Mike Pence is the Patron Saint of Mediocre White Dudes, and the Roman God of Failing Upwards.
A Democrat in his youth, Pence, like many men of limited intelligence, turned to religious conservatism for the convenience of being able to end arguments by claiming God shares his every fear and prejudice, while forgiving his every shortcoming, how convenient.
Secretary of State
Over the course of three decades, Rex Tillerson fucked, bribed, and murdered his way to the top of Exxon Mobil, like some sort of jowlsy Eva Peron.
Secretary of the Treasury
Steve Mnuchin, like his namesake, the Noise You Make When You’re Dry Heaving After Getting Food Poisoning From Eating Truck Stop Gas Station Roller Hot Pockets on a Road Trip, is deeply unpleasant, and may result in the involuntary voiding of foul-smelling bodily fluids.
Secretary of Defense
Chief of Staff
National Security Advisor
Holy shit, there are Generals all over the place these days, aren’t there?
Retired General James Mattis serves as Secretary of Defense. Retired General John Kelly ran Homeland Security for a bit, before becoming the Lead Executive Branch Babysitter, excuse me, Chief of Staff. H.R. McMaster’s the National Security Advisor, and hell, he’s still on active duty.
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions, third generation of his family to carry the name of a Confedarate piece of trash and also a second Confederate piece of trash, is living his dream. As Velveeta Goebbels’ Attorney General, he’s turning back the clock to a time when women and minorities knew their place, and mediocre white dudes like himself got to run everything, even if they weren’t especially bright.
Ryan Zinke is like if the crappiest robot in Westworld escaped and jumped into conservative politics. He’s such a cartoon cowboy, I bet his right boot says “Andy” on the bottom.
Secretary of Commerce
When a witch’s curse transformed his master into a Beast and his fellow servants into household objects, Wilbur Ross became a decorative garden gnome. Unlike the rest of his compatriots, he ventured out into the world to make his fortune in the realm of shady international finance and money laundering, and when True Love’s Kiss lifted the curse, Wilbur was too far away for the enchantment to reverse, and thus he remains trapped in gnome form forever.
Secretary of Health and Human Services
If the Hippocratic Oath is binding in any sort of spiritual sense, Tom Price is royally fucked, y’all. There is some straight Dante shit awaitin’ him in the afterlife.
Secretary of Housing and Urban Development
Dr. Ben Carson is only in politics because he was rude President Obama to his face. At the 2013 National Prayer Breakfast, a traditionally non-political event, Dr. Ben, having been invited as the keynote speaker, decided to use his time to shit on the President and his policies.
Secretary of Education
Betsy DeVos is what happens when bored white ladies have enough money to really fuck shit up. Turns out, if you’re born rich and marry richer, you don’t have to settle for a book club, you can buy yourself a whole cabinet department!
Administrator of the EPA
Scott Pruitt, like a lot of boys his age, grew up watching Captain Planet cartoons. Unlike most boys his age, he decided that the various sludge-smog-and-toxic-waste-slinging villains were the role models for him.
Ok, fine. Pruitt is ten years too old to have grown up on Captain Planet, but fuck you, that’s a good opening paragraph. Make your own fucking website, you don’t like it.
Chief of Staff
Nobody wants to be Reince Priebus when they grow up. He’s just so immediately recognizable as a weaselly little tapeworm of a man, y’know?
Reince Priebus is the sort of person who would be played by Brad Dourif in a film.
Steve Bannon played Bob Ewell in a high school production of To Kill a Mockingbird, and liked it so much he decided to stay in the character for the rest of his life.
A self-described Leninist, and an outspoken populist*, Bannon wants to kidney-punch the administrative state, give it a wedgie, and steal its lunch money.
Jared Kushner was born on third base and thinks he invented baseball.
Jared’s dad, Charles Kushner, went to jail for tax evasion, illegal campaign donations, and, ahem, “witness tampering,” by which I mean he set his brother-in-law up with a hooker (not, I’m sad to report, of the Pissing Russian variety) and recorded their genital-smushing in order to blackmail him.
When you worked for Akin, things weren’t simple
Cuz he got caught on tape
With legitimate rape
Senior Advisor for Policy
Why is it always the shittiest imaginable white dudes who turn out to be white supremacists?
Stephen Miller, who started balding eleven seconds after his conception, has by all accounts been a sack of monkey shit pretty much every single minute of his life.
Director of Communications
Oh wow, this new Communications Director looks like a real character, huh?
Where to begin? Ok, Anthony Scaramucci first came to –
Wait, what? Really?
White Supremacist Multi-Tool
Kris Kobach is like the protagonist of the white supremacist version of one of those Disney movies where a kid learns to chase his dreams, no matter how big. The kid gets tired of the monotonous grind of burning crosses on just one lawn at a time, and dreams of burning a cross big enough for the whole dang country!
Maybe he has a talking/singing Confederate flag for a sidekick. Named “Bedford.”
Roving Freelance Fascist
As seen in the famed documentary RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, when the Ark of the Covenant was opened on an uncharted island north of Crete, the burning light that issued thereof reduced the Nazi soldiers present to piles of ash and molten flesh. In time, the rains washed the fascist bio-goo into the island’s sewage system, where it mixed with the shit and piss and used tampons and such, and in time it congealed, took the shape of a man (albeit an unattractive one), slapped on a pair of glasses, and Sebastian Gorka was formed.
Speaker of the House
Paul Ryan was cloned from a single pubic hair plucked from Ayn Rand post-coitus and grown in a still in Charles Koch’s back yard.
Senate Majority Leader
Many years ago, Gamera was following the Grateful Dead on tour, and engaged in a brief-but-life-affirming affair with an Ohio River ‘gator that hung around Ma McConnell’s pig farm, picking off runts for sustenance. Nine months later, young Mitch emerged from a leathery egg, and devoured his fellow hatchlings, beginning his life-long love affair with hurting children.
Ah, the First Shitstorm of the Year! Delightful!
Last week, I was driven right up to the edge of madness, a perfectly reasonable reaction to all the vag candle news and whatnot. If anything pushes me all the way off the cliff, it’s learning that there’re somehow folks who look around our poor, hurting, world, from the Australian wildfires to the daily assaults on the pillars of American democracy, and decide to funnel their emotional energy into yelling at Burger King for saying “damn” in a commercial. Anyway, don’t tell One Million Moms about this blog, I don’t think they could handle it.
If Matt Gaetz were anyone but Matt Gaetz, I’d feel bad for him. After three years as one of Team Treasonweasel’s most devoted stooges, parroting every talking point, attacking every enemy, spreading every lie, all while gorging himself on the scraps from Shart Garfunkel’s table, Matty begged permission to buck the party line once, just one little ol’ vote, one time. Like a Death Eater asking Voldemort to spare his pet hamster, Gaetz only wanted leave to back House Democrats’ war powers resolution; it was an inconsequential vote in the grand scheme of things, and surely nobody could begrudge him this one, teensy-weensy principle, this single, nigh-microscopic, gun to stick to? HA HA NOPE, the excommunication from Cult45 was swift and brutal, and all past service was entirely forgotten as the Trumpist media dogpile eagerly devoured their new target. “I betrayed everything decent about myself and my country and all I have to show for it is this shitty, made-in-China, red ballcap,” right?
It’s certainly surprising to watch a walking colon tumor take credit for fighting cancer, but in lieu of actual accomplishments, President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster has indeed taken to bragging about a drop in the cancer mortality rate, as though he had one fuckin’ thing to do with it, as though he hasn’t done his damndest to cut federal funding for cancer research. Old bastard’s one bad news cycle away from claiming responsibility for you grandson’s B+ on his fractions test, is all I’m sayin’.
The wealth might not be tricklin’ down in Donald Trump’s Amerikkka, but y’know what is? SHITTINESS. Take, for example, former-Mrs.-Florida-turned-Trumpy-pundit Karyn Turk, on her way to prison for stealing her Alzheimer’s-afflicted elderly mother’s social security checks, like any good Christian would. Like so many of her ilk, Turk attempted to cast herself as the victim of some nebulous anti-conservative witch-hunt, right up until admitting she was caught red-handed, and pleading guilty. Anyway, I look forward to Karyn winning at least three or four states in the 2024 GOP presidential primary.
Relations with Iraq continue deteriorating at the predictable pace of all things touched by Dorito Mussolini’s tiny, inadequate, hands, as the Put-Allies-in-One-End-Watch-‘Em-Come-Out-as-Enemies-on-the-Other Pipeline known as the Trump Administration diplomacy shop has progressed in its response to Baghdad’s “Your troops don’t have to go home but they can’t stay here” request from “MAKE US” to “MAKE US AND ALSO WE WILL CUT OFF ACCESS TO YOUR BANK ACCOUNTS IF YOU TRY.” Wow, an occupying forces that blackmails you with your own money? It’s like colonialist bingo.
In an interview with Just Put The Uniform On Already We All Know You Want To Telefascist Laura Ingraham, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot bragged extensively about transforming the U.S. military into a mercenary force, apparently for sale to the highest bidder. Somebody’s checking to make sure these payments are going into the Treasury and not some offshore gilded-toilets-and-extra-strength-golf-pants fund, right?
As for the Soleimani strike itself, I feel like I can’t even cover it here; I’m sure the bullshit rationale for the assassination offered by the Shart House will have shifted more than once between the fleeting moment in time when I compose this sentence, and the point, hours into the far-flung future, when you actually read it.
I’ll tell you one thing, though: if Barack Obama had ordered the killing of a high-ranking foreign government official on the grounds that it was necessary to prevent imminent attacks on multiple embassies, only to have his very own Defense Secretary say, on live television, “Uh, nope, that particular intelligence seems to have been pulled directly from the presidential ass,” half the GOP Senate caucus would’ve sustained serious injuries in the ensuing stampede to get in front of a camera to condemn that shit, and call for impeachment, if not outright civil war.
Of course, now we’re learning the Bonespur Buttplug, egged on by the bloodthirsty likes of Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo and the Genocidal Mustache Symbiotically Attached to John Bolton’s Upper Lip, actually approved the killing months ago, and was just hangin’ around, waiting for an “imminent” excuse to manifest itself. You know, I’m starting to believe these people are somewhat less than trustworthy.
Anyway the point is, our Commander-in-Chief, a doddering old nitwit who was never very smart to begin with, and who is now experiencing such rapid mental decline that what’s left of his brains is all but leaking out of his ears, basically reserves the right to murder anybody anywhere for any reason, how fun!
Well, the gibbering, incontinent, cowardly, septuagenarian toddler hailed as a beacon of strength by a millions-strong cult of critically-unperceptive white people spent most of the weekend doing the one thing he does truly well: whining. He thinks it’s profoundly unfair that he finally got himself into some trouble that daddy’s money can’t buy him out of, and the “stigma” of impeachment is now attached to his name, a name which is already synonymous with racism, stupidity, tyranny, mendacity, failure, sexual assault, financial crime, bullying, stealing money from charity to buy paintings of yourself, inability to tie a necktie or close an umbrella, operating concentration camps full of terrified children on American soil, stochastic terrorism, and treason, but sure “impeachment” is the bit that’s harming the brand.
Meanwhile Nancy Pelosi, with a playful jingle of the thimble she keeps on her desk, in which she’s stored Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops’ wee testicles since the 2018/19 shutdown fight, reminded him, impeachment is FOREVER, old man. Seriously, Shartboy, “stigma” doesn’t begin to cover what history is going to do to you. The books will be printed on scratch n’ sniff paper, to more accurately capture the festering outhouse stench of your loathsome, despised, reign.
Because it’s just the sort of thing you do when you live in Hell, everybody pulled their hair out for a couple of hours, attempting to decipher the meaning of a message from the official Shart House Twitter account celebrating the “first snow of the year” on a lovely, 70 degree, and naturally, snowless evening in D.C. Was this merely the latest bit of tragicomic incompetence from the Clowncar Full of Rectums mismanaging our poor nation, meaning we should worry somebody maybe left the keys to a couple of nuclear missile silos on the counter at Starbucks? Or was it a sinister elevation of the administration’s incessant gaslighting, claiming the authority to rewrite reality to the point where they demand rejection of the evidence of your very senses? Is Kellyanne Conway just playing a prank on her husband, as part of whatever kinky sex thing they’ve been working out? We may never know.
And the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits unleashed an even batshittier-than-usual Tweetstorm (my god, wasn’t life nicer before we understood what that word meant?), as though he felt it necessary to remind America, ahead of the impeachment trial, that he’s super-stupid, super-vile, and super-bigoted. We remember, bro. Really we do. We don’t hate you for no reason, y’know.
Anyway, we’ve arrived at the point when Strawberry Shartcake can no longer properly spell even his favorite slurs, so anyway, big congrats to Messrs. McConnell and McCarthy, as well as their respective caucuses, for hogtying their reputations to a dude who’s basically What if the Titanic was Really Dumb Rich Guy in Silly Balloon Pants.
With no tactics left to fall back on beyond Fooling Some of the People All of the Time and Hoping the Fools are Adequately Concentrated in the Rust Belt, the Marmalade Shartcannon is now attempting to cast himself as the one true champion of protecting health care coverage for folks with pre-existing conditions, even after pissing away most of his political capital in 2017 on a bill that would’ve shredded those protections; indeed, even as his administration fights in the courts to destroy judicially (but not until after the election please and thank you) what he failed to annihilate legislatively. Maybe he’ll try to run against his ENTIRE record, and the debates will just be two candidates agreeing Donald Trump is a malicious, incompetent, buffoon, only one of them is Donald Trump wearing a fake beard.
Another victory for Sultan Spraytan in the never-ending mine’s-bigger-than-yours competition with his predecessor that gnaws away at his decomposing brain day and night; regrettably we’re talking about the annual deficit. Back over $1 Trillion, huh? Heckuva job, Fuckwad.
Well, we’ve got plenty of dangling plot lines looking for resolutions, don’t we? Will the Senate allow witnesses at the impeachment trial? What’s in the documents the Department of Energy has just agreed to release, regarding all things shady and Ukrainian? How long will Chris Collins be a burden on the correctional system*? What’s in the bundle o’ evidence Lev Parnas is turning over to Congress? Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? Tune in next time, same Shower Cap time, same Shower Cap channel!
…and until then, how ‘bout giving me a hand with my VERY FIRST COMIC BOOK? The Kickstarter launches TOMORROW MORNING, unless you’re reading this blog in the morning, in which case it launches MORE OR LESS RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT. You can read more about the book here; it’s designed for a Resistance audience like YOU, because I am NOT ABOVE PANDERING.
Seriously, I wrote it with y’all in mind, and I think you’ll dig it. There are some fun rewards on the Kickstarter for readers of the blog, available in limited quantities, so act fast!
PS – I am absolutely missing some late-breaking stories, for which I apologize. It’s a big night ahead of the big launch, so bear with me, and I’ll catch up on everything later in the week!
*I almost wrote “penal system,” but I don’t trust you immature fuckers.