You’ve probably noticed that I always start this blog with a little paragraph that goes, “golly, things sure are nutty,” but for real, it’s come to organized looting and surprise tornadoes up by me, so if I’m a little late posting this week, know that I’m probably frog-and-locust-proofing my place, just in case.

Because the Shart of the Deal is worse at deal-making than anything else (impressive when you recall he’s failed at everything from casinos to putting on pants), stimulus talks with congressional Democrats collapsed, and so he tried to plug a few of the thousands of new leaks springing in our already-battered economy with Hubba Bubba and a handful of probably illegal and certainly ineffective executive orders.

And since President Crotchrot is a blundering, gaslighting sack of Adderall and malice, we had to spend a few days sussing out the difference between what he said he did, what he thinks he did, and what he actually did. He claims, and likely believes, he saved the economy with a stroke of his no-doubt-custom-made-so-as-not-to-overtax-his-wee-baby-hands pen. What he actually did was unilaterally slash unemployment benefits for millions of worried, suffering Americans, and assault Social Security by deferring, and promising to completely eliminate, the payroll taxes that fund it. Mr. President, please quit helping so hard.

Anyway, a depressingly large chunk of the news these days is of the Still Batshit After All These Months variety, because pounding nails into solid stone with your forehead is the new American way, apparently. For example: there is still no national testing/tracing program, and therefore there is still zero chance of getting the coronavirus outbreak under control. Everything’s still bottlenecked at that one roadblock. Yes, still. No, it doesn’t make any sense. This is Hell, are you new?

Yes, Republicans are still quite insistent that schools reopen, though they are curiously less interested in creating the conditions that would make reopening safe. “97,000 kids caught COVID-19 in just two weeks? Well, nothing’s risk-free in life!” they offer, sort of a jaunty way to demand parents risk their children’s lives to maintain the flimsy papier-mâché facade of normalcy the GOP frantically hopes will hold up ‘till November, so they can…hold onto power and keep gettin’ kids killed, I guess.

Meanwhile, Brian Kemp’s First Theory of Coronavirus Spread in Schools fell apart almost immediately, though conservative scientists* had initially been optimistic that a policy of suspending students for documenting unsafe conditions would trick covid into looking elsewhere. Anyway, just like at every single preceding point during the motherfucking pandemic, the virus did indeed spread in the environment where experts told us, in advance, from experience, it was likely to spread, just fuckin’ FANCY THAT.

Betsy DeVos would surely be out there herding kids into pens like John Wayne in a cattle drive film, were she not cowering safely in her mansion. You’ll notice our plutocrat overlords only chuckle condescendingly when we ask them to share in the risks they demand of us; ain’t nobody pushing Barron Trump into a cramped classroom packed with adorable little germ factories, as you may’ve noticed.

And naturally, the Marmalade Shartcannon keeps on illegally using his office to campaign. Whensoever the whim strikes him, he summons the White House press corps to test out his latest desperate attack on Smilin’ Joe Biden. I’d be angrier about the lawlessness if this tactic didn’t reliably blow up in his little butthole face every single goddamn time, whether he winds up scampering away in terror when a female reporter fact-checks him, over an Obama accomplishment he’s been taking credit for for years, or earning himself a fresh new round of cognitive testing by rambling about WWII ending in 1918. We’re getting a steady supply of, “Hey, everybody should drink bleach!” clips for our ads, is all I’m saying.

And after botching two separate Republican National Conventions, Weehands McNodick wants to give his nomination speech at Gettysburg? Fuckin’ proceed, bro! It’s not like you’ll look about half an inch tall in Lincoln’s shadow or anything. Be sure to double-check the dimensions on that Stonehenge replica before you send it to the shop, though!

Gettysburg. Lord. Between this and the unseemly begging to be added to Mount Rushmore, it’s like he’s trying to rub his withered, syphilitic genitals on as many national symbols as possible on the way out…the Liberty Bell is under guard, right?

And Tangerine Idi Amin is still furiously clawing the U.S. Postal Service to shreds, because if he has to interfere with the delivery of life-saving medicines to rural areas in order to deprive Americans of their right to peacefully remove him from power over his catastrophic failings, well, I think we’ve established by now that stupid cuck shit like “the senseless, preventable suffering and death of thousands” will not be a factor in any presidential decisions until next January at the earliest.

Bilious Bill Barr got a tattoo on his ass that reads “Accuse the other side of that which you are guilty,” above a drawing of a MAGA hat-wearing mob tossing the Constitution onto a roaring bonfire, which he’s enjoyed showing off in a series of media appearances smearing the Black Lives Matter movement and the left generally with a meaningless hodgepodge of tired buzzwords designed to spark fear in the white and weak-minded. You just know Billy scribbled his bucket list on the back cover of the hardback copy of Mein Kampf he got from his shitsack boss last Xmas, don’tcha?

And you know Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot is watching the news from Belarus with lust and burning envy; this is the shit he had in mind when he ordered his patchwork Gestapo onto the streets of Washington, D.C. and Portland, but all he got was universal backlash and a couple of temporarily-disappeared protesters. But if you’re looking for a preview of the 2022 midterms under Trump…

The very same Republican Party that for weeks stayed passively perched atop their own thumbs as COVID-19 killed tens of thousands suddenly discovered their capacity for outrage when college football conferences started making the inevitable decisions to cancel their seasons. “NO! MAKE UNPAID GLADIATOR KIDS FIGHT IN THE PLAGUE PIT FOR ME!” screeched Gym Jordan and a bunch of other raging, spittle-flecked, white dudes, honestly, I can’t tell any of them apart anymore.

And I don’t know whether to be angry at the deeply warped priorities, or flabbergasted at the apparent inability to extrapolate. Like, how did this catch you off guard? It never occurred to a single rational human that college football could be played under these circumstances. If you wanted your precious television program, you had every opportunity to join the rest of us in all that mask-wearing, social-distancing, and sheltering-in-place we were up to while y’all were busy spreading disease in the name of freedumb.  Maybe if you get your shit together and stop being fuckheads, we can have nice things again next year. It’s up to you.

Good news, I found a GOP House candidate who isn’t a drooling QAnon follower, though it must be said Madison Cawthorn, the Republican running in North Carolina’s 11th congressional district, recently went on a fashionable vacation to…excuse me, that should read, “went on a FASHY vacation” to fucking HITLER’S SUMMER HOUSE, posting pics on social media documenting his childlike delight at finding himself walking in the führer’s footsteps. It must please Steve King, as he rides off into his own personal Nazi loser sunset, knowing there’s a fresh generation of white nationalist Republicans waiting to replace him.

Ben Shapiro has been called the greatest conservative mind of his generation, but it seems there are some, um, shall we say “gaps” in his expertise. While throwing a puritanical tantrum over the lyrics to Cardi B’s WAP, Benjy casually let it slip that his doctor wife told him, “Wet pussy? Oh my, that only happens when something is very, very wrong medically,” and the minute I stop laughing about this, you’ll know I have died.

And hey, it’s finally official: California Senator Kamala Harris is the next Vice President of the United States of America! Mike Pants has already requested the VP debate moderators provide him with a pillow to cry into during commercial breaks, in addition to investing in padding to render the knocking of his knees inaudible to the home audience.

Oh man, I haven’t been able to post two such delightful stories back-to-back since I launched this silly ol’ blog! Shit, I better check out and run away before I get a push notification announcing a draft for the coming war with NATO. Stay safe out there, friends!

*There’s no such thing, made ya look.