Maybe the Real Red Wave Was the Litter Boxes Our Furry Kids Pissed In Along the Way (Ferrrrrrret)
So, how fucking ready were you for this mood shift? I myself feel refreshed and renewed to a degree seldom seen outside shampoo commercials. And friends, I needed that. I needed it so hard.
(Makes loads more sense with links, promise: https://showercapblog.com/maybe-the-real-red-wave-was-the-litter-boxes-our-furry-kids-pissed-in-along-the-way/)
We last convened amidst the cacophonous obscenity of the Republican Party’s closing argument before the midterms, a hideous mishmash of transphobic hate, threats to poll workers, bolder-by-the-day anti-Semitism, and cackling celebration of an act of terrorist violence targeting a political foe, and the truth is, I’d never been more frightened in my life.
No, not even on January 6th, this felt more…premeditated? This wasn’t We Must Accept This Butthole-Mouthed Thug’s Ugliness to Get Our Tax Cuts, this was Fuck Civilization Let’s DO This Thing Somebody Give the Order C’mon C’mon C’MON ALREADY.
What I’m saying is, I found the “romping Nazis salivating over the power to come” portion of the program unenjoyable. Stressful, even. Watching the little bastards stumble furiously about, running face-first into walls and flinging accusations at each other has been goddamn delightful, however.
Because the “red wave” turned out to be more of a hey-you-should-have-a-doctor-look-at-that bloody piss trickle on America’s shoes; a significant problem, certainly, and a revolting one, but maybe, just maybe…manageable.
The fight is nowhere close to over, and lord knows this wad of weirdos won more power than any truly healthy democracy would allow, but the coalition of the decent showed up, folks. America smacked the bully right in the mouth, mid-hammer joke, and it sure is satisfying, watching him scamper away crying.
When you work so closely with Donald J. Trump, (the “J” stands for “managed to fail at the casino business”) you come to expect a certain amount of mortifying failure, but you’d have to be the Greek god of stepping on your own dick to blow a midterm election in the middle of inflation like this. Fortunately for the future of freedom, we’re talking about a lifelong loser so starved for Ws, he’s spent years bragging about passing a cognitive test.
Yeah, the GOP let it all ride on the idiot game show host, and now they’re busted and trying to talk the pawn shop down the street into taking Stephen Miller for 50 bucks and a case of Heineken. Good. Thank all the gods in all the heavens that your despicable endeavors failed so spectacularly.
We turned back something scary, folks. Or at least gave it a good, sturdy kick in the nards. Something for Republicans to think about before they pursue these mad tactics again.
Because though a distressing number of election deniers won Tuesday, the biggest, darkest play, to seize swing state election infrastructure in the name of the voices in Mike Lindell’s head, flopped. Ring the damn bells. The fewer cultists in the vote-counting room the better, as my grandpappy used to say.
On a purely personal level, I’m thrilled to finally evict so many of MAGA’s skeeviest freaks from my cranium. My god, I won’t have to write about Doug Mastriano ever again, at least not until five years from now when he gets kicked out of a Denny’s for shouting slurs at the waitstaff.
I don’t have to think about Don Bolduc anymore, though I bet I coulda gotten some mileage out of calling him Senator Kitty Litter, had it come to that. I get to forget about Tudor Dixon and J.R. Majewski’s lawn and the television quack and the skull-faced Thiel puppet and I could keep going but I don’t have to anymore so I won’t. I bet the inside of my head even smells nicer now.
Parenthetically, I’d like to congratulate Tulsi Gabbard on her exquisite timing. Enjoy your new team, kid.
Anyway, since we’re in another of those moments of temporary lucidity when Republicans notice what a massive fucking loser Donald Trump is, they’re flailing about wildly for any less suicidal alternative, so I guess we can go ahead and call it: the two-year Criscolump slap fight between the Dotard and Ron DeSantis has officially begun!
Ron-Ron did win big on Tuesday, having catered to the Florida electorate’s lunatic desire to be lied into early graves, so he’s the savior du jour for the go-along gang, with delusionally messianic campaign ads to match.
Looks like Rupert Murdoch is fully aboard the DeSantis train, (no vaccination required, so ya takes yer chances), and even Mikes Pompeo and Pence have the knives out, and I bet the MAGA mob is totally willing to abandon their Turd God at establishment Republicans’ urging this time, that’s a really good plan. He can go by “Ron!”
Heard it all before. And sure, “DeSanctimonious” is weak as fuck; may this moment of smug theatre criticism warm you next time you find yourself sucking cheeseburger crumbs out of the carpet at Mar-A-Lago. “Lyin’ Ted” wasn’t exactly Shakespeare, but it turned a man with one of the most impressive resumés in America into a quivering mound of bologna jello.
It ain’t up to you. It’s up to the mob. You may’ve noticed there aren’t a lot of stories about mobs that spontaneously set down their torches and pitchforks and start listening to old men in suits.
Heck, Tom Cotton’s already abandoned the Unsettlingly Ambitious White Creep lane to Rick Scott and Josh Hawley, purely out of fear of one of those nicknames. A whole party of trembling sycophants, living in mortal terror of a doddering manchild’s playground taunts. Odd it hasn’t worked out.
And since Off-Brand Orbán cleverly backed himself into announcing his third campaign from atop the still-smoking wreckage of his latest debacle, we’ll be kicking off the circular firing squad right away. Wee, inadequate, baby hands notwithstanding, the old prick is pulling no punches; he even figured out a way to lob a racist insult at People Magazine’s reigning Whitest Man Alive, Glenn Youngkin. No doubt the GOP would love it if he’d just slink silently away, but hey, if you haven’t internalized the goddamn snake story by now, I can’t help you.
Anyway, there’s more than enough loserstink to go ‘round, as members of Donnie One-Term’s legal team learned this week, when they were sanctioned for one of their frivolous lawsuits. Can’t imagine that’s the last time we’ll encounter that headline.
I know you’re probably worn out from laughing at Donald Trump, but I need you to dig down deep, and find that second wind, because we have to laugh at Kevin McCarthy now. It’s always tricky business, getting Mephistopheles to cough up those wages, innit, Kev? Well, I suppose you weren’t really doing anything with that soul anyway.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be fun. You were gonna hand Ukraine to Uncle Vlad and kick Dems off their committees and map every mole on Hunter Biden’s ass and crash the whole dang global economy, but now you’re looking at a razor-thin majority at best, and Marjorie Taylor Greene says if you don’t get her one of them Jewish space lasers for her office, she’ll sic the Proud Boys on you, assuming the feral assclowns of the Freedom Caucus don’t get you first. The stakes in authoritarian musical chairs are no joke, lil’ man. You’re the one who insisted on playing.
Oh, and save some listless snickering for Rick Scott, who reportedly shelved what would’ve been an absolutely adorable challenge to Mitch McConnell’s leadership once the full scope of the party faceplant became clear. My condolences to the brownshirt men’s choir that spent six weeks rehearsing “Tomorrow Belongs to Me” for Ricky’s launch announcement.
Still, there does seem to be a bit of a movement afoot to dethrone Yertle for Trump’s failings, to which I say…do y’all need any help? Any at all? I’ve got my own luchador mask.
While largely delightful, the news wasn’t all good, of course; far from it. And there’ll be plenty of time for that, I’m sure Kari Lake in particular has some well-rehearsed bullshit planned for the days to come, but for just this one week, I think we’re allowed to strut a bit. We deserve it.
Because the good news keeps rollin’ on in. Looka here, Alex Jones owes another half billion to the people he terrorized, and I had to stop watching clips of Steve Bannon melting down because the neighbors complained about the giggling.
Meanwhile, the mighty imperial legions of Czar Vladimir the Terrible (At His Job) are doing what they do better than anyone in the world: shambolically retreating. In the background, Elon Musk continues throwing the sort of tantrum one throws when one realizes one spent forty-four billion dollars to inconvenience Kathy Griffin. What a strange coincidence that so many of the modern Right’s icons of masculinity turned out to be blithering nincompoops, hellbent on self-destruction.
Yes, a rough week for fuckheads, asshats, and crotchtumors of all stripes. And I will drink to that, my friends. I am going to crack another Tank 7 tallboy and roast marshmallows in the bonfire Elon’s making of his fortune; you stay safe out there, we’ve still gotta send Herschel Walker packing yet.
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