TheFerret
TheFerret's JournalOn the Bright Side, I Just Saved a Bunch of Money on My Car Insurance (Ferret/Shower Cap)
First of all: fuck.
To clarify: FUCK!
Fuckity fucking fuck.
That said, in the interest of balance, on the other hand:
FUUUUUUUUUCK
And to those who would counter, “MOTHERFUCKING FUCKING FUCK,” I say…fair enough. I see where you’re coming from. MOTHERFUCKING FUCKING FUCK indeed. Perhaps even HOLY CARCINOGENIC BALLS OF LIGHT-DEVOURING FUCK.
(And yes, links and such await ye here: https://showercapblog.com/on-the-bright-side-i-just-saved-a-bunch-of-money-on-my-car-insurance/)
The fuck, America? You chose…poorly.
Abstractly, I get why somebody might vote for a violent autocratic movement over the price of eggs. Personally, I prefer to live in a society, but I do get it. I would probably check first, to see if said violent autocratic movement actually had a viable plan to bring down the price of eggs, but then, I am a libtard.
Anyway, I’ve been having a grand old time, pinballing between all the same fun, fun emotions you’ve been feeling. The “I guess America is basically evil now” despair, the banging-my-head-on-my-desk-till-it-splinters outrage that lying works so goddamn well, and of course, that burst of “if this is what voters want, they deserve what they get” spite, complete with practicing the smug look I’ll shoot at the bewildered Trump voters as they enter the reeducation camp six months behind me. (Ideally, you want one that’ll still convey the intended level of disdain once your teeth’ve rotted out.)
Most of all, the shaking-my-head-so-hard-my-jowls-ripple-with-measurable-frequency disbelief that anyone anywhere could possibly still believe this visibly decomposing con man is some sort of business genius, who could fix anything, even if he possessed the slightest interest in doing so. Which he doesn’t.
(I don’t actually have jowls, for the record. Though if I keep drinking at the rate I have been this week…)
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me after crashing the economy and causing tens of thousands of senseless Covid deaths, to say nothing of the rapes and felony convictions and staffers calling him a fascist and so on, ad infinitum, well, shame is the least of our worries, although that time traveler I met at Denny’s last year did say something about all the 21st century American history texts coming in pop-up book form.
All in all, a fairly crappy Tuesday, even as Tuesdays go. Always been a lousy TV night, frankly, but I confess I found the season finale of American Democracy particularly dissatisfying. Certainly disappointed the Jack Smith subplot won’t play out. The Russian bomb threats targeting minority precincts were a clever detail, though; my compliments.
And the trailers for next season look awful. So many of my least favorite characters returning in prominent roles. Not excited for this “vengeful narcissist can prosecute anybody he wants” angle, or the economy-wrecking tariffs they’re teasing, and I don’t care for the elevation of this “Elon” fellow, because how many idiot racist billionaires do really you need? Sometimes less is more.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Beyond that, most of the political news this week involved sifting through the wreckage for explanations, and it turns out it’s pretty difficult to write jokes about early post-mortem hypothesizing.
“How many points rightward does the electorate have to shift to screw in a dictatorship? THREE TO FIVE, APPARENTLY, BUT WE’RE STILL WAITING FOR MORE DATA…is this thing on?”
See?
Anyway.
I’d already been planning to take a break after the election, and, uh…yeah, I’m gonna do that. I’m fuckin’ exhausted, y’all.
The actual writing of this blog is a hefty enough workload, but the necessary research involved (incessant doomscrolling, essentially) keeps the MAGA rage/hate/shit/poison cocktail at a constant simmer inside my poor, battered cranium, more or less around the clock. Which doesn’t leave a lot of room for other work.
As you may’ve noticed, it’s been a long-ass time since I made a comic book! So long, I’m embarrassed to say how long.
I’ve been wrestling with this story for…shit, I was worried it would no longer be relevant by the time I actually got the fucking thing made, but thanks to the unteachable American electorate, I guess I’ve got a whole new window.
You folks’ll love it, assuming I ever get it done. (It’s turning into my own, personal Megalopolis, only hopefully not, y’know…shitty.) Won’t burden you with the details, but over the last few months, there have been…let’s say, “setbacks.”
Previous blog hiatuses have proven productive, so I’m gonna step away for a bit, to focus my energies on dragging this little bastard across the finish line, yes, but most of all, to rest up for the fights to come. Feels like the perfect time to unplug, honestly; skip the gloating and the dread, drink some beers, take some walks, drink some more beers, fill any and all available receptacles with fluoridated water before RFK Jr. floods my pipes with whale juice, and then drink any beers that may have evaded my attention, however improbably.
How long a hiatus? At least through Thanksgiving, probably the end of the year. Maybe I’ll pop up for a sporadic update here n’ there. I’ve dug my little trench on the sidelines of our circular firing squad on social media, so I’ll probably half-heartedly lob a water balloon from time to time. You can follow @john_luzar, but if you see me posting too much, feel free to chastise me.
Ok. Resistance mode it is, then. You know that world-weary Krusty the Clown sigh? That’s the sound I made after I typed, “Ok. Resistance mode it is, then.”
But even in these dark times, we mustn’t lose sight of the wonder life has to offer us. For instance, imagine the childlike delight of those North Korean troops, experiencing their brief, consciousness-expanding immersion in western internet pornography, right as they’re fed into Putin’s meatgrinder. Brings a tear to your eye, doesn’t it?
Ok, friends, I’ll see you in a bit. Forgive me for rattling the ol’ tip jar (Now accepting PayPal, Venmo AND Cash App) a little harder tonight, because as mentioned elsewhere, I will certainly not be taking a hiatus from beer. Far from it.
Stay safe out there. Take care of yourselves. Above all else, do not, under any circumstances, allow the bastards to grind you down.
Democracy Dies in YOUR MOM'S STANKY DRAWERS (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Say, this latest round of drama made me realize, Shower Cap’s Blog has yet to formally endorse in the 2024 presidential race. Well, I’ll be danged (all the way to Heck) if democracy dies in a tattered, beer-stained, superhero bathrobe and a luchador mask! Yea, though it may endanger my lucrative defense contracts, (I provide fart jokes to the janitorial staff at Andrews…at a hefty markup, of course) I shall be silent no longer!
(As ever, get this post, WITH nifty nooz links, here”: https://showercapblog.com/democracy-dies-in-your-moms-stanky-drawers/)
I hereby endorse Jill Stein, or perhaps Cornel West, because when I shove quarters up my nose, I shove ‘em all the way! Because I’m a preening nincompoop who values social media feedback from other preening nincompoops more than human life! Because chicks dig counterproductive, masturbatory virtue signalling…right?
Aw, I’m just yankin’ yer chain, I’m voting for Vice President Harris. (C’mon, you didn’t think a Stein voter possessed a brain capable of writing jokes, didja?) And mostly for the Biden/Harris economy, which even Th’Economist calls “the envy of the world,” the biggest environmental bill in history, the dozens of liberal judges, and so on and so forth.
But even beyond that, she has a certain, how shall I put this…non-fascistness that I find charming, somehow. The way she never calls her political opponents “the enemy within,” or threatens to deploy the military against them, it’s…I dunno, kinda refreshing. Like a nice, tall glass of iced tea after a 14-hour shift breaking up rocks in the re-education camp.
She never talks about firing and/or deporting any special counsels investigating her crimes against democracy, admittedly because she never committed any such crimes in the first place, but still.
I find the relative dearth of national security officials warning the nation of her fascist tendencies particularly encouraging. She doesn’t talk like Hitler or praise Hitler or long for “the kind of generals that Hitler had,” which strikes me as a far superior attitude to have about Hitler than, say, her opponent’s.
Whereas you can’t swing a dead cat these days without hitting a four-star general willing to use the f-word to describe Off-Brand Orbán. You might not’ve seen it, but a former Pentagon snack counter clerk just told CNN about the crusty, bronzer-smudged copy of Mein Kampf he found in a restroom stall back in 2019.
Of course, the aforementioned cat would also collide with a veritable legion of institutional Republicans, lining up to normalize the latest depravities as quick as their Turd Emperor can spew ‘em. While Tom Emmer’s sycophancy makes up in enthusiasm what it lacks in finesse, more experienced stooges, like Chris Sununu and Dug Bugman, shuffle from media hit to media hit, regurgitating talking points like the soulless husks they are.
Moses n’ Yertle took things a step further, waggling their crooked fingers at Kamala for stating the obvious. I think it’s kind of adorable that such craven lickspittles imagine they have the right, much less the capacity to shame anyone else.
I suppose the bright side of defending your candidate from accusations of fascism is you finally get to stop defending his bizarre obsession with Arnold Palmer’s (allegedly) massive dong. And shoot, apparently nobody’ll even have time to ask about the model who accused him of groping her “to show off for Jeffrey Epstein.” I guess flooding the zone with shit makes sense when your candidate is a piece of crap.
I’d have to check, but I’m pretty sure Harris never sexually assaulted anyone in an effort to impress a sex trafficker. Or pledged to pardon any domestic terrorists. Or called America the “garbage can for the world.” Or raped anybody. So I’m feelin’ pretty good about that endorsement.
Oh, incidentally, in addition to all the fashy shit, his economic platform would bankrupt Social Security in six years. And you’ll need that money, after his across-the-board tariffs jack up the price you pay for everything from spray-on hair to livestock dewormer. So, fiscally irresponsible, fascist rapist. Got it.
Ah, but an eminently puppetable, fiscally irresponsible, fascist rapist, which explains Elon Musk’s massive, probably illegal, certainly inefficient investment in bribes. Psst, hey Elon, any chance you could cover some of the rally bills your boy has refused to pay, or are you too busy skipping like a dipshit?
Maybe somebody could dip into to the fund amassed from bilking the elderly out of their life savings? Oh, that money is reserved for piss hooker excursions? I understand.
Getting back to Musk real quick, seems he’s gotten into the habit of phoning up Putin, just to talk about boys and clothes, and also throttling Starlink service over Taiwan, as a favor to Xi Jinping. I assume the Bushes trademarked “Axis of Evil,” so maybe we could go with something like, I dunno, Scumfuck Triumvirate? Global Shitwad? We’ll workshop it.
‘Course, we’ve got plenty on our plate domestically. Our don’t-you-dare-call-them-fascist rank and file Republicans are, of course, threatening election workers, necessitating “police snipers and drone patrols” in Maricopa County. Y’know, just like in all the healthiest democracies.
No doubt you’ve seen ads where your local candidate encourages you to make a plan to vote. Well, in Pennsylvania, a particularly enthusiastic 62-year-old named John C. Pollard made a plan to “SKIN (his local poll worker) ALIVE AND USE (his local poll worker’s) SKIN FOR FUCKING TOILET PAPER.” But definitely not in a fascist way.
Other non-fascist MAGA activities this week included flagging voters with "Hispanic-sounding" names as "suspicious" in North Carolina, manufacturing odious deepfakes for Russian military intelligence, and masquerading as a pro-Trump “Black Insurrectionist” to disseminate disinformation over on Elon’s busted, white nationalist playground. Oh, and perhaps a little voter registration fraud in Pennsylvania.
Least fascist of all was Freedom Caucus Chair Andy Harris, who urged North Carolina’s Republican-controlled legislature to simply award the state’s electoral votes to the Velveeta Vulgarian, without bothering with any of that pesky voting. In Andy’s defense, his plan, while terrifyingly anti-democratic, involves the use of no human skin as toilet paper.
At a perhaps-fascist-adjacent rally in Georgia, Tucker Carlson briefly emerged from deplatformed obscurity to foist his psychosexual irregularities on an audience that probably deserved them, meticulously detailing his fantasy wherein America is a “bad girl” in need of a “vigorous spanking” from Daddy Dotard. Pretty pedestrian, as perversions go, but we should note, for history’s sake, just how embarrassing this whole thing has been.
Keeping with that topic, if you ever want to dazzle a death cult, turns out all you have to do is pretend to work at McDonald’s for half an hour. They were gonna have JD Vance play one of the customers, but he was too busy working on his speech complimenting self-professed “Black Nazi” Mark Robinson.
Seems “Judge” Aileen Cannon has bootlicked her way onto the Turd Reich’s Attorney General shortlist. Used to be, you had to invent a whole new type of extra-masculine toilet to get appointed to the highest law enforcement post in all the land, but I guess times change.
As we navigate these unbearably tense final weeks, with the nation teetering on the brink of autocracy, I find it’s more important than ever to slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy the sweet, slapstick justice the universe has seen fit to unleash upon Rudy Giuliani, who somehow keeps finding new floaters to collide with as he is flushed down history’s commode.
Amerikkka’s Mayor has been ordered to surrender a wide range of his ill-gotten possessions to defamed election workers Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, including “a picture of Reggie Jackson and a jersey signed by Joe DiMaggio, along with a 1980 Mercedes previously owned by Lauren Bacall, jewelry and fancy watches from Bulova and Rolex,” but it seems as though court officials failed to uncover that trowel he swiped from Four Seasons Total Landscaping, so take THAT, rule of law!
I see Tulsi Gabbard finally completed her long, tediously stage-managed tap dance around the proverbial horseshoe, performing, with a slightly used KFC spork, the self-lobotomy ritual that officially initiates one into the MAGA Republican Party. Have fun with your new friends, Tulsi! Don’t leave your drink unattended around Matt Gaetz!
Ok, before I sign off for the week, I’m gonna poke around the information superhighway one last time, to see if either candidate reneged on a promise to pay for a murdered soldier's funeral, maybe in a super racist manner? Cuz that’s a deal-breaker for me, endorsement-wise.
Anyway, HUGE NEWS, for the next 48 hours, all donations to my tip jar/beer fund (now accepting Cash App, Venmo AND PayPal) will receive, oh, why don’t we say a 2000% match from some benevolent billionaire benefactor, who wouldn’t dream of blocking a humble blogger from endorsing during such a crucial election.
Otherwise, share this rant on social media, sign up on the email list, follow @john_luzar…you know the drill. Stay safe out there, chums, we’re almost at the finish line…
Sundowning Rapist Demands Nap (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Greetings, fellow Enemy Within™️! Hope you enjoyed the lovely autumn week! The crisp weather, the changing of the foliage, the perhaps temporary absence of U.S. military personnel rounding us up into camps for disparaging Dear Leader!
(While you still have freedom to do so, click here to get this post with nifty nooz links: https://showercapblog.com/sundowning-rapist-demands-nap/)
I keep coming back to the boiling frog thing, because we’ve somehow managed to normalize our way into a coin flip for the nuclear codes with a decomposing sex offender whose closing argument is “Harvey Weinstein got schlonged.” All the water has long since vaporized out of our poor pot, and been replaced, with Russian hooker pee, which, it turns out, is really rather unpleasant when heated.
There seems to be a direct correlation between his rapidly declining mental state and his open embrace of naked fascism, so I think we need to consider the possibility that he’s entered into a secret pact with Putin to divvy up Poland. He’ll mention the invasion in passing, about 90 minutes into the American Carnage II: Blitzkrieg Boogaloo inauguration speech, between the snake story and the part where he hits on Katie Britt.
Because he’s fading fast, folks. We’ve arrived at the “applying the bronzer to the entire face is too much trouble” phase. The “Kamala will abolish cows” phase. The “communication is too difficult for me now, but tell ya what, let’s put on some music so y’all can watch me wobble for an hour” phase.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly glad this latest malfunction (which historians have already labeled the Night of the Undulating Dingbat) has jump-started the overdue conversation on cognitive fitness, but honestly, wasn’t that far and away the best version of Donald Trump you’ve ever seen? Shit, let’s get him some rubber pants and find him a farm upstate where he can bop and sway to his broken little heart’s content.
Because in those increasingly rare moments when his brain manages to eke out a little human speech, it’s to threaten to send SEAL Team Six after Adam Schiff and Nancy Pelosi, (THE ICE CREAM FREEZER IS SECURE, REPEAT, SECURE!) or to urge violent retribution against female hecklers.
At a Univision town hall, former registered Republican Ramiro González gave America’s overmatched political media a much-needed journalism lesson, asking Off-Brand Orbán, to his face, to justify his inaction on January 6th, while roving gangs of his subpar supporters rampaged through the Capitol in search of Vice Presidents to lynch.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” responded the Dotard, stopping momentarily, for old times’ sake, to exaggerate the size of the crowd, “It was a day of LOVE.” Which is true enough, I suppose. Love of mob violence. Love of the rapist game show host who grants permission to dress up like a Game of Thrones extra and engage in said violence. Love of…well, call it fascism. Cuz that’s what it is.
Now, obviously, no decent person could justify or defend this shit, which, I suppose, explains how the task fell to Glenn Youngkin, who could barely hack up a little half-assed, Orwell-for-the-borderline-braindead spin before withering under Jake Tapper’s not mad/just disappointed look.
Still, we have a powerful ally, in the fetid wad of Adderall-soaked bologna rotting away between the GOP nominee’s ears. Like, personally, if I needed to win the Rust Belt in order to stay out of prison, I’d avoid shitting on auto workers. If the greatest threat to my candidacy happened to be a millions-strong army of furious women, I might resist the urge to dunk on Nikki Haley, particularly when she’s offering to campaign on my behalf. But then, I’m not a particularly stable genius.
No wonder he won’t release his medical records. Which presumably consist of a yellowed, decades-old certificate for passing a cognitive test, and a single McDonald’s napkin on which someone has hastily scrawled, in crayon, “Held together, barely, with Scotch tape and spite. Could collapse into a pile of slugs at any moment.”
Anyway, I don’t need to tell you that jousting with little kids over the causes of the Civil War can be tiring work, but suffice to say, this Dotard is alllll tuckered out. He’s cancelling interviews left and right during these, the closing days of the campaign, lacking the stamina to even swat at softballs lobbed by the likes of Dan Bongino.
In contrast, Vice President Harris spent the week barnstorming swing states, with a brief interlude to fact-check Bret Baier’s bullshit, right on his own home turf. Got better ratings than Donnie One-Term did, too.
According to Bob Woodward, former Defense Secretary James “Mad Dog” Mattis seconded everything General Mark Milley said about their former boss, you remember, “fascist to the core,” danger to the nation, yadda yadda yadda. Unconfirmed at press time are allegations that H.R. McMaster told Woodward Trump’s “noxious, unendurable flatulance” frequently undermined, and even endangered the national interest, on one occasion sending an unnamed foreign leader’s spouse to the hospital during a state dinner.
Shouldn’t need saying, but Donald Trump is not “the father of IVF,” despite what you may’ve heard to the contrary.
He did, however, yet again offer hush money to Stormy Daniels, so I think we can safely say the ship has sailed on the whole “ever learning anything” thing. Which might explain his unshakable faith in the punitive tariffs every economist alive insist would kidney-punch our economy.
Must be the tariff policy that’s getting all the dudes with swastika flags to turn out for the boat parades. Yup, when I see a bunch of dudes on a boat flying a swastika flag, I think, “wow, those guys sure are passionate about protectionism!”
Former Trump attorney Christina Bobb, who currently works for the RNC, called for a national “cleansing” to “clean out the filth,” in a bizarre rant about Diddy and pedophilia, further demonstrating the American Right’s deep, abiding belief in Donald Trump’s trade policy. Mike Flynn is positively horny to unleash “the gates of hell” upon returning to the White House…on insufficiently taxed imports, surely.
Turns out JD Vance’s financial policy advisor, Aaron Kofsky, leads a secret double life as internet coke fiend “PsychoticMammal,” whose boundless love of substance abuse has led him to fill Reddit with tips n’ tricks for smuggling drugs onto domestic flights. And just like that, Don Jr.’s advocacy for JD’s addition to the ticket makes a little more sense, doesn’t it?
I see Elon Musk is out to pad his Guinness World Record for largest loss of personal fortune in human history, regurgitating the same lies about Dominion Voting Systems that cost his pal Rupert a cool $787 million. All I’m saying is, y’know…get that $100 bribe up front, Pennsylvanians.
Heavily armed Real Americans liberated communities in Tennessee and North Carolina from the tyranny of hurricane relief, in case anybody’s looking for fresh material for our nation’s tourist brochures.
It takes a generational fop to get emasculated by a fella who once made his living putting on itty-bitty leather underpants, dousing himself in baby oil, and pretending to fight, but Donald J. Trump is no ordinary fop.
Following a rally in Coachella, the Trump campaign abandoned hundreds of their most devoted supporters in the middle of a literal fucking desert, offering the latest in a series of clear-as-the-nose-on-your-fucking-face lessons to the least teachable creatures to ever walk on two legs. I assume more than a little cannibalism went down.
Ted Cruz was publicly humiliated this week, though not, for a change, by a presidential candidate he endorsed.
Having apparently run out of convicts, Vladimir Putin turned to his sister shithole, North Korea, for cannon fodder. That’s right there in Chapter 39 of the Superpower Handbook: When Your Three-Day War is Going Really, Really Well.
So yeah. Lil’ wacky out there. Anyhoo, I know you’re getting hit up for donations ninety-six times an hour right now, but know that when I rattle my tip jar, (now accepting Venmo, Cash App and PayPal!) every nickel goes towards not the betterment of the United States, but beer that I won’t even share.
Or, you can post this rant on social media, sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com, and follow @john_luzar for nuthin’! And I’ll just…I dunno, lick a toad or something. We’ll figure it out. Home stretch, folks! Stay safe out there!
The Further Adventures of the Flatulent Rapist and His Loser Death Cult
So I see the Dunning-Krugerest fellow to e’er walk the Earth has decided to refer to his opponent, who dog-walked him so brutally in their one face-to-face encounter that he now curls up in the fetal position, sucking that runty little thumb of his, at the mere mention of the word debate…as a “dummy.”
(As ever, get this post with nifty nooz links here: https://showercapblog.com/the-further-adventures-of-the-flatulent-rapist-and-his-loser-death-cult/)
In a just world, when a blithering doofus who comprehends how neither tariffs nor umbrellas work, who spent years (YEARS) bragging about passing a cognitive test, impugns anyone else’s intelligence, the ghost of Alex Trebeck would appear, to, at the very least, fart directly into his mouth.
Speaking of imbecility and passing gas, the Dotard used a speech in Detroit as an opportunity to shit on Detroit, and possibly in his pants as well. Pretty consistent with the trajectory he’s been on since that trial he sleep-farted through; you remember the one, where he got convicted on all 34 felony charges?
Shucks, he’s deteriorated to the point where even the New York Times has taken notice. Better late than never, since the all but visibly decomposing old fop can no longer navigate a podcast interview without the hosts laughing directly in his face at his decline. Since his Art of the Deal ghost writer says, “It’s long been deeply unsettling to me how many behaviors associated with psychopathy Mr. Trump exemplifies.” Since former Joint Chiefs Chairman Mark Milley calls him “the most dangerous person to this country,” and “a fascist to the core.”
Since he’s apparently remained in regular phone contact with freakin’ Putin. “Hey, Vlad, I was just dropping a line to see how your genocidal war of conquest was going. Still bogged down, huh? Well, if you can hack up some new emails for me, maybe I can do something about that! I, um, guess your get well soon card from the last assassination attempt got lost in the mail like the first one, huh?”
Anyhoo, maybe we can reassign some of the reporters from the summer’s 24/7 Joe Biden Stammer Police beat to figure out precisely what the fuck “Biden circles” are? To ask him, once and for all, just who he imagines “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” is or was?
Though his handlers have prudently kept him away from military cemeteries of late, Off-Brand Orbán still manages to squeeze an impressive amount of desecration into his schedule, defiling a Purple Heart here, a Jewish prayer book there, grinning like a brain-damaged hyena while holding a photograph of a hostage kidnapped by Hamas…projectile indecency is simply second nature to him.
Now, personally, I wouldn’t go around ranting about “bad genes” were the fruit of my loins as staggeringly subpar as Junior n’ Eric, but of course there’s a reason 21st century America’s white supremacists spend their lives snugly cocooned within a disinformation-saturated alternate reality.
…which, and I’m addressing this to the alien anthropologists excavating the blasted remains of our dumbfuck civilization in the surely-not-too-distant future, is how we wound up with a culture that responds to natural disasters by threatening scientists’ lives.
Yeah, meteorologists are receiving death threats now, that’s normal and healthy, right? Might wanna ask the doc about that at our next checkup. Oh, the doctor fled the country after her office was deluged with bomb threats, you say? Reasonable.
The real shame of this, the what-the-fuckest hurricane season since the Dark Ages at least, is so much of the carnage could’ve been avoided. Kamala was totally prepared to turn the weather machine down, if not all the way off, but Ron DeSantis refused to take her call, because he was too busy threatening criminal charges against television stations that air abortion rights ads.
So now the FEMA battalions march through Real America, confiscating Trumpy Trouts from those sheeple too timid to heed Laura Loomer’s call for noncompliance. And we never would’ve learned any of this if Elon Musk hadn’t overpaid for one of the world’s largest social media platforms.
I see Elon’s decided to put in a bid for the most bribable man alive, suppressing stories on Xwitter at the campaign’s request, offering exorbitant, probably illegal wages to swing state canvassers, perhaps even going a-door-knockin’ himself. Of course, should the nation actually fall to this grotesque supervillain team-up, of the guy who bankrupted casinos and the guy who lost more money than anyone in human history, by summer 2025, you’ll find America up on cinder blocks outside a meth lab.
While Musk no doubt amasses a bonesaw dismemberment list in anticipation of having his very own pet president to puppet, he’s gonna have to get in line, and the queue for state-sponsored vengeance gets longer every day: Milley, Romney, Deloitte, (the whole company is to be punished because one employee leaked those messages where JD Vance accidentally told the truth about his future running mate) CBS, (for that 60 Minutes interview Littlefinger was too chickenshit to do) plus whoever blew up Mr. McMahon on Monday Night Raw all those years ago.
Turns out Trump Bibles are produced in China, presumably in a sweatshop down the street from the one that manufactures those bright red baseball caps we use to identify our idiots. I’m assuming “made in America” didn’t make it onto that carefully crafted, grifter-friendly checklist Oklahoma Superintendent of Public Instruction Ryan Walters concocted for his little unconstitutional shopping spree.
So, on the Sunday shoz and elsewhere, a number of prominent Republicans, including Senator Tom Cotton, and the Speaker of the Whole Dang House of Representatives, were unable to answer a question any third grader could: who won the 2020 election?
So I’m thinking it’s time to lower the bar. Forget about policy, we need to know which of our elected representatives believe the Earth is flat. Is the moon made of green cheese? In the case of a “legitimate” rape, does the female body indeed possess ways of shutting “that whole thing” down? (Boy, Akin wouldn’t even merit an above-the-fold headline in 2024, would he?) Do you believe the government controls the weather via space lasers, be they Jewish-owned or communal?
Apparently we need to ask these questions of the GOP’s nominee for Vice President of the United States. C’mon JD, what other objective truths do you deny? You probably think Shane lives at the end, don’t you? DON’T YOU?
Viewers who normally tune in to Jesse Watters’ show for the sneering misogyny and wingnut propaganda got a special treat this week, in the form of dating advice, from the least impressive white supremacist this side of Nick Fuentes.
I guess my worry is that when I’m in the gulag, getting waterboarded, with my testicles hooked up to a car battery, I still won’t be able to force myself to refer to Stephen Miller as a “sexual matador,” no matter how much I may want the pain to stop. Anyway, once you appear on national television with spray-on hair, you forever lose all rights to refer to anyone else as “beta,” that’s on the tablets Moses hauled down from the mountaintop.
Okay, that’s more than enough of that. I do believe I shall now drink until the neural pathway within my poor, beleaguered brain, between “Stephen Miller” and “sexual matador” is bludgeoned to atoms. I shall no doubt require fiscal assistance in this noble quest for sweet obliteration, so feel free to drop a few bucks in the ol’ tip jar, (now accepting, you guessed it, PayPal, Cash App, AND Venmo) because I actually think about matadors quite a bit, thanks to that one Bugs Bunny short.
Or you can share this post on social media, sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com, and follow @john_luzar over at the Bad Place, for free! Stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Say, Why Not Have One Really FRIENDLY Day Instead? (Ferret/Shower Cap)
At the rate we’re normalizing this shit, within five years we’ll be lamenting the commercialization of the official Day of Violence. Your kids’ll come home from school hopped up on sugar from the candy in the lynched Pence piñata, and the whole family’ll gather in the living room, to sip mulled horse dewormer while rewatching all those corny Lifetime specials, where the disillusioned big city girl returns to her hometown and reunites with the (Proud) boy next door to burn down all the ethnic restaurants on Main Street.
(I bet you know this by now, but if you click this link, you’ll be whisked away to a magical land of links n’ shininess; https://showercapblog.com/say-why-not-have-one-really-friendly-day-instead/)
Aw, who’re we to begrudge our proto-fascist brothers and sisters their “one really violent day,” anyhow? One day of dictatorship, one Kristallnacht, bomb threats and half price appetizers during happy hour every other Tuesday, surely that’s fair.
Yeah, shit’s getting downright freaky, here in the closing weeks of the 2024 campaign. In Off-Brand Orbán’s defense, his assessment, that driving millions of brainwashed voters insane with fear and hate represents his best chance of avoiding prison time, is probably accurate.
Faraway caravans are so 2018, now migrants are about to “walk into your kitchen and cut your throat." Memories of playground nicknames like Crooked Hillary and Sleepy Joe seem almost whimsical as he snarls that his opponent is “mentally impaired,” in between rants about waterless restrooms and former hetero life mate Kim Jong-un’s plot to assassinate him.
In such context, Jack Smith’s new filing probably hit the Children of the Candy Corn as welcome confirmation of their Turd Emperor’s willingness to actually commit the crimes most wannabe autocrats only fantasize about.
I suppose the biggest takeaway from the filing was that one insurrectionist shitbag’s “make them riot” line, shocking evidence that the massive conspiracy that lost more than 50 court cases actually accomplished one of its goals.
Anyway, I understand why the Dotard’s wranglers pulled him out of that 60 Minutes interview; aside from their entirely reasonable fear of granting the electorate a second side-by-side comparison with Vice President Harris, he’s certainly colicky enough these days to issue orders more specific than “stand back and stand by.”
Not that his stochastic murder mob really needs concrete direction. Let’s round up a few headlines from our exceptionally healthy democracy, shall we? I don’t really know how to make jokes about this shit, so maybe just imagine Stephen Miller taking a pie to the face after each one:
An Ohio Businessman Faces Death Threats for Praising His Haitian Workers
As election threats rise, Justice Dept. says its options are limited
Philly-Area Republican Couple Threatened After Filming Kamala Harris Ad
…yeah, I dunno, I think they’re gonna have trouble squeezing everything into just one day. (Did the pie thing help? No? Well, I tried.)
Oh, I almost forgot to mention it, but in a second Trump term, in addition to the menstrual surveillance and legal retaliation targeting political opponents, there will be no overtime. Populism sure is wacky.
Well, JD Vance poured himself into his very best skin suit, lewdly cooed “I’d fuck me” to his reflection, and ventured out to play Normal Human Boy for the duration of the vice presidential debate. And y’know what? Since the moderators never asked him to order donuts, he almost pulled it off, but for the stuck hog squeal he emitted upon having one of his racist lies fact-checked.
JD needs his lies like he needs Peter Thiel’s money. Ol’ Timmy Walz really flummoxed him with that exchange on the 2020 election, too. “C’mon, you gotta let me have the BIG lie, that’s Unca Donnie’s favorite!”
In the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Helene, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris rowed from house to house, looting Real Americans’ homes of belovéd family heirlooms to ship to Ukraine and/or undocumented immigrants. FEMA spokesman Notseth Rich proclaimed the disaster “the most successful test to date” of the Deep State’s weather modification technology, though they’re optimistic that as soon as 2035, they’ll be able to target Republican voters in their beds, while leaving neighboring drag queen story hours unscathed.
…that’s what I read online, anyway. One wonders, with our misinformation-mangled media ecosystem, which will have further reach: Trump’s malicious lies about the current administration’s response, or the firsthand witness accounts of his own politicization of disaster relief? Guess we’ll find out November 5th.
Either way, somebody should ask Marjorie Taylor Greene if there’s anything those Jewish space lasers can’t do? Wildfires, hurricanes, no doubt they make julienne fries.
Apparently Melania tried to charge CNN a quarter of a million dollars for an interview, no doubt buoyed by her recent success in extorting similar sums from the Log Cabin Republicans, and while I admire the confidence, you’re probably only gonna see numbers like that from groups fearing imprisonment in camps in the Reich to come.
Amazingly, that merits mere runner-up status to this week’s champion grifter: Oklahoma Schools Superintendent Ryan Walters, who hatched a dorky little plot to steer his nowhere-near-constitutional order for 55,000 Bibles for use in public schools to his favorite celebrity rapist. He’s not gonna fuck you, Ryan.
I see Tom Cotton hasn’t allowed the calamitous unpopularity of the idea to dampen his dream of gutting Obamacare. I’m guessing injuries sustained at the hands of law enforcement while exercising what you quaintly believe to be your “free speech rights” will not be covered under whatever Tom and his fashy friends deign to leave us with, so this feels like a good spot to link to the Tester, Allred, and Mucarsel-Powell fundraising sites.
God will have his vengeance for separating Tina Peters from her precious “magnetic mattress” for the next nine years…according to Tina Peters. Not sure if the abovementioned deity was consulted in Peters’ plot to hack state election systems on behalf of a treasonously deranged bedding merchant, but best brace for a plague of unusually unintelligent locusts, just in case.
Impending Klobuchar belt notch Royce White apparently believes “the bad guys won in WWII,” so I guess Black Nazis are a bonafide thing, who knew?
Tennessee Congresscreep Tim Burchett called George Soros “a money changer of the worst kind,” which I think means he’s extra Jewish.
Somehow, despite the normally foolproof strategy of betting everything on white supremacists and the inherent coolness of the letter “x,” Elon Musk has managed to piss, fritter, and donkey punch away nearly 80% of Twitter’s value. That said, industry insiders expect the “free blue checkmark with every cross burning” promotion slated for Black Friday weekend to turn the beleaguered social media platform’s fortunes around.
In contrast, the Biden/Harris Administration remains the same job-creatin’, strike-avertin’, disaster-relievin’ machine it’s always been, but polls say Americans narrowly prefer the rapist who told us to drink bleach to steward the economy. You see why I drink.
Longtime readers no doubt recognize the transition to the traditional Rattling of the Tip Jar, styled as a “beer fund” as part of my adorable Drunken Scamp in a Bathrobe and Luchador Mask persona, “Shower Cap.” Now accepting Cash App, Venmo, and even PayPal.
Or, for the low, low cost of absolutely nothing, you can share this post on social media, join the email list at showercapblog.com, or follow @john_luzar on what’s left of Twitter. Whatever you do, or don’t do, stay safe out there, my friend…
Beware Adjudicated Rapists Offering Protection, and Other Unnecessary Proverbs (Ferret/ShowerCap)
Don’t let the lamestream liberal media fool you, ladies, Donald Trump will be your protector. (“Protector” is a synonym for “rapist,” right? I missed a few English classes, back in the day.)
(Hey look, it’s the obligatory link to my blog site, and all the helpful news links found there: https://showercapblog.com/beware-adjudicated-rapists-offering-protection-and-other-unnecessary-proverbs/)
Now, don’t worry your pretty little heads over the fine print, but some exclusions do apply. No protection will be offered to “dumb as a rock bimbos” like MSNBC’s Stephanie Ruhle, obviously. Should, at any point, any blood come out of your wherever, protection will be rescinded.
Women who recount their sexual assault at Trump’s hands in election season ads probably shouldn’t get their hopes up, though there’s certainly strength in numbers.
Otherwise, you’re in for so dang much protection, “you will no longer be thinking about abortion,” mostly because you’ll be jailed for criticizing the illegitimate SCOTUS majority that stole your bodily autonomy rights in the first place.
Protection of Ukrainian women is to be outsourced to Vladimir Putin. Haitian women are to be preserved as scapegoats, and fodder for the Two Minutes Hate, have fun with that.
Incidentally, it’s no longer just Springfield, OH basking in the warmth of Off-Brand Orbán’s magnanimous protection, (and maybe bomb threats aren’t considered symbols of security in whatever shithole you’re from, but when you’re here in ‘Murica, you’ll do things our way, by gum) now Aurora, CO and Charleroi, PA’re getting a taste of the immigrant-demonizing fun, too.
“Gosh, Mom, d’ya think maybe someday, Donald Trump might terrorize the migrants in our town with a reckless campaign of racist lies?”
“Well, Timmy, if you eat your peas, and he gets tired of watching people leave his boring-ass rallies early because even a cultist can endure just so much ranting about Kamala Harris inventing a fake McDonald’s career for whatever reason, and if you boo Zelensky really hard, anything’s possible in America!”
Truly anything. Why, for the first time since Steve King, a Republican Congressman was officially deemed…too racist! Poor, dumb Clay Higgins must’ve fallen asleep at the back of the ghost bus during the meeting, he figured anything shy of the N word was fair game.
Clay tweeted out a little locker room talk, assuming the locker in question stores Klan robes. To hear Moses Johnson tell it, the backlash drove Higgins deep into prayer, where I guess God told him to delete the post, while offering a defiant non-apology, which was good enough for the Speaker, who believes in redemption…for unrepentant bigots.
Speaking of, Mike Lindell offered his Hitlerest discount code to date, pitching shoddy pillows to savvy white supremacists at the low, low, (and subtle, subtle) price of $14.88. Lindell claims this embrace of widely known neo-Nazi symbolism is mere coincidence, and golly, as the only lackluster bedding merchant to participate in the attempted overthrow of the federal government, I figure he’s earned the benefit of the doubt.
Free speech absolutist Elon Musk has taken to banning Xwitter accounts that share the leaked opposition dossier the Dotard campaign ignored in lashing themselves to the electoral anchor some call JD Vance. Solid plan, bro. Now if you can just figure out some way to purge the information superhighway of every single trace of every single moment of Vance’s time as a public figure, he can begin the long, arduous climb out of the Lollapalooza outhouse where his approval numbers currently reside.
You’ll probably want to start with all the things he used to say about “America’s Hitler,” before he came to see greater profit potential in obsequious hate-mongering. Don’t miss these new revelations, when JD groused his future running mate “thoroughly failed to deliver on his economic populism” amidst the multitudinous other debacles of his disastrous term.
Then you’d best scrub all evidence of the company Vance keeps, lest the public discover his pal Tucker Carlson’s conversations with Roseanne Barr, about how us libs eat not just cats and dogs, but human babies. (Please. As if I could afford baby in this economy.) Probably wise to preemptively sweep his upcoming appearance on Christofascist Lance Wallnau’s traveling blasphemy tour under the rug, too.
Oh, and make sure to wipe out the egg thing! JD had the grocery store set up just how he likes it, full of normal, human shoppers primed for the normal, human interactions that are his forte, plus plenty of egg cartons, astronomically marked up, in Kamala’s own handwriting, but alas, tricksy Haitian migrants switched the price tags a split second before the cameras started rolling.
Those bastards at Newsmax settled their defamation suit with Smartmatic, cheating us out of what would’ve been an absolutely hilarious trial. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see these voting machine companies get the justice they’re owed, but just once, we deserve to watch some scumbag lawyer squirm their way through “well, Your Honor, uncritically platforming the nonsensical ravings of a self-proclaimed ‘cactus artist’ seemed like solid journalistic practice at the time, because, um…wow, we really didn’t settle, huh?”
RFK Jr. has managed to keep busy since dropping out of the Presidential race, fighting to get added to some state’s ballots, but removed from others, depending on his rapey new boss’ needs, while using his platform as a campaign surrogate to raise awareness for a cause near and dear to every right-thinking patriot’s heart: American teens’ decreased sperm count. Big congrats to any and all journalists who may’ve blown up their careers sexting this whale-decapitating, teen-sperm-count-obsessed nepo baby.
The dastardly Deep State treacherously targeted Democratic New York City Mayor Eric Adams, in retribution for kinda sorta staking out ground in the general vicinity of Trump’s position on immigration, surely. Particularly wily of them to entrap Adams into leaving a genuinely buffoonish trail of evidence of his crimes, but that’s how they getcha.
I see Rudy Giuliani collided with yet another branch on his long, slow, slapstick plummet from the Tree of Consequences, getting officially disbarred in Washington, D.C. And while I certainly enjoyed that, he’s been disbarred before, y’know? I need new, boundary-pushing Rudy comeuppance content, ideally some sort of pratfall into livestock excrement. Fresher the better, if I’m allowed requests.
In the unlikely event that there’s a spare hundred grand in your bank account after the Trump Bucks and Bibles and NFTs, (to say nothing of the tithe for your portion of the Turd Emperor’s massive legal debts) well, why not piss it away on a shitty Trump watch? Take a number and form a reasonably orderly throng at the trough, ya fuckin’ rubes.
Mass resignations rocked Mark Robinson’s “gubernatorial campaign,” likely owing to the staff’s fear of getting pissed on, cuz the Nazi stuff didn’t seem to bother anybody when the candidate was enthusiastically bellowing “some folks need killing.” Reports that Robinson vindictively peed at/upon departing staffers as they fled are unconfirmed at press time, though rumors abound over at Nude Africa.
In a probable violation of House ethics rules, freshman Republican Congresscreep Anthony D’Esposito hired both his lover and his fiancée’s daughter, a scandal so quaint and old-fashioned as to merit bullying within the feral MAGA caucus. “Whatsamatter, Anthony? Scared to take a high school girl to a drug-fueled sex party? Oh, you’ve got a mistress? That’s adorable, have you paid for her abortion yet? Call me when you get caught trying to bribe staffers into carrying your child, dork.”
Like, look at Marjorie Taylor Greene’s boyfriend, urging people to ethnically profile voters at their local precinct, and still has time to Karen the fuck out over being denied bottomless salad bar privileges at Jason’s Deli. You’re a fucking amateur, D’Esposito.
Lindsey Graham took a little weekend getaway to Nebraska, hoping to convince the state’s Republicans to change the rules at the last possible moment, to award the Dotard the 2nd district’s electoral vote without all that pesky democracy. Lindsey being Lindsey, he failed completely, the latest setback in his quest to reclaim that spot at the foot of the bed down in Marm-a-Lago from Jason Miller.
Tommy Tuberville referred to Vice President Harris as “the first-ever AI presidential candidate,” further evidence that there are no more than nine words in the entire English language he understands. In a different time and place, be would’ve called her the “Y2K candidate,” or the “Syringe in a Pepsi Can candidate.”
A Harris campaign office in Tempe, Arizona was damaged by gunfire, prompting soul-searching, apologies, and a movement-wide pledge throughout MAGA culture to tone down the anti-Democratic rhetoric. Or at least that’s what the flying pig told me.
Apparently, Mitt Romney is preparing for life as an enemy of the state under a restored Turd Reich, bullet-proofing the car elevator, bodyguards for the dressage horses, that sort of thing. Shame he won’t enjoy the same protection as all those lucky ladies, don’tcha think?
Alex Jones’ ill-gotten assets are, at long last, to be auctioned off to pay the $1.4 billion he owes the Sandy Hook families he terrorized for years. I’m thinking about making an offer, so forgive me for rattling the ol’ tip jar a little more vigorously this week.
Normally, I ask for a few bucks for beer money, (now accepting Venmo, Cash App and PayPal, by the way) but in my quest to lead Jones’ misguided flock back to the light, I may have to match InfoWars’ full street value, currently estimated as high as $42.58 plus those expired soup cans at the back of the pantry you’ve been meaning to throw out.
Or, as always, support these blatherings for free, by sharing ‘em on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, or following @john_luzar over at the House Elon Wrecked. And for the love of Pete, stay safe out there, my friends…
Pet Eating, Black Nazis...Are We Absolutely Certain This is Real Life? (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Well, this time, the Secret Service caught the little dipshit before he could get any rounds off, but honestly, if you don’t get to wear a ceremonial ear diaper, does it even count as an assassination attempt?
(You know the drill. Links n’ bright shiny colors await ye here: https://showercapblog.com/pet-eating-black-nazisare-we-absolutely-certain-this-is-real-life/)
Anyway, we’re supposed to cut it out with the “rhetoric” now, about the military cemetery-defiling adjudicated rapist who tear-gassed peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square, because pointing out that he’s a threat to democracy JUST BECAUSE he tried everything he could think of to overturn the election he lost, up to and including inciting a lynch mob, might endanger him further, which is no laugher matter, unlike that time Paul Pelosi got attacked by a hammer-wielding psychopath, that was hilarious.
Look, political violence is always, always wrong, most especially when it would cheat the world of the party we’ll get to throw when that soft, sloppy sack of shit dies in prison. That’s when JFK Jr.’s coming back, y’all, flying a plane carrying Prince, Tom Petty, and a couple dozen enchanted, bottomless kegs. Do not fuck that up for the rest of us, we fucking well deserve it.
All Elon Musk wants to know is when’s somebody gonna get around to shooting at some Democrats for a change? To his credit, he did stop shy of offering his legion of incel fanboys a bounty (or fifty percent off a blue checkmark for six months, anyhow) to do the deed, which I suppose might score him a point or two during his forthcoming interrogation by the Secret Service.
(Of course, the Dotard will never serve a day behind bars, not with his own personal, pet Chief Justice working pro bono, but we may as well enjoy the fantasy. Oooo, I just decided the guards found him in the fetal position, orange jumpsuit bunched up around his ankles, one tiny hand clutching his withered, dusty member; the other, Ivanka’s senior yearbook portrait.)
The Lügenpresse would have you believe JD Vance has been spewing racist lies, for they fail to appreciate the brilliance of his strategy of “creating stories,” about a horde of tabby-devouring Haitians, in order to draw attention to real issues, such as the increased murder rate in Springfield, Ohio, caused by the surge in admittedly-not-pet-eating migrants.
“But that’s not true either!” you protest. Ha ha ha! Poor fools! Do you not see, Vance has cleverly concocted a story-within-a-story! The pet-eating lies were the shiny bauble to capture your attention, the murder rate lies drew you into the labyrinth, where you, you sad, deceivéd libtard, would have no choice but to face the inconvenient truth, that while these migrants may be neither noshing upon Rover nor murdering anybody at all, they’re certainly spreading diseases like HIV at a rate unseen in poor, besieged Springfield!
…which is, of course, also entirely untrue.
Ah, but only now do you begin to appreciate the intricately structured fiction JD has woven, lie collapsing into lie, like a doughy, subpar, white boy fractal, leading to the ultimate truth, not about Springfield, or its essentially upstanding migrant community, but about the Republican Party’s nominee for Vice President of the United States: that he is racist trash, who would happily see residents of the state he represents terrorized by a hate mob before abandoning his vicious little fabrication.
He knew it was bullshit from the very start, by the way. Seems the hogwash that launched a thousand bomb threats originated with a single police report, from a single citizen sleuth, who found some meat in her yard, and, with Holmesian precision, deduced, “why, this meat belongs to my very own kitty-cat, butchered by the Haitian neighbors!” from the available clues, which included, “I have temporarily lost track of my cat’s whereabouts,” and “I am an incurable bigot.”
Pretty airtight, you’ll agree. That the cat was later discovered, uneaten, might give one pause, sure, but don’t let me interrupt you if you were menacing a grade school or anything.
What’s tragic is, Vance wasn’t always such an unrepentant hatemonger, though he’s actually attempted to delete any evidence of that. Anyway, when he’s not siccing white nationalist harassment mobs on his own constituents, JD likes to unwind by plotting the reversal of Obamacare’s protections for Americans with preexisting conditions, and, you know, the sofa thing.
The moment we’ve all been waiting for finally arrived, when Donald Trump unveiled the vulnerable minority group he plans to blame for his imminent electoral defeat. Can I get a drum roll please? Oh wow, this envelope sure is sealed tight, gimmie a sec…okay, got it. And the scapegoat issssssss…JEWS! Obviously, they were heavy favorites. This is Jews’ 2,539th consecutive win in this category.
Golly, there’s so much hate in the news these days, it’s kinda depressing. We could use a lil’ palate cleanser, don’tcha think? Some kitten videos, or OOO WAIT I KNOW! Wanna hear something adorable? Mike Johnson tried to pass a funding bill this week! He held a widdle pwess confwence an’ everything! I’m sure he’ll navigate the Dotard’s shutdown threat with grace and aplomb, like the big, tuff House Speaker he is!
Somehow, in between all the trials and golfing, Off-Brand Orbán found time to launch his very own cryptocurrency, (RapeCoin) which has to be the grifter singularity. Money invested in Trump crypto isn’t merely lost, it disappears entirely from this plane of reality, as though it never existed at all. For pity’s sake, at least get an NFT out of it, ya rubes.
Should he prevail in November, Mark Robinson would become America’s first Black, Nazi Governor, though I personally wouldn’t commission artwork for the commemorative stamp just yet. Maybe something nice and Rockwell-y, of his sister-in-law pissing on him during anal intercourse.
Mark apparently mused that slavery should be brought back, so he could “buy a few,” which gives him something in common with Minnesota state Representative Jeff Dotseth. Now, nobody likes the rule of three more than me, but there’s no way we’d get three pro-slavery statements from Republicans in just one short wee-hang on, I’m being handed an update…
Anyway, seems “Pastor” Robinson enjoys Mein Kampf almost as much as getting peed on by his sister-in-law, which is to say…a lot. Yes, we’ve learned a great deal about Mark this week, for example: he’s learning German, he has an Ashley Madison account, and he will not be the next Governor of North Carolina.
In contrast, all Matt Gaetz did was take a 17-year-old high school junior to a “drug-fueled sex party.” Super gross for sure, but no pee, no Hitler. I mean, obviously, throw both of ‘em into a deep, dark hole in the ground. I assume there’re differences between the Nazi hole and the pedophile hole, but I’ll leave that to Dante.
Former Turd Reich Spokesfascist Sarah Huckleberry Slanders attempted to shame Vice President Harris for her (biological) childlessness, claiming her own children “keep (her) humble,” which, um, no. No they do not. Demonstrably. You could occasionally detect the faintest hint of embarrassment in Sean Spicer’s demeanor, but Sarah’s sneering disdain for the truth is about as close to humility as the White Sox are to playoff contention.
Trump Administration EPA officials illegally retaliated against whistleblower scientists, who obstructed the return to American Greatness™️ with killjoy reports finding new chemicals “caused miscarriages and birth defects in rats,” along with similar petty complaints. I mean, how’re we supposed to develop mutant powers without chemically induced birth defects, ever think of that?
When the texts chronicling this misbegotten stretch of American history are written, the phrase “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed” will appear more than once. Hell, historians will link those four words to a hotkey, saving hours of labor. “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to book the Four Seasons.” “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to realize he was in a Borat movie.” “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to walk ten steps during the RNC.”
Anyhoo, his latest utter failure was to “establish personal jurisdiction” in the nuisance defamation lawsuit he filed against President Biden, but next week could be literally anything. Maybe he gets his dick stuck in something, perhaps a toaster, perhaps an owl, who can say? It’s the magic of Rudy Giuliani!
Look, we’ve all been misconstrued from time to time, and Rich Lowry stands before you today asking to be judged not by the slur which may or may not’ve been peeking coquettishly out the door of his subconscious, but by the years of ignorant garbage he has written and published, much of which has been every bit as racist, but, y’know, way politer. Six of one, half dozen of the other, says I.
Melania Trump asks, “Why do I stand proudly behind my nude modeling work?” I really don’t care. Do U? “Why has the media chosen to scrutinize my celebration of the human form in a fashion photo shoot?” she continues, citing scrutiny which is occurring nowhere on Earth. Given her ol’ ball n’ chain’s insistence that there was an audience at the debate he just lost, I’m starting to think maybe narcissistic hallucinations are sexually transmitted.
Speaking of the debate, I guess some folks need conspiracy theories to explain the Manchurian Manchild’s self-immolation, which I suppose makes sense, because “the game show host I worship proved incapable of resisting the bait he knew in advance his opponent would dangle” must be a difficult thing to say to the mirror.
Near as I can figure, an ABC whistleblower alleged collusion between the network and the Harris campaign, died in a mysterious car accident, and had their face eaten by Hillary Clinton and Huma Abedin in a satanic ritual, all without ever existing in the first place. Neat trick. Good enough for Ted Cruz, apparently.
In a party where your presidential nominee uncritically platforms the fabrications of literal, actual neo-Nazis, it can be difficult to stand out as unusually hateful, but I guess Louisiana Senator John Kennedy likes a challenge.
Like the abandoned-in-a-dumpster love child of Joe McCarthy and Foghorn Leghorn, John managed to squeeze a genuinely impressive number of Islamophobic stereotypes into a brief, TV-friendly window during a Judiciary Committee hearing, culminating in telling the Arab American witness he was berating, “You should hide your head in a bag.” The hearing was on hate crimes, incidentally, which, it appears, the Senator is for.
On his Senate campaign website, Eric Hovde describes himself as a “classic entrepreneur,” who “made a career out of rolling up his sleeves, getting businesses back on the right track, and building for the future,” oddly omitting the “smuggling $26 million worth Mexican drug cartel money over the border by airplane” part, most likely because his sleeves were buttoned at the time, surely.
Neuticles, the company that manufactures cosmetic testicle prosthetics for neutered dogs, announced a massive expansion into southern Lebanon, wonder what that’s about?
Ok, I definitely nailed the whole toned-down rhetoric thing. I think we can all agree, the real threat to democracy is the emptiness of my beer fridge. If I’m forced to spend even a moment of this weekend sober, the terrorists win, so if you care at all about freedom, toss a buck or two into my tip jar, now accepting Cash App, PayPal AND Venmo!
Or, share this rant on social media, follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s fashy playpen, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for free! Until we meet again…stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Well, If I Absolutely Had to Pick a Favorite 2024 Presidential Debate... (Ferret/Shower Cap)
In lieu of a blog tonight, I have composed an open letter, to the American Broadcasting Company, which I hope you, dear reader, will consider signing:
(And, as ever, click here for nifty nooz links: https://showercapblog.com/well-if-i-absolutely-had-to-pick-a-favorite-2024-presidential-debate/)
Dear ABC and/or the Deep State,
As something of a political junkie, it was with great interest I noticed the two-hour block on your broadcast schedule for the evening of Tuesday, September 10th, 2024, labeled “U.S. Presidential Debate.”
Though I’ve become intensely emotionally invested in the syndicated reruns airing on a rival network, of a situation comedy program titled “Who’s the Boss?,” after carefully weighing my options, I decided to place my civic duty above my longstanding affection for will-they-or-won’t-they romantic tension, albeit temporarily.
Image my surprise when I tuned in to encounter not the expected thoughtful discourse on the day’s leading issues, between the best and brightest American politics has to offer, but the gruesome, real-time vivisection of some aging, sickly, intellectually debilitated primate-adjacent-at-best evolutionary dead end, more suited to an R-rated Discovery Channel After Dark streaming service than prime time television.
Plus, I bet Tony and Angela finally got together, and I missed it, goddamn you.
Sincerely,
Shower J. Cap, Esq.
Yeah, Kamala dog-walked him so effortlessly, Putin got jealous. I’ve never seen a whoopin’ that bad that wasn’t accompanied by Jim Ross commentary. I don’t think I’ve ever fully understood that old Aesop’s fable, the Prosecutor and the Rapist, until now.
You remember that one, where this Rapist and this Prosecutor are having a race, and the Prosecutor says, “My, my, what small, bored crowds you have,” which makes the Rapist shit himself, and start rubbing the shit all over his face, forgetting the race completely, while the entire community watches, live on television? Boy, that Aesop could be surprisingly scatological when the mood struck him.
The moral of that story, as Hillary Clinton put it, is, “A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons.” Kamala just applied the ol’ show-don’t-tell principle, is all.
The whole thing put me in mind of this really weird dream I had a couple months back, where the national news media insisted cognitive fitness was a major issue coming out of a presidential debate. Pretty wacky, right? My favorite dreams are the ones with wildly fantastical elements, like dragons that breathe pancake batter, or political pundits that hold Donald Trump to the same standards as Democrats.
The doddering old fop couldn’t pass a cognitive test with the assistance of two-way radio earrings. If you showed him a drawing of an animal, he’d probably just try to rape it.
He really imagines he’s pulling off the Jedi mind trick with that dopey abortion answer of his, doesn’t he? Waves his hand and goes, “you WANTED it to go back to the states,” somehow can’t figure out why it’s not working. I dunno, man. Could be the stunted, ineffectual fingers, or perhaps the stunted, ineffectual brain.
When the topic turned to health care, we learned nine years of monastic study had failed to yield a concrete plan, though he does have “concepts” of one. While this response was widely mocked, I personally found it to be the most comforting of the entire debate, because lest we forget, the last time he turned the full force of his very stable genius towards an issue of public health, what he ultimately came up with was Bleach: Good for Tighty-Whities AND Your Insidies!
But it was an exchange on immigration that, I think, most clearly illuminated the choice before the electorate this November.
If you’re looking for workable solutions to the real problems facing the American people, Vice President Harris is the obvious choice, sure, BUT if you’re motivated by more, shall we say, fictitious concerns, I think we have to be honest, and admit she doesn’t have as much to offer.
Seriously, what’s Kamala Harris’ plan to fight windmill cancer? What’s Kamala Harris’ plan to keep furry kids from shitting in litter boxes at school? What’s Kamala Harris’ plan to stop George Soros from sending busloads of Antifas to your town to distribute rainbow fentanyl to trick-or-treaters on Halloween?
She doesn’t have one. And you might say, “Geez, Cap, Presidents have a lot on their plate, it doesn’t make sense to devote resources to imaginary problems fabricated by actual neo-Nazis.” Yeah, well, tell that to all the poor, innocent household pets that aren’t getting eaten in Springfield, Ohio.
Must be awful fun being a neo-Nazi in America these days, where you might just hear the vilest shit you can concoct parroted uncritically by the most prominent and powerful Republicans in the country.
Anyway, Hitler-grade dehumanizing rhetoric aside, Kamala made him jump through a few more hoops, until he was all tuckered out, and the umps invoked the mercy rule. With the masochoist’s pathological hunger for one final serving (scoop?) of degradation, he actually lurched into the spin room, pathetically clutching a Newsmax poll like a security blanket, in search of someone to drive him home in time for Wapner.
Hard to believe things went so badly with his fashy new gal friday, Laura Loomer, heading up the debate prep team.
Laura. Loomer. Hoooooooboy.
I mean, we’ve seen Wee Donnie One-Term turn to some genuine freaks when his back’s up against the wall, but Laura Loomer is so racist, Marjorie Taylor Greene begged Jared Moskowitz to borrow the space lasers for just one quick zap.
Anyway, barely two weeks after desecrating Arlington National Cemetery, this 9/11 conspiracy-spewing psycho was his date…to the 9/11 memorial ceremony in New York City.
And I say “date” because yes, rumors’re flying, amidst footage of the two obscenely pawing at one another in public, though I believe these rumors are a plot to decrease turnout by causing mass suicides. Why, during the composition of this very paragraph, I ordered a railway spike off Amazon, and was only just able to stop myself from jamming it up my left nostril, by reminding myself of how beautiful and worthwhile life is in the immediate aftermath of a debate Donald Trump lost so decisively.
They don’t seem to share my exuberance over in the wingnut media bubble, though a few prominent MAGA shrieking heads managed to channel their impotent frustrations into fantasies of an authoritarian crackdown on ABC, especially those dastardly moderators, who dared to fact-check their Turd Emperor’s blood libel.
Yes, even for a loser of Donald Trump’s magnitude, so much concentrated failure has been rare. No wonder he's too terrified to debate her again. It must’ve been like watching Eric’s birth on the very same day you bankrupt a casino. And that was before Tay-Tay endorsed.
As in all healthy democracies, Swift’s endorsement was met with a wave of rape threats by leading supporters of the opposing candidate, and I’m sure historians will struggle to explain the gender gap in the 2024 election.
Yes, this metastasized MAGA hasn’t handled recent setbacks well, though they seem curiously unwilling to attempt any solutions beyond “let’s get even shittier,” with Off-Brand Orbán himself leading the charge, threatening to prosecute his political opponents, vowing to deliver “a bloody story” of mass deportation to the soft, sloppy horde of white mediocrity he leads.
And whether it’s Texas AG Ken Paxton suing for access to the records of women seeking out-of-state abortions, Missouri Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft attempting to decertify an abortion rights ballot measure, or Ron DeSantis dispatching his “election police” to harass petition signers at home, they’re anything but shy about abusing state power to suppress Americans’ fundamental rights.
Of course, the attack on Springfield, Ohio’s Haitian community is going exactly according to plan. Bomb threats emptying schools, immigrants fearing for their safety; why, JD Vance was so pleased with his role in the affair, he took a celebratory swim, with his shirt on, like the exceptionally non-weird fellow he is, ahead of his interview with Hitler apologist-platforming Tucker Carlson!
They’re running anti-Semitic ads in Michigan, highlighting Vice President Harris’ marriage to one of those you-know-whats, targeting any Muslim voters who somehow haven’t heard anything else Donald Trump has ever said.
Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin isn’t ready to commit to the peaceful transfer of power just yet. In his defense, Markwayne was only in the House during the last insurrection, and Josh Hawley has promised to share his scampering route to the best hidey-hole next time.
Tommy Tuberville resumed his one-doofus war on U.S. military readiness, unilaterally obstructing the promotion of a top aide to Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin, to raise awareness that Tommy Tuberville is So a Senator, With Power n’ Everything. Everyone is very impressed, I’m sure.
Speaking of playing the hits, Speaker Moses pulled a bill at the last minute, because he doesn’t have the votes, a CR to keep the government open this time. Golly, we’re one Lauren Boebert handjob away from a full-on 2023 revival.
Okay, the labradoodle I snatched from the downstairs neighbors ain’t gonna fricassee itself, I suppose, so I’ll sign off here. The plan is to drink until the part of my brain that houses memories of the Trump/Loomer story is good and dead.
That’s gonna take a fair amount of beer, so feel free to toss a buck or two into the ol’ tip jar (which now accepts Cash App, Venmo AND PayPal), or, support the blog for free by sharing this post on social media, following @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke, (he hasn’t threatened to rape me…yet) or signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com! I appreciate you folks! Until next time…stay safe out there!
Strange Bedfellows and Useful Idiots. And Some Third Thing, Probably (Ferret/Shower Cap)
So, this blog site went live exactly seven years ago today, aiming to chronicle the kookiness of the kakistocracy-curious creeps who’d infested my beloved country’s government. And after each and every post, my most fervent wish has been to run out of material, to turn y’all away with a mournful “Outside of a brief, largely courteous Wyden/Romney spat over public land use, nothing of note occurred this week, sorry.”
…well, maybe next time. (And as always, get links n’ such here: https://showercapblog.com/strange-bedfellows-and-useful-idiots-and-some-third-thing-probably/)
A lot has changed in those seven years. For instance, though it feels like ancient history nowadays, once upon a time, our political press believed an aging politician’s merest slip of the tongue merited days of breathless commentary; now, a visibly decomposing septuagenarian can yammer incoherently on the leading issues of the day, indeed, can belch up gibberish that’s barely discernible as English, with nary a mention in the morning paper.
Shoot, he can even forget who he’s running against, and not one single column demanding his immediate withdrawal from the race will appear! Silly rabbit, standards are for Democrats!
And sure, he took no questions at the latest “press conference” he duped the media into attending, opting instead to utilize their proffered platform to further defame and harass several of the women he’s sexually assaulted, but on the other hand, ethically and substantially equal in every way to the previously mentioned rapey hand, Kamala Harris appears to have flip-flopped on the issue of paper straws.
At said “press conference,” the preferred candidate of American evangelicals dismissed one of his many accusers, by saying, “She would not have been the chosen one.”
“The chosen one.”
(This space left blank to give the reader time to wipe the vomit off their keyboard/screen)
He won’t rape just anybody, y’know. You have to look more than a little like his daughter, (the hot one, not Tiffany) for a start. Then, you gotta pass a cognitive test. Yes, all of it, even the really tough bits, with the drawings of farm animals.
As this adjudicated rapist, this felon 34 times over, schleps and whines and sleep-farts his way from trial to trial, (congrats on the sentencing delay, by the way) it’s worth noting that one cop-killer whose sentence he commuted has already been convicted again, this time of assaulting his wife. Of course, you wouldn’t see shenanigans like that in a second Trump term, not under Attorney General Enrique Tarrio.
“Sometimes you need a strongman,” proclaimed the weakest man alive, retreating into his favorite fantasy, the one where Viktor Orbán swaddles him in a blanket, and whisks him away to his magical castle in Hungary, where dictators get the most ice cream scoops no matter what, and absolutely no prosecutors, special or otherwise, are allowed, enforced by a dragon.
Republican thoughts and prayers once again failed to prevent the latest school shooting, further evidence that they are idiots, despised by God.
It’s hard to blame Him. To JD Vance, all this eminently preventable carnage is merely a “fact of life,” so I guess the rest of the developed world is populated by some superior life form, one less willing to see its children butchered, if perhaps a trifle incapable of accurately evaluating the worth of Oasis tickets.
“Sure as the tide rolls in, kids who’ve already been investigated by the FBI for threatening a school shooting will receive semi-automatic rifles as Xmas gifts,” hectored JD, “Are we supposed to ban Santa Claus?”
Vance’s proposed solution? You guessed it, MORE GUNS in schools, only with ivermectin-laced bullets now, so the slaughtered children won’t have to worry about Covid, or worms. Because being death cult clergy means never having to say a single word that makes a lick of fucking sense.
The estate of Isaac Hayes joined the ever-lengthening list of entities to defeat the Dotard in court, though I suppose if you can’t even overturn one measly presidential election, what chance would you possibly have against Black Moses? And look, ABBA and Céline Dion wait in the wings, for their own turn with the paddle of copyright law.
Without the benefit of intellectual property protections, we may have to fall back upon constitutional provisions against cruel and unusual punishment to safeguard the public from Tom Petty-defiling RNC Chair Lara Trump’s latest single. On the other hand, maybe if we feed it into these newfangled AI thingamajigs, it’ll short ‘em out from within. On the other other hand, that might be precisely the sort of thing that would lead a machine intelligence to determine humanity is a menace in immediate need of total eradication.
Melania’s got a memoir coming out, too. I was able to obtain an advance copy, and I think it might surprise you. The chapter where she discusses her husband’s brush with Covid-19 was particularly moving. All those long, lonely nights, listlessly perusing the prenup…riveting stuff.
Nick Fuentes doesn’t understand where it all went so wrong. His Turd Emperor told him they stole the 2020 election from him, and would a rapist who stole from charity and cheated on multiple wives and stiffed contractors and defrauded banks and insurers lie? I mean sure, he lied about crowd size and colluding with Russia and September 11th and the path of a hurricane, but would he lie about the integrity of our federal elections?
One wonders if falling for such a blatant con might lead young Nickward to question his belief in his own racial supremacy. Barring that, one wonders how to get in touch with him regarding the opportunities for profit Amway offers.
Furious indignation reverberated throughout the right-wing disinformation ecosystem, in the wake of revelations that many of MAGA media’s leading dipshits have been “unwittingly” operating as useful idiots for Vlad Putin’s murderous regime.
“WHERE’S MY CUT?” demanded Tulsi Gabbard. “I spread way more Kremlin propaganda,” whinged Candace Owens, “Besides, Tim Pool’s just gonna spend those rubles on beanies and waifu pillows!”“Tell Mr. Putin it would probably be easiest if he wrote the check directly to the Sandy Hook families I terrorized,” bleated Alex Jones.
Of course, it’s Pool, and Benny Johnson, and their ilk, who’re the Real Victims Here™️, according to a bunch of Republicans who’re definitely not sweating over the idea of DoJ looking into their own revenue streams. Sorry, Senator Rubio, “preexisting political opinions” aren’t covered under the Foreign Agents Registration Act.
Golly, It’s getting so’s an enterprising young wingnut grifter can’t even engorge himself at the trough of a hostile foreign power. Why, mean ol’ Merrick even indicted Dimitri Simes, longtime advisor to Senator Rand Paul, and Individual One himself.
Tucker Carlson, having all but dissipated into irrelevancy, sat seething on the sofa, watching Jesse Watters diddle away his diligently indoctrinated prime time Fox audience on garden-variety MRA piffle about the inherent girlymanness of drinking a “vanilla ice cream shake” through a straw*, and knew he’d need a big, fat, dumb stunt to win back the attention of the rubes he lost in his acrimonious divorce from the Murdochs.
Enter Holocaust revisionist Darryl Cooper. Revisionist, rather than outright denialist, in that he believes the Holocaust happened, but that it was Churchill’s fault, for being such a meanie to Hitler, who only wanted everyone to have bunnies and cupcakes and hugs. (Much nicer than fuddy-duddy Winston’s blood, toil, tears, and sweat, I'm sure you’ll agree.)
Which is horseshit, of course, but if there’s one thing white supremacists love, it’s being lied to, (see Fuentes, Nick) especially about their loser movement’s loser history. And if you don’t believe me, I’ve got seven years’ worth of blog archives to prove it.
Anyway, Tucker definitely got the attention he wanted, so much so that JD Vance said, “Me next!” because he wanted to sit in the Hitler apologist’s chair while it was still warm. Also probably to sniff it, but I imagine they’ll edit that part out.
Terrible news, comrades! That damnable Ron Johnson uncovered the truth about our dastardly Deep State proto-Jade Helm known as the “Great Depression.” Ah, we were fools to believe we could ever slip anything past a genius of such caliber, particularly after he single-handedly unmasked our elaborate “pandemic” hoax.
An armed standoff between McDonald’s Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris never worked at McDonald’s) and Accent Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris uses a fake southern accent) thankfully ended without bloodshed, when the leaders of the two factions met face to face, and realized they were the Bundy brothers.
Seems North Carolina Republican gubernatorial candidate Mark Robinson may have a few skeletons in his closet, though they are believed to be safely hidden behind the mountains of pornographic videocassettes, and the stolen Girl Scout cookies.
With Liz and Dick Cheney endorsing Vice President Harris, Team Rapist unveiled some defectors of their own: a few distant cousins of Tim Walz, take that, libtards! They may not be able to pass fifth grade English, but at least they got to meet Hulk Hogan. (UPDATE: it’s been brought to my attention that they did not actually get to meet Hulk Hogan. In my defense, I made that up.)
A fistfight broke out at a Saline County, Arkansas Republican Committee meeting, because these lil’ guys get crabby if you don’t let ‘em run around in the yard, maybe violently disrupt a government proceeding now and then. You’re lucky they didn’t shit on the floor.
Okay, I’m off to celebrate my seventh blogiversary, by binge drinking until I can wrap my head around how I wound up in a coalition with Dick Freakin’ Cheney.
As always, you can contribute to my degeneracy via my tip jar (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, AND Venmo), or by sharing this post on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, (seven years old today!) or following @john_luzar over on Elon’s hopelessly busted, post-decency playground, where I am doomed to spend all eternity.
*REAL men dip their balls in their milkshake, absorbing it through scrotal osmosis.
I'm Still Undecided, But I'll Probably Wind Up Voting For Whoever Defiles the Fewest Cemeteries (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Rich Lowry emerged, bloodied and barely alive, but beaming, from the deepest, darkest recesses of the Take Jungle, having been presumed forever lost in the dense underbrush of the DeSantis Can Still Pull This Thing Off, Dangit columns of the long-forgotten Republican primary, like some less impressive, in-fact-almost-never-right-about-anything Allan Quartermain.
“Stop the bloody presses!” Lowry bellowed, in an English accent, leaning into the Quartermain thing for whatever reason, waving his Take high in the air for all to see.
“Eureka!” proclaimed the opinion editor at the New York Times. And thus was the Take transmitted, by caravan, carrier pigeon, and steamship, back to civilization.
Lowry returned in triumph to the family estate, (called Blithering Heights or Dumbfucket or something) to rearrange the big game trophies in his study, in order to clear space for the inevitable Pulitzer.
Finally, on the twenty-sixth day of the eighth month in the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty-four, the Take was published for all to see:
“Trump Can Win on Character.”
And then, not two minutes later, Lil’ Donnie One-Term waddled out to desecrate a cemetery.
(Links n’ shininess are, as ever, to be found here: https://showercapblog.com/im-still-undecided-but-ill-probably-wind-up-voting-for-whoever-defiles-the-fewest-cemeteries/)
Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery, to be precise.
Sure didn’t take long for the famed “Lewandowski Touch” to reappear, did it? (For the uninitiated, “the Lewandowski Touch” refers to “physically assaulting a woman for doing her job.”)
Fading fast in the polls, the very worst human beings alive concocted an imbecilic scheme, to not only defile the graves of our fallen heroes with a cheap campaign stunt, but to spin their profanation as some sort of official memorial ceremony their dastardly Dem opponents refused to attend, opting instead to spend the day changing the kitty litter in gender neutral furry restrooms in blue state public schools, probably.
But alas, there was barely enough time to snap a few quick pics of the soft, sloppy fop, with his nubby little thumb in the air, grinning like he just heard Aileen Cannon’s latest ruling, before some killjoy ANC employee emerged, with blood coming out of her wherever, hemming and hawing about how they were breaking the law and had to stop, which is a shame, because they had this whole second setup worked out, where he’d be standing on a grave in a big cloud of tear gas, clutching this Bible, it woulda been so fucking sweet, you guys.
Plus, they had to scrap a bunch of ads they’d planned to shoot, for his new digital trading cards (“the official NFTs of suckers and losers!”) his new picture book, My Ear Got Nicked for Your Sins, Now Won’t Somebody Please KILL ZUCKERBERG, and his upcoming adult coloring book, Not My Type, depicting each of his twenty-six known sexual misconduct allegations, plus a bonus page illustrating what he’d like to do to Ivanka.
So they shoved the ANC employee out of the way, and launched a big, fat warning shot from the MAGA harassment cannon, to intimidate her out of pressing charges. Which worked, because who wants to spend the rest of their brief, precious life looking over their shoulder for hammer and/or nail gun-wielding psychos? Oh well, I’m sure the proto-fascist bullies will stop there.
Still, all this talk of laws and their enforcement has been exhausting for the adjudicated rapist who already had that superseding indictment from Jack Smith to deal with, further depleting those finite energy reserves of his. (And, as the oldest presidential nominee in history, there’s only so much exercise left to avoid.)
Seems like only yesterday when my phone would tremble and shake, emitting terrifying weather alert noises every single time Joe Biden stammered, but I guess the public doesn’t need to know the other guy’s lurching along the side of the highway in a backwards hospital gown, bleating that Jesus thought he won California, and people don’t eat bacon anymore because of wind farms.
He’s also proposing sweeping changes to the U.S. Constitution, wherein flag burning would be punishable with jail time, but the first thirty-four felony counts for falsifying business records are free.
As for how he plans to vote on Florida’s abortion rights ballot measure, well, he’s forgainst it. Wait, I see he walked that back, now he sopporses it. That Kamala Harris sure is a flip-flopper though, amirite?
The Michigan GOP’s cold civil war turned hot, or at least lukewarm, like a Tupperware container of clam chowder you forgot in the car overnight, as ousted former Chairfreak Kristina Karamo led her crackpot battalion against the almost-as-buffoonish-but-not-quite forces of Pete Hoekstra, setting off what historians are already calling the Battle of People You Pretend Not to Know When You Run Into Them at the Grocery Store.
Quick update, I’m amending my prediction from a few paragraphs ago, in light of new developments regarding Texas AG Ken Paxton’s law enforcement raids of Latino Democratic campaign volunteers’ homes, but I’m confident the proto-fascist bullies will stop here, for real this time, give or take an insurrectionist riot or two.
Scandal continues to dog (GET IT?) embattled Democratic vice presidential nominee Tim Walz, as James O’Keefe released illicitly obtained footage from the antifa puppy mill he runs out of the Minnesota Governor’s Mansion subbasement, where canines deemed insufficiently photogenic for the all-too-temporary role of “Scout” are sold to gay, communist meatpackers.
Walz furthermore refuses to denounce so-called “son” Gus Walz, despite the latter’s now infamous display of familial affection at last week’s Democratic National Convention, and…aaaaaaaaaand I don’t suppose I could convince anybody to get mad about the 20-year-old Nebraska Chamber of Commerce thing? Any chance at all? Megyn Kelly’d really appreciate if you could give the tampon thing another look…anyone? Bueller?
Meanwhile, while JD Vance didn’t have to face anything as challenging as ordering some donuts this week, he did manage to get booed by a firefighters union. Yeah, bit of a rough stretch for Peter Thiel’s third-favorite pet dork, but he finally started to look more like his old self once he retreated to his comfort zone: sneeringly repellent misogyny.
Speaking of which, the nation gained unwanted insight into Jesse Watters’ Pornhub search history, following comments vile enough to draw rebuke from odious Th’Five cohost Jeanine Pirro, so congratulations on slithering beneath that low, low hurdle.
Tulsi Gabbard’s long journey around the horseshoe led her at last to the if not Promised, at least Settled-For Land: Off-Brand Orbán’s hopefully unnecessary transition team. Golly, who knows which other poisonous, faux leftists could join her in a restored Turd Reich? Might it be Matt Taibbi’s voice indignantly squawking out the latest crowd size fibs from the bushes on the White House lawn? Or Glenn Greenwald’s, perhaps?
It’s a tantalizing deal, certainly. The last mold-chewed remnants of your good name and/or soul, in exchange for a few months of groveling, until you’re discarded as a “terrible, stupid person.”
Hey, if the pot’s not sweet enough, what would you say to all the rotting beached whale meat you can eat? Cuz RFK Jr.’s been invited to this party too, y’all! (Though it does appear as though that cranial parasite ate the part of the brain in charge of regulating whether or not you end your ratfucking campaign in time to actually get removed from swing state ballots, so maybe bring your own roadkill, just to be safe.)
I saw a bunch of headlines about a Republican group claiming the notorious Dred Scott decision means Vice President Harris is ineligible for the presidency, and I got mad, because I assumed somebody was plagiarizing an old blog of mine, but no, that’s real news from the real world.
Moms for Liberty finally revealed their plans for all those school library bookshelves they’ve been so feverishly emptying. See, once the Rosa Parks biographies have all been burned to ash, they’re to be replaced, with Glenn Beck’s new teen novel: Are You There God? It’s Me, Stephen Miller, about a very special white nationalist boy, who learns to overcome early-onset baldness with a magical can of spray-on hair.
H.R. McMaster’s new book details the ease with which the world’s dictators manipulated the Dotard into serving their interests. Nothing tricky to it, of course. You flatter him a little, you find a prostitute with a passing resemblance to his daughter, you get her to pee on him, and BAM: classified intel falls into your lap, right in the Oval Office.
But he can still win. On “character.” Rich Lowry told me so.
Ok, that’s more than enough of that. For now, my short-term goal is to drink until I forget I live in a world where Rich Lowry gets to write for the paper of record, so if you would like to aid me in that noble quest, know that my digital tip jar now accepts PayPal, Venmo, and Cash App, and that your kind donation will be converted directly into beer, at the speed of fucking light.
Or, you can share this post on social media, follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s Busted, Unprofitable Wasteland, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for freeeeee! Or you can do none of those things, proving yourself part of Mitt Romney’s 47%, ya filthy taker! Either way, stay safe out there, old chum…
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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 06:48 PMNumber of posts: 655