)

Both the American people and the American economy are in desperate need of emergency aid, so naturally Texas CongressDolt Louie Gohmert leapt into action to slow down that aid, in the name of whatever the meth-chugging gremlin that dwells in his otherwise-cavernous cranium happens to be screeching in his ear today. Cool. Isn’t there some clause in the Constitution stipulating that during times of crisis, the Single Dumbest Member of the Congress shall be locked in a supply closet to keep him from fucking shit up? No? There fucking well should be.

And of course, ever more extreme measures are being taken, around the globe, to slow the spread of our unwelcome new viral friend. France has shut down just about every dang thing; you’re no longer allowed outside for even a stroll, no, not even to flirtatiously chase after that one cat you’re absolutely sure is a super-sexxxxy skunk like yourself. Hell, even ISIS has ordered a moratorium on jihad-related travel to Europe! That’s right, campers, everybody who was out pub-crawling over St. Pat’s last weekend, congratulations, you are officially dumber than a suicide bomber. And probably twice as dangerous. Please handcuff yourself to a radiator until your fucking brain works.

Apparently there was a cyber attack on HHS on Sunday night, seemingly designed to interfere with America’s coronavirus response. To whichever hostile foreign power perpetrated the attack, like, the best thing y’all can do to achieve your goals is to ensure all Treasonweasel Administration officials are healthy, hale, and hearty enough to continue botching their jobs. You wanna spread coronavirus throughout the USA, send Alex Azar a care package, is all I’m sayin’.

Hey everybody, welcome to the Ventilator Hunger Games! Ventilators are about to become the single most precious commodity on Earth, one of the many things we knew weeks ago, and should have acted on weeks ago, but didn’t. So now we’re looking down the business end of a ventilator shortage that is going to lead to some very, very, very, awful choices.

Now, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot, having failed in his duty to prepare for this entirely-predictable shortage, told America’s governors on a conference call to try to acquire the desperately-needed ventilators on their own, and while yes, it’s probably good advice to assume he will continue turning everything he touches to shit, like the 21st century Midas he has been every day since assuming office, it might also be cool if he actually DID HIS FUCKING JOB for once. Still, I guess it’ll be something, watching Jay Inslee and Ron DeSantis wrestle each other over medical equipment like a couple of Black Friday shoppers fighting for the last bread machine.

And the Dow dropped 3,000 points today, so I don’t imagine a certain Marmalade Shartcannon will be sending any autographed printouts to Lou Dobbs any time soon.

So yeah. Shit’s bad, and it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, but hey, think of all the glorious Netflix binging you’ll get to do while the world burns outside your window!

In all seriousness, take care of yourselves out there, Shower Captives! Maintain social distancing practices, stay home when you can, and wash your damn hands! It’s gonna one crazy spring/summer, not in a girls-gone-wild-on-the-beach kinda way, but more of a twitching-while-watching-the-wallpaper-peel-off kinda way, but we’ll be here for each other...just six feet apart, is all. 

Hey, Have You Heard About This Coronavirus Thing? Crazy Shit, Right? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

History texts depicting this period will read like deranged Choose Your Adventure books written by sadists; no matter how frantically you flip backwards, you just can’t seem to find the page when you still had the option to vote for the really smart lady with the email server. Anyway, join me for a quick news round-up, it won’t take long, and when we’re done, I give you permission to run away to join a roving Thai monkey street gang.

(As always, find this post WITH nifty news links here: http://showercapblog.com/hey-have-you-heard-about-this-coronavirus-thing-crazy-shit-right/)

For those of you just waking up from a Rip Van Winkle nap, the United States is facing a massive, coast-to-coast, health crisis, whose tragic consequences have exploded exponentially because our Idiot Manchild President really believed, in that churning campground septic tank he calls a mind, that protecting his personal approval ratings by understating the problem was more important than the health and safety of the American public. I don’t know what you can call that but murder. On the one hand, it’s weird to say “wow, the President murdered a bunch Americans through boneheaded, unforgivably selfish, neglect,” but we already saw him get away with precisely that crime in Puerto Rico, so here we are.

Now, I have come to expect malice from the federal government under Hairplug Himmler, but sometimes their capacity for raw, senseless, evil still shocks me. This is my way of saying that, until they got fucking caught, the Department of, and Someone Should Slap the Word Out of Their Filthy Mouths, Justice attempted to remove CDC fliers offering potentially life-saving information regarding the coronavirus from...immigration courtrooms. My God. What a small but potent horror. Feels like the work of an ambitious intern in Stephen Miller’s office, doesn’t it? Trying to impress the boss? Just a sinister little trick, to spread a little more pain, a little more misery, a little more death in an already vulnerable, and whatta-coincidence-nonwhite, community? Fuck these awful, awful, people.

It seems President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster has been calling up leading Taliban terrorists on a secret U.S. kill-or-capture list, presumably to trade tips n’ tricks on how to undermine the USA at home and abroad. Now, negotiating with these murderous dirtbags is a big diplomacy no-no (and of course Donnie Dotard got rolled anyway) but in all honestly, if I had access to a secret kill list contact sheet, I’d probably give in to the temptation to make some prank calls. “Is your refrigerator running? Yeah? Are you sure it’s not a FLEET OF DRONES ABOVE YOU RIGHT NOW?”

For Jeff Sessions, the wages of sin turned out to be a faceful of Trump-branded fecal matter, as the Candycorn Skidmark, whose campaign Ol’ Beauregard embraced way back before fascism was cool in conservative circles, endorsed his opponent in the coming Alabama Senate runoff. How must it feel to have been the very fellow who flipped the switch on the Rube Goldberg/Mousetrap Board Game device that destroyed America, and to watch the machine work its destructive magic for years, only to realize it’s also got one special crotch punt in store for just you personally. I’d feel bad for Bilbo Bigot, if it he weren’t, y’know, one of the very worst people alive.

Alex Jones got arrested for drunk driving, and, upon his release, got right back to work selling...sigh...selling some bullshit toothpaste that he’s telling the rubes magically cures the coronavirus. Authorities are cracking down on Jones and fellow charlatan Jim Bakker over their odious snake oil peddling enterprises, but I don’t know what’s more shocking and disappointing to me, that there are such vile fuckwads in the world, who seek to profit off the fear of the misinformed during times of crisis, or that said fuckwads have so many blind, willing, disciples?

Speaking of fuckwads, Ron Johnson seems to have backed down, for now at any rate, from his quest to stage a show trial for Hunter Biden in the U.S Senate. And that’s awesome and all, but never forget how ready, how eager, RoJo has been, to corruptly manipulate the vast powers of the government for his democracy-stomping Turdlord’s political benefit. Ron is the kind of fellow you’d have found stamping documents outside trains bound for Dachau.

But yeah, I suppose the big story is still that coronavirus thing. Great choice on evolution’s part, the way symptoms don’t necessarily manifest right away, so we can spread that shit around without knowing we’re even infected. Anyway, I made sure to thoroughly disinfect tonight’s blog before posting, and medical professionals inform me that though the virus can linger on plastic and metal surfaces for as long as days, it cannot survive on a poo joke, so please rest easy, knowing you can safely consume this content in comfort. Unless you're reading it next to somebody with the coronavirus, but that's on you, kid. 

The Shart Administration has actually slowed progress in this crucial fight, by classifying high-level coronavirus meetings, because they’re more worried about congressional oversight of their crimes n’ fuckups than they are about OUR LIVES, and y’know what, I do believe I’ll be voting Democrat this November.

And of course, many conservatives are more concerned with blaming the virus on the Chinese than preventing its spread; by gum, there’s no need to abandon yer principles, even when your ineptitude is getting countless folks sick and/or killed! “We may be a cabal of dangerously incompetent assclowns, but let none forget that we are also RACIST assclowns!”

With the stock market finally catching up to the rest of the world in noticing a pudding-brained twit had inexplicably been placed in charge of the most powerful nation in history, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot oozed into the Oval Office for a prime time speech, and if his goal was “fuck up the entire world as much as humanly possible in ten short minutes,” then he succeeded beyond his wildest imaginings.

It was a speech that completely failed to reassure, instead reminding the world that this drooling manbaby, this bathtub drain hair clog in an ill-fitting suit, truly is President of the Entire United Fucking States, and not only is he light years out of his element but he’s probably spending most of his time practicing his “the world is ending, you have to go out with me now” phone call to Salma Hayek rather than pursuing desperately-needed solutions.

Despite being on teleprompter, with the text of the fucking speech right fucking in front of him, Dorito Mussolini somehow managed to catastrophically misrepresent his own administration’s policies, dropping one more cartoon anvil on the stock market’s already-throughly-bludgeoned ballsack. This is, of course, on top of nonsensical non-solutions like banning travel from Europe, when the virus had already had weeks to spread throughout the country thanks to presidential bungling and neglect.

For 73 years, this cretin has somehow never encountered a problem he couldn’t lie, buy, or bully his way out of, but COVID-19 doesn’t care how much money your daddy gave you, little man. And may I say, on behalf of the thousands who are about to become sick, fuck you. Fuck you eternally with a rusty shovel, for daring to take on such an important job without the skills, temperament, or character to execute its duties. Asshole.

In contrast, Smilin’ Joe Biden gave a speech of his own; calm, collected, solemn, and filled with concrete steps to address the problems facing the nation. And America collectively went, “Oh right, it’s actually highly abnormal to have a gibbering, rectum-mouthed, dolt for a President, and we can actually have a decent, competent, one again! Soon!” It was like leadership porn. I got aroused.

Meanwhile, our already-hopelessly-overmatched Golf Cheat in Chief is multitasking, lobbing missiles at Iran-backed militias in Iraq. I’m just hoping the buttons on his desk are clearly labeled, y’know? Or at least that there’s somebody hanging around who can tackle him before he bombs Seattle and launches 500 respirators at Tehran.

So, um, in the midst of this once-in-generation shitstorm, I guess Sarah Palin dressed up in a bear suit to perform “Baby Got Back” on a reality television program. I’m not a religious person, honestly, but I’m increasingly open to the idea that there is a God, and that s/he’s been on a meth bender since mid-2016.

Social distancing is the zany new anti-dance craze sweeping the nation as we all do our damndest to not get sick and die! As a result, public gatherings are getting called off left and right. March Madness, MLB, NBA, PGA, SXSW, Broadway...personally, I don’t think I fully appreciated the scope of this crisis until I saw the XFL shut down their season. Like, are we even America anymore without one billionaire’s sad attempt to reboot his once-failed vanity project?

As sensible organizations all over the world made painful but obviously necessary sacrifices to, y’know, slow the spread of a deadly disease and save lives, naturally the Velveeta Vulgarian was among the last holdouts, canceling his precious hate rallies only grudgingly, because the safety of even his own fervent base is secondary to the sugar rush of their rageful cheers, filling, if only for a moment, that empty space within him where most people have a soul.

Now more than ever, I am brimming over with gratitude that we took the House back in 2018. Thank god there’s a little leadership, a little accountability, a little common frickin’ sense in Washington now. And thank god for Katie Porter, one of the standouts in a freshman class packed with absolute ass-kickers, cornering the CDC chief into exercising his legal authority to make coronavirus testing free for every American. Imagine if Kevin McCarthy were running the House right now. He’d be fleeing from reporters, in mismatched loafers, trying to sell the public on a bill bailing out nothing but Trump University and Marm-a-Lago.

Well, the Emperor of Hemorrhoids finally buckled and declared (acknowledged) a state of emergency over the coronavirus, which is admittedly a pleasant change from his previous “do everything I possibly can to help the fucker spread” position.  We’re still woefully behind, and god only knows how deeply the virus has penetrated while the doddering old bastard diddled and dawdled, but the good news is, the President of the United States finally moved his bloated ass out of the road so we can get to work cleaning up his mess, which is, I suppose, as close to an act of kindness as he’s come in his entire misspent, treacherous, life.

In the middle of today’s press conference, Vice President Mike Pants paused to give Boss Turdworm a rhetorical handjob seemingly designed to last through an entire 14-day quarantine. Jeeeeesus. Mikey Hairshirt was a man once. Not much of one, to be certain, but at least he didn’t have to worry about the possibility of bored schoolchildren pouring salt on him, which would of course prove swiftly fatal in his current state.

A reporter asked Government Cheese Goebbels, “Hey, if you’re not too busy fellating yourself over fucking up slightly less than you’ve been fucking up for weeks, why the fuck did you close down the pandemic office, you nation-wrecking clod?” and he whinged that the question was “nasty,” before reiterating his refusal to take responsibility for the things that are, objectively, his fault. I truly do not understand how this trembling coward’s approval rating isn’t 0%

So Nancy Pelosi spent the week trying to hammer out an emergency bill with Steve Mnuchin, but Republicans naturally balked at many necessary measures. It’s a tricky spot for the GOP; they can’t risk the mass-extermination of the underpaid labor/consumer force that keeps their donor class filthy rich, but doing anything to improve working folks’ lives is just instinctually anathematic to them. But at the time of posting, it does appear as though a deal has been reached, let’s hope no spray-tanned morons fuck it up, right?

In conclusion, I am sick of typing the word “coronavirus,” and you are sick of reading it, so let’s let’s all retreat to our quarantines for the weekend, okay? Enjoy the solitude! Read that novel you bought back in college! Watch that 425-minute Russian film set in a fish cannery! Hey, you can even peruse the archives at showercapblog.com if you feel like reliving just how the fuck it all came to this! Anyway, if you don’t hear from me for a bit, fear not, I’m turning production of this blog over to Jared Kushner, I’m sure he’ll figure it out. 

Markets are Crashing & the Coronavirus is Spreading, But If That's What it Takes to Quarantine Cruz

Everybody’s panic-purchasing hand sanitizer and canned goods and toilet paper, I just want to be the calming voice of reason in your life, reminding you to stock up on plenty of beer, cuz who wants to ride out a quarantine sober? My own personal emergency bunker is lined with a fine collection of IPAs pilsners, and lagers, and even a few artsty-fartsy small batch brews with raisins n’ cedar chips n’ shit...I should probably put some food in there. Anyway, let’s do the news, huh?

(As ever, find this post, WITH nifty nooz links, at: http://showercapblog.com/markets-are-crashing-the-coronavirus-is-spreading-but-if-thats-what-it-takes-to-quarantine-ted-cruz/)

The Failing New York Times published a fun/horrifying little deep dive into All-Time Bottom 10 American Erik Prince’s efforts to aid the weaselly little assclowns over at Project Veritas by recruiting actual spies to infiltrate teachers’ unions and Democratic congressional campaigns and such. I’m choosing to take comfort in the fact that, Bond-villain-sinister as all this crap is, Prince’s operatives keep getting caught (which is of course how we’ve got a whole dang NYT article about ‘em), and also that they weren’t able to stop megatough freshman House Dem Abigail Spanberger from resting her shitkickin’ boots right on Eric Cantor’s old desk, so enjoy your little games, I guess, Captain Failspy.

Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo, who surely has a light schedule these days in his job as (squints) Secretary of State during an international pandemic, found time to share a jaunty little troll post on social media, poking fun at Elizabeth Warren’s famous “pinky swear” phenomenon, after she officially pulled out of the presidential primary. I get that “triggering th’libs” is pretty much all Republicans live for these days, but do they really not understand that what they’re “triggering” us into doing is donating, organizing, and ultimately, voting? It wasn’t so long ago they triggered themselves right out of their House majority, and if they’re so determined to refuse to learn this rather obvious lesson, well, I’m not in any hurry to hire ‘em a tutor, y’know?

Donnie Dotard’s favorite Scrotal Remora in that diminished caucus, Matt Gaetz, had similar trollish thoughts, it seems, posing for pictures in a gas mask right on the House floor HAW HAW HAW, and the coronavirus was apparently so triggered it killed one of Matt’s constituents a few days later. Yes, competition for the coveted Dumbest Man in Congress title is tighter than ever; long-time champ Louie Gohmert tends to let his day-to-day idiocy speak for itself, but you have to appreciate the lengths Gaetz goes to in his quest to draw attention to his roughly-equivalent-to-that-of-a-mozzarella-stick IQ.

...more on Matty G in a minute.

We don’t have enough shit on our plates this week, we’ve also gotta deal with Jim “Who Would Jesus Rob” Bakker, looking to capitalize on his rube viewers’ fears by selling 'em a fake coronavirus cure. While it’s certainly tempting to leave anyone fucking dumb enough to buy snake oil off a known felon to their fates, they’re just gonna wander into our grocery stores and stick their thumbs in the ranch dressing on the salad bar anyway, so in the end, we’ll all have to pay for their moronic choices, AS USUAL.

And yes, the coronavirus keeps on spreading, like apple butter on an English muffin that one year in college when I was really into English muffins with apple butter, enabled by our Idiot Manchild President, who continues to believe the problem will simply disappear if he just keeps shoving his head further and further up his own ass. Keep on moving, past the Big-Mac-residue-lined walls of the small intestine, Fuckhead, the answers are there someplace.

It seems a coronavirus carrier came into contact with some of the grand wizards, excuse me, “leading lights” of the modern conservative movement at CPAC, where diseased souls, rather than bodies, are the norm. So now we’ve got a real Arkham Asylum roll call of right wing poosquirts self-quarantining: Ted Cruz, Doug Collins, Paul Gosar (whose stir-craziness descended into out-and-out hallucinatory madness almost immediately), and yes, Malignant Matt Gaetz himself, hope you saved the receipt on that gas mask, bro. Since the exposure, we’ve seen Collins shaking his Turd Emperor’s hand, while Gaetz travelled with the doddering old bastard by both car and airplane. Gosh, that’s a real shame.

Word is, the rapidly-expanding outbreak has the Germaphobic Jerkoff melting down even more than usual, which is kinda like a tiny-fingered, narcissistic, volcano erupting in the middle of Chernobyl. Apparently, this unhinged loon sincerely believes journalists are intentionally infecting themselves with the coronavirus in order to then pass it onto him on Turd Force One. Hey, maybe a deranged dolt who views the press as bioweapon-wielding suicide bombers isn’t the best fellah to lead the nation during this crisis, just tossing that out there.

Also, the Treasonweasel Administration actually tried to overrule health officials who wanted to warn elderly Americans to avoid flying, since we know the virus is much more deadly for senior citizens. Folks, JAWS has been out for 45 years, and we’re still repeating Mayor Vaughn’s mistakes. When this is all over, we should gather all the victims of this moron’s ego, all the senseless, preventable, deaths sacrificed in the name of his fucking approval ratings, bury them together, build a house on top of the graveyard, and force the Trump family to live in that house forever.

The Surgeon General (I confess I didn’t know we even had one, I assumed this was just one more post filled with some “acting” dickhead Il Douche discovered shilling doomsday prep kits during the commercials on Hannity) tells us the virus is contained (it isn’t), and Dr. Ben Carson’s out there insisting there’s a secret plan to fight the disease but he can’t tell us about it because we don’t know the secret handshake. If our government put half as much effort into solving the problem as denying it exists, we might be someplace, but 80,000 Rust Belt voters decided competence was for cucks, so here we are.

Well, I’m sure it’s all ultimately much ado about very little. Hey, I see Italy is closed. Yeah, Italy. The country. It’s closed. They flipped the sign around and everything. Don’t worry, there’s probably another sovereign nation twenty miles down the highway with a pool and better porn. Anyway, the coronavirus is a hoax.

A new scientific study reveals that the surest visible identifier of a micropenis is a mediocre white dude yelling DEBATE MEEEEEEEE on television and/or the internet. I bring this up for no particular reason, why do you - oh, Don Junior said what now? Huh. You don’t say.

The one field where Dorito Mussolini, incompetent at everything else, from international trade to picking out pants that fit, truly excels is taint-punting the stock market, and he’s wearin’ steel-toed boots lately. The Dow fell 2,000 points, more than 7%, the biggest fiscal jackhammer-to-the-nutsack since 2008. Maybe the Shart of the Deal can use them negotiating skills of his of his to get his two besties, MBS and Uncle Vlad, to call off their little petroleum slapfight? LOL just kidding, we all know we're talking about a guy who could find a way to bankrupt an ice cream cart in the Gobi Desert.

If you’re looking for a little good news to wrap yourself in, to keep warm inside that fallout shelter you started digging over the weekend, our chances of recapturing the U.S. Senate took a giant leap in the right direction with the official entry of Montana Governor Steve Bullock into the race to challenge Republican incumbent/general doo-doohead Steve Daines! STEVEBOWL 2020 IS ON, MUTHAFUCKAAAAAAAAS!!!

Flip the Senate. Flip Mitch McConnell over on his shitty little turtle back. Watch him flail while we undo his life’s work. Smile. That’s the whole plan.

Ok, folks, take care of yourselves out there. Wash your goddamn hands. Wash your face. Basically, wash everything that comes within six feet of ya. Dogs, cats, delivery drivers...be aggressively hygienic. Sanitize strangers. (This is terrible advice, and I will not be held responsible for anyone who takes it.) Until we meet again... 

He Already Sided With Russia Over the American People; He Picked the Coronavirus This Time, Surprise

The masks will not keep the madness out, my friends, so you needn’t even bother. We’re all infected with this insanity, there’s no escaping it, and I guess we’ll find out this November if it’s fucking fatal. Let’s round up the news, shall we?

(As always, find this post, with nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/he-already-sided-with-russia-over-the-american-people-it-really-shouldnt-surprise-us-he-picked-the-coronavirus-this-time/)

The media lawsuits are piling up now, as the President of the United States has apparently chosen to fight the free press rather than the coronavirus, perhaps a less-than-ideal ordering of priorities for a public servant. Yes, the Velveeta Vulgarian is now suing CNN, WaPo AND the New York Times, a full frontal assault on the First Amendment by a would-be dictator seeking to crush dissent in his tiny, inadequate, fists; to support him is betray the foundational principles of American democracy, but hey, I bet you’ll get a stale cheeseburger out of it.

I see Hairplug Himmler’s pet slug, Devin “Pigfucker” Nunes, is getting in on the speech-stifling action with a lawsuit of his own, targeting the Post and a journalist working there, in addition to his previous legal actions against a cow on Twitter. I don’t know about y’all, but I’ll have six feet of dirt above my head before I let a gerbil turd like Nunes destroy the freedoms that made this country great long before Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops ever begged his dirtbag daddy for that first bailout. Gargle my ballsweat, Devin, you fascist worm.

Perhaps seeking to eclipse his own Biggest Scandal in American History record, President Crotchrot continues to, and even after three-plus years of this gibbering nitwit, I can’t believe I’m writing this, actively enable the spread of the coronavirus at every opportunity. Like, what the fuck is going on? Did Putin share the pee tape with the coronavirus? Did the coronavirus buy out his debt at Deutsche Bank? Because whether by downplaying the threat, or failing to provide anything resembling sufficient testing, it’s like he’s working for the damn disease, and working harder than he ever has for the American people.

Like, does anyone imagine that trotting out Larry Kudlow, the economic advisor who doesn’t even understand fucking economics, to proclaim the virus “contained,” will fool anybody? Or, y’know, actually contain the virus? Anyway, the Manchurian Manchild himself is simply waddling around, talking about infected folks skipping the whole tedious “doctor” thing altogether, and going to work! I suppose we should be thankful he’s not planning a prime time address from the Oval, telling Americans the whole thing is fake and we should all gather in large crowds tomorrow to just lick one another, right on the face, boy that’d sure own the fake news libs, wouldn’t it?

Of course, the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits seems to believe the pandemic will be a positive thing for the American economy, since folks will spend their money here rather than traveling abroad. I mean, we’re already hearing rumblings about an airline bailout, which can join the farmer bailouts on the list of Shart Garfunkel’s Entirely Avoidable Mistakes I Am Not At All Fucking Pleased To Be Paying For, but more importantly, WHAT THE LIVING FUCK? Y’know, fear-borne isolationism paired with a brain that could fit inside a walnut and still leave room for a walnut turns out to be a fairly shitty combination during times like these, but, to be perfectly fair, Her E-mails.

You really get to see the full might of that misfiring brain on display when he tries to claim the vaccine will be ready in a few short months. Doddering old fuck really imagines he’s pulling something clever there; look in his eyes, he actually thinks he’s fooling people. He is surely legitimately confused that his wily gambit failed to calm the markets. Oh well. We were all gonna die anyway; at least this way we don’t have to watch Jack White get old and start recording lame adult contemporary songs about his grandchildren.

The Treasonweasel Administration has added political litmus test questionnaires to applications for Shart House posts, to screen out anybody who might suffer from antiquated notions about serving the country and her Constitution rather than the Ostomy Bag With a Dead Tabby on Top currently squatting in the West Wing. I bet that’s a fun form. “If you could pick just one spot on the President's ass to suckle, what would it be? Go ahead and assume the entire ass isn’t completely covered with the lips United States Senators, just for fantasy’s sake.”

Yes, competence is out and sycophancy is in over at the executive branch these days, and there’s no finer poster boy for the kakistocracy than former Nunes staffer and generally corrupt toady Michael Ellis, just named to an important post on the National Security Council. Yes, this is a dangerous politicization of the nation’s intelligence apparatus, and yes, this makes every one of us less safe, but on the bright side, the limeade I like was on sale at Target this week.

I didn’t follow this one closely, but I guess Chuck Schumer got all fucked up on Red Bull and cough syrup, and stood on John Roberts’ lawn at three in the morning, threatening to rip off the Chief Justice’s face off and wear it like a mask while pissing in his eye sockets or something, because the outrage coming off of Roberts and the rest of the GOP vastly eclipsed their response to any of Tangerine Idi Amin’s countless despicable acts, and surely they would never be so insincere as to hold their Democratic brethren to a different standard. Surely.

We learned a great deal on Super Tuesday, mostly that Texas Republicans really do not want minorities voting in their elections, which will no doubt shock Roberts, who famously proclaimed the Voting Rights Act was no longer necessary, since racism, like disco and the mullet, was a problem safely left behind in the dark ages of the 20th century (assuming Mr. Roberts is not currently being rigorously skullfucked by Mr. Schumer, of course). The sight of voters willing to wait five hours to exercise their rights should strike fear into these bastards’ hearts, but I’m sure instead, they’re giddy at the thought of all the folks who couldn’t afford to spare that much time. As always, there is nothing, NOTHING a Republican fears so much as a free and fair election.

With Trumpal Buttleech Ron Johnson suddenly rediscovering the urgent need to pick through the chest-high pile of horseshit known as the Burisma conspiracy theory in the wake of Smilin’ Joe Biden’s campaign resurgence, one could easily assume that political concerns, rather than a genuine desire to battle corruption, are at work here. But fear not! Inspector Willard is on the case! Yes, Mitt Romney smelled chicanery, and for a few hours he even made noises about blocking RoJo's bullshit subpoena, but of course he reversed himself almost immediately; it’s really asking a lot, expecting a prominent Republican to do the right thing twice in one year.

And a watchdog group reveals that the Grifter Grand Wizard continues to bilk taxpayers by not only charging the Secret Service rent to protect his crooked ass, but using loopholes to bill them even more than any other government employee would be permitted to spend. Maybe we’re lucky the Trumps are such cheap thugs at heart, that they’re content with petty schemes like this instead of, like, selling the Dakotas to Canada for a handful of shiny beads.

Coming this fall from Marvel Studios, it’s Mouth-Breathing Dolt Team-Up, starring Steve King and Louie Gohmert! Yes, the House GOP’s most racist member joined forces with their dumbest (I bestow neither title lightly, therefore tremble at the implications) to spread, on the very floor of the U.S. Congress, conspiratorial nonsense so insane, so squirrel-poop nutty, it’d make Glenn Beck blush JUST KIDDING Beck is of course merrily spreading the same manure from his (thankfully) greatly-reduced platform, but anyway, King and Gohmert still get to vote on our LAWS, that’s a whole Tales From the Crypt story just by itself, isn’t it?

Redactor General William Barr has been wise enough to slither out of the headlines lately, so God only knows what Constitution-shredding fuckery he’s been up to these last few weeks, but at least a federal (and Republican-appointed) judge is calling him out for his treacherous mishandling of the Mueller report. Judge Reggie Walton has demanded an unredacted copy of the report, and Your Honor, if you’re lookin’ to leak that shit, my DMs are open, so go ahead and sli-wait, that’s a terrible fucking idea, I’m a drunken slob in a superhero mask, send it to a journalist, Reggie! Reggie? If you’re still reading, a JOURNALIST!!!!*

At a Fux Nooz clown hall, the Candycorn Skidmark indulged once again in one of his favorite fantasies, cutting entitlement programs, and if he’s that eager to provide footage for Bloomberg’s coming wave of attack ads, just this one time I’m gonna say “Great job, Mr. President, keep up the good work!”

Sometimes I worry that this blog is little more than a catalogue of sorrows, lightly sprinkled with poo jokes. I fear that I’m bringing more pain than hope into your world, reciting this never-ending litany of horrible, horrible, shit. But I have pledged to chronicle these days, and so chronicle them I must. If it ever becomes too much to bear, I understand, and will not judge if you are forced to look away. Still, it is with the heaviest of hearts that I must report to you that Antonio Sabato, Jr. blames his support of a certain Farthuffin’ Fascist for the end of his storied Hollywood career. Though I have wept at the tales of traumatized children, stolen from their families and locked in cages, it is only now, contemplating the loss of this important, nay, absolutely VITAL artist's voice, that I truly understand what tragedy means.

But never fear, having plunged the reader into the very depths of despair, I shall now extend to you the branch of purest hope, and pull you out! For yea, though we live in a world torn by hate and war and terror, though we’ve apparently got American Nazis unfurling swastika flags at Jewish presidential candidates’ campaign rallies, REST EASY THY HEAD, noble friend, secure in the knowledge that Melania, Empress of Excrement, is happily overseeing the construction of a new Shart House “tennis pavilion” while us plebs frantically try to find a neighborhood store that still stocks hand sanitizer. Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?

And now CNN reports that we’re up to six former wrestlers accusing Howling Rageclown Gym Jordan of knowing about, and thus concealing and enabling the culture of sexual abuse at OSU. Of course, not a single voice in the white supremacist hate cult known as the Republican Party has called on Jordan to resign from Congress, because fealty to the Turdlord washes away all sins, even if you never quite get the stench out of your clothes.

Y’know, maybe Gym is the recipient of an elaborate curse, where if he’s wearing a suit jacket when he lies about anything, the jacket bursts into flame. That would explain some things. Or maybe he’s just a malicious, mendacious, horse’s ass; that would explain the same things, I suppose.

Getting back to the coronavirus, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot, seeking to make sure Americans have an adequate supply of nightmare fuel to ride out the crisis, went down to the CDC, in his stupid, made-in-China red ball cap, to proclaim himself a scientific genius, tell America he was keeping infected patients quarantined on a cruise ship because he thinks (erroneously) that doing so will keep the official number of cases down, and brag about his crowd sizes...when asked if he thought holding rallies during an outbreak was really such a bright idea. The point, in case this is still unclear to anybody in the back row, is that this narcissistic old shitsack will, without a moment’s hesitation, let millions of us get sick, and yes, even die, in a doomed attempt to keep his polling stronger for an extra day or so.

Ok, that’s enough, I think we’ve all earned our weekend. I am, of course, still extremely thankful for the words of support and encouragement y’all have sent my way over the last week. I’m working on getting the comic shipped out, but I will respond to your kind messages when I have time.

PS - I see Jerk of All Trades Mick Mulvaney has been exiled, and Lead Congressional Stooge Mark Meadows is Sharty McFly’s shiny new Chief of Staff. Enjoy going down with the ship, Marky-boy!

* Judge Reggie Walton is not actually a reader of this blog. Or if he is, he never comments, in which case, fuck him. 

Cap's Back! Did I Miss Anything? Is Shit Still Cray? Do You Have the Coronavirus Yet? (Ferret/SC)

Well, as y’all know, I had to step away from the ol’ blog for a few days, due to personal life concerns that swung from the life-changingly awesome to the heartbreakingly tragic. I’m back now, and as expected, my metaphorical desk is all but invisible beneath a ten-ton pile of rhinoceros shit, so grab a shovel and help me dig it out, wouldja?

(And yes, you can find this post, with all those nifty news links, at: http://showercapblog.com/caps-back-did-i-miss-anything-is-shit-still-cray-do-you-have-the-coronavirus-yet/)

So I guess the Shart House has been workin’ up a “deep state hit list,” of the insufficiently bow-y and scrape-y, led by absolutely batshit right-wing activist Ginni Thomas, seeking to replace competent, experienced, career officials with spittle-drenched maniacs like David Clarke and Dan Bongino. I suppose ideally, you’d like both ability and loyalty, but when your movement is based on white resentment and know-nothingism, I imagine the resumes get a little thin, which is why they’re now staffing the executive branch with college kids.

Ah, and I see the Emperor of Herpes has demanded that Sonia Sotomayor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg recuse themselves from any SCOTUS cases involving his many autocratic assaults on the rule of law, because once upon a time, they were mean to him. Heh. Well, as my Daddy would say, “demand in one hand, shit in the other, see which one fills up faster.”

The big news, of course, has been the coronavirus, as the country has been forced to come to terms with the fact that President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster is infinitely less concerned about the mounting body count than with his precious, Rasmussen-inflated, approval ratings. Even last week’s massive stock market plunge is not processed as billions in wealth wiped out, or jobs lost, or retirements ruined, but as part of a vast global conspiracy to deny him the love he’s been desperately seeking since his father sent him to military school.

I confess, my money had been on Surprise Canadian Invasion, but I really should have considered the possibility of Narcissism Trumping Science, Readiness, and Basic Goddamn Common Sense During Global Pandemic as the great and inevitable Dotard fuckup that threatens all American lives.

We are well beyond the looking glass now, folks. We’ve motored past the nice parts of Shitty Wonderland, and we’re stumbling around the slums populated by the demonic hallucinations from Every Bad Trip Since Woodstock. We’re talking about the dipshits that’ve already tried to slash the funding and purge the expertise necessary to combat this threat, who’re now muzzling the remaining experts simply to placate the Manchurian Manchild’s frail ego. And it’s going to get people killed, as surely as if you’d wandered around medieval Europe littering the ground with rat treats.

The presidential fuckin’ pulpit, used to trumpet the message that a potentially deadly disease sweeping across the globe is a “hoax?” That the news media, in reporting critical information to the public, is somehow exaggerating the facts to harm him politically? Fuck, y’all, this isn’t just impeachment territory, it’s tackle-the-senile-old-fuck-and-lock-him-a-closet time. This isn’t lying about crowd size, folks, it’s much more dangerous.

I also see the Die Plebs Die Administration is trying to divert funding from programs that heat low-income Americans’ homes during winter to pay for the response to the very outbreak they’re assisting with denials and disinformation, and even resisting calls to make the eventual vaccine affordable. Folks, if we don’t beat these rat bastards this November, we’ll be battling gladiator-style in the arena for aspirin and cough syrup by 2023.

Yes, it turns out that a well-known sociopath makes for a less-than-ideal steward during a time of crisis, who’d have guessed? And, like, I understand that the GOP has devolved into a frothy cult of personality, and its elected officials live in perpetual trembling fear of being targeted by a nasty tweet (why anyone would want to be represented by such cowards escapes me, but that’s a topic for another day), but surely these clowns understand on some level that you can’t sweep a communicable fucking disease under the rug. You can muddy the waters with disinformation about Russian interference or the Ukraine scandal, but you can’t gaslight a person into believing they don’t have a disease once they catch it. Ok, maybe with a handful of Cult45ers you could, but until shitty red ball caps can cure this thing, you have to deal with the real world.

And friends, if I’m one of the poor bastards who winds up dying because this asshat believes he can lie his way out of global contagion, I am haunting the absolute shit out of him. I’m gonna be a goddamn poltergeist. If this blog suddenly disappears without warning, and you start seeing stories about Hairplug Himmler getting pelted with cat turds seemingly flung by an unseen hand, know that I am living my best afterlife.

Vice President Mike Pants, one of the rare American politicians to literally preside over an outbreak exacerbated by his own incompetence and hostility to basic science, has been appointed to head up the coronavirus response, because fucking of course he has. It’s like gutting your fire department, and, in the midst of a raging conflagration, looking to Mrs. O’Leary’s cow for guidance.

Mikey Hairshirt is taking his duties so seriously that he went on the Sunday Shoz to claim that Democrats are rooting for the virus to kill millions of Americans, because god knows stirring up division and hatred is more important than solving a problem worsened by your own blithering incompetence. Anyway, we should probably cancel that “Go Coronavirus Go” routine we worked out with the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, just to be on the safe side.

If I were looking to invent something truly absurd about the Marmalade Shartcannon’s actions during the coronavirus crisis, I probably couldn’t do any better than “rather than coordinating the emergency response, the President of the United States met with d-list actors Dean Cain and Kristy Swanson to snicker about their trolly little wingnut stage play about Peter Strzok and Lisa Page,” and I must grudgingly admit I have been out-satired by reality yet again.

Anyway, I’m prouder than ever to be a Democrat, now that PROTECTING THE POPULACE FROM CONTAGIOUS DISEASES is apparently partisan. And I hope you’ll call your Congressfolk to pressure them to support my bill, which would mandate that the 52 craven Republican Enablers/Senators who kept this cud-brained psychopath in office in spite of the mountain of evidence of his unconstitutional crimes be sent to serve as nursing assistants in hospitals treating coronavirus patients.

Speaking of health issues, we learned that Dr. Ronny Jackson took time out of his busy schedule as an opioid Pez dispenser to sneak vegetables into his hamberder-gorging boss’ mashed potatoes, in an attempt to deceive him into eating healthier. Sources tell me carrots cut up into super-fun dinosaur shapes were also attempted, only to be rejected with a swat of those tiny, inadequate, hands.

The Treasonweasel Campaign announced a lawsuit against the New York Times, alleging libel, over an op-ed published in March, 2019. Terrifying play for anti-American authoritarianism, destined for humiliating failure in the courts? The Trump brand is, if nothing else, consistent, I’ll give them that.

There’s certainly been a lotta winnowing in the Democratic presidential primary since we last spoke, though I see Tulsi Gabbard is still hanging around, like a rash you probably shoulda gotten looked at by now. Just on a personal note, I’d like to thank Tom Steyer’s majestical whiteguy dancing to Back That Azz Up during a rally in South Carolina for providing literally the only smile I could muster on one of my life’s shittiest days.

And in Afghanistan, the Shart of the Deal demonstrated the keen negotiating prowess he is famous for, deftly conceding to every demand the Taliban had ever dreamed of, throwing in a waffle iron and year’s subscription to Better Homes and Gardens for good measure, in exchange for…fuck, I can’t even tell, presumably a series of ego-stroking personal compliments and a locally-crafted map of the 2016 Electoral College results, using traditional Pashtun techniques and materials. Naturally, the agreement is already in jeopardy, but Weehands McNodick is now an early frontrunner for the Nobel Capitulation Prize, which is exciting.

A federal judge ruled that Snarling Haterodent Ken Cuccinelli illegally immigrated to his post as acting U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services director, and therefore all policies he’s implemented are null and void, in addition to being shitty and racist, which we already knew. While it is always delightful to watch bad things happen to people as terrible as The KKKooch, let me propose that he has yet to get anything resembling what he actually deserves, and would not unless he were to, say, accidentally trap himself in a long-forgotten septic tank.

(I see now that Kenny is refusing to obey the court and vacate his post, which is…awfully fascist of him, and if anybody can actually make that septic tank thing happen, now’s the time.)

In maybe the weirdest coincidence in all of human history, the long-ago debunked overflowing-bucket-of-horseshit Hunter Biden/Burisma conspiracy theory, which had vanished from headlines the world o’er, made a stunning return following Joe Biden’s comeback victory in the South Carolina primary. I mean, what’re the odds, right? Anyway, I’m a cat guy at heart, but if I ever got a dog, I’d hope it could one day become as well-trained as Senator Ron Johnson.

Well, the All-New, Drunken-Preppy-Infused, Supreme Court will be hearing the latest ridiculous challenge to the Affordable Care Act, and while it would be incredibly cool to live in a world where we could all rest easy in the knowledge that such a patently absurd, obviously bad-faith, nutjob “lawsuit” would be laughed out of court by a sensible, honest, bipartisan, bench, we are instead trapped here in an apocalyptic hellscape where shameless partisan hacks like Brett Kavanaugh and Neil Gorsuch get to decide whether or not the members of the serf class really count as fully human and therefore deserving of rights n’ life n’ health n’ shit. Can’t say I’m a fan.

Tonight’s post is, obviously, dedicated to my dearly-departed feline secretary, my small grey friend, Kitty. Over the years, she disrupted many a blog, in search of lap time and head scratches, but writing this first one without her just wasn’t the same. Thank you all for bearing with me during this difficult time. I haven’t yet had time to read all the messages of love and support y’all sent, but I’m totally bowled over by your kindness. Again, thank you.

Anyway, I’m quite certain I’ve missed a number of stories, great and small, but let’s just wink and pretend we’re more or less caught up now, and get back on schedule going forward. Thank you for your patience.
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