TheFerret
TheFerret's JournalFrankly, I Found Beyonc's Speech Wonky and Off-Putting (Ferret/Shower Cap)
поздравления, comrades! Operation Jade Helm VIII: Joy Buzzer succeeded beyond our wildest imaginings, and soon, we shall deliver these hapless “United States” into the tan suit-clad arms of our DEI hire and a mere assistant coach! Muah hah hah hah hee hee ho ho hah hah!
…hoo. (Yadda yadda links n’ colors: https://showercapblog.com/frankly-i-found-beyonces-speech-wonky-and-off-putting/)
Yeah, for four whole days without a single pro wrestler, it went okay, I guess. I understand Melania has already plagiarized Obama’s dick joke for that eulogy she’s been restlessly tinkering with.
It was such an exuberant display of unity for the Coalition of the Decent, from Bernie to Kinzinger and back again, you just know Mike Pence turned to Mother to ask if she thought it would be a good idea to reach out to the Exonerated Five about starting some sort of Guys Donald Trump Tried to Murder euchre league.
It’s a great big beautiful tent, and all are welcome…except the HAW HAW HAW TIM WALZ’S KID HAS EMOTIONS WHATTA CUCK crowd. Y’all have to go to the other tent. I wouldn’t drink the water.
You can’t miss it, it’s the one full of mediocre white dudes pitching fits. It can be hard to tell ‘em apart, so I’ll give you a hand: the runty little weasel screeching that the Obamas are “uppity” is Nick Fuentes, whereas the smug creep with the projectile Dunning–Kruger effect trying to make birtherism happen? That’s Jesse Watters. Just laugh derisively whenever anybody mentions Doritos, and you’ll blend right in.
Aren’t you glad you’re not MAGA? Isn’t it wonderful to possess no desire whatsoever to mock a neurodivergent teenager for (gasp) expressing affection for his father? Fuck it, having seen so many stumble over the lowest imaginable hurdles, I’m gonna strut my basic humanity from here on out. “Yeah, not only did I never make a single Paul Pelosi hammer joke, my body’s sixty percent water! My fingernails grow constantly, and I voted against the wannabe autocrat all three times!”
Still, amidst the positivity and patriotism, I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to note the one demographic explicitly marked for exclusion under a Harris/Walz regime: Rapist, Insurrectionist Game Show Hosts. In a Harris Administration, RIGSH-Americans would be denied their right to engage in their people’s most sacred traditions, from violently overturning the elections they lose, to rape.
Why, mere weeks ago, one of our nation’s leading Rapist, Insurrectionist Game Show Hosts fantasized openly about the crime spree that lay ahead in the wake of the constitutional blank check issued by the Roberts Court; now, he’s been reduced to trolling the wingnut media bubble for television personalities to tag along on his proposed Venezuelan exile.
Even with the polls and forecast models moving in Kamala’s favor, (and I doubt he’s getting an answer he likes from his Mirror Mirror Who’s the Fairest bit, either) you know it’s the massive L in the ratings war that’s reduced him to a blubbering mess, ineffectually mashing the buttons on his phone with those tiny, inadequate fingers, while Fox Nooz hosts insist they can’t talk right now, they’re washing their hair.
Little did the unsuspecting libtards realize their precious convention had been infiltrated by a crack squad of MAGA Mata Haris, led by masters of disguise Matt Walsh and Mike Lindell, who wound up ensnared in one another’s respective honey traps, a tangle of starched flannel and shoddily-manufactured bedding discovered necking in a dumpster behind the Billy Goat Tavern.
(Don’t worry, before departing for his clandestine tryst, Mike obtained permission from the 12-year-old who owned him earlier in the day.)
Well, the once promising RFK Jr. op had devolved into a Wile E. Coyote-esque ratfuck boomerang, so the GOP called Bobby & his Brainworm home. In between bites of the raccoon he ran over on the way to the press conference, the weird sheep of America’s most famous political dynasty offered extended musings on the age at which girls reach puberty, in addition to his endorsement of the Dotard, which’ll look great on the mantel, between Kid Rock’s and Catturd’s.
No wonder these clowns remain so thoroughly flummoxed by Coach Walz’s normcore playbook. The swiftboating revival closed out of town, so the new smear is that he’s a sleeper agent for the Chinese Communist Party, because he got married on the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre, y’see, which admittedly explains the tank-shaped wedding cake bearing down on the petit fours personalized with each guest’s name.
In contrast, walking MAGA monkeypaw JD Vance keeps shambling through a grotesque anti-campaign that’s barely an imploding drummer shy of a Spinal Tap outtake. Looks like all those long hours of Normal Human Donut Ordering prep were for naught, alas, but honestly, who could be expected to navigate such a fraught social interaction without earning a restraining order or two?
Rudy Giuliani and Donnie One-Term himself are “invited guest speakers” at the “J6 Awards Gala” taking place next month at Bedpisser, the tacky golf resort which somehow has yet to be seized by law enforcement. The race for “most damning evidence uploaded to a terrorist’s own social media account” category is particularly competitive this year.
Y’know, there was a time when getting a law degree, representing a domestic terror group, fucking one of the terrorists, and advising the others to destroy evidence ahead of their seditious conspiracy trial was a reliable path to the middle class in this country. As Kellye SoRelle’ll tell ya, those days have gone the way of Mayberry and Crystal Pepsi. (In the distance, a bald eagle caws a mournful caw.)
Now that his buddy Poots sold him out on that whole hostage exchange thing, word is Off-Brand Orbán’s been begging Bibi through back channels to reject any ceasefire deals, because I guess when you’ve got 34 felony convictions with 54 more queued up, what’s a violation of the Logan Act, more or less?
A Trump-appointed federal judge in Kansas was feeling frisky, and decided to invent a constitutional right to own a machine gun. Now, in Federalist No. 10, James Madison talks extensively of the awesomeness of the Grand Theft Auto franchise, so I think this one will hold up on appeal.
House Republicans finally released their sad, flaccid Biden impeachment report, which found exactly zero impeachable offenses, but recommended impeachment anyway, if only for the sake of poor, dumb Jimmy Comer’s mom, who hasn’t had anything to put up on the fridge since that finger painting of a duck driving a bulldozer, which turned out to be stolen from another kid’s cubby.
Well, after federal law enforcement rejected his initial offer of the key to Anthony Devolder’s safety deposit box in Medellín, George Santos pleaded guilty to a couple of felonies, as if any prison could hold him. As for the issue of whether or not he’ll be allowed to sew a fake collar into his jumpsuit, SCOTUS will hear arguments next March.
Hulk Hogan dropped a leg on his public rehabilitation efforts with a drunken, racist rant in which he offered to “body slam” Vice President Harris, no doubt costing himself a speaking slot at the 2028 RNC, and, more importantly, the accompanying 20 dollar gift card to the buffet at the casino slated to host, which was a big part of the Hulkster’s retirement plan.
Maria Bartiromo heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another Texas has been messing around with registering undocumented immigrants to vote, which is, of course, nowhere close to true. Now, if Maria worked for a reputable news organization, she’d be under the gun, possibly even forced to take it on the run, but she doesn’t, so I imagine she’ll keep on ridin’ the storm out. I imagine these REO Speedwagon jokes aren’t landing, so I believe it’s time for me to fly.
Before I sign off, I’d like to welcome the blog’s newest sponsor: meet TRUMPY TROUT, the hot new animatronic male masturbator taking Cult45 by storm! 9 out of 10 incels say “Close enough, although how the fuck would I know?”
Of course, as longtime readers know, Shower Cap’s Blog is actually brought to you by BEER. And while the celebratory beers of August have been far sweeter than the Holy Fuck We’re All Going to Die beers of June, the liquor store still stubbornly insists upon payment.
Make no mistake, I’m prepared to turn to a life of crime if necessary, but relying upon the kind generosity of the readership seems safer. The tip jar now accepts Venmo, PayPal AND Cash App, so pick yer poison. And as ever, sharing this post on social media, following @john_luzar, and signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com are free! Stay safe out there, me hearties…
P.S., I think we should all just act like Beyoncé did show up, and put on a killer show. We’re allowed to gaslight them for a change. Just say Elon blocked it because she made up a little impromptu song about all the money he lost on Twitter.
Tampon Tim's Racist Tacos, and Other Dumb, Dumb Shit (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Life’s just one long Downfall parody down at Marm-a-Lago these days, for the craven creep cabal brought low by the devastating simplicity of those two humble syllables: “joy” and “weird.” Plus, the Chief Creep got ketchup all over the printout of that nude selfie Kim Jong-un sent for his birthday, which was the one thing the FBI let him keep from those crates of documents he stole, and now it’s all ruined.
(As ever, links n’ shininess await here: https://showercapblog.com/tampon-tims-racist-tacos-and-other-dumb-dumb-shit/)
Anyway, after an Adderall-fueled all-night brainstorming session, the decision was made to dispatch Epstein’s plane to pick up Corey Lewandowski and some cereal and maybe a VHS copy of Gangs of New York for JD.
The Dotard’s wranglers have been urging him to focus more on policy, while simultaneously distancing himself from the radioactive Project 2025 policy platform they ritualistically circle jerk to at their secret Christian nationalist clambakes. Obviously, such concepts are far too complex for a brain that managed to bankrupt casinos, but as a compromise, he’s taken to mendaciously claiming credit for the Biden/Harris Administration’s insulin price caps, to spice up the dead space between the blatant racism and the windmill rant.
…or so I’ve read. Maybe some people can endure seventeen consecutive hours of two charisma-deficient billionaire narcissists tongue-bathing one another without researching what it would cost to have Amazon dispatch an assisted suicide drone to their apartment, but I myself lack the strength.
Alas, if only those wily busloads of antifas had succeed with their super-ultra-hyper-microtargeted DDoS attack on the website Elon definitely didn’t break himself, we might’ve been spared all that interminable, grievance-saturated slurring. DO BETTER NEXT TIME, ANTIFAS!
Sigh. I suppose in the end, he’d only find some other pile of groceries to grouse near. No, it’s far too late to change him now, and I feel bad for the warden who’ll have to try when he’s sentenced next month. Pro tip to any prison guard tasked with smuggling contraband fast food into his cell: take a page from the city of Asheville, North Carolina’s book, and get your money up front.
As the walls close in, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot is trying to spend as much time as possible doing what he loves most: shitting on the losers and suckers who served the nation he betrayed at every opportunity. Did you know you can give your whole dang life for this country, and all you get in return is the sissy-ass Medal of Honor? Whereas hate-mongering talk radio hosts and wingnut megadonors get the good shit, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which you can pawn for way more Trump Bucks.
While Wee Donnie One-Term certainly made no shortage of powerful enemies over the years, I think even he realizes he went too far this time. Honestly, no wonder he’s hiding out at his tacky golf resorts instead of campaigning. Shit, they’re still finding pieces of the last guy who fucked with Céline Dion…but never two in the same time zone, y’know?
With Off-Brand Orbán cowering at home, it’s up to his historically unpopular running mate to barnstorm the nation in his rickety, malfunctioning Trump Plane™️, expounding upon the issues that matter to “normal” American women, like “the whole purpose of the postmenopausal female,” for example. Sure, technically they can babysit, but wouldn’t it be more efficient and humane to send ‘em straight to the Soylent factory as soon as you’ve swapped ‘em out for a younger, hotter model?
…don’t call him weird, though. An amoral vulture capitalist, maybe, but not weird.
President Biden had no choice but to mobilize the National Guard to quell the race riots touched off by Tim Walz’s inflammatory (GET IT?) spice comments. “WHITE TACOS MATTER,” yelped Ben Shapiro, before launching into a blubbering, falsetto rendition of “Old Man River” in the parking lot of the Chipotle he’d spent several hours unsuccessfully attempting to set ablaze.
Roger Stone found, to his dismay, not the promised horde of horny MILFs awaiting at the end of that email link he clicked, but rather Iranian hackers, who only wanted him for his Trump campaign secrets. Multiple news outlets have access to this data, but refuse to release it to the public, citing the sacred journalistic oath originally administered by the great Roman listicle maker Cillizzacus: “First, do no harm…to Republicans.”
Gosh, Ted Cruz has been uncritically platforming so much Iranian propaganda lately, I just assumed Supreme Leader Khamenei issued some sort of religious edict proclaiming his wife ugly, but it turns out he’s just an asshole.
With polls showing Kamala n’ Tim putting North Carolina in play, disgraced ex-Senator Richard Burr emerged from the old insider trader’s home to endorse the rapist he once voted to impeach, because principles have a half-life of about eleven minutes in the GOP.
In Burr’s defense, right before his appearance, he did swing by Nikki Haley’s place to ask to borrow a cup of dignity, but she was fresh out. So then he asked Nancy Mace, who responded, “Dignity? You shouldn’t make up words, Richard!” before skittering out for a CNN hit, where she engaged in a little performative shittiness, hoping to make losers like her more.
Following the resounding defeat of his party’s attempted power grab this week, Wisconsin Republican Speaker Robin Vos vowed to “get” not only Democratic Governor Tony Evers, but his little dog as well.
Former Nebraska Senator Ben Sasse’s tenure atop the University of Florida may’ve barely lasted the span of a fruit fly’s life, but that’s all the time he needed to vanquish the scourge of Not Paying Ben Sasse’s Buddies Millions of Dollars, another crushing defeat for the woke mind virus.
I guess RFK Jr. tried to finagle a Cabinet post out of the Harris campaign, in return for dropping out. When he was rebuffed, he said he’d be willing to settle for a bag of cranial parasite chow and whatever leftover roadkill happened to be in the break room freezer, but by that point, the intern who fielded his call was too busy leaking the conversation to the Washington Post.
Hats off to th’Deep State for successfully framing exceptionally stable genius Tina Peters on seven counts. These new bamboo fibers are functionally undetectable, so stealing the 2024 election’ll be like taking candy from a baby, or selling two dollar bills to Hannity viewers at twenty bucks a pop.
Between Tina’s conviction and the public outing of Millersville, Tennessee Assistant Police Chief Shawn Taylor as a QAnon adherent, it’s been such a great week for our global human trafficking conspiracy, I’m told Hillary n’ Huma authorized the tapping of a fresh keg of children’s blood for our satanic celebrations this weekend, so drink deep, comrades!
A tearful Vladimir Putin begged the international community for relief, citing the (admittedly imaginary) provision of the U.N. Charter that explicitly prohibits invadees from invading their invaders. “Nobody lets me assassinate anybody anymore, an’ they were s’posed to surrender in three days an’ I can’t even remember the last time I had a McRib, it’s not faiiiiiiiiiiir” the murderous despot whinged, before again checking to make sure his bunker was stocked with sufficient quantities of kiddie porn.
Meanwhile, between exuberant campaign stops, President Biden rolled out $1.5 billion in savings for Medicare recipients, under the long overdue law he signed allowing the government to negotiate prices with drug manufacturers, the latest Big Fucking Deal in a series of Big Fucking Deals.
I’ve actually asked Joe if he can work out a discount for me at the liquor store down the street, but he seems pretty busy these days, so for now, I’ll just mournfully rattle my tip jar (now accepting Cash App, PayPal AND Venmo!) in the hope that you kind folks will once again help me restock the ol’ beer fridge.
And as always, sharing this post on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, and following @john_luzar are free! Stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Catturds and Couches and Bears, OH MY! (Ferret/Shower Cap)
I’d like to dedicate this week’s blog to all those puritanical pundits out there, clutching their pearls to powder over the exuberant outpouring of couchfucker jokes from the rejuvenated American Left. Sure, JD Vance spends his entire professional life spreading vicious lies in service to a dork supremacist movement that seeks the end of American democracy, but are we any better if we ourselves hump sofas?
(Links? Shininess? U know u want it: https://showercapblog.com/catturds-and-couches-and-bears-oh-my/)
Well…yes. Yes we are. Lots better. And judging by the polls, the electorate agrees.
Yes, things went from catastrophic to worse for the Committee for the Re-Election of the Rapist, as the already surging Vice President unleashed HELL ON EARTH, in the form of Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, who somehow navigated his introduction onto the national stage without causing voters to go, “Say, this guy seems like the sort of fellow who would copulate with furniture.”
Now the Children of the Candy Corn don’t know whether to shit or go blind, withering before Tim’s weapons-grade dad vibes like b-movie vampires when the sun comes up. “TAMPON TIM,” they feebly bleat, desperately clinging to the 20-year-old toy swift boats they played with when they were young, and tomorrow belonged to them.
While Harris and Walz rock stadiums with wholesomeness n’ hope, JD lurks in nearby parking lots, trailing a pitiful coterie of pasty bros, fantasizing about defiling the upholstery on Air Force Two. Vance may not be able to draw crowds of his own, but the mere mention of his name elicits enthusiastic chants at ours. Granted, they’re “HE’S A WEIRDO” chants, but there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?
(Checks JD’s approval ratings) Okay, there’s definitely such a thing as bad publicity.
Want some more? Okay, here’s 20 months’ worth of text correspondence with Holocaust-denying taintfungus Charles Johnson. Shit, if the little freak did fuck couches, it’d be the most likable thing about him.
All this is extra hilarious since JD’s the only one on the GOP ticket anywhere near the campaign trail, while Grampa catches up on naps down at Marm-a-Lago, with well under 100 days to go. The Dotard did manage to briefly drag his visibly decomposing ass as far as Georgia, to push the once reliably red state back into the election nerds’ toss-up column, by praising Putin, and shitting on popular Republican Governor Brian Kemp.
You know they’re in full meltdown mode whenever they let Stephen Miller out of his crate, but I don’t think we’ve seen that particular creep this rattled since the spray-on hair incident. Oh, “Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are the number one traffickers of children—girls into sex slavery on planet Earth,” you say? Okay, groomer.
Such delectable desperation. Time’s running out, and the next But Her Emails/Hunter’s Laptop is nowhere in sight.
By far my favorite current delusion is Off-Brand Orbán’s own sad, flaccid effort to goad Joe Biden into storming the DNC, swinging a steel folding chair, to reclaim the nomination. It’s yet another page right out of fellow rapist Vince McMahon’s book, from the ultra-stable genius who hoped to ride Hulk Hogan’s dusty, skulleted coattails back to the White House.
Which brings us to the “press conference.” If anybody out there was wondering what four additional years of inhaling cheap bronzer fumes had done to the brain that told the nation to inject Lysol during the pandemic…wonder no more.
Donnie One-Term proclaiming himself the survivor of an imaginary helicopter crash was apparently not enough to merit any breathless speculation regarding cognitive fitness from the media that sent me push notifications every time Joe Biden stammered; if anything, they praised him for “taking questions,” as opposed to Kamala, who spent the last three weeks (aka her entire campaign) playing Call of Duty, I guess.
He claimed the incel insurrection he incited drew a larger crowd than Martin Luther King Jr.’s March on Washington, which seems unlikely to me, though this figure was confirmed, by a suspiciously Sean Spicer-like voice emanating from the bushes.
Beyond that, he told the usual lies and spewed the usual bigotry, before retreating to the comfort of the wingnut media bubble, where he found Jesse Watters waiting, like always, with a hamberder and a handjob.
“That abortion question was masterfully evaded, sir!” fawned the sycophants, “I can’t imagine that one’ll come up ever again!” And then they all took turns congratulating him on his nebulously racist but ultimately gibberish “Kamabla” nickname. It’s a really cool cult, you guys. I bet there’s a waiting list.
Especially now that y’all’ve launched Normies for Trump, to counter the weirdness allegations, consecrated by His Holiness Jon Voight, in a sermon brimming with regular guyspeak like, “It's a war crime that Obama is directing and Kamala Harris will be the cackling hyena that just listens and repeats,” and led by self-proclaimed white nationalist Laura Loomer, who is prepared to handcuff herself to every swing voter in the Rust Belt if necessary.
Ah, but perhaps Team Rapist has taken the weirdo vote for granted! Turns out, you can spend decades ranting about Hannibal Lecter and toilet water pressure and how much you wanna bang your own daughter, but suddenly, at last possible moment, some nepo baby with a cranial parasite and a freezer full of roadkill can swoop in and out-batshit the Joe Rogan endorsement right out from under you.
Which, as you can imagine, REALLY upset Catturd*. In fact, we may be on the brink of what historians are already calling the dorkiest of all possible civil wars, unless cooler heads prevail, or Mom cuts off internet access.
Oh, by the way, RFK Jr. is officially peeling more votes away from Trump than Harris now, which probably explains the conniption Individual One pitched at the Failing New York Times over the fake helicopter crash. I’d be upset too, if I realized I was going to die in prison.
Almost as panicked is David Nicholas Dempsey, who was really counting on getting pardoned out from under that 20-year sentence he just received for assaulting all those cops at the Capitol Riot. Oh well. Fuck ‘im.
Anyway, I dropped by my local 7-Eleven for a buffalo chicken roller and some pornography, but my card was declined, because of the Xwitter ads I was forced to purchase after Elon Musk successfully sued under the secret Eleventeenth Amendment to the Constitution Jimmy Madison scribbled on the back of the Bill of Rights, which clearly states “Thou Shalt be Forced to Advertise Upon Any Platform Whose Owner Tells You to Go Fuck Yourself.”
The FBI seized Tennessee Congressdope Andy Ogles’ cellphone, as part of their investigation into whether or not such an obviously braindead nitwit can even read. It’ll give him something to talk about with Scott Perry, I suppose. When they’re cellmates.
I guess Jenna Ellis had such a blast flipping on the fake elector conspiracy in Georgia, she’s signed up for a whole ‘nother round in Arizona. And looka here, she’s already got company.
Shocking new reporting uncovers a single breakfast burrito purchased by Clarence Thomas, in March of 2009, using his own money, rather than Harlan Crow’s. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s simply a matter of misfiled reimbursement paperwork.
Ok, that’s more than enough for one week. Think I’ll take a little impromptu road trip up to Minnesota this weekend, maybe meet up with Laura Ingraham in Milwaukee for drinks and a quick geography lesson.
And, as always, if ya feel like chipping in for my beers, and maybe an atlas, you can toss a few bucks in the ol’ tip jar, (now accepting Cash App, Venmo, and PayPal!) or support these rants for free by sharing on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, or following @john_luzar! Either way, you stay safe out there, ol’ chum…
*Ten, twenty years from now, third grade American history tests are gonna be WILD.
Weird (Culture) War Tales (Ferret/Shower Cap)
I’d like to formally retract any despair I may’ve expressed, or even felt, during the debate/ear diaper doldrums of late June/early July 2024. If there’s one lesson I should’ve absorbed over the course of 7+ years spent chroniclin’ the manic minutiae of MAGA madness, it’s that Turd Midas and the wad of fetid freaks who follow him will always, always find a way to fail.
(As always, links n’ shiny colors await those bold enough to click here: https://showercapblog.com/weird-culture-war-tales/)
It shouldn’t be possible to steer the wave of momentum generated by surviving an honest-to-goodness assassination attempt directly into the shitter, certainly not in one short month, (a month containing, incidentally, your own nominating convention) but I guess if you can bankrupt a casino, you can fuck up anything. Yes, even with Hulk Hogan’s help.
How did it all go so wrong? One minute, Stephen Miller’s measuring drapes for the concentration camps to come, the next, a hundred thousand goose-stepping jackboots stumble and fall at once, brought low by a single, mercilessly appropriate syllable:
WEIRD.
Sorry, dorks, it ain’t our fault the straightjacket fits y’all so snugly. If you don’t wanna get labeled “weird,” maybe don’t spend every waking moment shrieking about Jewish space lasers and bamboo fibers and furry kids shitting in litter boxes and pizzagate and frazzledrip and the second coming of JFK Jr. and horse dewormer and the ten million other equally loony things that’ve set you nutjobs off since you decided to start worshipping a rapist game show host. Shit, y’all can’t even attempt the violent overthrow of the federal government without dressing like psychos.
And to think, we owe it all to JD Vance, whose mere presence is so instantly, inescapably discomfiting that the whole nation pegged him for a couch-fucker the moment he waddled out to introduce himself at the RNC.
Still, after all the hype, JD failed to medal in a single furnication event in Paris, not only missing the podium in the Men’s Individual Armrest Grind and the 100-Meter Doily Wank, but getting the entire Sectional Gangbang Relay team disqualified when he tested positive for Scotchgard.
Well, enjoy your gibes and memes, libtards, JD’s about to turn those historically-low-and-still-sinking approval numbers around! I mean, at a certain point, the opposition researchers have to run out of footage of the skeevy little creep belching up sneering misogyny about cat ladies and the inconvenience of pregnancies resulting from rape and incest, and in that moment, his ingenious Diet Mountain Dew bit will show you the true meaning of viral.
(Of course, here in reality, even Vance’s six-figure investment in neo-Nazi video-sharing platform Rumble isn’t enough to get his stale shtick trending. Because he’s that fuckin’ weird.)
Now, word on the links down at Marm-a-Lago is Kellyanne Conway’s been leaking unflattering stories about JD to the press, no doubt seeking revenge for his role in the Bowling Green Massacre, under the “Colonel J. Harlan Vance” identity he briefly assumed while experimenting with cole slaw as a fold out bed lubricant.
Off-Brand Orbán promised a roomful of addled acolytes they won’t have to bother with the hassle of voting anymore, no, he’s gonna have a gallows erected right in JD’s office, where the sofa would go, (we know how MAGA veeps feel about being left alone in a room with temptation) so he never loses track of his role.
Oh, and I guess Wee Donnie One-Term’s 2016 campaign may’ve taken $10 million from Egypt, in addition to the more widely reported Russian and Saudi bribes, but I couldn’t find a gag there, so I’m just gonna link to Steve Martin’s old King Tut sketch and hope nobody notices.
The New Softness Unity Tour swung by the National Association of Black Journalists conference to test-drive the Dotard’s new and improved birtherism. Conventional wisdom holds the ensuing racist shitfit was a disaster on par with fathering Eric, but I think credit is due to the handlers who dragged him offstage before he could use the N word.
There were no uppity fact-checkers at the cryptocurrency shindig, just grifters who smelled the biggest, fattest mark alive. Indeed, the doddering old fart already seems to believe he could pay off the national debt with “a little crypto check,” because I guess they don’t cover economics on those cognitive tests.
The not-at-all weird American Right successfully navigated the quadrennial brush with foreign cultures known as the Olympics with their customary grace and normalcy, give or take a meltdown or twelve.
The opening ceremony so offended notoriously pious Speaker Mike Johnson that he wasn’t able to liken himself to any messiahs at all for almost a full afternoon. Look, the very first Olympics kicked off with the ritual feeding of Christians to lions in drag, and I think tradition is important.
Of course the normalest behavior arose in response to a women’s boxing match, between an Italian and an Algerian, because what true patriot would want to celebrate American excellence when there’s hatred to wallow in instead?
Valentina Gomez, for example, desperate to capitalize on the fifteen minutes of loser resentment cult fame she earned with her pitiful “don’t be weak and gay” campaign ad, popped like a rage-filled zit.
Should the voters of Missouri somehow decline to make Gomez their Secretary of State, I’m sure she could land a job with Jesse Watters. Jesse contributed a number of nuanced, insightful takes to the ever-evolving gender discussion this week, like "When a man votes for a woman, he actually transitions into a woman,” and “If Trump were president, he would slap Algeria with sanctions,” but he can’t figure out why anyone would call Republicans “weird.”
It was a pretty rough week for weirdos everywhere but the Arizona Republican primary, where election-denying freakazoids romped to victory. Even Kari Lake struggled to fend off a challenge from the even-batshittier Mark Lamb. Still, the electorate wasn’t quite deranged enough to get Blake Masters over the line; I guess even in 2024, some folks simply won’t vote for a hairless marmot, even if it is Peter Thiel’s pet. We’ve got a ways to go yet, America.
Seems Michigan nincompoop Eric Molitor caught the electoral politics bug when he evaded consequences for his participation in the plot to kidnap Governor Gretchen Whitmer, as he announced plans to run for the office he once surveilled alongside some loser wannabe terrorists. Weird? Weird.
You’d think that leaking highly classified state secrets in the Oval Office would merit a return favor or two, but it turns out Pootie Tang won’t even hold onto a couple lousy hostages for a stooge in need. Autogolpe co-conspirator Scott Perry was so moved by the return of illegally detained Americans that he compared them to “a spoon,” as a means of demonstrating their worthlessness.
“The trick to hostage negotiation,” the Manchurian Manchild explains in the revised edition of The Shart of the Deal, “is to wait until the foreign autocrat has tortured your citizen to death, then kiss his ass and pay him two million bucks for the corpse.”
Cult45 excommunicated Kyle Rittenhouse this week, because hey, who’ve you gunned down in the street for me lately? Kyle did try to grovel his way back into their good (if weird) graces, but I fear the bond he and Catturd once shared cannot be mended.
Iowa became the 22nd state to impose a draconian post-Trump/Dobbs abortion ban on its citizenry. Y’know, for a guy who failed at casinos and vodka and real estate and steaks and pandemic management and denuclearizing the Korean Peninsula and marriage and umbrella closing and stealing classified documents and pronouncing “Thailand” and selecting a running mate who isn’t a voter-repelling weirdo, he’s proven remarkably adept at stealing bodily autonomy rights.
Elon’s doin’ his damndest to give the incels their eight bucks worth, sharing deepfakes of Vice President Harris while suspending accounts contributing to her record-shattering fundraising haul, on top of deceptively funneling swing state voters’ data to the Dotard campaign. But he still ain’t donating that $45 million monthly, dorks.
So yeah, I think that “weird” hypothesis holds up under testing, don’t you?
But now it’s time to wash the weirdness away, which is gonna take a whole lotta beer, especially if Jesse Watters finds out about any more women’s sports. If you’ve got a couple bucks burning a hole in your pocket, as you wait for the next England Dan & John Ford Coley Fans for Harris Zoom call, know that my tip jar now accepts not only Cash App, but PayPal and Venmo as well.
Or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com and follow @john_luzar for free! I remain humbled by, and grateful for your kind support, friends. You stay safe out there.
Hide Your Sofas & Loveseats, It's JD Vance! (Ferret)
When last we met, we were in disarray, and I think we can all agree…it fucking sucks there. Traffic’s lousy, you can’t get decent pizza, and the less said about the water, the better. On second thought, let’s not go there. ‘Tis a silly place.
(As always, links n’ such await those bold enough to click here: https://showercapblog.com/hide-your-sofas-loveseats-its-jd-vance/)
Plus, we were able to sublet our Airbnb to the Trump/Vance campaign, and at a substantial markup, too. “You mean we have to make a positive case for our candidate now? B-but he’s a rapist and a felon with the worst economic record since Hoover! He can’t even operate a fucking umbrella for pity’s sake! It’s not faiiiiiiiiiiir!”
Shoot, even a bonafide assassination attempt barely propelled the Dotard to a post-convention bounce as tiny and ineffectual as his stunted baby hands. Perhaps Hulk Hogan is less effective than his pro wrestling win-loss record would indicate.
Shit, it took Kamala Harris all of ten minutes to send Donnie One-Term scampering off to hide, like some Missouri Senator fleeing a mob of cosplaying incels. I suppose if my greatest intellectual achievement was passing a cognitive test, I wouldn’t want to debate a prosecutor, either.
Some Republican leaders begged their rank and file white resentment cultists to refrain from launching racist and/or sexist attacks on the Vice President, while others advocated more realistic approaches, like boiling the ocean, getting a bunch of toothpaste back inside the tube, or training an all-feline synchronized swim team.
Good luck with that. We’re talking about people whose token Black friend is a Holocaust denier. When they shriek “DEI HIRE,” they expect to be lauded for not using the word they really wanted to. When they bellow “SPIRIT OF JEZEBEL,” they…hell, I have no fucking clue what that means, these people don’t live in the same zip code as sanity.
Anyway, I guess Laura Loomer didn’t get the memo. (Laura seems to be aiming for some sort of Guinness indecency record this week, so don’t click any of these links if you’ve eaten recently.)
Compounding Cult45’s troubles, their newly minted vice presidential nominee has somehow already managed to define himself to the electorate as not just a regressive misogynist weirdo, but one who fucks couches.
I guess nobody on the vetting committee bothered to look at footage of JD (or whatever he’s calling himself these days) speaking before he lurched onstage with his excuse-me-sir-are-you-legally-permitted-to-be-this-close-to-a-playground beard to trigger the nation’s gag reflex, because his historically shitty first impression approval ratings are hardly surprising to anyone who has.
Honestly, the sheer volume of sickening drivel that’s tumbled out of that sofa-humping freak’s mouth over the course of his yearslong quest to pander his way into the highest echelons of the death cult priesthood amounts to an embarrassment of opposition research riches. Have fun defending it, losers.
See, the smug “childless cat ladies” line earns that initial rage click, opening the door to a whole, wide world of genuinely repellant deviancy from the theocrat crackpot who got expelled from the He-Man Woman Haters Club for skeeving the other fellas out*. Menstrual surveillance. Higher taxes for non-breeders. Federal intervention preventing red state women from traveling to obtain their fundamental bodily autonomy rights. Legitimately creepy shit.
To say nothing of the unlawful carnal knowledge of unsuspecting furniture. I can’t believe I have to say this in 2024, but couches can’t consent. Obviously. And I know we’re all having fun with our memes, but the national security implications here are no laughing matter. What happens when Lavrov offers a comely Slavic sectional to “decorate” the new VP’s office? I fear JD would spill our nation’s most highly guarded secrets, in addition to his…y’know what, let’s not finish that sentence.
For a dork so festooned with political anchors, Vance has somehow convinced himself that what the Left will attack him for is…drinking Diet Mountain Dew, because there’s no reason each and every aisle in the grocery store can’t become a new front in the culture war, if you’re only willing to bludgeon your own brain to atoms.
Now, word on the street is Off-Brand Orbán has come down with a severe case of Hillbilly Buyer’s Remorse, since he almost certainly had the MRA vote sewn up already, “with the rapes, right?” as the polls tighten and the narrative slips through the abovementioned baby fingers.
Still, even though the momentum has shifted, I’m worried we’re doing our own veepstakes wrong. C’mon you guys, nobody’s even dressing like the candidate, (and I think Tim Walz in particular would absolutely rock a Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit) let alone comparing her to Hitler!
We could ask Aaron Sorkin’s opinion on who should round out the ticket, but I believe he’s still in timeout. (“Timeout” meaning “locked inside a pet carrier, strapped to the roof of some forgotten automobile, in the furthest corner of the car elevator.”)
Anyway, the New Softness Unity Tour keeps on unifyin’ folks, give or take the odd opening act threatening civil war. I imagine disabled Americans’re feeling extra unified, knowing the GOP candidate believes they “should just die.” And once they’re finished unifying with the notoriously swingy People Who Think Hannibal Lecter is Real demographic, look out.
Generally, I’m feeling rejuvenated and optimistic, but what if all we’ve done this week is waltz right into Andy Ogles’ carefully prepared trap? The Appliance Wars veteran was standing by with articles of impeachment, backed by an absolutely airtight case, linking Vice President Harris to pizzagate, frazzledrip, and Hunter Biden’s laptop, plus…um…she laughs, which I guess is bad for whatever reason? SPIRIT OF JEZEBEL, y’all!
Was Tangerine Idi Amin struck by a would-be assassin’s bullet, or shrapnel? The truth may be hidden from the nation forever, behind an ear diaper and the performative outrage of Doctor-no-more Ronny Jackson, likely because some presumptuous nurse wrote the sloppy old fop’s real weight down on the intake form. Well, if you can’t trust the Candyman, who can ya trust?
Vertebra-deficient former governor Nikki Haley futilely ordered the group Haley Voters for Harris to cease and desist behaving as though she meant any of those objectively true things she said about her felonious opponent on the primary campaign trail, when she referred to him as, among other things, “unhinged,” “not qualified,” and “a turd that can talk (but just barely).”
A new CBO score indicates carpetbagging sex pest Lauren Boebert’s proposed amendment, to reduce the salary of any federal employee who mocks carpetbagging sex pest Lauren Boebert to one dollar would balance the federal budget, with enough left over for Beetlejuice tickets, but it was nevertheless rejected by a bipartisan majority unwilling to undermine such a beloved national pastime.
Mike Lee fell for yet another obviously satiric internet hoax, this time about former President Carter dying, (Jimmy’s still got houses to build, folks) but don’t worry, it’s not like he’s responsible for writing laws the rest of us have to follow or anything.
Whatever the Lügenpresse may’ve reported, I think it’s clear what Elon meant was that he’d be donating $45 million…worth of boosts to Catturd’s tweets every month. Apologies for any confusion.
Okay, I’m gonna spend the rest of my weekend toasting Joseph Robinette Biden Jr., which will surely take every drop of beer in the Greater Chicago Area. If you’ve got PayPal, Cash App or Venmo, your donation can finance this drunken internet loudmouth’s gratitude bender, and perhaps even any superhero bathrobe dry cleaning fees that may result. Or, follow @john_luzar and sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for free!
Even the beer goes down smoother when you’re back in array, have you noticed that? Stay safe out there, my friend…
*Plus those stains on the chaise lounge in the treehouse were never explained.
Creepy Loser Cult Still Creepy, Full of Losers (F/SC)
Y’know, a failed assassination attempt should be the greatest thing that could ever possibly happen to a personality cult, but leave it to MAGA to make it embarrassing in less than a week. Ear diapers, you guys? Are you sure?
I guess I’m worried that the guy who winds up waterboarding me’ll have one on, and I won’t be able to stop myself from giggling, because it’s a fucking ear diaper, and he’ll get mad and waterboard me harder.
(Links, etc: https://showercapblog.com/creepy-loser-cult-still-creepy-full-of-losers/)
That’s the thing about ascendant American fascism, the scarier it gets, the cringier it gets, like some sort of incel Incredible Hulk. To prove my point, this paragraph will not be the last time you encounter the word “Hulk,” used as a proper noun, in this blog.
Took about nine minutes to roll out “The Turd I Worship Got Shot At: The Shoe,” and six more for the rubes at the trough to guzzle up the available supply. There was talk of “anointing the right ear with blood,” but the ear diaper was quickly settled upon instead, as it more conspicuously identifies the wearer as a dumbass.
Anyway, yeah, that decision to provide the nation’s legion of homicide-curious young men with a ready supply of legal assault weapons keeps paying dividends.
Who knows what 2024’s suitably subpar John Hinckley Jr. knockoff hoped to accomplish; my own personal, pet conspiracy theory, which I hope you will spread in my name, is that Jim Comey hired the little dope so somebody else would maybe be remembered as the attention-seeking fuckwit whose narcissism was most responsible for redirecting the trajectory of the American experiment into the shitter.
Or maybe “Joe Biden gave the orders,” as Georgia Congressdope Mike Collins so helpfully suggested. We’ve seen Mike’s mad detective skillz at work quite a bit lately, so I’m inclined to trust his judgment, ALTHOUGH Tennessee Congressdoorknob Tim Burchett’s reflexive impulse to blame DEI triggered the familiar release of a whole ‘nother set of pleasing chemicals in my disinformation-rotted brain, so much so that said chemicals began trickling out of my skull, via my right ear canal, but luckily, I had a diaper in place to prevent unsightly public leakage. Checkmate, libtards.
Yes, the conspiracy theory buffet is always well-stocked, with a wide variety of options, tailored to any appetite. If the full, five course Great Replacement treatment is too rich for you, why not try something lighter, like ballot harvesting, which I recommend with a light sprinkling of bamboo fibers. Of course you can never go wrong the house speciality, the Big Lie.
For the adventurous, we offer the Dagwood sandwich of howling idiocy tumbling from Marjorie Taylor Greene’s mouth, dozens of discordant flavors mingling madly, horseshit, batshit, the deep state, the media, Democrats, but definitely NOT Iran, that would be silly.
(Somehow, Marj failed to notice the way the Jewish space lasers facilitated the entire nefarious plot, which is a lucky break. Proceed to the next stage of Operation: Jade Helm, comrades! This election ain’t gonna steal itself!)
Republicans actually tried to scold us over our “inflammatory rhetoric,” but nobody could hear them, over the echoes of the Paul Pelosi hammer jokes they could not, would not stop themselves from telling, back when they so wrongly believed their “Red Wave” was cresting.
Which brings us to the RNC.
I admit I got caught up in the post-Butler gloom loop, imagining some ghastly coronation, if not an outright deification, a Nurembergy stomp towards inevitability, but what I lost sight of in that moment was that every single person involved is a loser who sucks at essentially everything. Look, I was in disarray, I apologize.
Whatsamatter, dorks? Can’t even canonize your Turd Emperor the week after he survived an assassination attempt? Dorks.
After 78 years on this Earth, four of ‘em spent as President of the Whole Dang United States, can you truly find no greater accomplishments to tout than fraudulently obtained golf trophies?
And my God, the sad, flaccid sacks of mediocrity doing the touting. When you watch Speaker Moses, who can’t blame his cognitive shortcomings on aging, short-circuit the very instant his precious teleprompter feed cuts out, do you not wonder whether it mightn’t be better to elevate non-twits to positions of prominence and power?
Even acknowledging the intrinsic limitations of turd worship, (any party attended by both Mike Pompeo and Kid Rock could not help but suck) I never imagined a brush with martyrdom could be so…boring.
COMING TO YOU LIVE…
DI-RECTLY FROM FEDERAL PRISON…
PETER!! (eter eter eter…)
NAVARROOOOO!!!!! (arro arro arro…)
…please clap.
For pity’s sake, showmanship is supposed to be the one thing these people do well.
The latest installment of the Itchy & Scatchy blood feud between Matt Gaetz and Kevin McCarthy injected a little life into the proceedings, but quickly fizzled out. Even the ritual humiliation of vanquished rivals failed to titillate. A little humdrum Russian propaganda, a quick dewormer chugging contest, and suddenly it was time to introduce the belle of the ball.
JD Vance took the stage sporting a beard so shitty it wished it could be Ted Cruz’s beard, and immediately put the nation to sleep, with however many minutes of aimless blather so instantly forgettable our horse race-addled punditocracy struggled to fill out their listicles with “takeaways.” The fourteen or so swing voters who watched all the way to the end walked away mostly pondering the link between hiding loaded firearms around the house and raising the sort of amoral shitbag who’d sell his own country out to a game show host.
Well, if JD insists on leaving the labor of defining himself to the electorate to Democratic opposition researchers, there’s no shortage of material to work with. You don’t out-grovel the likes of seasoned butt-suckers like Marco Rubio and Dug Bugman without leaving a trail of profoundly unappealing wingnut media appearances, where you’re recorded saying zany shit like, "We want to promote the types of virtues that exist in Kyle Rittenhouse."
We’ve got JD praising Alex Jones, and promising to “aggressively attack the universities in this country,” plus what must be hours of theocrat ranting about all the reproductive rights he wants to take away, guaranteed to keep Roe in the headlines.
Headlines like “JD Vance Endorsed a National Abortion Ban in the Grossest Way Possible.”
I guess you have to take on a running mate with stances radioactive enough to lose big in red states when you’ve got Tucker Carlson whispering in your ear that th’Deep State’ll assassinate ya if you don’t. Especially if you’re a fucking mark.
The one guy who was impressed with JD was Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, who you might remember from bungled atrocities like “the invasion of Ukraine,” and “Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo.”
Anyway, around here is when I blacked out. When I came to, Hulk Hogan was lecturing the rapt crowd on the virtues of saying your prayers and taking your hydroxychloroquine. Naturally I assumed I was hallucinating, or in Hell. Or possibly trapped in some cloyingly obvious satire, probably a direct-to-video Robocop sequel, what else could possibly explain the disgraced, skulleted carny wheezing out 40-year-old catchphrases on my screen?
No time to process the absurdity, turns out the Hulkster was just the warm-up act, for some rapist with bad hair. The rapist, I am told, will call for “unity,” after a career fueled by division, will debut a “new softness” following a humbling near-death experience, will keep the football in place while you kick it, Charlie Brown.
And that’s what happened. More or less. Well. Less.
I don’t fully understand how it’s even possible for a bonafide cult leader to make his first public remarks following an honest-to-goodness assassination attempt so fucking tedious, but Donald Trump finds a way to fail where even the least competent among us could succeed. It’s what makes him Donald Trump.
I guess if you really want to relive those low-energy ramblings, the Daniel Dale fact check shouldn’t take more than five or six hours to work through; I’m personally more inclined to focus on how fucking BEATABLE the sloppy old fop looked.
Yes, even after earning the coveted endorsement of Tyler Bradley Dykes, convicted of crimes committed at both the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally and the Capitol Riot. We have fewer terrorists in our coalition, but, correspondingly, greater appeal to the Terrorism is Bad, Actually voter.
Aileen Cannon’s stranglehold on the Trump Organization’s Employee of the Month award, and the corresponding parking space, shows no signs of loosening. Hell, couple more delays, maybe she lands the next available slot on Harlan Crow’s Xmas list.
Hey, Bob Menendez got convicted this week, on the gold bars thing, probably, conclusively proving the two parties are equally corrupt, give or take a seditious conspiracy or two.
If you’re job hunting, there’s an opening at Mike Lindell’s generic Newsmax clone, if you don’t mind getting paid in MyPillow discount codes. My sources tell me Lou Dobbs caught Covid-19 on his very first day in Shitty Valhalla, from Herman Cain.
Anyway, I know it’s not really my place to weigh in on Democratic Party turmoil, but I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, consulted friends and trusted advisors, and had my wallet stolen by a woman claiming to be an oracle, and I cannot remain silent any longer.
I am hereby officially calling upon Joe Biden to donate to my beer fund/tip jar, (which, as you may’ve heard, takes Venmo, Cash App, & PayPal) ideally more than once. This has been the longest fucking week of either of our lives, and I for one need to take the fucking edge off.
You can also follow @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke, Joe, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com. But send beer first.
Before I let you go, I just want to clarify, Sergei Lavrov was not actually in Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo. Sometimes I get carried away, but I wouldn’t want anybody to think Shower Cap is in the business of spreading disinformation. No, his scene was cut.
Stay safe out there…
Better Projects Than Project 2025: Manhattan, Alan Parsons, Blair Witch...(Ferret/Shower Cap)
Having never actually been in disarray as a Dem before, I’ll confess I don’t care for it. That said, in my official capacity, as a drunken internet loudmouth in a superhero bathrobe & luchador mask, I wield little clout in the weighty debates we face, which you’ll agree is for the best. What I do have is a blog dedicated to chroniclin’ the fashy shenanigans of the cringiest of all possible authoritarian death cults, and no shortage of such shenanigans to chronicle.
(Makes more sense with links, I promise: https://showercapblog.com/better-projects-than-project-2025-manhattan-alan-parsons-blair-witch/)
In fact, since the first two spectral visitations apparently weren’t enough to get through to the American electorate, we’ve received a helpful haunting from the Ghost of Fashy Shenanigans Yet to Come, in the form of Project 2025. While the Dotard insists he did not have sexual relations with that autocracy blueprint, there’s too much evidence to the contrary for even Ronny Jackson to spin.
The general idea seems to be to release a bunch of domestic terrorists, presumably directly into the jobs of those civil servants purged by the Loyalty Czar, so everybody can get started on construction of the detention camps, cuz the newly weaponized Justice Department’s gonna have all sortsa vermin n’ animals n’ enemies of the people to lock up.
“Trump comes back in January, I’ll be on his heels coming back, and I will run the biggest deportation force this country has ever seen,” said former ICE director Tom Homan at a panel on immigration policy. “They ain’t seen shit yet. Wait until 2025.”
Oh, and don’t worry, birthing vessels, the guy who won’t stop bragging about ending Roe v. Wade hasn’t forgotten about you! Project 2025 offers several creative strategies to continue chipping away at your remaining bodily autonomy rights!
Why, just take Wisconsin Congressrelic Glenn Grothman’s hand, he’ll lead you on a magical journey backwards through time to the enchanted kingdom of Nineteen Sixty, when Glenn Grothmans were kings, and game show hosts could rape whoever they wanted in peace.
I’m sure the RNC next week will be a source of great inspiration for the many theatrical designers working on revivals of Cabaret for whatever reason. Amber Rose will be there, to fête the guy Putin leads around on a leash as an “alpha male.” Numerous indicted fake electors will serve as delegates, underlining this year’s “fuck the rule of law, fuck it right in the ear” theme.
Slated to open for the Turd Emperor himself is Dana White, because who wants to be introduced by some cuck who keeps his spousal abuse confined to the privacy of his home?
Nikki Haley released her delegates, but not quite submissively enough to earn an invite, which is a shame, she mighta made some lucky incel a real nice tradwife.
Marjorie Taylor Greene announced she’s dedicating her speech to all those great, great, Founding Fathers who signed the Declaration of Independence, most especially Paul Revere, Hulk Hogan, Alexander Hamilton, Gordon Gekko, Joe Camel, “Big Jim” Monroe, Honey Boo Boo, the New Kids on the Block, and J. Jonah Jameson.
Speaking of United States Representatives who repeatedly demonstrate sub-third-grade intellects, Lauren Boebert still believes a wide variety of untrue things, and remains in possession of an odd compulsion to remind the world of that fact.
Like, all she had to do was sit back and let Joe Biden be old, but no, she climbs on top of her desk to scream REMEMBER ME I’M THE BEETLEJUICE HANDJOB LADY AND I’M ALSO AN ANTI-VAXXER SO YOU SEE MY BRAIN DOES ALL SORTS OF THINGS BADLY.
Okay. Thanks for checking in, Congresswoman.
If anybody’s in disarray, it’s the Freedumb Caucus. Primary challenges, ritual excommunications, I think I heard Bob Good curse Troy Nehls on the way out, something like, “May thy children and thy children’s children and thy children’s children’s children know naught but the madding drone of that same goddamn speech Chip Roy gives every time he sees a microphone.” Pretty harsh, if you ask me.
Every so often, these howler monkeys take a stab at actually governing the country, and it goes about as well as you’d think. Mike Johnson tried to squeeze a low-stakes spending bill past ‘em this week, which was fairly adorable.
Anna Paulina Luna’s “Pay Attention to Anna Paulina Luna Act” also narrowly failed…or did it?
Despite all the failure, the gleam we saw in Speaker Moses’ eye whilst idly daydreaming about all the immigrants he’d get to hurt in the Reich to come was borderline filthy; I imagine he received one of those Naughty Thoughts Checkup calls from his kid.
Seems poor, dumb Jimmy Comer’s been financing his impeachment inquiry with McDonald’s rewards points. Hey, you never know, this may be the year he finally catches a hot streak come Monopoly season, and if so…watch yourself, Hunter.
Stuff’s way more dignified over on the Senate side. Cucumber sandwiches were served as Republicans blocked a bill codifying Roe v. Wade protections. Coach Tuberville cut off all the crusts personally, and he only required five bandaids this time, so he’s making real progress.
Josh Hawley proclaimed himself a proud Christian Nationalist, no doubt impressing all fourteen of the Turning Point USA rejects who read his treatise on “manhood.”
Equally impressive was Susan Collins’ solemn vow to vote for neither Trump nor Biden, the latest masturbatory, brimming-with-misplaced-self-regard rationalization from the fucking GOAT.
Rapist-appointed federal Judge Joshua Kindred resigned after an investigation revealed hundreds of pages of harassing texts to clerks and other colleagues, earning an invite to Steve King’s poker game for Dudes Who Somehow Managed to Go Too Far for MAGA. Lotta pedophiles at that table. Roy Moore’s tell is he signs a high school girl’s yearbook when he has a good hand.
Rudy Giuliani’s bid to shield his precious collection of experimental hair dyes from those election workers he defamed by declaring bankruptcy failed, so let the asset seizure commence!
Off-Brand Orbán invited the Hungarian original down to Marm-a-Lago, to show off his stolen classified document collection, and seek pointers on topics ranging from dissent crushing to umbrella closing. Their buddy Vlad was supposed to lead a workshop on “Carrying Out Assassinations on Foreign Soil,” but he bailed at the last minute, reminiscent of that oft-delayed victory parade through the streets of Kyiv.
Well, let it never be said Candace Owens doesn’t stand by her man.
Somewhat regrettably, her “man,” in this instance, would be, well…Hitler.
Technically Hitler and Mengele this time, but it’s Hitler Candace likes best. Y’see, she was defending Nick Fuentes from Jordan Peterson, and OH MY GOD I SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ONLINE.
Yeah, as much fun as I’m having, sifting through the push notifications about Joe’s every stammer n’ stumble, I do believe I’m going to back slowly away from the 24-hour news cycle for the remainder of the weekend, lest I get conscripted into the Peterson/Fuentes wars.
I’m thinking of enlisting with the Gay Furry Hackers, actually. I’m not gay, or a furry, or a hacker, but clowning the Heritage Foundation is a cause I can get behind, and anyway, I hear the chow’s good*.
Definitely time to start drinking. For those who’re kind enough to contribute to my delinquency, (via PayPal, Venmo, or Cash App!) know that I’ll be specifically targeting the brain cells that store the information about who Nick Fuentes is. If the beer doesn’t work, I’m open to shock therapy. But let’s try beer first.
And hey, maybe by the time I sober up we’ll be back in array. That’d be pretty fucking sweet. Either way, you stay safe out there, old chum…
* GET IT?
We the People of the United States, In Order to Allow This One Specific Rapist to Commit Crimes... (Ferret)
Wow, what a super-fun week for left-leaning news junkies! You’re probably expecting the next CNN push notification to read, “You shoulda gotten that thing on your back checked out six months ago, oh well; also, your parents always considered you a disappointment.”
(Links n’ shit: https://showercapblog.com/we-the-people-of-the-united-states-in-order-to-form-a-more-perfect-union-also-allow-this-one-specific-rapist-to-commit-crimes/)
Been a bit GRIM of late, huh? On occasion? Here n’ there? All our already-exhausting struggles seem t’be getting harder. On the bright side, the blood, toil, tears and sweat buffet is open 24 hours now, so that’s nice.
Ah, fuck it. Shitty week. There’ve been a few. There’ll be more. Rip off the bandaid, says I.
So grab yourself a beer, or a joint, maybe a candy bar, something at least mildly unhealthy, I dunno, text an ex you never got over, give in to some dark urge, is all I’m saying, you deserve it, for keeping your eye on the ball during such baaaaaatshit times. I mean, don’t do anything that’d land you in a Todd Solondz film, a cupcake or something.
And let us bear witness.
Where to begin?
Oh, right. That.
As you may’ve heard, everybody’s favorite gang of grifters, theocrats, and sex pests took that 6-3 SCOTUS majority Yertle n’ Donnie stole on their darkest joyride to date. Turns out, when you’re a star, or at the very least a President belonging to the same party as the financiers of Clarence Thomas’ lavish lifestyle, they let you grab all sortsa shit.
So I guess we’re officially elevating Off-Brand Orbán beyond the reach of the law now? Okay. That is certainly…a choice.
I fear in a restored Turd Reich, nary a West Wing mattress tag would be safe. To say nothing of Liz Cheney. Hell, at a certain point, they may even get around to peeking under luchador masks.
Honest to God, how many quarters do you have to shove up your fucking nose to hand Donald J. Trump (the “J” stands for adJudicated rapist) a constitutional blank check? He commits so many crimes already, you guys.
…well, perhaps that will teach you peasants not to criticize Mrs. Alito’s traitor flags.
The visibly deteriorating doofus who absolutely must be granted these limitless criming powers thinks electric airplanes plummet to presumably fiery dooms whenever the sun’s not out, by the way, kinda like how he thinks magnets break when they get wet, so we’re obviously gonna need some clarifications from Chief Justice Roberts n’ friends…like, can he legally mandate bleach chugging? Excuse me, “disinfectant injection?”
…and somehow it’s the other guy’s cognitive ability we’re talking about, because of how fair life is. While the aforementioned rapist giddily tests the limits of his newfound impunity. Again, on account of all the fairness.
I suppose we should be grateful the subpar supremacists who would rule over us’re still willing to allow a more-or-less “bloodless” revolution, (no need to get your knickers in a twist over every little hammer attack, libtards) but all things considered, I think I’d rather hang the electoral millstone of the mad, fashy planz they were dumb enough to commit to writing around their dorky, Nazi necks.
Honestly hard to blame ‘em for moving their platform-drafting process behind closed doors. Who wants the Lügenpresse around while you copy/paste from Project 2025?
Even the Dotard himself is now frantically backpedaling away from that freaky little doc, mostly for spoiling the surprises he had planned for his day one dictatorship. “Oh pay no attention to the legion of weirdos lining up to staff the concentration camps!”
Dunno about that, champ. Gettin’ pretty hard to ignore, frankly.
The Republican candidate for Governor of North Carolina, “Pastor” Mark Robinson, struck death cult branding gold this week, and I’ve no doubt we’ll be seeing his catchy new campaign slogan, Some Folks Need Killing, upon many a made-in-China red ballcap, in many a riot to come.
“Some folks need killing.”
On the campaign trail. From the stump. In a fucking church, in fact. As a policy proposal, it seems unwise, but I’m sure the Roberts Court would uphold it.
In a desperate attempt to free herself from the political doghouse, Kristi Noem took a feeble shot at Vice President Harris, but that dog won’t hunt, not in the dog-eat-dog world of the MAGA veepstakes. No, I’d have to say the Governor is…(Dr. Evil finger take) barking up the wrong tree?
Congratulations to Dug Bugman, you finally earned enough punches on your telegroveling rewards card to redeem for your big Politico profile! Sure, it’s mostly about what an obsequious sellout you’ve become, but worry about history’s verdict later, Dug!
Seems Indiana Congressdolt Victoria Spartz earned herself a criminal charge, for she could not bear to be parted from her beloved firearm for e’en the duration of a single flight. Look, in Spartz’s line of work, you just never know when you’ll be called upon to assist the lynching of a disloyal Vice President, or fend off a carpetbagging colleague’s wandering hands during an otherwise pleasant evening of musical theatre.
Forgive me for staring, UK, I just couldn’t help but ogle your peaceful transfer of power this week. Anyway, once the celebrating dies down, I think you might find some of us’re willing to revisit the whole “price of tea” issue, among others.
It’ll be a shame if David Cronenberg doesn’t direct the inevitable RFK Jr. biopic. It writes itself: maniac runs world-wrecking spoiler campaign, whilst unsuccessfully battling cranial parasite’s cravings for dog flesh. (Or possibly goat flesh.) Don’t suppose anybody’d be down for pinning a sexual assault allegation or two on the ol’ brainworm, by any chance?
Amidst all the GRIM, I do hope you took a moment to appreciate the latest moist, mushy bounce of Rudy Giuliani’s spectacularly satisfying fall from grace, it was a good’n. Traitors don’t get disbarred every day, y’know. I’d drink to that even if I wasn’t looking for excuses.
…but since I am, may as well toast the pitch black timing of that nihilistically narcissistic Voting Is Like, Dumb n’ Stuff editorial the New York Times picked this of all weeks to publish. Ah, however did we find ourselves so far up shit creek, with the steady hand of our media gatekeepers guiding the discourse?
Speaking of which, I suppose it’s just about time for me to return you to this generally stress-free moment in American history, brimming with fun, fun gossip about this awesome pickle we’re in.
Poor, dumb Kevin McCarthy did his best to join the dogpile, but since he’s Kevin McCarthy, he figured out a way to fuck it up:
“One time, during one of the many negotiations where he took me for everything but the fillings in my teeth, Joe Biden offered me a cookie, as a sort of consolation prize for achieving the summit of political power only to succumb to my own insurmountable lack of ability, anyway, I totally shoulda hung onto that cookie, I bet the pawn shop down the street’d give me fifty bucks for it.”
Cool story, bro. Were there free cookies at the party after you didn’t oust Nancy Mace in her primary? I suppose if serial failure begat any humility at all, you wouldn’t be a MAGA Republican in the first place.
Okay, that’s what I’ve got. I guess we both have to go back to worrying about Joe Biden’s age now, sorry. My own sources tell me the President is pounding Werther’s Originals in order to stay awake through a 24-hour Murder, She Wrote marathon, but thank God, I’m just a drunken loudmouth in a bathrobe, making shit up for yuks.
And I wouldn’t be able to do that without beer. And beer costs money. You can probably guess where this is headed.
…to the TIP JAR, which I have rather roguishly styled as my BEER FRIDGE, (now accepting Cash App, Venmo, AND PayPal!) as part of my adorable-if-abrasive “Shower Cap” persona. I don’t actually have a drinking problem, I promise, though it’s always sweet when someone reaches out to express concern. Honestly, I don’t really wear the mask & bathrobe much either, except to church, because I like to be both comfortable and anonymous when I’m finding out which folks need killing.
(I also gain desperately needed validation whenever anyone joins the email list at showercapblog.com, or follows @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke. And those things are free!)
I'll Say I've Certainly Enjoyed Other Debates More (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Well, I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to the funnest news cycle of all time. It’s doomscroller’s delight out there on the information superhighway, an all-you-can-eat buffet of sky-is-falling thinkpiecery, and admittedly…the sky has seemed stabler.
(Git it with links n’ shit: https://showercapblog.com/ill-say-ive-certainly-enjoyed-other-debates-more/)
If I had to pick a favorite debate, I think I could comfortably rule this one out. Honestly, I’ve always sincerely preferred the lightly satiric jousting between the so-called Left and Right Twix camps.
What happens next is above my pay grade, but with God as my witness, by right of my self-deputized authority as a drunken buffoon in a superhero bathrobe and luchador mask, shooting his fool mouth off online, I hereby seize control of Th’Narrative, if only for the few minutes it takes you, gentle reader, to work through the week’s chroniclin’.
Because I’ve always believed our not-so-secret weapon in this fight is the inescapable truth that our opponents are turd-worshipping losers who fuck up 98.7% of the endeavors they attempt. And this week, like every week, they found a bunch of rakes, often in bizarre, out-of-the-way corners where one wouldn’t expect to encounter a rake, and they stepped right on them.
And we should laugh at them for that.
Like, God knows the pundits’re having too much fun to tell you about it, but the abovementioned deified turd spent the debate ranting like a Three Percenter getting kicked out of Denny’s at 3 in the morning, reminding America of his radioactive stances on issues ranging from bodily autonomy to treasonous mob violence.
Sixteen Nobel Prize-winning economists warn this adjudicated rapist’s economic proposals would touch off a new inflation crisis, in case anybody was considering entrusting any economies to a guy who bankrupted casinos. Small army of Nobel winners on one side; rapist who can neither hold a liquor license in New Jersey nor close an umbrella unaided on the other. C’mon, America. There’re dogs on TikTok that could work this one out.
(Look, if you absolutely insist on worshipping a turd, pick one who can legally obtain a liquor license in New Jersey. This particular turd cannot, on account of all the felony convictions.)
I’m not sure which Nobel category would be responsible for denouncing the proposed migrant fighting league, but how hard could it be to drum up a variety from across the entire spectrum? “Really good physicists AND really good novelists agree: atrocity as entertainment is a bad idea” kinda thing. I think a calling tree might make sense, because so many of his ideas are equally idiotic/appalling, (though remember, he didn’t tell us to drink bleach, just inject disinfectant) so there’ll be plenty of denouncing to go around.
I’ll handle this next one: I officially denounce this mediocre messiah’s vainglorious crucifixion fantasies, on the grounds that the image he conjures, of himself, shirtless and covered with “wounds,” would trigger even H.R. Giger’s gag reflex. Wounds? Sores, maybe. Perhaps one small scratch, from Ivanka fending off his sexual advances.
Imagine the obscene religious art hanging in the MAGA museum, a century from now, if it turns out there are just enough Cornel West voters in the Rust Belt to plunge us back into darkness. The Passion of the Dotard, Titian meets Ben Garrison, as interpreted by some cut-rate, Musk-financed AI, the paint somehow reeking of Chicken McNugget dipping sauces and hooker pee.
Turd Midas worked his magic in Tuesday’s primaries, when the wild-eyed throng of syphilitic freaks he endorsed proved too batshit for even the brainwashed wad o’ weirdos that comprise the Republican primary electorate.
In Utah, the candidate from the Romney stables out-dressaged the Trump entrant by nearly 20 points, proving once and for all that milquetoast is thicker than horse paste.
Alas, howling sex pest Lauren Boebert’s low effort carpetbagging scheme paid off, and it looks as though she’ll be able to hang onto her seat at the (sigh) federal lawmaking table, no doubt owing to the superior grip strength she so famously demonstrated in the district she fled in shame.
Speaker Moses Johnson assembled a crack squadron of insurrectionist legislators to break Steve Bannon out of prison. Team demolitions expert James Comer was telling our correspondent how he was preparing for the mission, by ingesting small but increasing doses of various household poisons, in order to build what immunity he could to the unknowable excretions Bannon would surely discharge in such a high-stress situation, when a small explosive device he had forgotten about detonated in his pants pocket, necessitating hospitalization.
The Supreme Court did uphold Bannon’s incarceration, as a little treat, amidst acts of general rat-bastardry. Maybe it’s best to focus on the rights they’ve let us keep. The other day a bunch of soldiers demanded quartering of me, but I didn’t feel like folding the laundry on the sofa, so I called Sam Alito up, and he shooed them right away.
Well, it took several solid weeks of relentless public shaming plus an official spanking by the United States Army, but Texas Congresscreep Troy Nehls finally returned that valor he stole, without a receipt, though I’m told he tried to get another medal of equal or lesser valor in exchange. He was willing to settle for store credit, but all they could spare were these shitty, gold, loser shoes, which he accepted. “I like the way they bring out the sycophancy in my complexion,” Nehls squeaked, before ceasing to exist as an individual in any meaningful way.
Deep state commie RINO cuck Adam Kinzinger re-betrayed his nation and all efforts to make it Great Again, blasphemously placing country above death cult by endorsing some old guy without a single felony conviction and honestly I don’t know why you’re not outside his house with a nail gun right now.
I apologize for bringing him up. To wash away the taste of his treachery most foul, allow me to offer a heartwarming update on that great American grifter, Mike Flynn, who has found room to engorge not only himself, but several family members, at the seemingly infinite MAGA donor hog trough.
(For a limited time, you can purchase an NFT of Mike spending your money, on shoes, firearms, barnyard animal pornography…collect the entire set!!)
With no autogolpe to fumble through, seems the Trump transition team has plenty of time to compile purge lists of civil servants deemed insufficiently likely to assist extraconstitutional power grabs. Yeah, the fashy little shits’ll be much better prepared next time, if there is a next time. It might take them as little as a week and a half to find the light switches.
Here’s one for my alien anthropologist peeps, excavating the wreckage of our doomed, ridiculous civilization in the probably-not-particularly-distant future, trying to figure out just how the human race stupided itself into premature extinction:
“A Maricopa County election worker with a Truth Social account who has repeatedly posted pro-Trump content from Catturd, Gateway Pundit, Epoch Times & other right-wingers has been arrested for stealing equipment from a voting tabulation center.”
Explain that to somebody who fell into a coma in shock at the sight of the Comey letter in 2016. “No, this is society now, bro. Something that happens is people listen to guys named “Catturd” so hard that their brains break and they commit these enormous, anti-democracy crimes. Happens literally all the time, bro. Go back to sleep. Take me with you.”
With all the (gestures wearily), I admit I take comfort in the steady stream of fresh Proud Boy arrests. Isn’t that nice background noise? Every few weeks another domestic terrorist gets plucked off the streets, and the news story links to a Facebook post of the guy sticking Steny Hoyer’s stapler up his ass, so you know he’s totally fucked, legally…yeah, can’t get enough of that stuff.
Love me some rule of law, don’t you? We should keep that shit around.
I figure if we hang onto the rule of law, and beer, we’ll be able to get ourselves back on track. It’ll take a lot of beer, but I’m willing to pull my weight. Especially right now. I require several drinks, is what I’m saying.
And I shall have them. I plan on testing the beer fridge’s limits this weekend, so all donations to the restocking fund (which, as you may’ve heard someplace, now accepts PayPal, Cash App, and Venmo) are welcome, though if it comes to chugging Listerine…I’m not proud.
Otherwise, @john_luzar is where I lurk on Elon’s broken plaything, and I always feel special when the email list at showercapblog.com grows. As ever, I hope you’ve found some way to remain safe out there, my friend…
OH, P.S.
Already reeling from the AI incursion, the comedy world could naught but tremble in submission as a brand new titan bestrode the landscape, blotting out the very sun with its brilliance. While I have been honored by your gracious attention throughout the years, I’ll understand when you’re not here next week. How could I hope to compete with the voice of a generation? How could you not leave me for…The New Norm Show?
Rapist-Worshipping Death Cult Demands Religious Supremacy (Ferret/Shower Cap)
You could almost forgive the wingnut disinformation apparatus their lazy-yet-brazen (brazy? blazen?) attempts to photoshop Joe Biden into a senility crisis, considering how difficult it must be to find footage of their own candidate where he isn’t waving at imaginary crowds, unsuccessfully attempting to read at a third grade level off a large print teleprompter, or raping somebody.
(Yadda yadda links: https://showercapblog.com/rapist-worshipping-death-cult-demands-religious-supremacy/)
Hell, why not? This is an audience that talked itself into consuming medication designed to deworm livestock, what’s left of ‘em anyway. They’ll swallow whatever shit you shovel and ask for seconds. Go hog wild.
But if we’re gonna turn this thing into some sort of mental acuity death match, my money’s on the guy who understands that a cognitive test isn’t something you “ace.”
“Trump challenges Biden to a cognitive test. Mixes up name of doctor.”
Another one of those headlines that proves whatever god that’s been fucking with us has a sense of humor.
…and then the next ten pages of the newspaper are about the entire institutional Republican Party sucking that dude’s butt. Dude who can longer navigate the already preposterous act of BRAGGING ABOUT PASSING A COGNITIVE TEST without demonstrating cognitive decline. And they go right on sucking his butt, and will not be talked into stopping.
Christ.
Shit, Ronny Jackson’ll change his name legally if it helps, so long as he maintains access to the medicine cabinet. And, it would appear, to the nation’s most closely guarded secrets, thanks to the wise leadership of Speaker Jackson. Johnson. Call us whatever you want, Mr. Rapist, sir.
Speaking of groveling, the veepstakes hurtles madly towards the dignity equivalent of absolute zero, where all self-respect ceases, as a game show host sleep-farts directly into your mouth, waking periodically to disparage your spouse and/or parents.
JD Vance is so far up that ass at this point, I no longer recall what he looks like. Dug Bugman tries his best, but he comes off as a bit of a try-hard, don’t you think? “Oh, Biden is the real dictator, remember that election he tried to overt-wait, I mean the time he tear-gassed those peaceful protesters in Lafay-hang on, no, well who can forget the camps full of childrrrrrrrrrr oh will you look at that, I’m a getting a text from Kristi Noem’s parakeet, it’s seeking asylum, I have to take this.”
Anyway.
Somebody must’ve reminded Off-Brand Orbán that the guy they’ve all been gleefully painting as a scarcely sentient pile of dust gets to spend ninety prime time minutes next week stuffing him in rhetorical locker after rhetorical locker, because now he’s frantically lowering expectations. Suddenly ol’ Joe’s the legendary debater who vanquished seven Paul Ryans with a single “malarkey.”
…which he is. Just lay back and try to enjoy it, scumbag.
The Dotard’s certainly doing his damndest to hook former Speaker Ryan up with one of the many hammer/nail gun aficionados in his social media audience, disparaging his onetime governing partner as a “dog,” because Truth Social is kind of like a dating app, only for stochastic terrorism.
I’m never a fan of such dehumanizing rhetoric, plus there’s not a dog alive that would look so ridiculous in workout gear. A dog would make that shit adorable. Honestly, a reasonably well-trained Pekingese probably could’ve pulled off Obamacare repeal.
But you’ll have to forgive Donnie One-Term for lashing out. He was already colicky after the 34 felony convictions, and now even Fox polling confirms voters are ditching him like some entirely hypothetical father dropping an unwanted, loser child off at military school, NO, making the chauffeur do it, handing the kid nothing but an envelope containing two fifties and the phone numbers of several discreet piss hookers.
While polling trends are encouraging, I’m holding my breath until we see the long-term effects of Joan Rivers’ post-mortem endorsement.
He’ll be lucky to have Ghost Joan to lean on throughout his forthcoming exile to the shithole country known to its inhabitants as “Milwaukee.” Now, a less stable genius might suggest it’s unwise to shit all over the very swing state voters your party hopes to court with the substantial investment of its quadrennial national convention, but you don’t hear about any dead celebrities voting for those guys, do ya?
It was the choice to instead commute from the neighboring city, you know, the one that hosts all the despised sports rivals, that pushed it over the line into true greatness. These people don’t have unforced errors so much as brief, rare periods when they’re not actively on fire.
Considering they’re so clownishly bad at more or less everything, they remain oddly committed to the notion that they’re some sort of master race. Dork supremacist staffing agency TPUSA proclaimed “White Boy Summer,” predictably juvenile branding from a movement of stunted manchildren who are emotionally incapable of navigating a world containing female Ghostbusters.
The official party anthem of White Boy Summer, it almost goes without saying, is DAP, by Ben Shapiro’s Wife.
Marjorie Taylor Greene has had it with your insurrection shaming! Domestic terrorists are people, too! They have a vibrant, if embarrassing culture, which is vanishing before our eyes, as adherents succumb to federal prosecution, ivermectin poisoning, and the many other everyday dangers one faces when one is a fucking dumbass.
Oh, Marj also wants to prosecute Dr. Fauci, for “crimes against humanity,” the penalty for which is, as you are aware, getting strapped to a table Goldfinger-style and bisected by a Jewish space laser.
Convicted felon Roger Stone has a plan to help the rapist felon who commuted his sentence overturn the next election he loses, deploying "lawyers, judges, technology” in addition to the traditional terrorist mob.
Hmm. Well, we’ve seen the lawyers, nothing to worry about there. “Technology” could mean bamboo fiber detectors, or it could mean a hat that lets you bear-spray four cops at once, we’ll have to wait and see. As for judges, there’s only so many Aileen Cannons to go around.
Anyway, Aileen’s doing all she can already, according to a new report that says she rejected the eminently sensible advice of her colleagues, to pass the stolen classified documents case off to a more experienced judge, one perhaps a skosh less corrupt, but in her defense, justice ain’t gonna obstruct itself.
Louisiana Republicans’ trifecta-fueled theocracy bender shows no signs of abating, as the Ten Commandments must now, under penalty of law, be displayed in every single classroom statewide. The Vincent Price scenes specifically, my sources tell me.
Also, the seventh grade civics textbook is to be replaced with the Art of the Deal, and beginning at age 14, all students deemed sufficiently “hot” will be ferried away to compete in pageants at Mar-a-Lago, where none of the dressing room doors lock.
My deepest condolences to the members of the House Ethics Committee, I bet investigating Matt Gaetz’s sex crimes is a tremendously unpleasant way to spend time. The barf bag budget alone on these things can run into four, sometimes five figures.
Seems Robert Morris, megachurch “pastor” and “spiritual advisor” to celebrity rapists, molested a 12-year-old girl in the 1980’s. Morris spent the ensuing decades in penitent solitude, since it would of course be obscene for a child molester to set himself up as a moral authorit- hang on, I’m being handed an update…
Another super godly man o’ the cloth is “Pastor” Micah Beckwith, who thinks the Capitol Riot was “divinely inspired.” One job I think Micah should definitely not have is Lieutenant Governor of a whole dang state, but Indiana Republicans apparently disagree.
(Y’know, if I were a religious fundamentalist, that would piss me off, because it implies God is a fucking moron. Like, what sort of sickly, meth den deity inspires weirdos to don sloppy cosplay headdresses and commit crimes? “We honor Him by concocting fake religious dietary requirements when our blinding dumbfuckery lands us in prison,” said the Prophet, for He too had a brain that did not work at all, nay, not even a little bit.)
Perhaps Jesusest of all is Michigan state Rep. Neil Friske, who actually blamed the deep state for his arrest this week, for loving God too much, and also maybe one or two other minor infractions.
Paul Gosar introduced legislation to slap a certain puckered butthole face on the $500 bill, definitely the sort of decision a fellow who got censured for inciting violence against his legislative colleagues ought to be making. Maybe we can get Enrique Tarrio to whip us up a new national anthem. He’s certainly got time on his hands.
Kim Jong-un broke out the thickest, fanciest plasticware in all North Korea (which will be washed and reused when Kid Rock and Steven Seagal visit next month) when Vlad Putin swung by to beg for ammunition, tanks, and say, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare flagship lying around, wouldja?
Oh, and congratulations to Norway on finding all those rare earth minerals! I take my rare earth mineral detector with me everywhere I go, and I never find shit. One of these days.
…until then, I rely on your generosity, gentle reader, to keep the beer fridge stocked, and until that Fox polling trend holds for a bit, I’m gonna need me some beer to get through this. Blah, blah, Venmo, PayPal and Cash App. I remain profoundly thankful for your attention and kind support. Please stay safe out there, amidst the madness…
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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 06:48 PMNumber of posts: 655