TheFerret
TheFerret's JournalMore Felonies Than Baskin-Robbins Has Flavors (Ferret/Shower Cap)
From a certain angle, the Dotard had his best week, legally speaking, in quite some time. No, think about it. Today, he stands before the public facing fewer felony charges than he has in months. Once, that number climbed and climbed, ultimately attaining a truly daunting eighty-eight total counts, but now he’s down to a much more respectable fifty-four. Like a Mafia…accountant or something, but not necessarily the guy Joe Pesci plays.
(I bet if you clicked this link, you’d find this post will all kindsa wacky news links: https://showercapblog.com/more-felonies-than-baskin-robbins-has-flavors/)
Of course, he is a convicted felon now.
And not just a convicted felon, but a convicted felon 34 times over.
Actually, not just a convicted felon 34 times over, but a convicted felon 34 times over as well as an adjudicated rapist and fraudster, who can’t seem to keep his unnatural sexual attraction to his own daughter to himself, who deployed state force against peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square amidst a catastrophically botched pandemic response that crashed the economy and cost tens of thousands of Americans their very lives, who can neither wear pants nor eat steak like a functioning adult, who put kids in camps, who leaked classified intelligence to a Russian spy in the Oval Office, and who has repeatedly proven himself the mental inferior of the wily umbrella.
Oh, and this one time, he engaged in this monthslong criminal conspiracy to overturn an election he lost, and seize power, presumably forever. You remember, the one with the riot with all the cosplay Viking incels?
Yeah, that guy. Seems to me the one job that guy should definitely not have is President of the United States, but it would appear opinions vary, here in our advanced, wealthy, exceptionally healthy democracy.
I’d like to take a moment to complement the electorate on their exemplary information-filtering skills. We’re just overmatched primates, aren’t we? The gods handed us cell phones and the internet, left the room for ten fucking minutes to make a sandwich, and when they got back, millions of us had created this entire shitty religion that’s based on letting this one rapist do whatever he wants until he dies.
He’s their Turd Golem. They watch him gripe and (allegedly) sleep-fart his way from trial to trial, and their eyes well up with hydroxychloroquine-laced tears, for he is bearing these burdens, enduring the twin torments of accountability and air conditioning, for every down-and-out wannabe brownshirt who ever nurtured a crazy dream about burning a book, or having sex with his own daughter.
Anyway, he sure lost that trial, all 34 counts of it, mostly because he did exactly what he was accused of, and left a bunch of evidence all over the place, because he’s really, really dumb. Seriously, y’all…umbrellas.
Faced with perhaps the most enticing in a long series of off-ramps, the Republican Party once again chose…poorly. Look, I concede you folks are a sad, soft, sorry lot, but surely you can dig up somebody who sucks a little less.
Alas, no other turd will do. This turd is special. They don’t need this turd to open umbrellas or manage pandemics; so long as it makes liberals mad and takes a cognitive test every so often, it should be allowed to rape whoever it wants, and also order airstrikes.
Sacred indeed is the turd tithe, because the small army of Lionel Hutzes losing all these cases don’t come cheap, y’know.
Doddering old fop schlumps himself out for his little press conference, looking like a half-melted butter sculpture at a state fair on Giedi Prime, to remind the nation he is no longer capable of speaking without slurring his words, and the entire Republican Party forms a human chain around him. (A metaphorical one, of course. If actual people showed up in the real world, they wouldn’t be lying about crowd sizes again, now would they?)
According to the New York Times, this almost unendurably cringe-inducing spectacle constitutes “leaning into an outlaw image.” Yes, he’s the Too Cold Kid, a rootin’/tootin’/rapin’ antihero who whines about the temperature between courtroom naps. Identifies drawings of farm animals faster than anyone west of the Mississippi. No fancy animals, mind. Couldn’t expect a man to recognize a cassowary. Wouldn’t be fair.
Somehow, there’s a line out the door to debase yourself in full view of history on this felonious clown’s behalf. The line is comprised of politicians and pundits, some of the most powerful and influential people in America, and it’s hard to tell them apart, partially because they’re all dressed alike, and partially because of the many layers of shame drenching them, which have grown so thick and numerous as to manifest physically, in the form a viscous, semitranslucent goo.
Pretty sure one of ‘em is Little Marco, looking littler than ever. I think I heard Mike Lee swear a solemn vow to obstruct Senate functions extra hard unless the Dotard gets set free and awarded complimentary Dairy Queen for life or something, I wasn’t really listening.
The line runs right by whatever’s left of Bob Good, excommunicated and discarded for a younger, hotter proto-fascist, but cautionary tales work about as well as off-ramps with these dolts.
Speaker Moses, a famously devout chap, reminded us of the fine print on the wrapper the Bible comes in, you probably threw it out ages ago, but trust me, there’s this bit that clearly states all laws n’ lessons contained herein are null and void in the event of a rapist who hosts his very own game show, so there’s certainly no need to reexamine any messianic delusions at this time.
Of course, mere groveling is insufficient for those who long to skip straight to the part where they purge the government of the insufficiently loyal (COUGHCOUGHBOBGOOD) and launch the revenge prosecutions, of Biden and Hillary and Dr. Fauci and every single furry kid who ever shat in a litter box at a woke school, oh, and Cynthia Whatsername, who rejected my advances in the tenth grade.
And Robert De Niro, who, denounced as one whose “movies, artistry and brand have gone WAY DOWN IN VALUE” by a guy who managed to fail at the casino business, dejectedly sulked away with his two Oscars, to hang out with the Super Bowl champion, the billionaire pop star, and the other losers and haters who don’t get to be in this awesome, hard-to-get-into club.
Once a film star of some note, De Niro now will now live out the remainder of his days mourning his lost access to the salons at Scott Baio’s place, which isn’t technically a van anymore, since he pawned the engine for groceries.
I’m beginning to worry that middle school children in the society that rises from our ashes will watch clips of our “strongman” doing that rock ‘em sock ‘em Pillsbury Doughboy dance of his alongside Hitler’s rants, and they’ll mock us relentlessly for succumbing to such a shoddy knockoff. Side by side, he’ll come off like one of those “nailed it!” memes, where somebody failed to replicate an ornately decorated cake.
“Lookit him, saluting during Amazing Grace, I can see how somebody would attack an FBI building with a nail gun, or a human being with a hammer, for that guy. He’s just so impressive.” And then they’ll shove our entire culture into a locker. Which we deserve.
It was, after all, only a matter of hours before the yammering heads on Newsmax began insinuating those twelve jurors better not turn down any dark alleys, with all their fancy, big city ideas about the rule of law. Then the doxxing efforts and death threats started rolling in, right on schedule. All part of the organized assault on the nation’s justice system. We don’t need that for anything, do we?
Because again, this one rapist must be kept out of prison at any cost. Safest place for him is the White House, y’see, because if he’s not President when these other trials finally start (and Aileen’s doing her best, but every stall tactic runs out in time) he’s got a solid chance of meeting the business end of every single one of those fifty-four outstanding charges, because if half of what we’ve read in the papers about these cases turns out to be true, he once again did that thing where he (being an idiot) left stupefying amounts of evidence of his crimes lying around, in, for example, a bathroom.
He also apparently “called ‘Apprentice’ contestant Kwame Jackson the N-word, according to the show’s producer,” but outside of that and the felonies (and the rape and the thing at the Capitol and the kids in the cages) he’s basically Jesus.
Which, no doubt, is why he’s so popular in “right-wing prophetic Christian media” circles. I assure you, the fine print on that Bible deals with the rape and the crime and the lusting after his own daughter in exhaustive, frankly pedantic detail. You really shouldn’t’ve discarded that wrapper.
Shout-out to this week’s Top Stopped Clock: Libertarians! Booing that goon off your stage demonstrated uncharacteristic good sense, you guys, thank you*!
Oh, and just so you know, Sammy Alito ain’t recusin’ from shit, no matter how many crosses it turns out his wife burned outside the neighbors’ bedroom window, mere inches over the property line.
The DC Bar's main disciplinary panel recommended Rudy Giuliani for disbarment, because the Comeuppance Fairy hired Four Seasons Total Landscaping to cover every inch of the old bastard’s lawn with rakes. And it is glorious to behold.
Looks they did Dinesh D’Souza’s yard, too; his shitty donkey movie’s been disavowed and pulled from circulation by his publisher following a defamation lawsuit. The bigger the lie the costlier, it turns out. Heh.
Feels like it happened six months ago, but I guess I should officially state that while I’m not precisely certain what a “blowjob liberal” is, I figure I fit a number of the potential definitions, and I remain staunchly opposed to my own persecution. Just thought I’d mention it, since we’re tossing around violent rhetoric. Let it not be said of us, “First they came for the blowjob liberals…”
I bet it was a blowjob liberal who welcomed Trey Gowdy to New York City so appropriately. Some of my best friends are blowjob liberals. They are a gentle people, who neither riot nor support rapists electorally. We should not harm them, we should ask them to teach us their ways, which are wise.
Hey, I’m starting to hear folks’re receiving their copies of Marguerite vs. the Occupation from the CEX run! Shoot me a screencap, at showercapblog.com, or tag me @john_luzar on Elon’s Deteriorating Fun House, if you got one! There should be some copies available in comic stores, but I’d call ahead, it’s only going to be in shops that stock small press titles.
Speaking of comics, I’m gonna take that time off I talked about last week, gotta get under the hood and tinker with this DRAFT I’ve been working on. Two weeks, maybe three. If I ever finish this damn script, y’all’re gonna love it.
So if you missed this pass at Marguerite, there’s another Kickstarter coming, somewhere down the line, and you’ll have another shot. Once again, enormous thanks to everybody out there who’s supported these comic book projects, you’ve made this drunken internet loudmouth’s dreams come true.
Anyway, if you’d like to help keep me lubricated throughout this period of revision and renewal, GOOD NEWS, my digital tip jar now takes Cash App, Venmo AND PayPal, and all proceeds go directly to mostly local microbreweries who’re probably ethical but certainly not vetted in any way. See you in a bit, stay safe out there till then, all ye blowjob and non-blowjob liberals.
*Please do not take this expression of gratitude as an invitation to discuss any of your dumb ideas.
Oh Good, We're Talking About Reichs Now (Ferret/Shower Cap)
As expected, the pudding-spined mediocrity that passes for a strongman in America’s cut-rate conservative culture proved far too chickenshit to testify under oath, so the defense of the Republican presidential nominee rested, not with a bang, but with the merest popcorn fart, not unlike one that might escape the deteriorating husk of an aging rapist who no longer possesses the stamina to stay awake through his own porn star hush money trial.
(You know the drill. Links n’ such: https://showercapblog.com/oh-good-were-talking-about-reichs-now/)
I understand the Dotard is down to whatever attorneys happen to pop up in Cracker Jack boxes now, but was the Costello creep really the entire plan? “Here’s the most aggressively dislikable cretin we could find, to confirm several of the prosecution’s points!”
…okay. If you’re sure.
I bet when you’re that guilty (and that cold) you just want to get things over with. “Ladies and gentleman, you’re either afraid of the hammer and/or nail gun-wielding psychos we’ll send to your house if you acknowledge the obvious, or you’re not; let’s get this feeble old man someplace he can warm up, huh?”
In a fantastic detail that very nearly shattered what’s left of my mind into ten thousand brainworm bite-sized pieces, it’s apparently NOT EVEN COLD in the fucking courtroom.
One wonders, is this another manifestation of the accelerating decay of a body ravaged by hamberders, hydroxychloroquine, and hate? Will he show up to the debates in some biologically disconcerting breathing apparatus, like Immortan Joe?
Or is he doing that thing where he asserts dominance over objective reality just cuz he can?
Because at his command, at least a dozen sitting U.S. Congressmen would march straight into a sauna, and sit there, sweating through their matching suits, insisting they’re freezing, until somebody passed out. Gaetz would order coffee, and the other lackeys would kick themselves for not thinking of it first.
It’s not even cold. Dear god.
By this time next week, Byron Donalds’ll be workshopping a whole new myth on the hate rally circuit, wherein the Turd Emperor got marched to his trial at the point of Hunter Biden’s bayonet, through six feet of snow, five miles uphill both ways, jauntily taking and “acing” cognitive tests all the while, just to pass the time.
As such, in light of the sleep-farting pervert’s undeniable invulnerability, it is with the heaviest of hearts I inform you Operation Jade Helm XXIII: Will No One Rid Me of This Meddlesome Rapist is off. First, that wily Marjorie Taylor Greene discovered the Jewish lasers we worked so hard to smuggle into orbit, now she’s uncovered our assassination plot! She is simply too intelligent a foe, comrades! Abort! Abort! Abort!
Yeah, the poor, persecuted turd spends his days dodging Diamond Joe’s elite web of international cutthroats now. In between naps. In his little golf cart. Only your NFT purchase keeps that golf cart fueled, y’know, but your Trump Buxx will be worth their weight in unobtainium in the Reich to come.
Hey, speaking of reichs…
I confess, I’m no fan of the way this ongoing flirtation with open Nazi rhetoric paired with the entirely fabricated yet swiftly disseminated assassination conspiracy theory. Especially with refined plans for mass deportations and detention camps making the rounds, as tried-and-true racist fearmongering bits return to fat, fashy Elvis’ set list.
Sure, he talks an awful lot like Hitler, but he hangs out with indicted rappers and Joe Piscopo, so we really oughta let him outlaw birth control, and rape whoever he wants, really, that’s what Nikki Haley thinks, anyway.
Nikki didn’t mean all those reasonable, objectively accurate criticisms of your many shortcomings, Mr. Rapist, Sir! She’s being measured for her too-long red necktie as we speak, and would make an ideal Secretary of Something You Don’t Want to Pay Attention To.
At least they’re still reliant on astroturfing and post-production propaganda wizardry to generate the illusion of real-world support. I prefer my death cults simmering at sub-riot-level temperatures, don’t you?
Not that the would-be high priests aren’t doing their subpar best to stir up the rubes’ darker urges. Dr. Ronny Jackson is standing by with whatever chemical assistance you may require to work yourself into a state where it seems wise to violently insert yourself into official government proceedings. And JD Vance thinks Viktor Orbán could teach those uppity campus protesters a thing or two about expressing dissenting beliefs.
Also, the Shart of the Deal claims to’ve worked out an agreement with his genocidal benefactor to swap Ukrainian sovereignty for kidnapped American journalist Evan Gershkovich plus a piss hooker to be named later. The Nobel people won’t be able ignore you this time, kid.
I’m curious, exactly how many traitor flags do the Alitos keep in their various garages? I picture Missus A rifling through storage bins, amidst styrofoam tombstones and nativity sets, dithering over whether or not the Stars and Bars might be a touch more aggressive than the moment merits. (There’s a plastic tub filled with armbands on the top shelf, but it’s not quiiiiiite time yet.)
The cast of Vetting the Republican Senate Candidates may’ve stumbled onto the breakout weirdo they needed to anchor an otherwise bland slate of lumbering carpetbaggers plus Kari Lake in her Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? period.
Thanks to his long history of anti-Semitic rants and trademark fondness for the c-word, Royce White rose to something resembling prominence as a frequent guest of and even occasional substitute host for Alex Jones, so naturally the Minnesota Republican Party endorsed him to take on Amy Klobuchar.
And I don’t want to set my debate expectations unreasonably high, but that feels like the sort of conversation you’d toss into the time capsule, the one we launch into space to warn as yet unborn alien civilizations about the follies that brought about our downfall. A clarifying side-by-side comparison, if nothing else.
Dastardly deep state Dem Jim McGovern desecrated the House floor by making easily confirmable statements about the Republican presidential nominee’s legal issues, but miraculously, decorum was restored when the ghost of Daniel Webster himself appeared to wash McGovern’s intolerably accurate words from the official congressional record in a stream of ethereal urine.
Ron DeSantis bleated out an edict, banning all non-Ron-Ron-approved colors from nighttime bridge lighting throughout the land, so as to outlaw Pride displays, you see, for he is the pettiest authoritarian brat who ever lived. He’s branded this little tantrum his “Freedom Summer,” which no doubt triggers that nearly human laugh of his.
Kristi Noem has now been banished from all tribal lands in Whichever Dakota, more than 20% of the state she governs, for dirtbaggery unrelated to any pet homicides you may’ve read about elsewhere. To make matters worse, rumors abound that Corey Lewandowski is currently cohabitating with a dog cloned from Cricket’s remains.
Seems a certain rapist is none too pleased his forthcoming biopic, “Apprentice: Story of a Rapist” contains a scene where he rapes one of the women he raped. Well, the adaptors tried to find a scene where he succeeded at business, but there weren’t any.
Seems like as good a time as any to mention Trump Media, which reported $327.6 million in net losses against just $770,500 in revenue, although that figure doesn’t include the break room Diet Coke machine. Devin lost the key in a legal settlement to an internet cow, but if push comes to shove, they can shoot the lock open with one of Kid Rock’s guns, I bet there’s thirty, thirty-five bucks in there, easy.
New Jersey Republicans have descended into a super dignified, Spy vs. Spy slap fight over stolen lawn signs, as emotionally stable adults are wont to do. Gosh, I hope nobody’s clown wig got tousled in the ensuing skirmish.
Starting July 1st, the Donnelly, Idaho Public Library will ban unaccompanied minors, in compliance with a terrifying state law passed by regressive thugs. Me, I think a culture that hangs No Kids Allowed signs on libraries has maybe lost its way a little.
…you see why I drink.
Should you feel inclined to help me rinse the memory of all this madness away on a wave of merciful, merciful beer, have I got a tip jar (now accepting PayPal, Venmo, and Cash App) for you! You could also follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s Broken Plaything, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com, if you're so inclined. Or not. You have free will, after all.
(Hey, probably gonna need a week off to recharge soon. It miiiiiiiight be next week, we’ll see. Stay safe out there, m’loves…)
They Say Every Death Cult Winds Up With the Uniform It Deserves... (Ferret/Shower Cap)
My, my, my, the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse has become the place to see and be seen for the proto-fascist sycophant set. It’s like Studio 54, only for excruciatingly dorky, power-hungry nitwits.
(As always, click here for links and stunning Cap-o-vision: https://showercapblog.com/they-say-every-death-cult-winds-up-with-the-uniform-it-deserves/)
“Hey, wanna play hooky from Congress to help an adjudicated rapist circumvent his gag order?”
“Only if we get to dress like him!”
This carpet is MAGA hat red. “Is that the Beetlejuice handjob lady? And look, there’s Jeffrey Clark, he’s getting disbarred! Ooooo, I heard the Beetlejuice handjob lady didn’t even show up to her own son’s trial, oh, and here’s Matt Gaetz, credibly accused of sex trafficking a minor, he is also dressed exactly like the mentally deteriorating game show host.”
Ever eager to stand out, Gaetz tacked an iconic terrorist catchphrase onto his proclamation of unconditional submissiveness. It was very impressive. I’m sure Matt’ll be right there on the front lines, next time somebody needs to storm a slumber party, anyway.
Yeah, lookit all the crooks and perverts that turned out to support n’ defend their favorite rapist! Crooks, perverts, and the Governor of North Dakota. Oh, and the dumbest man in the Senate. The veep wannabes travel in packs now, parroting talking points in their matching uniforms, looking like the parents of the evil a cappella team in a direct-to-video Pitch Perfect sequel.
And if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to watch two fungal life forms slap-fight at the bottom of the filthiest barrel in an abandoned meth den, the Republican primary in the Virginia fifth has devolved into a shoving match over who gets to stand closer to the rapist at his porn star hush money trial.
Somehow, even this crack team of messaging geniuses has failed to muster much of a defense of their sleep-farting God Emperor. He’s not nodding off in court, y’see, he’s praying, er, meditating, er, telepathically communicating, over thousands of miles, over mountains and oceans, with Kim Jong-un, and so pure is their bond that he cannot help but pass into a blissful, transcendent state which admittedly resembles napping, but in Joe Biden’s America, true love is a crime.
And so he rails, and he naps, and he waves around his precious printouts of Fox News stories, and he complains that he is cold, and he naps, and he watches the weak men who dress like him say the things he cannot, and he naps, and he waits for the aide dubbed “the human printer” to bring fresh printouts of Fox News stories to wave around, and he naps, and he complains that he is cold.
He’s back to conjuring imaginary hordes of fervent followers, at rallies and at the courthouse, always juuuust out of frame. ‘Course, if you want to see real crowds, check out the line to vote for Nikki Haley in the technically resolved Republican presidential primary…
With Speaker Moses too busy performing tricks at the end of his leash in New York to corral his poo-flinging, howler monkey caucus, House Dems are now governing around him via discharge petition where they’re able.
And where they’re not, well, keeping Marjorie Taylor Greene more or less quarantined certainly counts as public service. I’m pretty sure the zombie apocalypse starts the moment Marj finally snaps and bites somebody. It’s gonna be Boebert, too, isn’t it? Coupla MAGA scream queens ripping out one another’s hair, swapping cranial parasites.
It’s apparently legal to hunt BLM protesters for sport in Texas, at least as long as Greg Abbott is in charge, which is fairly terrifying. Gotta hand it to ya, Guv, that pardon sent a chill down my spine I haven’t felt since Lafayette Square. When DeSantis abuses power, it’s for clown shoes shit like The Great Woke Disney Kerfuffle of ‘23; you’re more of an inviting-political-street-violence kinda guy. Accordingly, the medals on your chest will be shinier and more plentiful than his, in the Reich to come.
Missouri Republican secretary of state candidate Valentina Gomez’s buzzy new “don’t be weak and gay” campaign slogan resurrects a phrase your humble blogger last heard on the lips of Brian Boyd, in the seventh grade, as he pushed me into the girl’s bathroom.
I guess Clarence Thomas “forgot” to declare his billionaire broskis’ bribes as taxable income. Frankly, it’d save everyone a lot of time and hassle if the IRS mailed the bill directly to Harlan Crow. (Pro tip: if you want to make sure he opens it, draw Hitler on the envelope.)
Speaking of the highest court in all the land, seems Sammy Alito, feelin’ low after the abject failure of the dumbest of all possible insurrections, raised the flag of the Proud Lads, or the Incel Caliphate, or whatever they were calling themselves that week, in solidarity with the disloyal, defeated, and subpar.
Or maybe it was his wife. There’s this special subsite, deep within Ashley Madison, that matches right-wing federal judges with fashy Stepford types, to launder the payoffs, and run the calling tree during the autogolpe attempts. The Alitos have asked for privacy at this time, while they get matching Ashli Babbitt tattoos.
Well, Kristi Noem slunk back to Whichever Dakota with her tail between her legs (GET IT?) and we’re poorer for it. I certainly don’t begrudge Cricket her revenge, I just wish she’d drawn it out a bit.
Great story in ProPublica, about Texas school board member Courtney Gore, who blew the whistle on her own party’s fraudulent indoctrination scare. For her diligence, honesty, and commitment to the well-being of her community’s children, Gore’s fellow Republicans showered her with praise, and by praise I mean death threats.
In what I suppose passes for good news nowadays, a mere 38,246 Republican voters in West Virginia’s first congressional district wanted to send convicted Capitol rioter Derrick Evans to Washington to make laws, not nearly enough to win the primary. Admirable restraint, chaps! Incidentally, if anybody’s in the market for 38,246 lightly-used armbands…
The nation’s cold culture war turned hot smack dab in the middle of my hometown Kansas City Chiefs, when Harrison Butker, who I’m told is some sort of football person, decided to plagiarize his commencement speech from a scene that got cut from Mad Men for laying the anachronous misogyny on too thick.
At press time, a legion of tween Swifties had cornered Butker in the classroom containing the furry children’s litter box, and were pelting him with genderless Potato Head toys, reciting, alternately, Tortured Poets Department lyrics and Sontag essays.
Wholesome new details of Moms fer Liberty scold Bridget Ziegler’s personal life emerged this week. It’s mostly, uh, church stuff, but don’t click that link at work.
I understand we’re getting ourselves some presidential debates. I figure, unless I’m way off about the long-term polling effects of an actual fucking worm devouring part of a candidate’s brain, it’s gonna come down to the rapist and the fella who keeps creating all those jobs.
They’ll argue over whose accomplishments are more impressive, the guy who shepherded the economy from the worst unemployment in decades to the Dow passing 40,000, or the one who once, with the assistance of just two very small hints from Dr. Ronny Jackson, correctly identified a drawing of a hippopotamus. (And is also a rapist.)
Gonna come down to the wire.
Yikes.
One of the only things that helps me unwind after a long week chronicling the mad minutiae of ascendant American fascism is watching right-wing domestic terrorists get sentenced to lengthy prison terms.
What I would like is an ever-expanding series of decorative plates, each commemorating a different terrorist shitbag meeting the Comeuppance Fairy in an American courtroom. Stewart Rhodes. James Alex Fields. You get the David DePape plate free after purchasing ten.
These are great moments in American history. Beautiful moments. Imagine ‘em, all lined up on your mantle, while you smoke a pipe and do the Sunday crossword or some shit. Years from now, when we’ve finally put this nonsense behind us.
Of course, the other thing that helps me unwind, and I bet you can guess where this is headed…is beer. There’s something about watching a rapist whine about the temperature at his hush money trial that makes me want to drown brain cells. Your generous donation (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, and Venmo!) finances the merciful euthanasia of my weary neurons.
Okay. I to my beer fridge. You stay safe out there, ol’ chum…and blah blah follow @john_luzar and sign up on the email list.
Brainworms, Dead Puppies, and a Rapist Who Longs For Incest (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Let’s address the elephant in the room. Obviously, all the RFK Jr. brainworm jokes were long gone hours before my Friday night posting time. I don’t have some awesome, worth-the-wait, totally original, unheard RFK Jr. brainworm joke for you. Apologies. For about ten minutes, you delude yourself that no one else will notice the ivermectin bank shot, but who’re you kidding?
(Links await those brave enough to click this link: https://showercapblog.com/brainworms-dead-puppies-and-a-rapist-who-longs-for-incest/)
Dune jokes. Tequila jokes. Shazam aficionados seized the moment for Mr. Mind. You wouldn’t be reading this if you hadn’t heard five thousand RFK Jr. brainworm jokes by now. I have nothing to contribute to the discourse. Except maybe this…looking back on the headline that launched a thousand gags, let us raise a glass to the simple, comedic purity of the story as it broke:
R.F.K. Jr. Says Doctors Found a Dead Worm in His Brain
Perfect.
Subheadline: “The presidential candidate has faced previously undisclosed health issues, including a parasite that he said ate part of his brain.”
Oh, the chaos agent who might just haphazardly swat the souvenir snow globe of American democracy to the floor, shattering it for all time, had an ACTUAL FUCKING WORM living inside his skull, eating parts of his ACTUAL FUCKING BRAIN, until it died, presumably poisoned?
Sounds about right.
I just assume we’re being punished by God at this point.
Golly I hope the brainworm guy doesn’t tip the election to that rapist.
You know the rapist I’m talking about. Always cold, likes to print out chunks of the internet to wave around? You’d recognize him from that interview where he talks about leading the “party of fertilization,” (he’s a branding genius, this rapist) or that time he whined about being cold or maybe that other time he whined about being cold or even that other other time he whined about being cold.
I bet it sucks to be so cold when you’re living through your worst nightmare.
Because that’s what this is, y’know.
When you’re a narcissist, it’s probably not a lot of fun to listen to any woman talk about how unappealing and unsatisfying you are sexually, but imagine how the torment deepens when A) it’s happening during your felony trial and B) the entire planet is watching.
Emasculation on a scale that never would’ve been possible had he not sought and obtained the presidency. That’s some Sophocles shit, right there. For Donald Trump, this is what’s in Room 101.
Of course, he’ll kill us all for witnessing it, given the chance. He’ll finish the oath of office, demand the nuclear football, and mash away at the button with those stubby digits until all life on Earth ends, because it’s the only way he can be sure there’s no one left who knows.
Yeah, Stormy Daniels Week was definitely American history’s dignifiedest yet.
Surprising no one, all the defense could muster was a spiteful burst of slut-shaming, which was revolting enough, but the real dry-heaving started when the story took its inevitable turn down the dank, mildewy alley where all tales of Donald Trump’s sexuality eventually lead: his attraction to his daughter, Ivanka.
Seems like that thought’s never too far from the front of his mind, y’know? He talks about how much he wants to fuck his own daughter…a lot. More than anyone I’ve ever met. Way more. It’s one of the things that makes him such an odd choice to build a cult of personality around, in my opinion.
And times’re certainly tough for the Children of the Candy Corn, in the blinding glare of the God Emperor’s public degradation. You turn on Fox, and it’s this shame-drenched circle jerk, Jesse Watters moaning about the Dotard’s potential prison gym bod, while Gutfeld paws at his own groin with steel wool, squeaking “he’s a sex god!” Laura Ingraham pacing to and fro in the background, muttering “orange turd” in disgust, stopping periodically to flog Gutfeld.
In addition to the courtroom humiliations, everybody’s pointing and laughing at Wee Don’s latest feeble showing against Nikki Haley, but it coulda been worse. Imagine if he’d had to arm-wrestle her.
At least we finally figured out why he’s struggling to stay awake in court. Begging oil executives for bribes can really tucker you out, especially when you’re already woozy from the bronzer fumes.
He needs the money to pay Paul Manafort, y’see. Apparently, everyone’s favorite Kremlin conduit is headed back to the campaign trail, after a lucrative post-pardon stint influence peddling with the Chinese Communist Party. “America first,” though.
Oh, and congrats to Judge Aileen Cannon, on repeating as Trump Org employee of the month! Bet you’re in line for one of the very best parking spots in the Reich to come!
The week’s lowest point was definitely the moment Kristi Noem finally figured out it was within her power to just…stop making media hits. Like Mom unplugging the TV set right in the middle of Darkwing Duck. I watching that, dammit.
Kristi Makes it Worse. Best show on television. Water cooler moment after water cooler moment. “Didja see where Kristi threatened to murder another dog?” “I heard it was the President’s dog!” “It WAS!”
It’s a really specific genre, but there’s a market for this content. Let’s call it Watching a Terrible Person Fail to Extract Their Head From a Bag. James Comer is the Michael Jordan of this. The Excruciatingly Paced Downfall of Rudy Giuliani has already earned a loyal audience, I’m hearing it might even get picked up for another season.
And Kristi’s the star that burned half as long but twice as hilariously. How did she come to believe any of this was going to work out for her? Why draw attention to your puppy homicide at all? HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO GET YOUR HEAD STUCK IN THE BAG IN THE FIRST PLACE?
Turns out, her team tried to talk her out of it, but she was so sure Cricket’s execution would launch her to glory (or at least the NRA) that she would not be deterred. Somehow that certainty held right up until the moment she realized “My God, I’m getting clowned by a fucking Newsmax host,” at which point her soul just…dissipated into the ether. You’ll have to check the Whichever Dakota constitution to see if it’s even legal for a husk to govern the state, I won’t pretend to know.
I miss her already.
The veepstakes is all dreary now. Sure, this makes Doug Bugman undisputed Prime Dakotan, but that and five bucks gets you a cup of livestock dewormer. Tim Scott’s an okay groveler, I guess, but I gotta be honest, I don’t see a breakout star.
The Republican-controlled U.S. House of Representatives continues to resemble nothing so much as a Lollapalooza outhouse crammed to bursting with clowns. But not fun clowns. Clowns from Tom Waits songs.
What a fucking madhouse. Chip Roy rails about the elves who want to impose Sharia law but refuse to mend his shoes while he sleeps. Steve Scalise shouts out increasingly desperate impeachment justifications, like a drunk at an improv show. Mike Collins opines on, wow, a wide variety of topics. Distant shrieks indicate Nancy Mace just flayed the latest wave of interns.
Oh, and Doc Ronny’s under Ethics Committee investigation, allegedly for distributing drugs that illegally enhance one’s ability to tell a drawing of a horsie apart from a drawing of a lion.
We got all hyped up for Moses v Marj, but the whole thing ultimately lasted about a minute, and her subsequent tantrum got drowned out by brainworm gags. Nice to see MTG on the appropriate end of a heckling for once, though.
Anyway, Mikey’s sure feelin’ himself now that he’s survived a motion to vacate. Throwing his shoulders back when he walks, so everybody gets an eyeful of that Slightly Better Than Kevin McCarthy merit badge. He’s got a new bill that outlaws something that’s already illegal. “That’s okay, baby, I couldn’t pass it anyway! I just wanna demonize some immigrants for a bit, baby! POLITICS!” and then he throws a smoke bomb but he forgets to walk away so he’s still there when the smoke clears.
Over in the Senate, Katie Britt wants a national pregnancy database, which she pinkie swears not to abuse. All she wants is an app that sends her an alert anytime some whore/incubator crosses a state line into a jurisdiction where her bodily autonomy rights are recognized.
Let’s check in on the circus freaks looking to join Katie in Washington, and help her implement her vision, shall we?
I guess Dave McCormick thinks most Pennsylvanians are divorced. Strong Milhouse’s Dad energy with Dave.
In Montana, Tim Sheehy’s filling out his staff with anti-Semites, who get caught liking posts that say shit like "Don't follow me for my cute cat posting if you can't stand by me when I deny the Holocaust."
“Don't follow me for my cute cat posting if you can't stand by me when I deny the Holocaust.”
“R.F.K. Jr. Says Doctors Found a Dead Worm in His Brain.”
“New Hampshire Pol Who Called Teens ‘Ripe’ Won’t Apologize to His Haters.”
I am…unnecessary. Obsolete. Out-competed in the absurdity marketplace by the real-world news.
I’ve never encountered a more distressingly flashy meet-cute than When Vivek Ramaswamy Met Ann Coulter. Still, there’s an undeniable sort of incel live-streamer chemistry there, and a certain part of me wants Werner Herzog to document what would surely amount to terrifying copulation, if only for science’s sake, but why don’t we talk about something else?
I know everybody’s excited to see Bannon report to prison, but I honestly doubt there’s a cell that can hold him, given all the corrosive secretions.
Kevin McCarthy is definitely living his best life, as an abnormally well-connected and well-funded mosquito, stabbing, for hate’s sake, at the doughiest bits of Matt Gaetz’s anatomy. God knows legislating wasn’t his calling.
Hey, RIP FreedomWorks! Man, remember when the weirdest Republicans were old White people in tricorn hats? You never had to worry about bear spray or zip ties with the Tea Party, y’know?
On that note, I need a freakin’ beer. And I’m drinking for two tonight! No, Katie Britt, I’m not pregnant, I’m talking about the parasite I invited into my cranium, hoping to obliterate all memory of the last seven years or so, except maybe the ice cream and pro wrestling.
If you’d like to support my quest for sweet obliteration, the tip jar now takes PayPal, Cash App and Venmo; I promise to spend your donation only on things that kill brain cells. Also, follow @john_luzar, and sign up on the email list! As we hurtle down this mad, mad, mad, mad path, I sincerely hope you are still able to stay safe out there, my friend. See you soon.
Trump Trial Week Two: Still Sleepy, Still Cold, Still a Rapist (Ferret/Shower Cap)
At the risk of repeating myself, adjudicated rapist/GOP presidential nominee Donald J. Trump spent the week napping through his felony trial, though rumors of farting in his sleep are just rumors and democracy dies in darkness so we must assume he is only napping and not necessarily farting the important thing is that he’s COLD.
(You want links? You want LIVING COLOR? Click here: https://showercapblog.com/trump-trial-week-two-still-sleepy-still-cold-still-a-rapist/)
Him is a sweepy, chiwwy wapist. Poow wapist. Poow authowotawian wapi-okay, I’ll stop.
The point is, we’re dealing with not just a known rapist but a wannabe autocrat. (I confess I am leaning Biden at this point.)
Time Magazine took us on a harrowing, Apocalypse Now But With Cheap Bronzer expedition through the eighty-eight remaining brittle neurons that constitute the Dotard’s almost visibly deteriorating brain, and what conclusion could you possibly draw but…the horror?
The closest thing to a coherent ideology amounts, more or less, to “whatever the weirdos who show up to the rallies want so long as I stay out of prison and also nobody ever gets to tell me no and Daddy finally admits I’m not a loser and maybe says I love you just once real quiet nobody else would have to hear or anything.”
Turns out, during those long courtroom naps, the sloppy old fop’s been dreaming of deploying the military to conduct mass deportations. Of detention camps. Of granting Christofascist wet dreams like allowing the state to monitor pregnancies in case any of those uppity sluts/whores/jezebels get to thinkin’ they possess some sort of inalienable right to bodily autonomy or somethin’.
This power, and more besides, must be granted to a man whose body is no longer capable of executing basic commands like Pronounce the Word “Infrastructure,” even with all the extra rest he’s been getting. He requires absolute legal immunity, partly for the fascism, but mainly for what he’s got planned if he ever gets those tiny, inadequate hands on whoever’s responsible for the thermostat in that courtroom.
At any rate, the sleep-farting God Emperor requires nine thousand more of your dollars, rubes, to pay the fines accrued for pathologically violating that gag order. You don’t even get an NFT this time, just the thrill of participating in a cornered thug’s latest attempt at witness intimidation.
Oh, and if anybody knows of a good accounting firm, the one Trump Social was using just got charged with fraud. Or a good lawyer, all of his are either attempting to withdraw, facing disbarment, or testifying against him while he naps.
Spinning off from the smash hit porn star hush money trial, Nobody Liked Michael Cohen debuts on C-SPAN this July. According to the press release, it’s “a zany political thriller/comedy of errors, depicting a sordid criminal conspiracy perpetrated by an immense cast of malicious galoots, seen through the eyes of the guy who somehow managed to be the biggest scumbag in the room.”
I guess Hope Hicks got sad on the stand because her boss committed so many crimes in front of her. It was always gonna end up in either the courtroom, or a thousand-year Reich, Hope, and since we’re talking about a guy who bankrupted a casino, well…
Sipping a room temperature Capri Sun, Bill Barr couldn’t repress a fond chuckle, reminiscing upon those heady days when Off-Brand Orbán would stumble about, hopped up on an Adderall/hydroxycholorquine cocktail West Wing staffers took to calling “Rudy’s hair dye,” ordering the executions of whoever had bruised his fragile ego last. Well I certainly understand why you’d endorse such a fine, upstanding fellow for President, Bill.
The puppy execution scandal roiling the Republican veepstakes finally filled the schadenfreude void that opened when Ron DeSantis slunk back to Florida. God bless Kristi Noem. Bless her dented, leaking brain, and the decisions she makes with it.
She truly believed this tale of puppicide would launch her national political career, leading perhaps all the way to the White House. And I get the thought process, frankly. The cruelty, as wiser folk have observed, is the whole dang point. Republican voters want cruel candidates. Candidates who will harm their percieved enemies. Candidates who would execute their smug libtard neighbors’ pets, perhaps, but not their own.
Still, the Cricket Had it Comin’ media tour has been can’t-miss comedy. I fancy myself a joke writer, but no man-made gag can compare with the natural beauty of this magnificent flameout colliding with Kimberly Guilfoyle’s promotional tour, for her children’s book…about a dog. That’s just God showing off.
“Hey, maybe it was a plot by deep state editors to make people THINK Kristi Noem executed a puppy when she really didn’t,” mused Kimberly Freaking Guilfoyle of All People, as Noem frantically concocted ever wilder tales to justify her crime.
The dog was putting rainbow fentanyl in the children’s Halloween bags, you see. Anyway, the whole thing was staged, in front of Kim Jong-un, to intimidate him into never fucking with America cuz we’re all puppy-killing psychos, and looking around, I think you have to admit it worked. Kristi’s the whole reason you’re not speaking North Korean right now.
I hear Paul Gosar is kinda fiddling with a story about this dentist that offs beagles with novocaine, but he’s not sure if it’s a novella or a podcast yet.
A bipartisan group of lawmakers came together as the Congressional Dog Lovers Caucus, proposing billions to fund an Underground Railroad-like endeavor to evacuate all canine life from both Dakotas just to be safe, sorry Doug Bugman or whatever your name is.
Even Willard got his weekly one-liner in. Could pointing and laughing at Kristi Noem unify our broken nation? We need to be asking ourselves these tough questions, friends.
Here’s another one:
When Ron DeSantis bends the knee, are there like, lifts in the knee pads?
I think Marjorie Taylor Greene liked things better when the Speaker of the House slept curled up inside a matchbox she kept in her bedside table. Now she’s all mad the uniparty vetoed her plan to replace the Whatchamacallits in the Capitol rotunda vending machines with individually wrapped bologna slices, so she called a press conference, alongside the guy Jacob Wohl said was banging Elizabeth Warren, a pet rock allegedly containing JFK Jr.’s soul, and Thomas Massie, to announce plans to waste a little more of everyone’s time next week. No wonder she’s making so many friends.
I guess Kevin McCarthy finally found a champion to defend his honor in the arena against Matt Gaetz, or at least to primary the little creep. I know we’re focused on Ukraine right now, but I’d hate to see this particular circular firing squad die down for lack of ammunition. If nothing else, somebody toss these two a single, rusty fork.
Seems Texas Congresscreep Troy Nehls may’ve stolen an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bit of valor. Gosh, and he seemed so honorable. Except for that time he got fired from that police department for “20 violations in just over a year, including destroying evidence, making an improper arrest and disobeying orders,” of course. Oh, and that time he participated in that plot to overturn that one presidential election.
Arizona Republicans selected a freshly indicted fake elector and a QAnon-spewing former state representative who was expelled from office for ethics violations to represent them on the RNC, where they will play tambourine and go-go dance in Lara Trump’s blasphemous Tom Petty cover band, while also attempting to end democracy in the United States.
Vivek Ramaswamy says the Founding Fathers are waiting in the afterlife to judge us, and I’m not gonna lie, that sounds kinda hot. Suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to get somebody to handcuff me to the bed, put on a powdered wig, and read me Thomas Paine till I beg for mercy.
Speaking of politically themed sex acts, I just read the headline “J.D. Vance Goes Full Memory Hole With Claim About Mike Pence On Jan. 6,” which conjured an image that’d make Hieronymus Bosch slap me. Regardless, as one of the GOP’s most craven Trump enablers, Vance doesn’t deserve to get “memory holed,” whatever that may entail, ever, even if he pays for it.
According to the Wall Street Journal, the culture on RFK Jr.’s potentially world-wrecking spoiler campaign runs a little on the “cultlike” side. I refuse to believe it. The blithering anti-vax kook attracted a small army of malcontents with emotional problems? Gosh, I thought I knew a thing or two about human nature, but…I’m gonna have to really rethink some stuff, y’know? “Cultlike.” Golly.
Mega-smart super-genius Elon Musk finally reversed the historic failure of his disastrous acquisition of Twitter; turns out all the joint needed was one more yapping Nazi incel, and now that Nick Fuentes has his platform back, it’s literally raining money. I’ll leave you to the long line of advertisers begging to be taken back, Mr. Genius, sir.
Young Nick’s getting normalized all over the place these days, if his boasts about infiltrating Charlie Kirk’s brownshirt bureaucrat temp agency are to be believed. You know, it might be a good idea to keep the American Right away from the levers of power for a spell.
Actually…y’know what? I’m finally convinced. Longtime readers would characterize this blog as staunchly anti-Trump, but somewhere around the eighth or ninth time he waddled out to whine about the temperature, I finally saw a personality worth building a cult around. It’s suddenly so clear to me: IT’S TOO COLD. Only by warming this one specific rapist can we hope to restore American greatness.
And if I’m gonna go MAGA, I’m gonna need EVEN MORE BEER, to kill off all those brain cells. You can fund my descent down the evolutionary ladder by throwing a few bucks in the tip jar, (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, and Venmo!) or you can join the email list at showercapblog.com or follow @john_luzar over at Elon’s Distressingly Fashy Playland, where all the hugs are free. See ya next week, chums…stay safe till then.
On the Execution of Puppies, and the Legal Immunity of Narcoleptic Rapists (Ferret)
I’ve decided to compose a comedy of manners/courtroom thriller about our topsy-turvy times. My working title: The Drowsy Rapist. Perhaps The Chilly Rapist. The Drowsy, Chil- no, that’s too much.
(The blog link, for those who want the full experience. It’s very modern and titillating: https://showercapblog.com/on-the-execution-of-puppies-and-the-legal-immunity-of-narcoleptic-rapists/)
ANYWAY, there’s this rapist, who commits bunches and bunches of crimes on top of the rape, including an honest-to-goodness attempted coup, and this idiot death cult that thinks the rapist should be President.
It’s a REALLY cool cult, you probably can’t get in. Gosh, how can any of us look at the life of dignity and universal respect Bill Barr leads without seething with envy? Getting publicly humiliated by a rapist game show host looks so, so rad, and I just wish SO HARD that I was you, Bill.
So the rapist is on trial, for a few of the dozens of crimes he’s committed, and he keeps nodding off during the trial and allegedly farting in his sleep although rumors of actual pants-shitting are lies planted by the Clinton Foundation operatives who killed Seth Rich.
It’s certainly not hard to understand why this particular rapist inspires such fervent devotion.
He is being air conditioned for our sins, you know. And are the unflattering courtroom sketches depicting a dozing, unnaturally hued old fop not a modern-day crucifixion?
All he does anymore is fall asleep (but definitely not shit himself) and complain about being cold, while down the road, the Supreme Freakin’ Court ponders granting him absolute criminal immunity, or at the very least delivering a massive in-kind contribution to his flailing campaign, in the form of a desperately needed delay of one of his other criminal trials.
How many crimes does this one, specific rapist get to commit? I’m willing to compromise. Tell you what, we’ll do a punch card system. Every ten felonies, you get a free one. Considering he’s facing exactly 88 counts (for now) that works out rather tidily.
It’s fuckin’ wild, watching the rapist’s strip mall attorneys argue he has the legal right to not only overthrow the government, but to assassinate anybody who doesn’t like it.
This rapist who can no longer remain awake.
We must grant him these powers for the restored Reich to come, you understand. He has big plans for that power, and many of those plans are *technically* criminal. Sure, he’s lost a step, but he’s still got a coupla rapes left in him.
As you’d imagine, MAGA Nation is handling all this rather poorly, though I find myself uncharacteristically sympathetic. You’ve spent the better part of the last decade worshipping a turd, and now the turd is melting in the harsh light of day, and of course it’s embarrassing. Shouldn’t’ve worshipped that turd in the first place, though. That’s on you.
Jesse Watters practically begged viewers to see not the impotent flopping of a deflated, declining narcissist, but King Kong in a cage. Sure, and he’s a “style icon,” too. He’s strong and he’s smart and he never said to drink bleach just inject disinfectant and anyone who says otherwise is a filthy libtard commie sheeple.
…and yet every time I look at my phone, he is either asleep, or waving physical printouts of Fox News stories, complaining about the temperature in the courtroom. Can somebody please get the God Emperor a blanket?
At least nobody seems particularly interested in rioting on the doddering old coot’s behalf these days. That’s downright encouraging. Perhaps they’re deterred by all the seditious conspiracy convictions. Perhaps they are too mortified to show their faces in public. I certainly would be.
He’s trying so desperately to conjure another riot, too, (when he’s awake, that is) whimsically evoking Charlottesville, insisting there’s an adoring throng, just off camera, clamoring for his release, bear-spraying the odd law enforcement officer.
Not so tough without yer lynch mob, are ya, Donnie? Whole lot more folks turning out to vote for Nikki Haley in your primary, in fact, than to protest for your sad, sloppy self anymore.
Should the American electorate prove sufficiently brain-broke this November, Junior n’ Eric are to serve as “loyalty czars” during the transition back to kakistocracy. Executive branch staffing overseen by Beavis and Butt-Head in jodhpurs…well, we’d deserve it.
So I guess Kristi Noem murdered a puppy.
That’s what she says in her book, anyway. Some speculate this may be a ploy to gain favor with the famously dog-despising Drowsy Rapist, in the authoritarian groveling Olympics some call th’veepstakes. Not the worst strategy, honestly. No doubt Byron Donalds will be crushing hamsters on Newsmax by Thursday.
Any history textbooks that don’t dedicate at least half a page to the Kristi Noem Executed a Puppy news cycle would fail this nation’s precious children. People need to understand how weird and gross and stupid everything was.
The Consequences Fairy doesn’t need the map app to find Rudy Giuliani’s house anymore, y’know? Rudy earned a fresh set of indictments, alongside several of the usual suspects, plus a few new faces, for his role in the Arizona chapter of the fake elector scheme.
Gosh, they sure do commit a lot of crimes, don’t they? These would-be greatness restorers?
For example, here’s a headline reading “Kevin McCarthy Protege Under Investigation For Sexually Assaulting Daughter.” How strange that so many (alleged) sex criminals find themselves drawn to this rapist-led resentment cult!
Speaking of Matt Gaetz, he seems to’ve fallen off a few colleagues’ Xmas card lists. Tony Gonzalez called him a “real scumbag” (Geppetto checkmark) who "paid minors to have sex,” (depends who ya ask) earning the enmity of the feral Freedumb Caucus, who were already pissy over letting down their genocidal buddy, Vlad.
The Ukraine debate seems to’ve finally forced House Republicans to ask themselves, how do you solve a problem like Marjorie Taylor Greene? Easy. A FUCKING STRAIGHTJACKET. Dems did their part when they stripped her of her committee assignments; you gave ‘em back. You are bad at making decisions, and that is not our fault.
I do enjoy watching the Putin wing of the GOP fail, even if it means being nice(r) to Mike Johnson for a week. I therefore proclaim thee…Marginally Superior to Kevin McCarthy! Some hurdles are low enough for even you, Mike, congratulations. Why, I bet none of your protégés commit incestuous sexual assault.
Riding a wave of Not Fucking Up For Once, Speaker Moses decided to insert himself into the white-hot center of the campus protest issue, which went super well, he made lots of new friends.
Predictably, all the wannabe autocrats’re clawing and biting for a corner of the spotlight, competing to be seen calling for the violent suppression of speech. You always get grade A ghoulishness outta Cotton and Hawley during times of civil unrest, but I imagine it’s Greg Abbott who gained the most in the eyes of the discerning proto-fascist, because speeches n’ op-eds are all well and good, but they cannot hold a candle to footage of uniformed officers beating up people you hate.
Melania has appointed herself Duchess of LGBTQ outreach for her sleep-farting rapist husband’s bid to regain power. Gotta fill the time somehow, I suppose.
Wanna hear something funny?
Jimmy Comer wants to run for Governor.
Heh. Hah. Hahahahahahahahhhhhhhhhh
Like, there’s kakistocracy and there’s KAKISTOCRACY, y’know? I cannot recollect a single James Comer story since he became a national figure under McCarthy (inspired leaderin’ there, Kev!) where he failed to come off like a drooling, overmatched bumpkin. And after a year and a half of punching himself in the dick on C-SPAN, he expects voters back home to put him in charge of the whole dang STATE.
And y’know what? They just might. MAGA voters make bad choices, nowhere more so than in the voting booth. Governor Comer? Why the fuck not? Future generations might wonder how, precisely, Kentucky managed to break loose from the continental United States and fling itself into the sun, but we who lived through it will simply shrug and say, “that’s just what red state voters wanted back then.”
Like, Louisiana Republicans advanced a bill that would “repeal a law that requires employers to provide a 30-minute meal break for minors who work at least five hours.” That’s what the GOP is for now. Rolling back child labor laws, and whatever that one rapist wants. The rapist that’s sleeping (and allegedly farting but absolutely positively not shitting himself) through his porn star hush money trial.
Tom Petty-defiling RNC Co-Chair Lara Trump announced plans to dispatch poll workers to illegally “physically handle ballots” in all 81 states, so maybe whatever’s wrong with Eric is transmitted sexually?
Let’s check in on our freshly hatched Republican Senate candidates real quick. Wow, let no one claim Tim Sheehy is taking the anti-Semitic vote for granted. Eric Hovde could learn a thing or two from Tim, perhaps even the Pledge of Allegiance.
If you hate your own brain and want it to die screaming, you can always watch Tucker Carlson reject the theory of evolution on Joe Rogan’s podcast, I guess. Didja see Mitch McConnell pick a fight with Tucker, during the Ukraine aid debate? I confess I felt a transgressive little thrill, backing Yertle for once. Go GIT ‘im, Mitch! Fuck him right up!
If you’ll allow consecutive positive paragraphs about Republican Senators, let me say I sincerely hope campaign season offers up a steady stream of drolly withering Mitt Romney put-downs.
Especially since the George Santos comeback tour has, heartbreakingly, been called off. They were negotiating with J.R. Majewski about coming on as the opening act, too.
What happened was, a bunch of sponsors had to pull out. The NRA. Project Veritas. Why, even Jim Hoft’s Th’Gateway Dipshit has declared bankruptcy. It’s hard times out there in the wingnut griftosphere. Everybody lost their shirt on Trump Bucks and NFTs and Trump Media stock and honestly how do any of these people have money left to feed themselves at this point?
Anyway, I’ve got some puppies to exec-I MEAN BEER TO DRINK. If you enjoyed the post, you are welcome to leave a few bucks in the tip jar, I spend all the money on bullets to shoot puppies wit-I MEAN BEER. The puppy bullet jar takes Cash App, PayPal, and Ven-I MEAN THE BEER JAR TAKES CASH APP, PAYPAL AND VENMO!
Or you can follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s Shattered Plaything, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com if you feel so inclined. Until we meet again, stay safe out there, especially if you are a very young dog in South Dakota.
Farts Are the Most Appropriate Soundtrack For This Moment in American History, Frankly (Ferret)
My dearest friends, I must regretfully inform you I have been rendered obsolete. Not by AI, but by all too naturally occurring anti-intelligence. I don’t say this lightly, but I believe we may have just endured the single dumbest week in human history.
(Links await ye: https://showercapblog.com/farts-are-the-most-appropriate-soundtrack-for-this-moment-in-american-history-frankly/)
You know you’re livin’ through some stuff when you wake up to headlines like “Israel carries out strike on Iran and Taylor Swift drops secret double album” and you can’t help but wonder what the third thing’s gonna be, you’d believe anything from kaiju attacks to two-for-one Häagen Dazs pints but I swear to god I was in the middle of writing this paragraph when some unwell gentleman set himself ablaze outside Off-Brand Orbán’s latest trial. (For…rape? Fraud? Attempted insurrection? Ya need a scorecard I tell ya!)
Scroll down a bit to discover reports that our 45th and possibly future President is once again napping through this trial (34 felony charges for the adjudicated rapist this time ‘round, by the way. Thirty-four of the eighty-eight total.) and perhaps not merely napping, but actually sleep-farting all over the courtroom.
(Disclaimer! The fart story is unconfirmed, but of course I got carried away and wrote a bunch of fart jokes, built the whole fucking post around ‘em in fact; when the opportunity to make fake jokes comes along, you seize it. And now it’s too late to rewrite this shit. Just give me the fart thing, okay?)
I’m grateful Donald Trump didn’t sleep-fart on me today, partially because at his age and given the cocktail of miscooked beef, cheap bronzer, and Adderall that passes through his body, those emissions are surely deadlier than anything deployed during the First World War, but mostly because I’d be in that courtroom, and therefore the crosshairs of the MAGA murder mob. Basically the shittiest Scylla/Charybdis scenario since the original. A.k.a. jury duty.
Seems the defense’s strategy is to terrorize every single potential juror away individually, until Manhattan runs out of people. And Jesse Watters is just a merry ol’ cog in the stochastic terror apparatus. Trial starts Monday, unless Fox successfully/accidentally dispatches some hammer-wielding psychopath to one of these jurors’ homes.
You’re not allowed to do terrorism in the name of a rapist who farts in his sleep at his fraud trial. It’s against the rules to be that pathetic. Look, I’m willing to meet you halfway. You can have a cult of personality, but you have to pick a different personality. Worship Shakira, or Count Chocula, anyone but this sleep-farting rapist.
How does none of this embarrass you? When he farts himself awake to waddle out to whine and moan and lie for a few minutes, how do you see anything to admire? I’m honestly curious. A man who cannot tell Jimmy Kimmel apart from Al Pacino deserves neither your adulation nor the American presidency. There, I said it.
I fancy myself something of a connoisseur of authoritarian lackey groveling, (I keep a couple bottles of Trump Cabinet Meeting, the 2017 vintage, for special occasions) so I think we should take a moment to savor Stephen Miller referring to the Dotard as a “style icon.” I love the way that story effortlessly, elegantly leads your brain to the most humiliating moment of that fascist freak’s life. “Stephen Miller” + “style” has nowhere to go but “hey remember that time Stephen Miller went on TV with spray-on hair?” and I think it’s amazing and just that he’s incapable of drawing attention to himself in a non-embarrassing way.
Speaking of groveling, I don’t usually watch the Sunday shows, but I was channel-surfing, and I came across Chris Sununu throttling this sickly, homunculus-like creature, which turned out to be the last tattered remnant of his self-respect. Helluva thing to witness. Say hi to Lindsey Graham’s husk when you see him, Governor!
I’m calling it, you guys. Meet the Republican Senate Candidates is my all-time favorite show. Name a scripted drama that’s delivered as many memorable characters, I’ll wait.
Because out of all available, eligible humans, Wisconsin Republicans somehow settled on a real deep thinker called “Eric Hovde,” who has a kooky plan to disenfranchise the elderly. I wouldn’t worry, I bet that’s the last weird thing Eric ever does or says. Donald Trump wouldn’t endorse a candidate without rigorous vetting, you know.
Plus, this season, they’ve been able to build around an established star. Kari Lake urged followers to “strap on a glock” ahead of the upcoming election, and while I almost always deplore such violent rhetoric, I kinda get why she’s feeling unsafe these days. Like, can you imagine being KARI LAKE and finding yourself out-crazied from the Right?
Cuz Arizona House Republicans are not fucking around. My sources tell me they’re petitioning the state Supreme Court to accept as legally binding a napkin, allegedly signed by Arizona Territory Governor John Noble Goodwin in 1865 in the region’s very first Applebee’s, proclaiming that a woman is worth only and exactly her weight in chickens.
Lotta future Senate candidates in that bunch, I bet. Deep bench.
Y’know, too many politicians flip and flop at the slightest polling fluctuation, but not Tom Cotton, who remains as dedicated to the vision of visiting violence upon those he disagrees with as the day he first made all those friends over at the Times.
I don’t even want to spoil this one for you if you missed it amidst all the farting and self-immolating, but plug “Biden cannibals” into your favorite search engine, if you’re ready to take the plunge into utter madness. PRETTY WEIRD WEEK.
Honestly though, maybe the weirdest thing that happened was a Republican Speaker telling the feral wing of his caucus to fuck off, there’s a country to govern. Which required working with Democrats, an inescapable truth in the face of the MAGA micro-majority’s many fatal flaws, which set off a great deal of snarling and slobbering amongst the ferals, as you can imagine.
And FARTing, even. Do you see how I got carried away with the fart jokes? I’m a fart truther, dammit. I need this.
Anyway, Newt Gingrich’ll scold those rowdy proto-fascists right back in line. “You can’t govern by shooting yourself in the head every day,” he harrumphed.
Trouble is, you can’t BE a Republican in 2024 without first disabling your own brain, by shotgun or hammer or ice pick or perhaps by shoving nickels up your nose because you thought they’d be safer there. You worked so hard to build this electorate, Noot, this tangled mass of outrage-addled fuckwits. The fuck did you think would happen?
Tennessee Republicans are passing anti-chemtrail bills, Noot. It’s a party that solves fake problems while real ones fester. You built that, bro.
Still, looks like Ukraine may actually get that desperately needed aid, (FUCKING FINALLY) even over the objections of the very small, very loud, very insane pro-Putin wing of the Republican Party, led by the space laser lady, who is now making these sad, trolly little space laser jokes that don’t really land, not that you’d expect a mind that misfires so badly and so frequently to be capable of humor, but don’t quit your day job, Marj, or wait, actually, quit your day job, Marj.
Somehow Gingrich’s finger-wagging failed to deter Greene, who has been joined in her crusade by a pitchfork-wielding Tom Massie and Paul Gosar, bearing a torch. Even our mobs are embarrassing.
Hard to figure out why anybody would want off such an awesome train, but the retirement announcements keep piling up. Imagine getting death threats for the sake of a job that forces you to sit in a room and listen to Chip Roy pitch that same insufferable Chip Roy shitfit every single week of your life.
My second-favorite show, after Meet the Republican Senate Candidates, is House Dems Bully Poor, Dumb Jimmy Comer. It’s super mean, but you don’t have to feel bad because not only is the target a proud enemy of American democracy working on behalf of wannabe autocrats, he’s also this inadvertent slapstick genius, a drooling fuckup who simply refuses to stop punching himself in the dick.
Even the Furry Kids Shitting in Litter Boxes at School Because Wokeness hoax (my personal favorite) came back this week. The furry kids are biting now. As the myth grows, rural shut-ins will come to believe our cities contain vast “no-go zones” where non-furries fear to tread.
Seems Rob Schneider offended autogolpe co-conspirator/U.S. Senator Cindy Hyde-Smith’s delicate sensibilities at…oh, some gathering of shitty people, I forget. Any religion that offers me an afterlife where those two are roommates and I get to watch gains a zealot.
Matt Gaetz and Derrick Van Orden are locked in the room next door. Every channel features a different pair of belligerent shitbags, cursed to spend eternity trapped in a confined space with unbearable company. Reince Priebus and Sidney Powell. Larry Kudlow and Nick Fuentes. Kellyanne Conway and Scott Baio. I would kill and die for that religion.
Sarah Huckleberry Slanders, who longtime readers may remember as the Mouth of American Fascism, quite possibly committed criminal lectern fraud, according to a legislative audit. Governor Slanders insists she did nothing illegal, as the lectern originally came filled with $19,000 worth of delicious nougat, but she ate some of the nougat and gave a bunch to neighborhood children and then she swapped the rest for some magic beans which admittedly failed to pan out as promised but all she’s really guilty of, Your Honor, is making a bad investment with her own legally obtained nougat.
Looking to tack an extra-dignified final chapter onto the ol’ legacy, seems Bob Menendez invited the feds over to play a few rounds of Pin the Bribery Charges On My Wife, Please. Suddenly kinda wondering whether prenups typically cover seizure of assets by law enforcement…
Anyway, I’ve just accepted an offer to join some time-traveling adventurers on a mission to save Joe Biden’s uncle from those cannibals, so if anything else happens, you’re gonna have to chronicle it yourself.
We could use some beer on the mission, because I’d hate to get eaten by cannibals like Joe Biden’s uncle without having one last beer. (The beer fund takes Venmo, Cash App and PayPal now, it’s very modern and user-friendly.)
One of the members of our team is Corn Pop, by the way. C’mon. Buy Corn Pop a beer.
Oh, and thank you SO MUCH for selling out the CEX run of Marguerite vs. the Occupation! Should be some more Kickstarters someday soonish, so more copies will be available down the road someplace. I’ll always be deeply grateful that you’ve supported me as I chase this big, fat, lifelong dream. Y’all rule. Thank you.
Marj in Charge, and Other Freaky Shit That's Actually Happening (Ferret)
With memories of the divisive presidential primary fading faster than the idea of Ron DeSantis as a viable national political figure, MAGA Nation has turned peacefully inward, to contemplate the really big questions in life, like “is the rapist game show host we worship more like Jesus, or Nelson Mandela?”
And of course historians will grapple with that issue until the sun goes out. (Grapple with THIS POST ONLY WITH LINKS AND ON MY BLOG SITE by clicking here: https://showercapblog.com/marj-in-charge-and-other-freaky-shit-thats-actually-happening/)
I come down on the Jesus side myself, for do the gospels not teach us that He did beg and plead and pitch a holy fit three times on the eve of His porn star hush money trial, hoping to avoid said trial altogether? And were His pleas not thrice rejected, by the Roman Deep State and their unfairly nonwhite legal professionals?
But look, if your position happens t’be more along the lines of, say, “while certainly Christlike in many regards, he resembles Mandela MORE, because of his threats to vindictively prosecute his political opponents,” I can totally respect that. I think we can find a way to disagree without being disagreeable. But no, see, I can tell you’re upset by the way you’re waving that nail gun around.
Sigh. I hate the Culture Wars.
Point is, it’s an especially golden calf y’all have elected to lewdly undulate before, and I assure you, the rest of us are super impressed. Why, watching him order Chick-fil-A this week, one could not help but gush “DAMN, he very nearly navigated that brief social interaction like a cognitively unimpaired adult human!”
…but not quite.
And now we get to watch him grumble and fidget through an honest-to-goodness criminal trial. He’ll spend the whole thing sneaking sweaty glances at the doorway, anticipating the emergence of any number of potential nightmares, ranging from bail bondsmen to process servers to the bogeyman that keeps all Republicans awake at night: the post-Dobbs electorate!
They’re right to be scared. Arizona’s all-Republican Supreme Court decided to rewrite women’s bodily autonomy rights using outtakes from Braveheart, and the Republican-controlled House, given the chance to respond, bleated THE MEDIEVALER THE BETTER, which I suppose might maybe somehow come back to bite these theocrat fucks in the ass come Election Day.
It’s actually pretty unsettling, watching Kari Lake backpedal. You’re so used to that fervent certainty glistening through the Joan Crawford filter while she rants about the bamboo fiber-eating gremlins who live in Maricopa County’s voting machines, and suddenly it’s “p-pay no attention to my extensively documented history of batshit statements on this issue, I’m really quite m-m-moderate!”
The Dotard’s strategy to counter his vulnerability with the critical Women Who Want Legal Control of Their Own Bodies demographic appears to once again rely heavily on making a bunch of shit up, and hoping a mob takes care of the rest. Unless I missed the meeting where the Democratic Party adopted a new platform advocating to keep abortion legal through the second slow song of the child’s first homecoming dance, in which case I retract this paragraph.
The way Off-Brand Orbán casually abuses his power over the institutional GOP generally frightens me, but I’ll admit I enjoyed a dark chuckle at the unceremonious squishing of Lindsey Graham. In a party overflowing with proto-fascist taint remoras, nobody, absolutely nobody guzzled more taint juice than Lindsey, and when he finally got flicked away into that grey, hazy space where the Spicers and McDaniels shamble through their sad, brittle half-existence, it barely merited mention. Enjoy yer wages, Senator!
If you stand outside the House Republican Cloakroom, you can distinctly hear the ghost of James Doohan bellowing SHE CANNAE GOVERN, CAP’N while Mike Johnson sobs and sucks Marjorie Taylor Greene’s toes in supplication. In other words, Easter recess is over.
Moscow Marjorie, in her most magnanimous beneficenceness, permitted Mike to spend another week juggling turds atop the flaming unicycle that is the Speakership under the MAGA micro-majority. Kind of her.
Still, you can lead a messianically delusional fuckwit to the House floor, but you can’t teach him how to count votes. Honestly, every week we get through without these dolts kicking over a lantern and burning the whole fucking town down should be looked upon as a miracle.
For now, they’re stumbling over one another to make sure their personal favorite brands gain protected status under a proposed Endangered Appliances Act, before Marj blows her whistle, setting off the latest round of musical chairs.
Because these things are up to MARJORIE TAYLOR GREENE now. Marjorie “the wrong side won on January 6th” Taylor Greene. The Speaker serves at the pleasure of the hate-mongering dewormer shill who made the decision to INVEST REAL MONEY IN TRUMP MEDIA; that’s right there in the Constitution, plain as the nose on your face, frankly I can’t believe you forgot the Schoolhouse Rock! video.
This “who shot Tim Sheehy” subplot may be a tad derivative, but I’m sure it’s just the opening act of the always fruitful Vetting of the Republican Senate Candidates, a ritual destined to provide future anthropologists with endless hours of befuddled delight. “Wait, why is she telling us she’s not a witch? No fucking way that’s a real campaign ad, that’s SNL!” And the other guy just smugly pulls up some Herschel Walker clips he’s been saving, the ones about trees and such.
(My working Sheehy theory: while I cannot yet conclusively determine whether the shooting occurred in the national park or Afghanistan, I’m confident it was Professor Plum.)
The first thought I had when read “Donald Trump's New Hampshire campaign chair threatened to kill his colleagues in a shooting spree, murder the department chief and rape the chief’s wife” was that somebody must’ve plagiarized a gag I wrote six years ago, but no, it’s real reporting from real life. And, honestly, the sort of thing that happens all the time now. Ho hum.
The Gerald Ford Foundation was rocked to its very, um, foundation, amidst recriminations, resignations, and more than one old man slap fight over the decision to not give Liz Cheney the prestigious Gerry Woulda Liked You, Probably award, which is like an Oscar to America’s thriving People Who Like to Argue About What Gerald Ford Would Think subculture. Their basket art is…breathtaking.
Been tinkering with a pitch targeting the audiences of those “dangerous jobs” shows, where it’s not crab fishing or logging, it’s working in a state elections office, or a rural library. Or maybe a Planet Fitness, in this age of power-drunk internet bigot Chaya Raichik, who’s having way too much fun mashing that Incite Bomb Threats button to stop any time soon.
I certainly appreciate the bluntness of that RFK Jr. staffer who confessed the campaign’s true goal is to ratfuck America back into kakistocracy, though of course she was promptly exiled from Crackpot Narnia for such profane honesty.
I’d like to offer my full-throated support for Kevin McCarthy’s apparent decision to transform himself into a creature of pure, incandescent spite, aimed at Matt Gaetz. I LOVE this for you, Kev. Become Matt’s personal Max Cady. Get some tattoos and work up some labyrinthine revenge plots. Your life was always meant to be a cautionary tale; let’s give it a banger of a last act.
Jacob Wohl received a visit from the Comeuppance Fairy this week, that was fun. Man, remember Jacob Wohl? He seems so charmingly harmless now. Remember when right-wing creeps staged Waiting for Guffman-quality fake Elizabeth Warren sex scandals instead of hunting BLM protesters, or erecting gallows on the grounds of the U.S. Capitol? Those were the fucking wonder years, and we should’ve appreciated them more.
Actually, I think I’m gonna go drink some beer and write a mournful country song about the good ol’ days, before the weirdos turned violent. I should warn you, I don’t know how to write songs, so it’s gonna take a fair amount of beer. And this may seem like a wild coincidence, but I’ve framed this very blog’s tip jar (accepting PayPal, Venmo, and Cash App!) as a “beer fund,” as part of my hugely successful “drunken, bathrobe-clad internet loudmouth” branding.
And of course I can always use more email addresses on the ol’ mailing list, and more followers @john_luzar on Elon’s Broken Plaything, annnnnnnnd I’ll stop askin’ for stuff now. You stay safe out there, see you next week!
(Incidentally, looks like there may still be a few copies of Cover A available for preorder for the imminent new print run of my one-shot WWII comic book, Marguerite vs. the Occupation! Hoping to have additional comics news to report soon, but I gotta grind out a lil’ more work first. Couldn’t do it without y’all’s kind support, of course, and I remain deeply grateful.)
We Have Always Been at War With Easter
Hi everybody! Miss me? I missed y’all! Y’know, I actually made arrangements for a fill-in blogger, but I had to pull her at the last minute after I finally ran the background check. All she told me at the interview was that her name was Ronna, and she was absolutely, positively, categorically not related to Mitt Romney, so I figured, “great, I won’t have to worry about dressage stabling fees.” Live and learn.
(As ever, GETCHER LINKS HERE: https://showercapblog.com/we-have-always-been-at-war-with-easter/)
Anyway, I’m home on leave from the front lines of the War on Easter. What did I miss? I guess there’s a market for rapist-endorsed Bibles now?
Fortunately, I was able to stop along the way to take advantage of the post-holiday sale on those special, seasonal Reese’s, the ones in the shape of a bunch of transgender people crucifying Christ. They just get the chocolate-to-peanut butter ratio better, y’know?
His Satanic Majesty Joseph Robinette Biden Jr., Darkest of All Possible Brandons, celebrated with the traditional Democrat Party ritual: forcing enslaved Republican children to scrape crosses off Easter eggs by hand.
In contrast, his pious Republican opponent marked the holiday by simply posting a list of People He Would Like His Manic Murder Mob To Do A Stochastic Terrorism To in a tasteful, all-caps font, before going about his regular daily business, dehumanizing immigrants, and begging the journalist-dismembering House of Saud for bail money, likely in exchange for Alaska in the Reich to come.
Don’t let the odd fabricated meeting with a murder victim’s family or video of his political opponent hog-tied in the back of a pickup truck distract you from Off-Brand Orbán’s overall Christlikeness. My favorite New Testament stories have always been the ones where He incessantly targets that one judge’s daughter for harassment and hey, who knows, maybe even violence.
Apparently the $175 million civil fraud appeal bond a certain well-known rapist/valor thief/general sack of crap posted may itself be fraudulent, which surprises all of you a whole lot, I’m sure.
Axios tells us we can gain valuable insight into the cognitive wonder that is Donald Trump’s mind by examining the Spotify playlist he imposes upon the sycophants and foreign spies down at Marm-a-Lago. Allow me to gently suggest you could gain similar insight by snorting Neptune’s Fix and shoving your head up an incontinent warthog’s ass.
House Speaker Moses Johnson spent the week curled up in the fetal position inside his own, personal promised land: the Easter recess, where there are no votes to count or bills to pull from the floor at the last minute, and Marjorie Taylor Greene can’t reach you, not even with her very best space laser. Enjoy it while ya can, Mike, but remember…time wounds all heels.
Embattled shithouse rat Bob Good seems to…excuse me, I misspoke. Embattled “Freedom Caucus Chairman” Bob Good seems to’ve convinced himself that Speaker Mike’s endorsement would be of some use in his primary, and if that strikes you as the sort of judgment you want in a federal lawmaker, go ahead and vote for him, I guess.
Bob himself endorsed convicted Capitol rioter Derrick Evans’ congressional bid, and if that strikes you as the sort of judgment you want in a federal lawmaker, you should know I have an ivermectin tree I’d be willing to part with, assuming the price is right.
House Republicans can’t navigate the lunch order without sparking a fresh round of flash retirements, but they introduced legislation to rename Dulles after the Dotard and honestly, Rapist Game Show Host International Airport has a certain ring to it. “It says we’re scheduled to land at Rapist at 4:32, so pick me up at Gate C at 5?”
Through it all, poor, dumb Jimmy Comer keeps shuffling about, mumbling, “Hey, Mister, stake a fellow American to an impeachment inquiry?” to anybody who doesn’t yet know to cross the street when they see him coming. Comer has managed to brand himself Too Incompetent For MAGA, which is staggering when you consider the legion of fuckups who haven’t.
If that’s not enough to flabber your gasts, somehow Lauren Boebert has become Too TACKY For MAGA, a state of white trash transcendence too vast and incomprehensible for our limited, human consciousness to process. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t serve you any more alcohol, you’re making the rest of the hate mob uncomfortable.”
Karl Rove’s “terrorism is bad, actually” take qualifies as left-wing extremism in today’s Republican Party, so if ol’ Turd Blossom turns up on your doorstep, fleeing a lynch mob, consider allowing him sleep in the garage.
John Eastman officially claimed his seat in the weekly disbarred insurrectionists poker game, and Jeffrey Clark looks set to join him, but they don’t take Trump Bucks, so Jeff’ll have to wait and see if his Aunt Libby really comes through with that job at the Dairy Queen.
Jeffrey Goldberg at The Atlantic gave Rob Portman a sneak peek at the legacy he’s been diligently building himself out of pristine blocks of radiant, crystalline cowardice. Obviously, there are many more important reasons to usher the 21st century GOP onto history’s ash heap, but think of the fun we’ll have writing the history books as a bonus.
Apparently 48-year-old Ervin Lee Bolling decided he’d finally jammed enough QAnon memes up his nose with a pencil to make the informed choice to launch a one-dolt civil war, since he crashed his SUV into an FBI building in Atlanta. If it turns out they found a nail gun on the front seat, we may be seeing the first of a whole wave of copycat dipshits.
I would like to lodge a formal complaint with the headline Virginia School Board Member’s Jan. 6 Arrest Fractures Community, for not reading Virginia Community Unites to Drive Seditionist From, Holy Forking Shirtballs, a SCHOOL BOARD?, but I suppose journalists must bow to the objective reality of the partisan divide on the issue of…whether or not terrorists should run schools. You’re registered to vote, right? Could you like, double-check real quick?
Shiny new Louisiana Governor Jeff Landry has had enough of the state’s student-athletes hiding communistly in the locker room during the national anthem, no doubt kneeling, in litter boxes, wearing their furry suits, sipping Bud Lights with Kid Rock, whose fursona is an affably portly raccoon named “Rufus.”
Landry’s not the only one experimenting with Ron DeSantis’ “aggressive culture war douchebag” playbook, as the President of Botswana is threatening to send 20,000 elephants to Germany. Not really in our wheelhouse here at Shower Cap’s Blog, I know, but I’m open to expanding the mission statement. Comprehensive documentation of wingnut asshattery, PLUS up-to-the-minute details on all prospective pachyderm trafficking crises, whaddya think?
No Labels? MORE LIKE NO CANDIDATE AMIRITE? I apologize for depriving you all of my wit these last few weeks. Still, in the long battle against America’s uniquely embarrassing anti-democracy movement, it’s nice to catch a fucking break for once, innit?
Plus, the increased pressure to play spoiler is clearly melting what’s left of RFK Jr.’s mind. He insists Joe Biden is a bigger threat to democracy than the fella who spent the entire transition period participating in every available conspiracy to overturn the results of an election he lost, but in Junior’s defense, that’s just because his brain doesn’t work at all, as evidenced by the stream of bat guano that issues from his fool mouth whenever he discusses, well, anything at all.
As for myself, alas, I invested the beer fridge fund in Trump Media stock, so I’m down to half a flat can of Diet Caffeine Free Coors Light.
As you’ve no doubt surmised, it is once again time for me to bat my pretty little eyes and rattle the ol’ tip jar, (which accepts PayPal, Venmo, and Cash App, if ya didn’t know) and also to let you know next week’s blog will be delayed until the evening of SATURDAY, April 13th, owing to an existing commitment. Until then, as ever, you stay safe out there, chum…
PS - I’m told y’all sold out almost the entire upcoming print run of my WWII comic, Marguerite vs. the Occupation, during my hiatus, but there may still be a copy or two available. Either way, more comics news soon. Ish. I hope. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR GENEROUS SUPPORT, is what I'm trying to say.
Moses Supposes Erroneously (Yes, Again) (Ferret)
We’ve been living through the stubbornly persistent golden age of conservative bumblefuckery for some time now, but I predict Speaker Johnson’s work in the field will ultimately stand up alongside the greats. Brownback. McCarthy. Reeves. Perhaps even the Dotard himself.
(Makes more sense with th’links: https://showercapblog.com/moses-supposes-erroneously-yes-again/)
Hear me out. Mike has squeezed an impressive amount of fuckup into a young career. More failed rules votes than any majority in half a century? Not just anybody can fuck up that hard, y’know. That’s talent.
He’s starting to figure out that you’re allowed to pull bills before they fail on the floor, which counts as progress, I suppose, but he sure as shit isn’t passing anything.
Well, that’s not entirely fair. He did finally pin down the one, precise moment in time when his ever-shrinking flock of fuckwits could sneak their Mayorkas impeachment vote through. So the important stuff’s getting done.
The Mayorkas impeachment is perhaps best understood as a taxpayer-funded platform for Marjorie Taylor Greene to bleat from, while Clay Higgins rants about ghost buses and his prophetic wife’s stupid, stupid dreams. They envision all this unfolding as one big, happy campaign ad, and I’m inclined to let them play their hand.
Fuck yes. Show America how the sausage is being made, or not made, by the sofa-humpingest weirdos who ever got kicked out of Arkham Asylum for harshing the vibe.
Like House Intelligence chair Mike Turner, who ran naked through the halls of Congress, pulling fire alarms while hollering about the mine shaft gap. Or how about Moses himself inviting an insurrectionist bigot to play House Chaplain for a day? All while George Santos bangs on the glass, taunting the inmates with his Cameo wealth.
Oh, and Democrat Tom Suozzi flipped the New York third back to the good guys, perhaps explaining the custom EXPEL DEEZ NUTS t-shirt Santos wears in that security footage of him pissing on Anthony D'Esposito’s lawn last night.
I wonder if the House Ethics Committee members tasked with combing through Matt Gaetz’s text messages for evidence of sex trafficking will ever feel clean again? Hey, remember that time that one rapey, proto-fascist loudmouth brought down the Speaker of the House of Representatives? American history. Wild shit.
Anyway, I guess a bunch of House Republicans are retiring, probably because they’re worn out from all that legislative productivity. Golly. Hard t’believe anybody would want off such an awesome train.
Meanwhile, poor, dumb Jimmy Comer’s star witness just got indicted for lying to the FBI. Also this week, the very foundation of Dinesh D’Souza’s donkey documentary proved equally fraudulent. Kinda like when Fox’s entire justification for piping the Big Lie into millions of American households turned out to be the baseless musings of a self-professed “cactus artist.”
And wouldn’t it be awesome if any of that mattered? To the audience that guzzles this crap by the gallon, I mean? No, Fox and co. simply exercise their First Amendment right to completely fucking ignore these stories, and the Gospel According to the Cactus Lady spreads unchecked.
The best thing about Donald Trump in court is the way he always loses. From defaming and terrorizing the woman he raped to the attempted theft of the whole dang executive branch, it’s been consistently therapeutic, watching this human shithole fail.
$453.5 million. Oooooowee. I imagine that stings a little extra when you’ve spent your life artificially inflating your net worth. Actually, there’s a chance this all winds up with E. Jean Carroll battling the State of New York for custody of Lindsey Graham.
(Normally, Lindsey’s groveling would scarcely merit comment, but since he’s betraying what were allegedly core principles these days, I suppose it’s worth stopping to sneer. Y’know what? I bet it’s a huge relief. Like stumbling out of Room 101. )
Realizing the Children of the Candy Corn probably don’t have $453.5 million worth of NFTs left in ‘em, the Dotard installed his Petty-defiling daughter-in-law as official Donation Redirector at the RNC. Addressing her new staff for the first time, Lara Trump explained, “Daddy needs it for his rape bills,” before demanding their wallets, purses, and jewelry.
Anyway, with his first criminal trial set to join the cavalcade of legal faceplants, Off-Brand Orbán took a quiet moment to ogle some high school girls while he still can, just in case the plan to hide out in the Oval Office till the heat dies down falls through.
Actually, there’re a whole lotta plans for the Turd Reich Restored scenario, most of them terrifying. A nationwide abortion ban, of course. Stephen Miller is to receive his own personal, private, immigrant-hunting army, while NATO is to be fed, bite by bite, to Donnie’s pal, Vlad, who was so tickled upon receiving this invitation that he decided to splurge, and murder his most prominent domestic opponent.
That said, you have to admit, the Deep State sure knows how to throw a psyop. That halftime show was football at its satanic best; Taylor Swift expertly transplanting Joe Biden’s brain into Travis Kelce’s young, virile body, laying all age-related concerns to rest once and for all, was almost as much fun as Donald Trump losing another $453.5 million dollars.
..but not quite.
Michigan State Rep. Josh Schriver responded to losing his staff and committee assignments for espousing the white nationalist Great Replacement theory by espousing the white nationalist Great Replacement theory even harder, as hard as his subpar white boy heart could, in fact. It was pretty embarrassing.
Actually, I was flipping through the blueprints for the next Jade Helm stage, and it turns out there was a plan to replace Josh, but nobody was able to find a paperweight quite lumpy enough.
Joe Rogan is platforming something called “AIDS denialism” now, because I guess we’re finding new things to refuse to believe all the time. 1 in 7 likely Republican primary voters demand the public burning of any and all library books containing Galileo’s blasphemous heliocentrism filth, for example.
I’d like to offer Tucker Carlson my heartfelt congratulations on his new post as Putin’s official Ministry of Tourism Spokescuck. Tucker says Moscow is way better than any city in dumb ol’ America, a land of plenty where the woke are hunted for sport.
Hey, why not put all that fish stix money where your mouth is, kid? Lead the MAGA exodus across the sea to this white nationalist paradise, with its science fiction shopping cart technology. Yeah, you get to be Moses now. Last fella didn’t work out. I’m sure Pootie has plenty of jobs for y’all in his growth economy.
So I guess Huma Abedin is dating George Soros’ kid, which hit the MAGA internet like a jackpot after twenty years of pissing paychecks away on the slots. The old ones say their union is destined to produce the libtard Antichrist, who shall do battle with JFK Jr. at the halftime show of next year’s Super Bowl, right after Tay-Tay leaves Travis for a life of unmoist chastity in Ben Shapiro’s harem.
I’ll leave you with that image. For a couple weeks, actually. Gonna take next week off, to celebrate my (yikes) 45th birthday. Yikes.
So consider this the BIRTHDAY BEER GRIFT. Observe the candles adorning the rattling tip jar, yea the very tip jar that now accepts PayPal, Venmo, AND Cash App. Or sign up on ye olde emaile liste at showercapblog.com, or follow @john_luzar on Elon’s toy Titanic. Or do none of those things. Even though it’s my birthday.
(Sadly, it turns out pre-orders for the CEX run of Marguerite vs. the Occupation are not going to be a thing after all. Technical issues beyond my control. I’m told you’ll be able to place orders when the physical books arrive in a few months. I’ll keep you posted. Sorry ‘bout the hassle. I am beyond grateful for your support.)
See you in March! Do stay safe out there, if you’re able…
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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 06:48 PMNumber of posts: 655