Hey folks, sorry for not checking in over the weekend. I went on a little bender, drunk out of my mind on Martin Shkreli’s tears. I woke up behind a Wendy’s dumpster clutching what I had initially believed was an exclusive Wu-Tang Clan album, but which turned out to be a slightly soiled Justin Bieber calendar.

Let’s jump right into the hilarity, with the Velveeta Urinal Cake’s legal team, and their amusing offer to swap Bob Mueller an interview with their client in exchange for a speedy resolution to all Drumpf-related aspects of the investigation, in let’s say, oh, 60 days or so?

…there aren’t a lot of photos of Mueller laughing, so I hope somebody thought to document the moment he heard about that particular little gambit.

You know what sucks? Compromise, that’s what. So, ok, the military has agreed to piss maybe as much as $30 million away on a parade so the Bonespur Buttplug can feel like a Big Tuff Dictator for an afternoon, but he won’t be able to roll tanks through the streets of Washington D.C., because they’d “damage the infrastructure,” STUPID CUCK STREETS.

Who knows if Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops will even still want his dumb ol’ parade if he can’t have tanks? What’s the point of even being President, amright?

Steve Bannon, rejected by every man, woman, and child in his native country, decided it was time for a “Drink Prey Hate” voyage of self-discovery, and finally cashed in all those unused vacation days from that silly little Nazi blog he used to run. He popped over to France to bloviate in front of shitty white nationalist losers from a different country for a change. Refreshing.

He told them being labeled (accurately) as racist was “a badge of honor,” or I guess “honour” since he was in Europe. No time for dog whistles when you’ve hit the bottom of the barrel. And licked it dry.

Maybe this is Bannon’s next big move: Hate Tourism! See (and sneer at) the world alongside like-minded knuckle-dragging morons! He can call it “Mein Kruise!”

…Richard Spencer would certainly be interested, since he’s called off his college campus tour due to an inability to find safe spaces. Or, y’know, audiences.

Didja see where the Man With Phalangeal Stunting has been shopping around for a lawyer with Presidential impeachment experience? “He was just asking for a friend,” Sarah Huckabee Sanders feebly offered, before remembering her boss, being completely unworthy of love, has no friends.

The American President’s immediate supervisor, Vlad Putin, weighed in on Russian interference in American elections with a casual “Hey, maybe it was Jews,” because he’s classy like that.

Sam Nunberg abandoned his early-week bravado, and sat down for a lengthy interrogation with Team Mueller. Afterwards, Sad Sack Sam came to two key conclusions:

1. The Russia investigation is anything but a “witch hunt.”

2. He really likes going on TV and having people pay attention to him.

Seriously, did this fucker clone himself? He is on television every fucking hour of the day. He’ll be presenting at the Nickelodeon Kid’s Choice Awards, where he’ll be forcibly removed from the stage during a rambling monologue about Roger Stone’s potential legal exposure.

The Marmalade Shartcannon had himself a rough week. Cabinet scandals, tariff troubles, daily escalations on the Stormy Daniels front, and that whole thing where he thought he was a Big Diplomat Hero with North Korea but was actually just an out-of-his-element goon getting played by a tyrannical thug. So he turned to General Kelly and said. “I need to unwind. Get me a room full of the shittiest white people in Pennsylvania. We’re gonna have ourselves a KLAN RALLY!”

“Mr. President, we should probably just call it a ‘rally.'”

“You spoil all my fun, John!”

So yeah, in the name of propping up the flailing candidacy of this yammering nitwit named Rick Saccone, Il Douche wandered over to the Pennsylvania 18th to babble like a meth-addled street preacher for a bit. He lied a bunch, and talked about how great he is (lotta overlap in those two categories, of course), and attacked the press (for…sleepiness?), and said some racist shit (If Donnie wanted to challenge Maxine Waters to chess, or Trivial Pursuit, or even a second grade spelling test, I am HERE FOR IT.) and some sexist shit (I guess only white women count as women, neat!), and of course the crowd full of drooling HateYokels ate it right up.

Anyway, the most recent polling shows the Embracing-Drumpf-So-Hard-He’s-Basically-Humping-His-Leg Saccone actually TRAILING Democrat Conor Lamb in a district Sharty McFly carried by 20 points in 2016. And the GOP’s frantic expectation-lowering efforts have sunk to the depths of claiming this deep-red district is basically downtown San Francisco, political-makeup-wise.

Anyway, Treasury Secretary/Jelly-Spined Sycophant Steve Mnuchbag found the President’s belched-up stream-of-consciousness bigotdrivel “funny,” but hell, he produced COLLATERAL BEAUTY, so forgive me for declining to defer to his critical analysis.

I guess Betsy DeVos was concerned that maybe somebody somewhere in America thought she might be almost qualified to do her job, so she went on 60 minutes to dispel all doubt.  Betsy’s lucky she was born rich.  She’d never have survived otherwise, in this world of sliding doors and canned food.

Word on the street is that Boisterous Bob Mueller could be close to wrapping up his obstruction o’ justice inquiry, but may not announce the results for the time being, so as to avoid interference with the other aspects of the probe.

See, Team Shart’s many crimes are like an all-you-can-eat buffet; and maybe the Bobadook has had enough fried chicken (obstruction) for now, but he’s gonna go back to the bar for more salad (collusion), maybe some of that foamy Jell-O stuff (money laundering), or corn on the cob (hacking and leaking DNC e-mails). Maybe there’s something new and fun and different on the buffet, too…something we don’t even know about yet. Like teriyaki salmon.  Or, I dunno…braised antelope.  We just don’t know.

Gosh, it seems like only a couple of weeks ago when Dorito Mussolini vowed to support bold new gun control measures, taunting Senators for being “afraid of the NRA.”

…oh, right.

Anyhow, Wayne LaPierre must’ve taken the President out behind the woodshed over the weekend, because he’s absolutely pissing-his-pants terrified of the NRA now. Gone are the promises to ban bump stocks and raise age limits, replaced only with some bullshit about arming teachers, a proposal that, AND THIS IS REALLY WEIRD, would mean…SELLING A FUCKTON MORE GUNS.

Odd how the NRA’s ideas always seem to revolve around enriching gun manufacturers, isn’t it? I’m sure it’s only coincidence.

Oh, and after the Republican-controlled Florida government passed some modest gun control laws, the murder-gorged demons of the NRA didn’t even wait for the ink of Governor Scott’s signature to dry before suing to block the measure, because they simply cannot abide the tyranny of a young man who is not yet old enough to buy his own beer being denied his Gawd-Given Right to purchase a machine than can end dozens of human lives in a few short seconds.*

To visit an even bat-shittier corner of the gun debate, one conservative “thought leader” published a horny little fanfic about how he can hardly wait to start slaughterin’ libtards in the rapidly approaching CIVIL WAR II: WINGNUT BOOGALOO.

Not to be all controversial or anything, but maybe a documented history of fantasizing about murdering people you disagree with should be disqualifying when it comes to purchasing semi-automatic rifles.

Stormy Daniels helpfully offered to refund her blackmail payment in return for the right to tell the world just how much our President likes being peed on, or whatever other horrors she’s privy to. And so the Daniels story continues to grow, now having engulfed not only the sitting President of the United States of America, but also a notary in Texas.

Hey, remember that time one of our most loyal allies was the victim of a chemical weapons attack on their native soil, and they said “Russia did it,” and the American President refused to back them up, or help them retaliate against the attacker, or even go so far as to say “Well shit, that fucking suxxx, bro?”

I guess “America First” is expressed by waving a single finger in the air at our greatest friends. The middle one.

The craven Republican treasonweasels of Devin “Pigfucker” Nunes’ House Intelligence Committee threw a surprise party for their investigation into Russia interference, where the surprise was “We’re ending it! Oh, and there was no collusion, we totally checked, and also the President’s fingers are not only of normal length, but frankly a little on the long side.”

Needless to say, the Democrats on the panel aren’t having this shit, and even Republican Intel member Tom Rooney says his committee “lost all credibility.” Adam Schiff congratulated his collaborating coworkers on all the shit they’ll get to eat whenever new developments in the Russia investigation surface.

Just so we’re clear here, this committee found out literally just a few days ago that Erik Prince lied to them under oath about his Sexy Secret Seychelles…S’meeting, and they’re closing up shop anyhow. Never interviewed Manafort, Never interviewed Papaderpaderp, Flynn, or Gates, who I’ll remind you are confessed felons.

And I see Tangerine Idi Amin is now trying to bully NATO allies into upping their military spending in exchange for sanctions relief. Look, Donnie, just because YOU’RE so willing to be blackmailed doesn’t mean sovereign nations will follow suit. Ass.

Y’know what? It’s actually been kind of a quiet stretch lately. Yeah. All the shit you just read…qualifies as “slow news” under our new, perpetually-besieged-by-insanity standards. Hell, I almost didn’t write tonight.

* For optimal effect, read this sentence in a really cartoony southern accent.  Like, Charles-Laughton-playing-an-Alabama-lawyer cartoony.