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
Mike Pompeo is one of those performatively pious fake Christians who loves using his loudly-claimed-but-seldom-followed faith like a cudgel while ignoring every single word of the actual Bible, including “and” and “the.”
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.
William Barr actually taught me a valuable lesson. See, I didn’t look too closely at Bill when he was nominated to be Attorney General. After Jeff “Too Racist for the 80’s” Sessions and the masculine toilet guy, honestly, he looked like a nice, refreshing, safe, traditional Republican. An institutionalist who could bring a little much-needed stability.
And then he turned out to be a fascist, and one of the most dangerous enemies of democracy in American history. Whoops. My bad.
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.
Daddy’s Little Girl
Ivanka Trump is what happens when you cross Gwyneth Paltrow with Mussolini’s dumbest, laziest aide-de-camp. Watching her try to sell her father’s fascism as some sort of pro-woman lifestyle brand, marketed in the sickliest imaginable shade of pink, has been one of the most bizarre subplots of this nightmare we can’t seem to pinch ourselves out of.
So, while Melania Trump is perhaps not as shitty as many of the crooks, Nazis, and Nazi crooks who inhabit her dirtbag husband’s world, she manages to impressively shitty in her own right.
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.
Susan Collins is How It Happens Here, folks.
She’s supposed to be the rational centrist. The one who stands up to the increasingly-rabid gaggle of turd-spewing hyenas known as the Republican Party when they go too far. That’s whole point of Susan Collins. It’s the brand she’s been selling the people of Maine for years.
Anybody wondering if the GOP is still the party of Lincoln gets their answer whenever they take in James Daniel Jordan’s tension-racked, jacketless frame as he does his “indignant soccer dad demands to see a manager” routine during a committee hearing. Lincoln? That ship has sailed, caught fire, sunk, and been overrun by sea slugs and the ghosts of unusually shitty pirates. Sorry.
Official Sponsors of American Fascism
Chuck and Davey Koch decided that popping out of a rich lady’s vagina gave them the right to reshape the world however they saw fit, hurting whoever they wanted to in the process, and since the fundamental driving impulse of your average Republican politician is to sell out to the highest bidder, they haven’t exactly been proven wrong.
Congratulations, Dear Reader, on Surviving a Day in John Bolton’s America
Looking at my Facebook page, I discovered that yesterday was the 1-year anniversary of the first post in the series that would eventually become this blog. Things were kinda nutty that day, and I wrote “this is the most insane day in American politics that I have ever witnessed.” God, I was so young.
Anyhow. I want to start tonight’s blog with an inspirational tale.
F. Scott Fitzgerald famously said, “there are no second acts in American lives.” I bring this up now both to seem fancy and intelligent, and also to talk about an American now seeing an unlikely late-career renaissance, which is the only reason anybody ever dusts off that old quote; to say FUCK YOU F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, YOU WERE SO FUCKING WRONG, I’VE GOT YOUR SECOND ACT RIGHT HERE.
Anyway. Back to the inspirational tale. You may want to put on some Vangelis for this shit.
Because in the United States of America, you can always bounce back, even after you’ve hit rock bottom. Even if you’ve been exiled from your field, shunned by even those who ought to be allies. Even if you should find yourself at the point where no reasonable human being would consider giving you post of any consequence, your dreams can still come true. You can climb back to the top of mountain. In fact, you can achieve heights you’d never known before.
God, that’s inspirational as fuck. That’s like doing an 8 ball in a room full of cat posters.
Regrettably, I’m talking John Bolton.
Yes, Bolton’s wettest dream just came true, because Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops finally got tired of dumb ol’ H.R. McMaster making him eat his peas and telling him who he could and couldn’t bomb. Because the Murderous Mustache couldn’t possibly get through a confirmation hearing without being tased by at least 80 Senators, he gets to be National Security Advisor, spending his days frolicking around the Oval Office, dumping his fantasies of raining apocalyptic destruction down on Iran and North Korea and oh probably Switzerland those smug neutral clockmaking bastards directly into the brain of a willing rube who knows precisely shit about shit beyond how much he fears being seen as “weak.”
Me, I’m looking on the bright side. Knowing Bolton has President Skidmark’s ear will give us all a renewed sense of gratitude, right? You’ll be sitting around on a quiet Thursday afternoon, you’ll look up from your phone and think to yourself, “Hey. The sun in shining and John Bolton hasn’t gotten us all killed yet,” and that will be some straight zen shit.
…unless of course, on his very first day, he finishes his swearing-in and immediately marches over to the military aide that’s carrying the nuclear football, shanks him, thrusts the briefcase into the President’s (tiny, inadequate) hands, and says, “Let’s end some civilizations, boss.”
Meanwhile, Diamond Joe Biden and The Man With Phalangeal Stunting keep threatening to beat each other up, but the only real loser in this fight is anyone who read a think piece about it.
John Dowd finally ran screaming from Fat Q*Bert’s legal team, like the last survivor of a haunted house slasher flick. Dowd was reportedly tired of the President ignoring his advice, while Drumpf was in turn disappointed in his lawyer’s inability to magically enable him to escape decades worth of criminal activity without consequences.
Dowd can now be spotted in various Washington, D.C. public parks, sniffing dandelions and giggling “I’m free….FREE!!!” to himself.
Rumored additions to the Shart’s legal team have hit some snags. Perhaps slobbering maniacal telepundit Joseph diGenova isn’t “right for the job” after all. Meanwhile all reputable firms keep turning the gig down, despite the attractive “I’m totally guilty, I won’t listen to you, and I have a long history of refusing pay people” package the President offers.
Speaking of legal problemz, the Marmalade Shartcannon was issued a summons in an emoluments suit. I think there’s room for zany farce about the Poo Mistake’s lawyers struggling to keep his various lawsuits straight. Like, imagine the moment Jay Sekulow realizes he’s mistakenly brought the injunction against Stormy Daniels releasing dick pics to the emoluments trial and wearily says “Your Honor, I did it again!” and then we cut to commercial.
A little much-needed good news here, as Kellyanne Conway solved the opioid crisis! If you crazy kids would just stop counting calories and allow yourself a french fry now and again, you wouldn’t need drugs, you sillies! So we’re replacing all the methadone clinics with Burger Kings, and the problem is TOTALLY SOLVED NOW.
Anyway, I’m gonna go re-cut TRAINSPOTTING so that Tommy deals with his emotional problems with junk food instead of heroin and winds up opening an artisanal ice cream shop with Sick Boy.
President String-of-Used-Anal-Beads-Found-on-a-Playground escalated his little hobby trade war with China, and the stock market tanked, which is what everyone said would happen. Oddly, the strategy of Firing Anybody Who Tells You What You Don’t Want to Hear doesn’t actually isolate one from the entirely predictable consequences of boneheaded decisions.
China wasted no time whatsoever in announcing retaliatory tariffs because THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS IN A TRADE WAR YOU DOORKNOB! They’re hitting America’s farmers particularly hard, in an effort to turn the President’s political base against the steel tariffs. Again, Trade War 101.
Me, I say If China really wants to go after the MAGArat crowd, they should figure out some way to jack up the price of meth.
Guccifer 2.0, the hacker of the DNC, has officially been outed as a Russian intelligence officer, and not a 400 pound dude in his mom’s basement. So yeah, further evidence that Putin n’ Palz perpetrated an attack on our nation, but please be sure to sign the “Congrats on Your Totally Legitimate Reelection, Vlad” card that’s going around the office.
While they’re damaging to Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet, I for one wish these sex scandal stories would go away, if only because I’m tired of the images they conjure…like a rotting sweet potato tumbling around in a laundromat dryer. Ew.
Karen McDougal described her affair with Littlefinger in an interview with CNN, saying he tried to pay her like a prostitute, and complimented her beauty by comparing her to, and YOU KNOW THIS WHERE THIS IS GOING…Ivanka.
…like, this shit is almost too uncouth for even ME to get into, but there are so many of these stories now…I just want a President who doesn’t want to fuck his own daughter, okay? Is that asking so much?
Anyway, The Art of the Deal (For Dating!) hits shelves this fall.
Jim Risch is one of those Senators you never hear about. You kind of assume he just sits in the back row, playing Angry Birds on his phone, and passing notes with Jerry Moran making fun of Rand Paul during filibusters.
Anyway, Risch almost shut down the government because he found out the omnibus spending bill contained a provision renaming a forest after a dead guy he happens to hate. No jokes, friends. That is a true fuckin’ story. If we survive this shit, that’s a Trivial Pursuit question.
Speaking of the spending bill, Wee Don decided the time had finally come to draw a line in the sand! “I can veto stuff, y’know!” he proclaimed, “And I’m not signin’ this here bill unless I get my Big Stupid Wall!”
And thus the Shart of the Deal rolled up and his sleeves, and set to work doing the one thing he is famous for doing, despite a rather conspicuous lack of evidence of any skill whatsoever in the field: DEALMAKING.
Within mere hours, the results were breathtaking! He waddled out for the cameras, whined for a few minutes, and, without extracting a concession on anything even as significant as the color of the paper the bill the was printed on, he signed the fucking thing anyway.
Truly I did not know what “awe” meant until that moment.
Oh, and he asked congress to grant him line-item veto powers. Old man, they don’t even let you keep grown-up scissors in the Resolute desk.
Our old chum Georgie Papaderpaderp popped back up in the news today, and you have to credit the Drumpf campaign for entrusting so many weighty responsibilities to a coffee boy. Yes, he was wheelin’ and dealin’ all over the place, with the approval of high-ranking shitbirds like Mike Flynn and Steve Bannon, which contradicts another round of stories this administration has told us, and I’m starting to question these folks’ trustworthiness.
Scott Walker got sued because he was refusing to hold special elections in Wisconsin, and he lost, because I guess “We can’t hold elections because we’d get our asses kicked, Your Honor, holy hell America’s finally on to just how utterly devoid of decency the Republican Party really is,” didn’t turn out to be a winning argument.
What else’ve we got? Ok, first of all, let me say, “The news is shitty enough this week, fuck you for making me think about Roy Moore again.”
Second of all, here’s the latest Roy Moore news: a couple of his supporters, accompanied by a pair of Breitbart goons, excuse me, “reporters” tried to bribe a lawyer representing one of Judge Pedocreep’s accusers. The pitch was apparently ten grand to sign a statement saying “this crazy broad is lying,” and giving BB the exclusive as a cherry on top.
Now, obviously, this is pretty fucking repulsive. But let me just say to the shitbags who attempted this little scheme, if you’re gonna bribe somebody to risk their professional reputation, you best offer terms better than Ryan Zinke’s door budget.
Ok, that’s all I got, people. See you tomorrow at the March For Our Lives, right? Remember, we’re gonna take Earl’s guns first, and circle through the neighborhood counter-clockwise from there!