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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 07:48 PM
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RNC Week in Hell: Who Knew American Carnage Could Be So Boring? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Life has been grating and unpleasant for quite some time now, so whoever decided we needed a solid week of the drooliest maniacs in the world, reciting their Mad-Max-by-way-of-Tucker-Carlson’s-White-Power-Hour fanfic, mid-meth overdose, in prime time...that was a bad idea, and you should feel bad.

(Find this post, in living color, with news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/rnc-week-in-hell-who-knew-american-carnage-could-be-so-boring/)

Yes, the Raving Nutcase Congregation was extra frothy this year, filling the vomitoriums with spittle and lies. The biggest falsehood, of course, was that the pandemic is a just state of mind, maaaaaaan, and there’s nothing wrong with the economy, pay no attention to those millions of unemployed folks, or that looming foreclosure crisis, No, trust us, everything that glitters is gold, and LOOK AT ALL THIS FUCKING GLITTER!

Larry “So consistently wrong about everything he prefers Dylan’s born-again period” Kudlow led the charge, referring to the decidedly-still-killing-fucktons-of-us pandemic in the past tense. Y’know, waiting ‘till November to learn precisely how many Americans can be fooled all of the time is, I admit, sorta interesting, but it’s also pretty motherfucking stressful.

One really fun game to play during the Rabid Nitwit Carnival this year was Count the Hatch Act Violations, though it spiraled out of control pretty much immediately, winding up in sort of a Guess How Many Jellybeans Fit Inside This Humvee place.

Now, here’s where George W. Bush might ask, “Is our political reporters learning?” and the answer would be, “no, George, they is not.” Surely there’s nothing America needs less right now than a beltway-blind pundit class casually pondering whether it matters much that a norm-crushing would-be dictator feels perfectly comfortable pissing on the laws governing our elections, with the whole world watching, because his docilely corrupt political party is going through a rebellious, fascism-curious phase as it faces permanent minority status.

Ten days before the election, we’re gonna get a push notification from CNN breathlessly announcing that Joe Biden used a private e-mail address to wish his second cousin happy birthday, and James Comey will decide he can no longer conceal the secret that one time Vice President Biden ate the last iced maple long john and blamed it on Tim Geitner, and we’ll suddenly notice we’re trapped in Groundhog Day But it Lasts Four Years and the calendar says 2016.

There was also a whole a bunch of “you’ve heard Donald Trump is a white supremacist monster well if that’s the case how come he has THESE THREE BLACK FRIENDS?” kind of stuff, which naturally meant that he skeezily conscripted an immigrant nationalization ceremony into his self-aggrandizing reality show without the participants’ knowledge or consent, which, yeah, that’s pretty much the single most white supremacist way to try to prove you’re not a white supremacist.*

What else? Each of Hairplug Himmler’s devolved-looking spawn shuffled out to give identical “I cannot tell you a single story about my hideous dad that would evoke any emotion even resembling love” speeches. Rudy Giuliani just punched himself in the balls for twenty minutes, screeching “STOP PUNCHING ME IN THE BALLS, JOE BIDEN,” while the Children of the Candy Corn** nodded somberly, vowing to avenge the senseless damage inflicted upon that incest-stained groin by...Joe Biden? Somehow? Chronology is not this particular subculture’s strong suit.

Following yet another tragic police shooting of an unarmed Black man, unrest flared up again, and Republicans, because they are psychopaths, gleefully pounced when shit went off the rails and turned violent, because they believe they can get the electorate to forget about the pandemic that’s still killing 1,000 of us every single day, after six fucking months, but then it turned out the bloodshed came at the hands of the most perfect imaginable product of Tangerine Idi Amin’s Easy-Bake Stochastic Terror Oven, and the wingnut feeding frenzy was called off, alas.

Yes, another shitty white boy terrorist, a fucking seventeen-year-old man-child, radicalized online, decided it was finally time to give in to his deranged cowboy fantasies, and he went out a-huntin' for human beings. Oh, the official story is something about protecting property, or preserving our western cultural heritage wink wink or restoring ethics to gaming journalism, but the truth here is the warped little shit went looking for trouble, positively horny to find an excuse to end some lives, and it’s well past time to stop fucking around and be honest about this Trumpist/gun nut/white nationalist movement and its murderous intentions.

While most of the headlines this week have been devoted to the Republican death cult’s high priests, let’s check in on those laboratories of kakistocracy, the states! Over in Missouri, the Republijag-controlled House advanced a bill legalizing the practice of giving guns to children without their parents’ permission, and like, how does any collection of human beings decide to do something so head-explodingly fucking stupid? I’ve encountered enough nutjobs to believe someone would go, “It’s too goddamn hard to put firearms in the hands of other people’s kids in this COMMUNIST NANNY STATE, by gum!” but who the fuck responds to that insanity with, “By Jove, I think he’s onto something!”

Meanwhile, up in Alaska, the Republicreep Attorney General, Kevin Clarkson, resigned over a truly stomach-churning series of texts sent to a junior state employee, clearly trying to get into this poor woman’s pants in the cringiest PLEASE HAVE DADDY ISSUES I CAN EXPLOIT way imaginable. Gross gross gross.

A Russian military vehicle rammed a U.S. armored car in Syria, inflicting concussions on several American soldiers, in what Vladimir Putin snickeringly insisted to his Personal Pet President was a traditional Slavic gesture of respect, dating back centuries, honoring the rammed vehicle’s nation’s commander-in-chief for his sexual prowess and enormous Electoral College victory. Vlad then played the pee tape one more time and told Littlefinger he’d better haul ass and get those sanctions lifted if he wants any of that sweet foreign meddling in his re-election campaign.

This seems like a good time to point out that there are a couple of ex-Trump DHS officials out there these days, waving their arms, shouting to anybody who’ll listen about that unique blend of criminality, sociopathy, and brain rot that makes Gameshow Göring such an immense threat to the nation. There’s something extremely potent and frightening about these warnings, about hearing, “My job was protecting the homeland and I’m telling you the greatest threat to the homeland is the motherfucking President.”

And they’re not wrong. The Treasonweasel Administration, for partisan political purposes, pressured the CDC into changing their coronavirus testing guidance. They pulled this shit literally while Dr. Anthony Fauci was under general anesthetic for a surgical procedure. Everyone involved understands this will lengthen the coronavirus crisis and get Americans killed, but fuck them serfs, the point here is to trick juuuuuuust enough voters into thinking shit is under control. And so now you start thinking of all that medicine delayed by their sabotage of the Post Office, and what can you conclude except that they will kill as many of us as they have to to retain power?

Getting back to the Reckless Narcissist Conflagration, the fourth and final night featured the Mother of All Hatch Act Violations, a defiling of the People’s House which I suppose was designed to make Weehands McNodick appear presidential, to which I say, there is not enough lipstick in the world for that particular pig.

In keeping with Operation: Piss on America’s Leg and Tell Us It’s Raining, the event was light on masks and social distancing; hey, keep fuckin’ that chicken, you crazy death cult, you.

Anyway, after hours of whinging victimhood, the main event finally arrived, an interminable teleprompter speech from the Adderall-Addled Assclown himself. Normally, the only reason anyone could possibly have to watch someone read aloud this badly would be to determine if they’re ready to graduate the second grade, but I guess this is how we pick our presidents now, awesome.

In the end, it was mostly just boring. And America noticed. All those carefully-crafted lies Stephen Miller sweated over ‘til the latest coating of spray-on hair streaked down his sunken face were ultimately for naught, because we’ve seen this one before, and it sucks. The ratings were shit, is what I’m saying, especially compared to the exciting new ingenue taking the political world by storm, he’s America’s Decency Sweetheart, he's Handsome Joe Biden, and he absolutely spanked Fat Q*bert at his own game.

You probably saw the headline today where the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said he sees “no role” for the U.S. military in the electoral process, and you thought, “oh, that’s kinda comforting to hear, and actually addresses a very specific fear I’ve been having, life sure is fun here in 2020!”

If it seems like The Bastards are stepping up their efforts in their ongoing war to grind us down, it’s because they are. But the good folk of this great country are rising to meet the moment. An unprecedented labor strike led by the athlete activists of the NBA, boiling over into other sports as well, grabbed the world’s attention more than any of the RNC’s snarling diatribes. And it’s already yielded results, in case you need a lil’ inspiration in these shit-encrusted times.

And there’s no evidence the Shart Campaign’s panicked attempt to paint Joe Biden as the General Sherman of the Suburbs is landing. I mean, don’t take your eye off these motherfuckers for a second, but there’re a lot of reasons to believe we’re in a darkest-before-the-dawn scenario here.

So if you’re in a fighting mood, this is a great time to check out Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide! (http://showercapblog.com/fascist-flushing-2020-guide-house/ ) Adopt a race or two, we’ve got a great team down there on the front lines. As for me, well, whenever you happen to be reading this post, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

*Heh. While I was writing, another almost identical story broke. These pathetic frauds.

**Toldja I’d use that one a bunch. 

Shitty Evita and Other RNC Lunatics (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Look, I’m not saying quarantine is getting to me, but lately I’ve taken to writing EAT ME on everything in the fridge, because at some point, something has to make me magically grow right out of Shitty Wonderland, and I’ll wake up safe in my bed, right? RIGHT? C’mon, pull up a toadstool, we’ll go over the news:

(As always, find this post, in living color, with nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/shitty-evita-and-other-rnc-lunatics/)

You’ve seen the shiny new Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide, right? It’s got all you need to know about the closest races for the U.S. House and Senate, and if you dig this weird little poo joke blog, I think you’ll find the Guide useful and amusing. Check it out, and pitch in if you can!


But if you can’t, don’t worry about it; times is hard, y’know? The whole dang point of the Democratic Party is helping folks when they’re struggling; we’re not like Arizona’s Participation Trophy Senator, Martha McSally, who literally begged her supporters to starve themselves so they could send her flailing campaign more money. Yes, the very same Martha McSally who opposed expanded unemployment benefits for the filthy takers thinks you should “fast a meal” so she can stay in Washington, with her boot on your neck. Can’t make this shit up.

Well, a little while back, when we first heard Melania was redoing the Rose Garden, we knew it’d turn out shitty, and sure enough, it turned out shitty. I’m mostly just grateful she didn’t drop a couple of gold toilets amongst the bushes and call it a day; remember, it can always get worse with these jerks.

So, Lil’ Donnie Dotard rang the bell in the town square, and when we all came running, he squeaked, “Scandal! Shame! The dastardly Democrats have stripped God from the Pledge of Allegiance,” and we went, “oh, it’s only the turd who cried wolf,” because he was lying again, of course, and so we joined hands and danced in a circle around him, chanting, “You don’t know how to run against Biden!” because in this scenario we’re all little kids, was that unclear?

This is what passes for strategic brilliance in that Adderall-addled brain: an easily-debunked lie that makes him look like, well, like someone who needs a basic cognitive test. Still, in MAGA nation, this will be accepted as gospel truth, and if you don’t believe me, try asking that old high school chum who posts Q memes what he thinks, but only if you’re willing to get an earful about Godless Joe and his heathen antifa hordes.

Of course, here in the real world, the only folks I see taking God out of anything are wearing red ball caps that say Made in China on the tag. Recent polling reveals fifty-fucking-seven percent of Republicans find the coronavirus death toll, well over 180,000 as I type this, “acceptable,” and if you haven’t heard Jeff Foxworthy’s ”You Might be in a Death Cult if....” routine, this is pretty much the whole thing.

Such a horrifyingly passive little word in this context, “acceptable.” Anyway, one of things I like best about Joe Biden is how he doesn’t ask me to die for him. Or even skip a meal!

I guess there are secret recordings of Sharty McFly’s sister talking about what a turd-gargling rat bastard he is, and...I confess, I don’t get why anyone expects this to change anything. There are millions of people saying the same things right this very minute. Donald Trump’s flaws are wildly agreed upon; indeed, none of us have been granted a moment’s respite from them for four years. There are people who care that the President is an amoral psychopath, and there are people who don’t; we’re just waiting see how many of each live in Wisconsin.

The House of Representatives returned from recess to pass, with surprising bipartisan support, a bill designed to rescue the United States Postal Service from an executive branch hellbent on sabotaging it from within in order to undermine the coming election. Boy, that sentence’ll surprise a few kids in the history classes of the future, won’t it? “Wait, wait, I tuned out around the moon landing, who did what to the Post Office, now?”

Or maybe they’ll ask, “what’s a Post Office?” before leaving their offerings at the feet of the Ivanka statue outside the school. You’ve checked to make sure you’re registered to vote, yes?

Anyway, the bill now heads to the decency graveyard Mitch McConnell calls his desk, a reminder that it’s crucial to take back the Senate this fall, and have I mentioned I’ve got an Action Guide for that?

Also, I guess the Postmaster General doesn’t know what it costs to mail a postcard, but he still gets to hang onto the power to sabotage a crucial piece of electoral infrastructure, endangering the health of rural Americans and veterans, and crotch-stomping already pandemic-battered small businesses, collateral damage Louis DeJoy and his wannabe dictator bosses do not give a single fuck about.

Cool country we’ve got here. Very first world. Not at all a shithole.

So, President Crotchvoid called himself a little press conference over the weekend to pimp his latest untested coronavirus miracle cure, (Hydroxychloroquine...now with Splenda!) but fortunately, the grown-ups in his administration got out ahead of him and he wound up sulking away after a couple of softballs from friendly propaganda outlets.

Really looking forward to the night before Election Day, when he’ll proclaim via tweet that he discovered a Covid cure himself by mixing the drinks at the soda fountain at Chuck E. Cheese, also Q is totally real and all Democrats are pedophiles SLAY THEM MY UNHOLY CHILDREN OF THE CANDY CORN!*

New York Attorney General Letitia James sued the Shart Organization; apparently they’ve been lying about the size of the Velveeta Vulgarian’s financial assets, inflating or deflating them willy-nilly, like Eric’s high school girlfriend, to suit their fraudulent schemes. Y’know, once the law is done catching up to these cheap career crooks, I hope they’re not allowed to serve their many sentences concurrently. See, you gotta think ahead, folks.

You’ll no doubt be shocked to learn that George and Kellyanne Conway are shitty parents, though they may have finally been scared straight by their teenage daughter’s sudden, publicly-declared pursuit of legal emancipation. Anyway, this all feels like a Tennessee Williams acid freakout, and I’d like to move on to literally anything else now.

So I guess Jerry Falwell, Jr. likes watching the pool boy fuck his wife, and between this and the recent Ben Shapiro news, one has to wonder if any prominent conservative male has ever actually sired a biological child. When you go to Republican picnics, you meet a lot of kids with mom’s personal trainer’s eyes, y’know?

Celebrity Punch Receiver Richard Spencer thought he’d be a clever little ratfucker and endorse Joe Biden, as though there’s some great, culture-wide uncertainty as to which side the Nazis are on here. Smilin’ Joe wasted little time telling Spencer where he could shove his endorsement, noting of Dickie Boy’s most famous public interaction that there was a very fine person on only one side of that fist.

Anyway, it’s Republican National Convention week, though one wonders what the point of a convention is, when the GOP has finally, formally proclaimed, “Platforms are for Falwells, we’re a cult of personality now!” Shit, that’s the one thing these gaslighting shitweasels are willing to be honest about, and if that doesn’t elicit a mad cackle from your weary ass, I don’t know what will.

I decided to skip the first night of the proceedings, because I don’t hate myself, but luckily, any sense of FOMO I may experience doesn’t extend to watching angry white people screaming. Sorry, Metallica.

But looking at a few video clips today, wooooooooooo...as many others have pointed out, it looks like we found the kink in the cocaine supply chain. And as for Junior’s odious mate, the clearly-never-hinged-in-the-first-place Kimberly Guilfoyle, I mean, if there’s a swingable “I just want to see my high school drama teacher play Medea on meth and I’ll vote for whoever gives me that” demographic out there that none of us know about, she certainly sewed it up.

Oh, and everybody call child services on RNC speaker Abby Johnson, who posted a video to YouTube welcoming all the future racial profiling her adopted biracial son has to look forward to under the white supremacist police state. Someday, that poor child is going to find that video, and even the fucking Conways won’t have any advice for Abby and her deeply warped definitions of love and fairness.

A mob of maskless wingnuts violently stormed Idaho’s special legislative session, demanding immediate coronavirus infection, or something equally stupid, who gives a shit, because being asked to be a fucking adult in the name of public health is tyranny, apparently. Of course, it’s actually the rest of us chumps, with our silly sense of civic duty, who are trapped beneath the tyranny of this tantrum-throwing, covid-spreading minority, right? Oh, how that irony sends twisted little giggles echoing down the hallway of this apartment I STILL CAN’T FUCKING LEAVE.

I can’t leave, but I can have beer delivered, and for tonight at least, that will have to do. I really would be grateful if you’d check out that Action Guide, friends. See you soon, stay safe out there.


* Holy fuck. “Children of the Candy Corn.” How did that take me almost four years? 

If Anyone Needs Me, I'll Be Living Vicariously Through the Post Office Agents That Busted Bannon (F)

Say, that DNC sure was a nice change, wasn’t it? Like pressing a cool cloth on America’s fevered forehead. A cloth damp with decency. And yea, alongside this cloth shall we offer the Barf Bag of Restoration, that the nation might purge herself of her Nazi loser infestation. Anyway, I’ve got a whole blog filled with stupid shit like this, so read on IF YOU DARE.

(Get all this Cappy goodness, with nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/bannon-vicariously/)

Hey, before we get on with the usual chroniclin’, I am delighted to announce the launch of Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide! We did a lot of good with the 2018 version, and we’ve been working hard to get this new one up. Lots of beloved Blue Wave freshmen to defend, plus a killer crop of challengers looking to swell their ranks. And don’t sleep on the crew working to take the Senate back!

God knows it’s more important than ever to pay attention to the fight for Congress, with the likes of Play-Interrupting Hategeyser Laura Loomer winning Republican primaries. Like, abominable ideology notwithstanding, Loomer is only even known for saying so much vile shit she got banned from social media, and then whining about it a whole fuckin’ bunch. That’s it. That’s the whole goddamn resumé. Does she even have a job? Have we already come to the point when shared bigotry is the sole trait Republican primary voters seek in their candidates? Fuck.

And then there’s the GOP’s gobsmackingly dangerous gambit to revive their ailing coaltion with an infusion of Vitamin Q. Watching that frothy mob of death cultists swarm over the rotting corpse of the Republican Party must be difficult for our NeverTrump chums, but I’ve seen enough zombie movies to know we need to set this fucker on fire (figuratively, calm down) before it gets up and starts chasing us again.

And now we’ve got the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor himself pimping these terrorist loons, because ONCE AGAIN somebody out there said, “well at least it can’t get any worse,” and God heard you. See, because these demented freaks hold him up as some paragon of pure, holy goodness*, and since How You Make Donald Trump Feel About Himself is the only metric the doddering old twit uses to make decisions, we suddenly find ourselves perched on a tightrope over a live volcano. My compliments to the chef, that was a really nice touch on your America-wrecking indoctrination scheme.

Since 2020 insists on dropping gobs of hippo shit rolled in broken glass on us every moment of every day, I have come to believe we must take our pleasures wheresoe’er we might find them. Eating your favorite meal from your favorite restaurant out of a styrofoam container on a park bench. Snagging the last 12-pack of Dr. Pepper at the store. Kanye West failing to qualify for the ballot in swing state after swing state.

It’s the little things, y’know? Things that make you go, “life is still good,” or “hot diggity damn, democracy might just survive the fucking winter.”

And I’ll take all the good news I can get on that front, because Government Cheese Goebbels is doing everything in his terrifyingly substantial power to ratfuck the Constitution to death. And I don’t know if that means physically fucking the Constitution with, like, live rat dildos until the Constitution has been pulverized to dust, or copulating with rats until the Constitution dies metaphorically, presumably for esoteric supernatural reasons, I agree the first one makes more sense, but I don’t want to stand in the reader’s way; you are free to visualize what you like.


It really looks like the big series finale will hinge on whether or not our heroes overcome the insidious bureaucratic fuckery of the dastardly Postmaster General, to ensure a free and fair election, so that the American people can peacefully overthrow the Hemorrhoid Emperor who brought blight and plague and unceasing fucking TWEETING down upon their beloved homeland. We don’t get any Avengers to fight this one for us; we’ve gotta be the Avengers, I call Captain America, obviously.

Now, this DeJoy bastard knows his future holds honey bunches of jail if the rule of law returns to America, so fucking of course he won’t reinstall the sorting machines, or reverse the policies that’ve slowed the mail so damn much, no matter how many baby chicks or U.S. veterans die. There are a lot of reasons why I hate Donald Trump, but his insistence on killing so many of us, it...it’s gettin’ to me, y’know?   

In fairness, “holy balls we need to cheat as hard as we possibly fucking can” is certainly a clear-eyed assessment of the Marmalade Shartcannon’s electoral prospects. Look, we’re Democrats, I understand we’re going to live in fear of the Magical Political Powers of Populist Dumbfucks for the rest of our lives, but seriously, the Yammering Yam decided, for no reason even approaching sanity, to demand a boycott of an American company that provides thousands of jobs in a win-or-die-in-prison swing state. Honestly, if I was Bill Stepien, I’d spend my time driving from precinct to precinct, smashing voting machines by hand.

...which is probably the backup plan if the Post Office shit doesn’t work out.

Or maybe it’s just to sit, pouting and cross-legged on the Oval Office floor, refusing to leave, and we have to call his mom, and it’s this whole embarrassing THING. Certainly Substitute Sarah Slanders Kayleigh McEnany isn’t ruling out the possibility, carefully reserving her scumfuck boss’ imagined right to unilaterally end the great American experiment.

Look Kayleigh, if we get to see you crooks dragged from the White House, wailing and clawing at the furniture, ultimately tossed into the very square you desecrated with your fascist police action like the wet sacks of trash you are, so much the fucking better.

Hey speaking of trash, if it isn’t our old friend Steve Bannon gettin’ his treasonous grifter ass arrested, and though he briefly escaped custody when his gin-soaked flopsweat caused his handcuffs to slip off, he has been arraigned and released on a $5 million bond, paid entirely in cash, the bills coated in a pus-like film, reeking of the dying biological emissions of some hideous, other-worldly lizard creature.

The arrest came from the very office Bilious Billy Barr recently failed to decapitate, utilizing, I kid you not, the elite operatives of the U.S. Post Office. And like, WE SEE YOU, WILLIAM. We see you sneaking around, corrupting our institutions; you uncorrupt those institutions right this second, Mister! Then go to your room, and by your room I mean prison. Forever.

Now Lou Dobbs is stumbling around, blitzed on hydroxychloroquine, screeching about the Deep State, but I’m sittin’ back, grinning like the cat that got the canary, slow-clapping for the well-timed W for the hard-workin’, suddenly-symbolic USPS.

The GOAT of Losing in Court further cemented his legacy with a pair of judicial nut-punches to the effort to keep his piss hooker budget, excuse me his “tax returns” secret. Can you imagine where we’d be right now if the Individual Wonder had put half the effort into combatting the coronavirus outbreak that he puts into running out the various prosecutorial clocks through procedural dawdling?

It’s wildfire season once again in California, meaning once again President Gas Station Urinal Cake is puffing out his chest and threatening to abandon countless suffering Americans, because they refuse to take his sage advice on (sigh) raking the ground in the forest. I must confess, when his malice collides with his imbecility like this, he achieves truly spectacular things in the field of anti-competence. The ability to approach a problem and not just fail to solve it, but to make it so much fucking worse, it’s...breathtaking.

And then Joe Biden strode confidently out before the cameras for the most important speech of his long life of service, no doubt grinning to himself, since he was about to effortlessly obliterate the opposing campaign’s entire strategy. “Sleepy and senile, am I?” Joe whispered, to no one in particular, before snapping the trap shut, dancing over the atom-high hurdles his opponents had, in their wisdom, strewn in his path.

Handsome Joe has, of course, always been a big-game player, and he rose to meet the moment, because that, dear reader, is how Joseph Robinette Biden Jr. rolls. He showed a weary America a good, strong, kind, capable man, ready to send the fascist roaches scuttling back to their dark corners, ready to restore decency, and move the country forward.

No wonder Hairplug Himmler responded with sad little squeaks about ordering law enforcement to monitor/menace polling places. Try it, old man. Call up your buddy Vlad and smuggle his whole fuckin’ army over in the dead of night. Won’t be enough.

Anyway, we’ve got the traditional white grievance ritual known as the Republican National Convention coming up next week. I can’t tell who’s actually speaking, I assume all the line-ups I’ve seen floating around the internet are spoofs or memes, they can’t possibly be real...oh fuck they’re totally real aren’t they?

Well, that’s all I got tonight, Shower Captives, hope you get a little rest in this weekend. Don’t forget to check out that Action Guide when you get a chance, and spread it around if you find it useful, we’re real proud of it. Stay safe out there!


It's the MyPillow Guy's World, We're Just Begging God for Sweet Release From It (Ferret/Shower Cap)

After all these weeks trapped in my apartment with no company save my own, one thing I’m increasingly certain of: that turtle I kept in a shoebox back in third grade must’ve fucking hated me. ‘Course, the turtle didn’t have the unceasing madness of the 24-hour news cycle to keep him company...lucky bastard.

(You want this post, in living color, with nifty nooz links? I got you: http://showercapblog.com/its-the-mypillow-guys-world-were-just-begging-god-for-sweet-release-from-it/)

Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot’s first Katrina was Hurricane Maria, when he abandoned thousands to suffering and death, because in addition to their lack of clout in the Electoral College, they had the audacity to be non-white. But since we’re all trapped in his new Katrina Wrapped Inside Another Katrina With Extra Katrina on the Side, we barely even noticed the additional mini-Katrina unfolding in Iowa, where thousands remain without power following a derecho storm that hopped on 2020’s Let’s Fuck America’s Shit Right Up bandwagon. Regrettably, your federal government is in more of an “ignoring problems and hoping they go away on their own” place than a “fixing shit” place, Iowa, but please keep sending tax money.

Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo tried to strong-arm the United Nations Security Council into extending sanctions on Iran, but the world simply said, “gonna pass on that one, champ,” because it’s tough playing strongman without, y’know...strength. This was an unprecedented, deeply humiliating repudiation of U.S. leadership on the global stage, and you’d probably wonder why the fuck Team Turdmaggot forced the issue at all, if the last three and a half years hadn’t taught you at every turn that they are cud-brained buffoons who don’t understand anything about anything, hopelessly out of their depth at essentially all times.

Fat Q*Bert’s brother died, in what felt like the universe’s latest desperate attempt to reveal to the American electorate the seeping, moldy, wildebeest turd their President possesses in lieu of a soul.

Joe Biden offered simple, sincere condolences to his rival, as any halfway decent person would, but it came off like trolling, on account of how everybody knows Littlefinger is incapable of feeling human emotions. Indeed, the callous bastard went golfing (why should one death stop his fun when 175,000 haven’t?) before offering such a deranged, self-centered, eyeblink of a eulogy that you’re starting to think the writers are hitting this whole “narcissist” thing a little too hard, aren’t you?

Seems the Manchurian Manchild is desperate for one last face-to-face meeting with Papa Putin before his imminent firing, because he sure as shit doesn’t want anybody listening in on that particular conversation. Can you imagine the advice he’ll be seeking? “But I tried tear gas, everybody got mad at me! What if use napalm?”

Sources say Sharty McFly has further requested that Vlad bring a custom-made luggage set to this meeting, including at least one trunk, postmarked for Moscow, with sufficient ventilation to facilitate the escape of unusually-potent experimental hair tonic fumes, please contact Dr. Ronny Jackson for the precise dimensions; tell him Meadows sent ya if you want the real numbers.

Once upon a time, in a world with different rules, one Hilldawg Rodham Clinton committed the Gaffe of the Century, the notorious “basket of deplorables” comment, which scored an unprecedented 106 Bidens on the Gaffometer. Anyway, Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet once again expressed his unrepentant loathing for millions of Americans, urging his dirtbag followers to leave “Democrat cities” to “rot,” and nobody cares, because the president’s homicidal hatred for most of his constituents isn’t newsworthy anymore, it’s a simple fact of life now.

So, COVID-19 keeps running rampant through the United States, because the incumbent president still believes it’s in his political interest to pretend nothing particularly serious is occurring, and because I was naive as the newborn foal, I thought that was as bad as shit could get.

I forgot about the grifters, you see.

Yes, the world’s most famous con man remains the world’s easiest mark, and now the fucking MyPillow guy is whispering in Doctor Dotard’s ear about the latest bullshit miracle elixir he oh-so-coincidentally just purchased a financial stake in. Look, I know the grownups have been exiled and the Oval Office is just a blanket fort made out of Klan robes these days, but can we please set up just enough gatekeeping to prevent the pandemic profiteers from setting federal policy? Like, we can all laugh along as  Anderson Cooper takes this freak down on live television, but the joke’s on us, MPG’s the one with access. Sweaty creep could probably get a city in Europe nuked, if he buttered Donnie up just the way he likes and it wasn’t one of the big ones.

Former DHS Chief of Staff Miles Taylor cut an anti-Trump ad targeting the elusive The President Shouldn’t Be a Psychotic Toddler demographic, sharing super-fun stories like one where Dorito Mussolini tried to cut off wildfire aide to California because they didn’t vote for him. Why yes, I am writing this from month six of quarantine during a pandemic that spiraled out of control because our leadership initially viewed it as a “blue state problem,” why do you ask?

Hey, speaking of which, across the country, we’re doing this weird thing where schools try to re-open in unsafe conditions, leading to coronavirus outbreaks and, inevitably, swift re-closings, a truly demented ritual that’s apparently necessary because our country’s conservatives require periodic human sacrifices to prove that scientists aren’t playing tricks on them. I hate it here.

Folks, the stove is still hot. Nobody turned it off. We don’t know how to turn it off, actually, soooo...like, it’s going to be hot the next time you try to touch it, too, so it would be awesome if we could just skip that step. For once. And maybe join the ranks of the non-stove-fondling nations of the world; they can go to movies and shit and I confess I am growing envious.

Sing a dirge for the Resistance, for President Crotchrot, with a single stroke of his wee pen, made all his political woes disappear! Susan B. Anthony has been pardoned, and thus all the “suburban housewives,” as he refers to them, have swung swooning back into his tiny, inadequate arms, for women are simple creatures, who can surely be distracted from the INESCAPABLE FUCKING PANDEMIC by meaningless, misguided symbolism. I believe “checkmate, libtards!” is the phrase you’re looking for.

Somebody in the Shart House finally realized that photographs of kidnapped mailboxes and headlines about elderly veterans waiting anxiously for their life-saving, Trump-delayed medications would be counterproductive to the re-election effort, and thus PostStooge General Louis DeJoy pledged to cease the democracy-wrecking fuckery he’s been perpetrating. I imagine the avalanche of lawsuits had something to do with DeJoy’s sudden evolution on postal efficiency, but we’ll be hearing from him, under oath, soon enough.

Still, forgive us if we don’t take your word for, well, fucking anything, Louis. We’re gonna need you to put all those mailboxes and sorting machines back, by the way, it’s not really a “dang it ya caught me, sure is a shame all that electoral infrastructure got destroyed” sort of scenario; you’re staying after class to clean up your fucking mess.

Well, the Democratic National Convention launched to great acclaim by our covid-adjusted standards. Bernie Sanders and John Kasich are best friends now, they’re opening an artisanal ferret food shop together and everything, and of course a Michelle Obama speech emits enough goodness and hope to light a million lanterns in these dark times, which was just what we needed.

Across the River Styx, the RNC is taking shape. The big news is that white nationalism’s suburban dynamic duo, Captain Nimby and Privilege Lass, will be speaking, because pointing firearms at Black people is how one ascends to national prominence in the Republican Party these days. Gross.

A new report issued by the Republican-controlled Senate Intelligence Committee confirmed the Shitgeyser Campaign colluded with th’Russians to attack an American election and steal the White House, meaning the Republicans on that committee fully understood the extent of Donald Trump’s treasonous crimes when they voted to acquit him of a separate-but-similar set of treasonous crimes in his impeachment trial.  Like, honestly, I’d almost rather they suppressed the fucking report; this feels like waving a bunch of senatorial middle fingers tauntingly in objective reality’s face. For the love of all that’s holy, fire these enabling clowns.

On top of the more sinister, treacherous details, the report also informed America that Weehands McNodick sent Putin this sad, cringey, submissive-as-fuck letter congratulating him on “winning” Time Person of the Year. Can we impeach him for embarrassing us this hard? Shit, even if I could travel anywhere, how would I show my fucking face?

Ok folks, that’s enough for one night. Enjoy yourself some DNC goodness, you deserve a few nights to fantasize about the decency the future holds. And did I mention the ol’ Action Guide is coming back soon? Soooooooon... 

Civil War II: The One Over the Post Office? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Oh wow, things sure are zany these days. Zany zany zany. There’s this zany fascist destroying American democracy from the inside out, which is totally wacky and not at all terrifying. Well, I sure hope I’m not living through the Constitution’s dying days ha ha ha lots of jokes in this very funny political comedy blog tonight hoo ha.

(Get all the laffs, in living color, with nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/civil-war-ii-the-one-over-the-post-office/)

On the ratfucking front, Jared Kushner has been illegally coordinating with Kanye West’s spoiler campaign/public meltdown, which I guess is more important than fighting the coronavirus outbreak, right, Jar-Jar? Yes, this ridiculous plot will likely shift only a tiny handful of votes, but that’s how they pulled it off last time: a leaked e-mail here, a Comey letter there, two scoops of plump, juicy Russian interference...no reason to let ‘em get away with anything, says I.

Seems Hairplug Himmler’s Ambassador to the U.K. is a sexist, racist shitbiscuit who uses his office to further the Grand Wizard Grifter’s personal financial interests. Folks, the world would’ve ground to a complete halt if this crap happened under Obama, and Mitch McConnell would be leading a Brooks Brothers Torch-n-Pitchfork Mob to the White House right now. Today we’re all, “Fucking of course they’re all bigots, now if you’ll excuse me, I have to save the motherfucking Post Office from Nazis, don’t bother me with this shit!”

Yeah, this Post Office thing is doubleplusungood, Resisters. That tiny, malignant brain that can’t comprehend trade or NATO or umbrellas has drawn a thick line, in half-chewed crayon, from VOTE BY MAIL MAKE ME LOSE BIGLY straight to ME AM IN CHARGE OF MAIL, GOODY and it’s clear now he’ll do anything he can get away with to hinder, or even remove our right to vote him out of power.

We’ve been hearing for a while now about the changes ordered by the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor’s new Poststooge General, directives that massively undermine the institution’s efficiency in the name of...increasing efficiency, take a bow, Mr. Orwell. His flunkies have removed vital sorting machines from mail processing centers, without even offering an excuse, because of course there is none; they’re simply destroying the Postal Service’s capacity to carry out its duties, in order to make it harder to safely vote during a pandemic.

Monologuing like a halfwit Bond villain, Gameshow Göring couldn’t help but brag about his scheme, confessing that he is indeed obstructing the USPS funding needed to administer a fair election, and that he intends to keep on doing so. Take another bow, Mr. Orwell. You may want to just stay out here ‘till the end of the blog, honestly.

In the event you were wondering how quickly a cornered fascist desperate to dodge legal comeuppance would escalate his authoritarian attack on America’s voting infrastructure, the answer is Holy Fuck I Didn’t Think He Could Move That Fast. Because before you could even register your outrage at the unprecedented fuckery already perpetrated, the Treasonweasel Administration started literally stealing our motherfucking mailboxes.

It turns out that whole disappearing-folks-off-the-goddamn-streets thing was a test run for an operation targeting not people, but mailboxes. Yes, those big blue collection bins are being removed, in broad daylight, from Oregon to Montana to New York. By your government. To keep you from voting.

The Post Office is literally crying for help, warning us that it may already be too late to fight the sabotage. No jokes here, friends, this is really bad shit. We’re in danger. It’s happening here. Can’t say I’m a fan. Anyway, fight it with every breath in your body.

Also...he wasn’t doing shit about the coronavirus before, but now that he understands that the more out of control it gets, the easier it’ll be to steal our right to vote, holy fuck we’re in trouble. It was one thing when he just didn’t care how many people died, y’know? Meet the new Legion of Doom: Donald Trump, COVID-19, and Kanye West.

(This space intentionally left blank to allow the reader time to scream JESUS TITTYFUCKING CHRIST HOW DID IT COME TO THIS at the top of their lungs, for however long is necessary.)

Shout out to Senator Ron Johnson for providing comic relief on our descent into fascism, cloddishly confessing that yes, he is indeed abusing the power of his post for his Turd Emperor’s political benefit. Fuck, RoJo’s Russian disinformation-laundering is too treasonous for even his Senate Republican colleagues, who never met a Trump crime they wouldn’t enable. You’re like Nazi Dogberry, Ron; you truly put the ‘idiot’ in ‘useful idiot.’  PS, what the FUCK, Wisconsin, you had RUSS FEINGOLD.

Against a grandmaster of political chess like Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot, Smilin’ Joe Biden is hopelessly outmatched. Yes, while the hapless Dem nominee offers plans to contain the coronavirus outbreak and rebuild the economy, it is Littlefinger who shrewdly reads the electoral tea leaves, understanding that while a crippling pandemic and depression-level unemployment may snag a headline or two, 2020 is destined to be a Showerhead Pressure election. And Mike Pants is shrieking about meat. Let me just say that I understand how these assclowns came to the conclusion that they’d need to cheat to win.

And yeah, the coronavirus is still beating the living fuck out of the United States of America, so mercilessly as to cry out for Jim Ross commentary. 1,485 deaths this last Wednesday, the most since May. School reopenings are, tragically, going exactly as everyone knew they would. None of this is a surprise, of course; we continue to behave in a manner that is fully understood to facilitate the virus’ spread, because idiots are in charge. Public officials should be capable of learning, y’know? Public officials should be unwilling to sacrifice their constituents’ lives to an obviously deranged con man’s ego. I guess that’s a lesson we needed to learn the hard way.

You’ll never believe this, but before the denizens of the right wing media jagosphere could teach themselves to pronounce “Kamala,” they launched a coordinated racist birther attack on our shiny new Vice Presidential nominee. I don’t know if this can get any clearer at this point: it’s a white supremacist death cult against the rest of us. I know which side I’m on, and I know they can’t beat us without cheating, but...holy fuck are they cheating.

The Fascist Farthuffer’s Former Fixer, Michael Cohen, certainly knows how to launch a marketing campaign. Like, he’s coming to the Defenestrated Shartworld Accomplice Tell-All genre kinda late, and on top of an already-competitive market, you’ve got the Senate GOP dropping atomic turds on a battered and brutalized economy, so budgets are tight, and basically, if you’ve got piss stories, you wanna lead with ‘em. I mean, I wouldn’t give you any money if you put a gun to my head, ya cheap thug, but I applaud your moxie.

I know you’re numb to the phenomenon of the institutional GOP failing tests of basic human decency, but like, they didn’t have to break out the good china for Frothy QAnon Believer/Holy Fucking Shit Really and Truly About to Be a U.S. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene. An immediate presidential endorsement? A warm welcome from Minority Leader McCarthy? What, in the end, do you useless cowards STAND FOR? Fuck it. Sanity is partisan now, I guess.

An amazing, long-sought moment of clarity in the Briefing Room, when a reporter finally asked Dorito Mussolini, after all the carnage wrought by his insidious dishonesty, after 170,000 deaths with perhaps as many yet to come, does he maybe regret lying to us so fucking much? Is there a shred of recognition anywhere in that Adderall-saturated, garbanzo-sized brain that he’s caused all this needless suffering by stealing a job he was never qualified to take on? If you had it to do all over again, would you maybe spare the world the cancer of your “leadership?”

...and the dead, empty confusion in his eyes, like “what is this ‘regret’ of which you speak? Next question!” Just...like, are there worse people? Surely five or ten, somewhere on Earth, right? We didn’t really make the single most terrible human being out of billions the President...did we?

The Government Accountability Office found that the Goebbels Boys over at DHS, aka Chad Wolf and KKKen Cuccinelli, were appointed to their “acting” posts illegally, meaning the police state crackdown in Portland was ordered by basically a couple of crooks who broke into a distressingly-powerful Cabinet office and just started pushing buttons. I feel like the country deserves a few more safeguards before jackbooted thugs in military gear get dispatched to disappear American citizens into unmarked vehicles...like, I know Biden’s to-do list is already substantial, but FUCK.

Anyway, yeah, I’m spending most of my time these days worrying about the Post Office, which is definitely not how I imagined my life would turn out back in the glory days of theatre classes and Miller Genuine Draft. Well, the beer’s better now, anyway... 

Kamala Harris Provides Welcome Relief From an Otherwise Butthole-Heavy News Cycle (Ferret/Shower Cap

You’ve probably noticed that I always start this blog with a little paragraph that goes, “golly, things sure are nutty,” but for real, It’s come to organized looting and surprise tornadoes up by me, so if I’m a little late posting this week, know that I’m probably frog-and-locust-proofing my place, just in case.

(This is the part where I post a link to my website, where you can get this post with links: http://showercapblog.com/kamala-harris-provides-welcome-relief-from-an-otherwise-butthole-heavy-news-cycle/)

Because the Shart of the Deal is worse at deal-making than anything else (impressive when you recall he’s failed at everything from casinos to putting on pants), stimulus talks with congressional Democrats collapsed, and so he tried to plug a few of the thousands of new leaks springing in our already-battered economy with Hubba Bubba and a handful of probably illegal and certainly ineffective executive orders.

And since President Crotchrot is a blundering, gaslighting sack of Adderall and malice, we had to spend a few days sussing out the difference between what he said he did, what he thinks he did, and what he actually did. He claims, and likely believes, he saved the economy with a stroke of his no-doubt-custom-made-so-as-not-to-overtax-his-wee-baby-hands pen. What he actually did was unilaterally slash unemployment benefits for millions of worried, suffering Americans, and assault Social Security by deferring, and promising to completely eliminate, the payroll taxes that fund it. Mr. President, please quit helping so hard.

Anyway, a depressingly large chunk of the news these days is of the Still Batshit After All These Months variety, because pounding nails into solid stone with your forehead is the new American way, apparently. For example: there is still no national testing/tracing program, and therefore there is still zero chance of getting the coronavirus outbreak under control. Everything’s still bottlenecked at that one roadblock. Yes, still. No, it doesn’t make any sense. This is Hell, are you new?

Yes, Republicans are still quite insistent that schools reopen, though they are curiously less interested in creating the conditions that would make reopening safe. “97,000 kids caught COVID-19 in just two weeks? Well, nothing’s risk-free in life!” they offer, sort of a jaunty way to demand parents risk their children’s lives to maintain the flimsy papier-mâché facade of normalcy the GOP frantically hopes will hold up ‘till November, so they can...hold onto power and keep gettin’ kids killed, I guess.

Meanwhile, Brian Kemp’s First Theory of Coronavirus Spread in Schools fell apart almost immediately, though conservative scientists* had initially been optimistic that a policy of suspending students for documenting unsafe conditions would trick covid into looking elsewhere. Anyway, just like at every single preceding point during the motherfucking pandemic, the virus did indeed spread in the environment where experts told us, in advance, from experience, it was likely to spread, just fuckin’ FANCY THAT.

Betsy DeVos would surely be out there herding kids into pens like John Wayne in a cattle drive film, were she not cowering safely in her mansion. You’ll notice our plutocrat overlords only chuckle condescendingly when we ask them to share in the risks they demand of us; ain’t nobody pushing Barron Trump into a cramped classroom packed with adorable little germ factories, as you may’ve noticed.

And naturally, the Marmalade Shartcannon keeps on illegally using his office to campaign. Whensoever the whim strikes him, he summons the White House press corps to test out his latest desperate attack on Smilin’ Joe Biden. I’d be angrier about the lawlessness if this tactic didn’t reliably blow up in his little butthole face every single goddamn time, whether he winds up scampering away in terror when a female reporter fact-checks him, over an Obama accomplishment he’s been taking credit for for years, or earning himself a fresh new round of cognitive testing by rambling about WWII ending in 1918. We’re getting a steady supply of, “Hey, everybody should drink bleach!” clips for our ads, is all I’m saying.

And after botching two separate Republican National Conventions, Weehands McNodick wants to give his nomination speech at Gettysburg? Fuckin’ proceed, bro! It’s not like you’ll look about half an inch tall in Lincoln’s shadow or anything. Be sure to double-check the dimensions on that Stonehenge replica before you send it to the shop, though!

Gettysburg. Lord. Between this and the unseemly begging to be added to Mount Rushmore, it’s like he’s trying to rub his withered, syphilitic genitals on as many national symbols as possible on the way out...the Liberty Bell is under guard, right?

And Tangerine Idi Amin is still furiously clawing the U.S. Postal Service to shreds, because if he has to interfere with the delivery of life-saving medicines to rural areas in order to deprive Americans of their right to peacefully remove him from power over his catastrophic failings, well, I think we’ve established by now that stupid cuck shit like “the senseless, preventable suffering and death of thousands” will not be a factor in any presidential decisions until next January at the earliest.

Bilious Bill Barr got a tattoo on his ass that reads “Accuse the other side of that which you are guilty,” above a drawing of a MAGA hat-wearing mob tossing the Constitution onto a roaring bonfire, which he’s enjoyed showing off in a series of media appearances smearing the Black Lives Matter movement and the left generally with a meaningless hodgepodge of tired buzzwords designed to spark fear in the white and weak-minded. You just know Billy scribbled his bucket list on the back cover of the hardback copy of Mein Kampf he got from his shitsack boss last Xmas, don’tcha?

And you know Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot is watching the news from Belarus with lust and burning envy; this is the shit he had in mind when he ordered his patchwork Gestapo onto the streets of Washington, D.C. and Portland, but all he got was universal backlash and a couple of temporarily-disappeared protesters. But if you’re looking for a preview of the 2022 midterms under Trump...

The very same Republican Party that for weeks stayed passively perched atop their own thumbs as COVID-19 killed tens of thousands suddenly discovered their capacity for outrage when college football conferences started making the inevitable decisions to cancel their seasons. “NO! MAKE UNPAID GLADIATOR KIDS FIGHT IN THE PLAGUE PIT FOR ME!” screeched Gym Jordan and a bunch of other raging, spittle-flecked, white dudes, honestly, I can’t tell any of them apart anymore.

And I don’t know whether to be angry at the deeply warped priorities, or flabbergasted at the apparent inability to extrapolate. Like, how did this catch you off guard? It never occurred to a single rational human that college football could be played under these circumstances. If you wanted your precious television program, you had every opportunity to join the rest of us in all that mask-wearing, social-distancing, and sheltering-in-place we were up to while y’all were busy spreading disease in the name of freedumb.  Maybe if you get your shit together and stop being fuckheads, we can have nice things again next year. It’s up to you.

Good news, I found a GOP House candidate who isn’t a drooling QAnon follower, though it must be said Madison Cawthorn, the Republican running in North Carolina’s 11th congressional district, recently went on a fashionable vacation to...excuse me, that should read, “went on a FASHY vacation” to fucking HITLER’S SUMMER HOUSE, posting pics on social media documenting his childlike delight at finding himself walking in the führer’s footsteps. It must please Steve King, as he rides off into his own personal Nazi loser sunset, knowing there’s a fresh generation of white nationalist Republicans waiting to replace him.

Ben Shapiro has been called the greatest conservative mind of his generation, but it seems there are some, um, shall we say “gaps” in his expertise. While throwing a puritanical tantrum over the lyrics to Cardi B’s WAP, Benjy casually let it slip that his doctor wife told him, “Wet pussy? Oh my, that only happens when something is very, very wrong medically,” and the minute I stop laughing about this, you’ll know I have died.

And hey, it’s finally official: California Senator Kamala Harris is the next Vice President of the United States of America! Mike Pants has already requested the VP debate moderators provide him with a pillow to cry into during commercial breaks, in addition to investing in padding to render the knocking of his knees inaudible to the home audience.

Oh man, I haven’t been able to post two such delightful stories back-to-back since I launched this silly ol’ blog! Shit, I better check out and run away before I get a push notification announcing a draft for the coming war with NATO. Stay safe out there, friends!

*There’s no such thing, made ya look. 

We Have Always been at War With Thighland; Joe Biden Has Always Been at War With God (Ferret/SC)

I’ve started sleeping with my head in the dryer, in an effort to keep the sensation of following the news going 24/7. Honestly, it didn’t do the trick at first, but then I added some bricks and an opossum from the dumpster out back to the dryer, and I have to say, the effect is stunningly similar.

(Get this post, in living color, with nifty nooz links, here: http://showercapblog.com/we-have-always-been-at-war-with-thighland-joe-biden-has-always-been-at-war-with-god/)

So, I guess we’ve got to talk about Kanye, which I have attempted to avoid. Like, the whole point of this lil’ blog of mine is to write mean shit about the rat bastards who’re fucking up the world; to be frank, all I have here is a hammer, and yes, everything sure does look an awful lot like a nail as a result.

But I’ve got way too many mental health issues in my own origin story to mock a guy who’s clearly in a lot of pain, and whose problems are only being exacerbated by the global spotlight. But it must be said, desperate Shartworld operatives are now conniving to get West on the ballot in juuuuuust enough states to siphon off juuuuust enough votes to plunge the country into four more years of white supremacy, concentration camps, and plague, and those folks? The bottom-feeding bureaucrats trying to force our democracy through loophole after loophole until it’s warped beyond recognition? Those folks get the hammer.

Donald Trump is a man of many fears...empty stadiums...the public revelation of his actual net worth...stairs...but nothing streaks his spray-on tan with more terrorsweat than the grinning visage of Joseph Robinette Biden, Jr. See, from Wee Don’s point of view, our Joe is the relentless movie monster, steadily advancing in the rear view mirror no matter how fast you drive or what you throw at him; a folksy inevitability, lumbering forward, ever forward, taking aim with steely, inhuman focus at the one thing you value: the legal immunity granted by your office! (Thunder, lightning, ominous music)

And he’s literally LAUGHING IN YOUR FACE as you hit him with your campaign’s best remaining shot, and, okay, admittedly, that shot is, “The Vice President is afraid to take a cognitive test! YES, the one our guy bragged about, with the drawings of horsies and hippos! Biden’s too scared to...he’s...c’mon, man, this gig sucks, I’m just trying to not get fired, okay?”

Anyway, Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops is so scurred of the Boogeyjoe that he won’t come out of the residence, so his campaign cleverly doctored a bunch of images to make Biden look like as big a Bunker Bitch as the Dotard himself. Since they can’t lay a finger on Real Joe, they’ll just invent an alternate Joe, the Biden of Earth-2, who does not tend to his toenails in a hygienic manner, and lives in Bernie Sanders’ closet as his personal gimp. Expect these techniques to accelerate as the clock runs out; in six weeks you’ll be explaining to folks back home that sorry, the auxiliary nipples you saw on Joe's forehead in that Trump ad are, alas, fake news.

Another proposal to un-sink the Shartanic is, I kid you not, adding even more bigotry to a stew that’s already 95% David Duke’s spittle. It’s amazing anybody imagines the problem here is “we’re not scaremongering hard enough about transgender athletes,” but hey, money certainly flows freely in the right-wing griftosphere.

In the latest postmodern Frankenstein update, Twitter and Facebook attempted to rein in the monster of their making, taking down one of Hairplug Himmler’s posts for coronavirus disinformation, with Twitter even blocking his campaign’s account until the lie was completely removed.

By the way, the lie that sparked this social media spanking was that children are “almost immune from this disease,” the disease being COVID-19, you may have seen something about it on the news. A rather significant lie, really. Less of a blaming-a-fart-on-the-dog sort of fib, and more along the lines of an Oh, You’re Trying to Trick People Into Endangering Their Kids’ Lives, Why the Fuck Would You Do That kind of thing.

My point is, all the disingenuous tantrum-throwing about ”free speech” here is in service to protecting Gameshow Göring’s first amendment right to tell child-killing lies. Like, why would you even go looking for that hill, let alone die on it?

Republicans on the Senate Judiciary Committee paid the penalty for their erroneous belief that former Acting Attorney General Sally Yates is someone to fuck with. I confess I don’t understand why the GOP imagines their bullshit talking points will stand up in the harsh light of objective reality, but that certainly explains their coronavirus response, doesn’t it?

Life under the Turd Reich was a fuckin’ grind before the goddamn pandemic, but these last few weeks have been like one long doomscrolling thumb death march, and every fleeting bit of good news has brought SUCH SWEET RELIEF, right? It’s been like crawling through a David-Lean-in-IMAX desert, and this fuckin’ NRA story is like reaching the top of that last dune, a split second before you drop dead, and finding an oasis with a water park and a strip club. Oh, New York Attorney General Letitia James is suing to dissolve the National Rifle Association, you say? I mean, I suppose I’d rather see those death merchants destroyed over the oceans of blood on their hands, but if we can get ‘em on corruption, hey, Al Capone still died in prison.

A recent survey conducted by People Magazine discovered that the six sexiest words in the English language are “Deutsche Bank complied with the subpoena,” following news that the world’s most glamorous money launderers have merrily turned Fat Q*bert’s records over to prosecutors in New York. See, unlike congressional Republicans, DB understands Littlefinger deserves no loyalty, for he will give you none in return. Ask Jeff Sessions about that one sometime.

Fuck, between the NRA thing and the Deutsche Bank thing, I say this calls for a celebration, why don’t you swing by with some brews, and we can OH RIGHT that might be fatal, I forgot about the crushing reality of life during a pandemic for a minute. But you can’t, you literally can’t escape it, which is why all these flailing attempts to get people angry at Joe Biden for skipping Lyin’ Eyes when he drives with the Eagles’ Greatest Hits CD on or whatever bullshit they’re trying this week is doomed to failure; it’s a coronavirus election, Dotard, and if you didn’t want a coronavirus election, you should’ve done something about the FUCKING coronavirus when you had the chance.

Ok, Resisters, we need to have a serious talk. Loose lips sink ships, y’know? Everything was going precisely according to the long-term deep state antifa Jade Helm plan; Joe Biden would take the oath of office, and at the end of his inaugural speech he’d start chuckling to himself and say, “I can’t believe you fools fell for that ‘restore the soul of the nation’ shit! I’ve come here to DESTROY GOD!” and then he’d whip out the Infinity Gauntlet and erase Real ‘Murica with one snap of his cognitive-test-fearing fingers.

But NO, somebody leaked the whole scheme to Government Cheese Goebbels, and he blabbed it all over television the other day, so now God’s totally gonna see Joe coming. You guys, at this rate, we’re NEVER gonna take God out, and if that’s the case, what’s the whole Soros-funded white genocide jihad been for, huh?

A forthcoming book informs us the Manchurian Manchild’s military advisors would deliberately withhold military options from him lest his malfunctioning walnut brain plunge the planet into World War Dumbass and while there are certainly valid questions to ask regarding the constitutionality of the Pentagon treating the president like an unusually stupid toddler, THANK GOD the Pentagon is treating the president like an unusually stupid toddler.

Jerry Falwell Jr. is on an “indefinite leave of absence” from Liberty University following some extra-marital naughtiness he chose to share on Instagram, and I think it’s useful to view these extremely common stories not as the hypocrisies of Christian leaders who fail to live up to their own loudly-professed beliefs, but rather as the entirely ethically consistent acts of the high priests of a white supremacist hate cult masquerading as a legitimate religion. Y’see? It all kinda tumbles into place.

Call forth the Keeper of the Scroll of Words the President of the United States Does Not Know How to Pronounce; yes, I know we just called him forth the other day for the Yosemite thing but he knew what he was getting into when he took this job, which we remind him he is lucky to have in this economy. What ho, Keeper! We do hereby call upon thee to inscribe upon thy scroll, in thy fanciest calligraphy, the word “Thailand,” for he did say “Thighland,” no seriously he totally did, there’s video and everything.

I see Putin’s starting to get anxious, since the party’s breaking up and Dad’s due home any minute now, so he’s fucking around in our elections again. Vlad, I hope that case of PBR was worth it, cuz until your troll farms figure out how to make memes that cure COVID-19, this election is pretty much meddle-proof. We don’t care if Hunter Biden killed Jeffrey Epstein with Vince Foster’s femur, we just want to leave our fucking homes.

Talks over the next coronavirus stimulus bill broke down, because Republicans feared the Democrats’ proposal would alleviate too much human suffering. I guess we have to do that thing now where the markets finally realize, “oh right, these idiots really are that maliciously insane” and wipe out a few billion dollars worth of wealth before we do the thing everybody already understands needs to be done. Shitty, self-indulgent, predictable theatre, only instead of applause, the audience dies destitute.

Well, that’s enough to carry us into our “weekend,” I think. If anybody has any spare time to work up a plan to destroy God...I mean, we need a new one now, soooooo...

PS, I guess while I was writing this post, I missed another creepy little press conference/Klan rally where Strawberry Shartcake said he’d do Obamacare by executive order. You see why I drink. 

Endless, Inescapable American Carnage: It Is What It Is. (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Welp, pretty normal day, honestly. Of course, lately “normal” means “a complete and total failure of government has left the United States utterly paralyzed before a pandemic much of the rest of the world has contained, also there’s a debate about whether or not to get a bunch of children killed,” so y’know...context is everything, really.

(Wanna read this post with all those nifty news links you know and love? Click here: http://showercapblog.com/endless-inescapable-american-carnage-it-is-what-it-is/)

In an attempt to address his relative weakness with younger voters, Smilin’ Joe Biden hacked Lil’ Donnie-Two Scoops’ Twitter account and threatened to ban TikTok, a move sure to increase youth turnout this Novem-wait, what? He actually said it himself? Out loud? That Trump boy doesn’t have a lick of sense.

So, word on the street is, the Republican National Convention might be closed to the press, leaving America to wonder whether this is another example of the GOP’s slide into speech-crushing fascism, or just a handful of event planners trying to keep the Herman Cain count down this time. I say, why’s it gotta be “or?”

Tantalizing new filings out of the Manhattan district attorney’s office suggest a certain Grand Wizard Grifter is under investigation for even biglier crimes than we initially thought, including bank and insurance fraud, and if somebody could get Nate Silver to work up a model projecting the odds that my dearest wish is someday granted, meaning America actually gets to watch this sphincter-mouthed Nazi pig die in prison, I’d be eternally grateful. Ok, I’d be grateful for a day or two, but you’d probably get a six-pack out of it, anyway.

You could be forgiven for losing track of precisely which sorts of mail-in voting are dastardly antifa assaults on our very way of life and which are the pride and joy of every patriotic ‘Murican. One minute Strawberry Shartcake balls up his tiny, inadequate fists and whines about the new Nevada law which will automatically send a mail-in ballot to every voter, the next he’s begging his dwindling base of Florida Men to pretty please vote by mail, because what’s bad in Nevada is awesome in Florida for Reasons Which Definitely Exist. This apparent hypocrisy bothers the president nearly as much as the coronavirus death toll, which is to say not at all.

Merritt Corrigan is confused. The whole reason she was invited to join the Turdmaggot Administration in the first place, despite her glaring lack of qualifications, is that it’s a white supremacist hate cult, full of mediocre bigots like herself, and now she’s been fired for hate speech? “Consistency is all I ask!” Corrigan bellowed, just kidding she tweeted a whole bunch of profoundly heinous shit and, of course, proclaimed herself The Real Victim. Bye, Merritt!

Hey, speaking of Th’Best People, President Crotchrot’s attempt to get some drooling loon called Anthony Tata confirmed to an important Pentagon gig fell apart when Tata’s penchant for tinfoil-hat deep state conspiracy theories and virulent Islamophobia got outed in the media. Unfortunately, because we’re in After Three Years in Office the One Thing I’ve Learned is How Slowly the Fucking Courts Work mode now, Shartboy deployed a little bureaucratic razzle-dazzle to bypass Senate confirmation and give the skeevy creep essentially the same job. The lame-duck days will just be crime for crime’s sake, running naked through the halls of the Smithsonian, defacing national treasures with ketchup and spray paint, feverishly screeching, “Made it Ma! Top of the world!” until he’s tackled by security.

Hey, have you filled out the census yet? I mention this because Team Treasonweasel suddenly decided to cut the Census Bureau’s field operations off a month earlier than planned, probably to give Stephen Miller more time to personally burn forms from urban zip codes. Seriously though, these evil fucks are doing their damndest to leave a big fat white supremacist stain in the fabric of American governance, one we won’t get a chance to wash out for ten long years. Don’t let ‘em get away with it. Fill out your dang census!

Look, if the ever-growing corpse mountain isn’t enough to convince you that a second Trump term is the worst idea since George Lazenby drinking New Coke, maybe you need to get strapped into a chair and forced, Clockwork Orange-style, to watch Tangerine Idi Amin’s new interview with Axios’ Jonathan Swan until you scream, “Holy fuck, this visibly deteriorating wad of tanning lotion and resentment isn’t fit to serve as a Walmart greeter MY GOD WHAT HAVE WE DONE?”

Yes, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot continues to express more empathy for a child sex trafficker than for the 160,000 killed by COVID-19, or their families, or any of the millions of Americans forced into unemployment by his murderous negligence. If you were to play video of his o-so-principled stand for Ghislaine Maxwell’s presumption of innocence alongside his “shit happens, I’m great” assessment of his coronavirus response at the Lincoln memorial, Honest Abe would double over and start puking blood-red marble.

The exchange on John Lewis exposed Gameshow Göring’s brokenness with a dramatist’s precision; how deeply, hopelessly warped do you have to be to distill that great life down to “he didn’t come to my inauguration?” I think we can lay to rest all those earnest arguments on the ethics of armchair psychiatric diagnosis, at least in this one extreme and extremely well-documented case; yes, the man is a narcissist, shit, I once found the myth of Narcissus implausibly allegorical, but now it hits me like kitchen-sink Arthur Miller realism.

Ugh. I guess we should talk about the bit with the charts. All the bad news is fake news, insisted the Marmalade Shartcannon, I assure you I’m one nasty nickname* away from taming the pandemic once and for all, and here are some carefully-tortured metrics I’d really like you trust over your own lying eyes. Like, how defective is the brain that believes a couple of Crayola-colored graphs will send the American people skipping back into restaurants and arenas, smiling from ear to ear as we take deep, joyous breaths, filling our lungs with the coronavirus which is Totally Under Control Trust Me? It’s like watching a child squinting his eyes super tight to prove he’s really asleep, only it’s less about staying up ten more minutes playing with your phone than getting human beings killed by the tens of thousands.

And yeah, the Dopey Dotard With Diminutive Digits can’t pronounce “Yosemite,” lacking familiarity, it seems, with both the national park and the cantankerous Bugs Bunny antagonist. This is a small story, yes, but the President of the United States should be able to pronounce “Yosemite.” The president should know, at the very least, the basic facts about the country that’re taught to every schoolchild (remotely, at least for now) and the president should like those things.

THE PRESIDENT SHOULD LIKE AMERICA! That’s what I’m reduced to screaming, alone in my apartment, as Election Day approaches. Strange days, Resisters...strange days.

Anyway, it’s President Obama’s birthday, and I hope he gets to celebrate his next one at Joe Biden’s new place, assuming they can ever get the smell of experimental hair tonic and overdone steak farts outta the joint.

Ok, that’s enough for now, I suppose. Guess I’ll get back to my mega-awesome life, trapped on my couch, waiting for either a vaccine or the peaceful transfer of power, whichever comes first. Wheeeeeeeeee.

*Crooked Covid? Nasty Nineteen? C’MON PEOPLE, THIS IS IMPORTANT! 

The One Where We Learned Jared Kushner Was Cool With COVID-19 Killing People in Blue States (Ferret)

Trying times, friends. I don’t know about y’all, but I’m right on the brink of discovering precisely how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of my fragile sanity. Ah yes, I believe I feel the beak of the owl crushing down on my skull even now...let’s get the news in before I shatter.

(And yes, you can find this post, with all those nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/the-one-where-we-learned-jared-kushner-was-cool-with-covid-19-killing-people-in-blue-states/)

In open defiance of a recent Supreme Court ruling, the Checks Are For Cucks and So Are Balances Administration has been rejecting new DACA applicants, because we’re just not going to have the rule of law between now and the election. Personally, I wouldn’t be doing donuts on John Roberts’ lawn if I knew I’d be begging him to throw out an election and keep me in power in just a few short months, but expecting long-term thinking from these clowns seems unfair at this point.

Because he is such a good little servant, Donnie Two-Scoops pulled out his crayon-scrawled register of PEEPUL TO GET BACK AT WHILE ME AM STILL PREZIDUNT, and compared it to Uncle Vlad’s Xmas list, in order to set priorities for his dwindling term. “Sticking it to that haughty Angela Merkel woman” was a point of mutual agreement, and so the U.S. is withdrawing 12,000 troops from Germany, wasting billions of taxpayer dollars in the process. Putin has reportedly gone into hiding, because he believes being photographed while tap-dancing with glee would undermine his carefully-crafted strongman image.

In his doomed quest to win back college-educated white women, Tangerine Idi Amin has commandeered an ice cream truck, and embarked, drenched in sweat that reeks of tanning lotions and cheeseburger grease, on a whirlwind tour of suburbia, shrieking about Joe Biden’s evil plot to abolish apple pie and friendly father/son games of catch, panicking more and more as he learns these people aren’t nearly as frightened and hateful as he desperately needs them to be. Yeah, Brad Parscale was the problem alright.

Everybody’s giving Government Cheese Goebbels grief because he’s too chickenshit to tell Putin, “Hey, it would be really cool if you could maybe stop putting bounties on American soldiers’ heads,” but to be fair, it’s extra tough to stand up to your boss in this job market. Also, as a practical matter, there probably just isn’t time after all the sniveling and groveling. ”C’mon Vlad, you promised, I took the troops outta Germany like you wanted, please gimmie some dirt on Joe Biden, I can’t make anything stick, Vlad, PLEASE, we both know I can’t handle prison!” And then Meadows bursts in with a stack of shit to sign. You know how it is.

Going local for a minute, some shitty white kid called Will Dismukes resigned his post as pastor of a Baptist church, though not his seat in the Alabama state legislature, when he got caught attending a birthday party for dead Confederate/KKK loser Nathan Bedford Forrest. Y’know, back when I was a theatre major in college, there’d occasionally be some pretentious douche who wanted to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday, or Marlon Brando’s, or John Cazale’s if he was particularly tedious; this is the white supremacist version of that. These are dork klansmen, throwing the lamest theme parties on God’s green earth.

My least favorite trope in this nightmare reality show is probably the inevitable shitgeyser that erupts every time Littlefinger delegates anything important to his idiot son-in-law. Kid Nepotism’s latest game of Fantasy Chief of Staff has of course come at the expense of the nation’s coronavirus response, and if anyone has any as-yet-unpopped forehead veins they’re looking to preserve, I suggest you look away now, because it turns out one big reason the United States failed so spectacularly and disastrously in the early days of the pandemic was Jar-Jar's sociopathically misguided belief that the only really dangerous outbreak zones were in blue states, so it would be good for his team politically to just LET THE VIRUS KILL PEOPLE, and then blame Democratic governors in the aftermath.

Now, that’s not only evil, but epically fucking stupid, VIRUSES CAN’T READ MAPS, JARED. Fuck, even the Paul Reiser character in Aliens would call Kushner a cretinous little nitwit, everyone can see it, everyone...except the President of the United States.

So that one pizza guy, the one who doesn’t understand economics and sexually harassed a bunch of women...Herman Cain. He’s dead now, because he caught Covid at that one place everybody told him he was gonna catch Covid, and it killed him, because that’s what Covid does. I’m sure you have a few pearl-clutchers in your feed insisting that we must treat Herman’s self-inflicted demise with great somberness and respect. Fuck that.

What Herman Cain chose to do with the end of his life was vile. He engaged in a deliberate effort to trick people into extremely unsafe, indeed possibly lethal behaviors. He told his followers that what he was doing, namely gathering indoors in the middle of a city experiencing a heavy coronavirus outbreak, without masks or social distancing, was safe. No doubt many of those followers trusted Herman, and some of them are sick or even dead right now. For those people, I feel sympathy and sorrow. For Herman Cain, well, he was trying very, very hard to hurt people, and now he can’t hurt anyone anymore. My mourning card has been booked up for months, sorry.

And now the Dumbest Man in Congress, Louie Gohmert, has tested positive as well, in spite of his extremely impressive public stance against mask-wearing. I confess I’m confused here; surely the virus finds such manly defiance intimidating; we all know there is no basic law of science that isn’t subject to immediate suspension when faced with a sufficiently masculine doubter, proclaiming “nuh-UH” with a puffed-out chest. That’s just how the universe works...in the Freedumb Caucus, anyway.

Of course, Louie is SO dumb that his existence isn’t defined by the mere absence of intelligence, but the often-violent projection of anti-intelligence, and thus, he can’t just admit, “I was wrong, folks, this virus is REAL, and it is DANGEROUS,” no, he has to bellow, “IT WUZ THE MASK WUT DONE IT” as he’s dragged off to quarantine. If there are no supply chain issues, I’d like to order a round of cognitive tests for Texas’ entire first district, please.

Panicked as his electoral prospects wither like his own dusty scrotum, Sharty McFly is pretty much just flipping through famous dictators’ biographies looking for ideas at this point, and so this week he finally floated the notion of delaying the election, as we always knew he would. The optimism boggles the mind, as though a few more months spent percolating in the lake of raw sewage he dropped on our heads would win converts as we grow accustomed to the smell.

I suppose he still believes the problem will mystically resolve on its own, that his ghostly father will one day appear before the coronavirus’ accountant, and with his astral checkbook offer a sum so large the disease will simply retire to the French Riviera. Guess he’s just afraid Daddy’s gonna wait until mid-November, one last I Never You Loved You before dragging him away to the Great Military School in the Sky.

Like most of his endeavors, Weehands McNodick’s pathetic attempt to redirect the media’s attention just as Barack Obama began his eulogy at John Lewis’ funeral failed spectacularly, and the world watched the former President’s speech, overflowing with grace and righteousness, with the sort of nostalgic longing seldom found outside Kenny Chesney lyrics. You realize, old man, Obama has barely begun to tear you apart on the virtual campaign trail, right?

Well, looka here, the Department of Homeland Security has been compiling little intelligence reports on American journalists covering the shenanigans in Portland. Considering DHS’ I Can Haz Secret Police? actions there, I can certainly understand their fervor to keep the homeland safe...from journalism; obviously it’s much easier to disseminate propaganda when there are no inconvenient videos of your own stormtrooper bullshit, but to bastardize a phrase, who secures the homeland from Homeland Security?*

Going one giant, dark step further, the Department of Justice is asking the courts to lift an order protecting journalists on the ground in Portland, alleging that there are just oodles and oodles of antifa super-soldiers out there pretending to be journalists, blah blah blah the point here is that the Van Disappearance Squad is asking for legal permission to start bashing reporters’ heads, and y’know, I don’t think we should give it to them.

Oh, and now hurricane season is bearing down on our Covid-ravaged shores? Luckily we’re experiencing a historic leadership surplus, so dealing with any storm damage’ll be easy-peezy, we’ll just have Ron DeSantis declare victory a few days before landfall, and move on with our lives; it’s a time-tested 2020 tactic.

And of course, President Crotchrot is still using all his tiny-fisted might to choke the life out of the coronavirus once and for all only not the coronavirus but rather the Post Office. Wow, the authoritarianism plotline and the pandemic plotline keep mingling in ways that would be really fun and interesting anyplace other than real life, don’tcha think?

Fuck. It’s no fuckin’ fun out there, is it, Resisters? But we’re in the home stretch now, we can tough this shit out, right? I think it was Aristotle who said, “The last 96 days of a game show host autocrat’s reign are always the toughest, but the beer will never taste better than it does on that 96th day.” So hang in there.

*I’m worried I didn’t say “homeland” enough in this paragraph.  
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