You ever find yourself watching the news, and suddenly wondering if somebody maybe gave Jake Tapper some bad acid and replaced his notes with long-lost outtakes from Naked Lunch? It can’t be just me.

One of the ways we know we’re in Hell, like the Hell, and not just some cheap knockoff, is the way even the most innocuous little stories explode into turd-spraying geysers. “Surely I don’t need to pay attention to the Delaware Senate primary, surely that reliable bastion of boredom* can be counted upon to deliver a nice, ignorable result, and we can all move on to – OH SWEET TAP-DANCING CHRIST THE REPUBLICANS NOMINATED ANOTHER QANON FREAK?

For those keeping score at home, this makes two GOP candidates for the U.S. Senate who subscribe to that deranged nonsense**, to which I say: fuck you, 2020, fuck you right in the fucking ear for turning the DELAWARE SENATE PRIMARY into yet another wellspring of lunacy.***

So, it’s been six months. You don’t need me to tell you that Government Cheese Goebbels’ pandemic response has been a near-perfect disaster, as though the coronavirus had purchased every penny of his debt from Deutsche Bank and told him to get to busy spreadin’ COVID if he ever wanted to crap on a gold toilet again, but slap me with a catfish and call me Dennis Miller Without the Baggage if the doddering old coot didn’t find not one, but several new ways to make shit even worse. He’s a fucking savant.

He’s talking about herd immunity again, or “herd mentality” as processed by his Adderall-saturated, dying-before-our-very-eyes walnut brain, and frankly, he’s more than a little pissed at the millions of plebs who’ve spent the summer selfishly refusing to die for his glory and re-election. And when an incumbent, from his rotting throne atop a mountain of corpses 200,000 bodies high, proclaims that the real trouble is that not enough people have died, may I humbly suggest backing the challenger?

After all this time, and all this senseless, preventable death, none of the suffering means anything at all to President Crotchrot ASTERISK unless you happen to die in a state with a Democratic governor, in which case your coffin makes an appealing political cudgel, apparently, because blaming others for his own catastrophic failings is the only move he has left. To the millions of the Children of the Candy Corn out there, upon whom this pathetic garbage actually works, let me say I have come to personally resent your refusal to use the brains God gave ya.

Amazingly, this mountain of murderous fuckery, already nearly so enormous as to blot out the goddamn sun, is not enough for the Marmalade Shartcannon. Y’know, your run-of-the-mill destructive idiot would spread a little light misinformation, hold a handful of superspreader rallies, and call it a day, but not our Dotard, no, he has to wage open warfare on the very agency tasked with informing and protecting Americans during a public health crisis.

The argument for re-election is already a Dagwood sandwich of lies separated by mucilaginous layers of rancid mayonnaise, but obviously, the flavor that holds the whole wobbly thing together is the Miraculous Last Minute Appearance of a Vaccine, and that pesky CDC is stepping on President Carnival Barker’s planned Most Suprising October Snake Oil Exposition and Jug Bande Show, with their stupid cuck “science” and “realistic expectations.”

And so, as he has done repeatedly from the very beginning of this unceasing shitstorm, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot attacks the experts, with all the viciousness his rotting heart can muster. And so people lose faith in their institutions. And the President’s lethal misinformation further takes root. And the virus spreads. And people suffer, and some us die. (If you napped through the last six months, life’s been pretty much…this paragraph on an endless, inescapable loop.)

The Failing New York Times got ahold of a bunch of internal e-mails from the CDC, revealing a culture of crazed, shit-brained, political hacks desperate to overrule scientists and undermine the government’s pandemic response, in the name of preserving whatever Orwell-by-way-of-Ralph Wiggum spin Gameshow Göring happened to be belching up that day.

And Michael Caputo isn’t fired, mind you, he’s on “medical leave.” He gets to come back, as soon as he feels up to the strenuous work of murdering people with disinformation again. Cool.

Meanwhile, COVID-19 has once again penetrated the very White House itself, almost tauntingly at this point, like it’s flaunting its ability to meander in and out of the so-called most secure building on Earth at will. And in repeatedly getting within striking distance of Dorito Mussolini without ever quite infecting him, clearly the virus is mocking us for installing the clod in the first place.

Wisconsin Senator Ron Johnson’s new “Yeah I Do Putin’s Bidding, Sorry, It’s So Much Worse Than a Pee Tape” face tattoo was finally a step too far for Willard Romney, who denounced RoJo’s unseemly efforts to fabricate some sort of Biden Benghazi out of pipe cleaners and the contents of his own ass. Always fascinating to see just which bits of treacherous criminality cross the wildly-inconsistent Romney Line on the Partisan-Outrage-o-meter, isn’t it?

Well, Weehands McNodick, perhaps seeking a refreshing change of pace from the day-to-day grind of failing to contain the coronavirus outbreak, waddled over to ABC News to fail at holding a town hall. Stripped of the safety provided by sycophantic wingnut media figures willing to lead him by the hand through fields of the fluffiest imaginable softballs, the Emperor of Maggots was, as always, revealed to be decidedly clothes-less, save for a loincloth composed of a near-dead tapeworm, burrowed into the taint, gnawing on his carbuncled genitalia.

His craven enablers described the town hall as an “ambush,” and honestly, I see their point. Team Treasonweasel’s strategy is all about fooling some of the people all of the time, requiring cultish, unquestioning acceptance of Tangerine Idi Amin’s ever-shifting alternate reality from their base, so yes, concerns and questions from regular Americans, aka the poor schmucks trapped here in the real world with the consequences of Donald Trump’s real-world fuckups IS an assault, because reality’s slightest breeze blasts the whole shitty house of cards to pieces.

The President of the United States has once again been credibly accused of sexual assault, news which not so very long ago would’ve commandeered the attention of every political and media figure in the country. Today, it barely makes a ripple; no one expects members of the Gropey Grand Wizard’s party to condemn him, or even acknowledge the accusation. No one expects the story to swing a single vote from his evangelical “Christian” base. That’s how much he’s poisoned our culture.

A federal judge ruled that the United States Postal Service is not Louis DeJoy’s personal plaything, to be abused or broken or turned into a bong or whatever, even though he paid 600 grand for it. And hopefully this puts an end to Postmaster Lou’s fashy ratfucking, but this administration has already dipped a toe or two into the “what if we DON’T listen to the courts?” pool, so I’m gonna wait a few days to pop my party favor, if you don’t mind.

Speaking of the authoritarian cabal working to destroy American democracy from within, we all know by now Bilious Bill is the most dangerous member of the Is It Time to Start Wearing the Armbands in Public Yet Administration, and he is in full cornered rat mode, folks. See, the Redactor General understands that a return to the rule of law will bring with it an accompanying prison sentence for one William Pelham Barr, and therefore, if he wants to see sunshine for more than an hour a day throughout his golden years, he’s gotta figure out some way to break the Constitution beyond all repair, like a shitty, jowlsy, treasonous Reverse MacGyver.

Mama Barr, please come get your boy, he’s done a fascism again. Holy fuckballs, he’s on a rampage. Trying to charge protesters with SEDITION. Seeking federal charges against the fucking MAYOR OF SEATTLE. All while malevolently monologuing about his “virtually unchecked” power. He’s losing his shit all over the people in his own department, who’ll shortly be tripping over one another to line up to serve on the team prosecuting him next year.

Oh, and he’s eagerly spewing the Trump GOP’s favorite Kool-Aid flavor: Mewling White Victimhood!**** You may doubt his sincerity, imagine he’s merely throwing red meat to the crowd, but no, to privilege-drunk mediocrities like Barr, the smallest sacrifices in the name of public health are indeed EXACTLY LIKE SLAVERY, and if someone were to produce some sort of reality television program where these whinging conservative snowflakes were subjected to conditions approximating actual oppression, I would never turn it off.

The attempted fascist takeover of the United States took a fun, unexpected, sci-fi turn, when we learned Barr’s patchwork Gestapo toyed with the idea of deploying an honest-to-goodness heat ray against peaceful protesters during the infamous Welp Time to Go Full Hitler I Guess incident in Lafayette Square. A fucking HEAT RAY. Huge shout-out to whatever cut-rate Tony Stark dropped that tool into those tiny, inadequate, monstrous little hands.

That’ll be tough to top, but maybe they’re holding back the really cool Mega Man weapons for the Election Night protests Hairplug Himmler is already openly fantasizing about crushing. He really does want to kill us, you know. He wants SO BADLY to order the United States military to open fire on great crowds of Americans who’ve rejected him. Anyway, vote Biden.

Those of us who are not slain outright are to be indoctrinated, of course. You probably know by now that the 1619 Project is a bug up the ass of every white nationalist loser in America, particularly the Fux Nooz hosts that beam their bigoted bile directly into the Fascist Farthuffer’s mind every waking moment of every day, and so now he’s vowing to personally bleach every history textbook in America, won’t Stephen Miller be pleased?

Olivia Troye, until quite recently Vice President Mike Pants’ lead coronavirus staffer, got ahold of one of the last remaining unblown whistles in Washington and, holy heck, she blew the living shit out of the fucker. Troye confirms what we’ve known all along, that the Velveeta Vulgarian’s deadly combination of selfishness and idiocy caused the outbreak to spiral out of control, killing tens of thousands. Oh, and yes, he despises his base, which is obvious to everyone except, y’know…them. 

While the right wing spin machine engages in all their usual attacks (and I’m sure the Big Bad Deep State Wolf is really coming this time, kids), I don’t think this is all bad for them; Troye’s assertion that Sharty McFly found a sunny side to the pandemic, in that he was no longer obligated to shake hands with the filthy peasant class, is certainly closer to a warm, humanizing anecdote than anything offered by any of his own malevolved children at the RNC.

I cannot imagine what warped oaths to Mikey Hairshirt’s suppressed, debasing God one has to swear in order to serve on his staff, but the basically Republicaniest Republicans that ever Republicaned are screaming YOU FOOLS HE’LL KILL US ALL and while I am unwilling to let them set tax policy, I think we should listen to them on this one thing.

And the VeryStable Jeenyuss saw some Florida polling and decided to make a cynical, half-assed pass at tricking Puerto Ricans into forgetting about that whole “leaving you to die in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria” thing, to say nothing of the “trying to trade you for Greenland” thing. This kind of overconfidence comes from a lifetime of dominating Eric in peek-a-boo, you know.

H.R. McMaster swung by for a quick cameo, mentioning that the Bonespur Buttplug’s Afghanistan policy essentially partners the U.S. with the Taliban, and like, H.R.! Bro! Teaming up with the bad guys is just how we do shit now! We’re an Axis Of country these days. Try to keep up.

Anyway, I was just moving into the editing phase of the usual Friday night post when The Bad News broke, and…yeah. Just what we needed, a sledgehammer gut punch after four years of the fascist kick line stomping on our collective groin. And yes, as expected, Mitch McConnell refused to observe even an hour’s worth of decorum before spiking his football, delighted that his bet against decency and democracy had paid off so handsomely.

It seems so cruel and unfair, that just when we’re finally about rid ourselves of this lethally incompetent loser cult, they get rewarded with decades of veto power over the progressive change agenda the people so clearly yearn for.

Nothing is set in stone yet, my friends, and I believe Wrinkly Gamera has miscalculated. He thinks he’s still dealing with the 2016 Dem coalition, soft and overconfident, baffled by his procedural razzle-dazzle and incapable of understanding the power of the Court. We’ve been marching and fighting and organizing for four long years now, Mitchell me lad, and as much fun as it’s been living under the tyranny of your dirtbag theocrat minority, don’t believe for a minute we’re gonna let you just walk out the front door with another one.

Can we stop them? Yes we can. The chips haven’t fallen yet; the players are waiting to see what the American people will DO. We probably need to go all Belarus on their authoritarian asses to win this one. Do we have that in us? Well, that’s up to you.

So…do you?

You’re not alone in this fight. Did you see how much fucking money ActBlue raised last night? I’m super proud that my humble Action Guide was the tiniest part of that haul, and if you’re looking to help flip the Senate or protect and expand our House majority, well, I hope you’ll check the site out; we’re all very proud of it.

Me, I could use a fucking beer. Oh, the comic. Feels a little gauche to hawk my stuff now, but I think y’all will dig it; it’s a nifty little sci-fi parable about love, leadership, and limitations. If nothing else, the art is pretty as fuck, and it’ll provide a little much-needed escapism in these dark times. The Kickstarter launches on Tuesday, September 29th; hope I’ll see you then.

One way or another, stay safe out there, Resisters, it’s gonna be a fuckin’ RIDE for a while.

*Ok, I forgot about Christine O’Donnell before I committed to the bit. Between this and the Gordon Lightfoot thing, I’m SLIPPING, y’all.

**Instead of “deranged nonsense,” I initially wrote “batshit horseshit,” which is technically synonymous, but might be a bit much, even for this blog.

***Yeah, yeah, Christine O’Donnell. Goddammit, this joke would’ve worked. Sorry, folks.

****NOW WITH DOUBLE THE VIOLENCE!