Oh ho, and now the madness bleeds over onto the blue side of the field, how charming! I admit, I kinda liked having a little island of sanity to rest my weary head upon when necessary, but no, it’s caucus time, bitches, and nowhere is safe now! Sigh. Let’s do that thing we do.

Hot on the heels of the corrupt majority’s decision to magically transform the Senate impeachment trial into a government-sanctioned coverup with a flick of Mitch McConnell’s creaky, reptilian, wrist, the Department of As Much Justice as William Barr Will Allow revealed that they’re sitting on a couple dozen emails about the Ukraine scheme, some of which may even give insight into what was going on in the walnut-sized wad of half-chewed McDonald’s fries Donnie Dotard calls a brain. I mean, more evidence is always nice but the President’s guilt has been established several times over, we just have this nifty system where underpopulated regions like Wyoming and as many as seven different Dakotas get more representation than the places where people actually live, so it’s kind of up in the air right now, whether or not anything actually matters.   

Lamar Alexander, embracing his new role as Lead Republican Bullshit Geyser, trundled out onto the Sunday Shoz to insist Government Cheese Goebbels has learned his lesson, and that he’ll surely think twice about committing any more crimes, or soliciting any more foreign interference in our elections. Lamar old boy, I feel like, in my position as a Drunken Yahoo in a Fetching Mask n’ Bathrobe Combo, I should not be lecturing United States Senators on Things That Are Painfully Fucking Obvious, but the lesson he’s learned is that the Senate GOP Caucus is his personal private sea monkey tank, filled with crooks and cowards who will abuse the powers of their office to ensure he gets away with whatever felonies and treasons happen to strike his fancy. He’s dreaming about deploying the Marines to swing states to prevent voting in Dem-leaning districts by now, you useless, complicit, stooge.

Joni Ernst pulled a different disingenuous talking point straight out of the grand ol’ elephant’s ass, telling Jake Tapper that while she most certainly would not be fulfilling her oath to support and defened the U.S. Constitution, the record must be amended to show that she said both “tsk” and “tsk” to the Velveeta Vulgarian’s taxpayer-funded international extortion scheme, because in the end, actions are kinda silly, don’tcha think? WORDS, that’s where it’s really at.

Joni also shamelessly announced her party’s intention to impeach Smilin’ Joe Biden before he even has the chance to steam clean the smell of tanning lotion, hair tonic, and fast food flatulence out of the Oval Office curtains, because the standard is “we’ll burn, bury, or ignore any and all evidence of Republican wrongdoing, but for Democrats? An unsourced rant from some rando posting on 4Chan as QsFavoriteCuck is like unto a tablet Moses dragged down from the mountaintop.” I know I say it a great deal, but fuck these awful, awful, people.

Intimidated by the barrage of ads from Actual Billionaire Michael Bloomberg, Weehands McNodick comforted himself by making a couple of tired, lame, short jokes which frankly wouldn’t pass muster on any self-respecting grade school playground. If he has to stand on a box, Donnie, at least it’s a box of money, because Mike doesn’t have to lie about what he’s worth.

Well, Stephen Miller got his early birthday present, or late Xmas present, or Happy Anniversary of the Day Your Festering Hatred Flash-Fried Most of Your Hair Follicles gift, when Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot expanded his racist travel ban to six new nations, including Nigeria, Africa’s largest economy. It would be cool to have our executive branch acting in the national interest again, instead of ticking off items on the Charlottesville Tiki Torch crowd’s wish list.

Now, after three years of more or less constant bumbling, blundering, and general dumbfuckery, we have certainly learned to adjust our standards for the presidency. No longer do we expect the leader of the free world to, say, navigate a conversation with a fellow head of state without puking on her shoes, but surely even the guy who believes stealth planes are literally invisible can manage to sit in a chair for a few hours with a football game on without fucking TOO much shit up, right?

But no, King Midas Only With Turds somehow managed to turn the simple act of watching the Super Bowl into an Olympic-level gymnastic failure routine. How? Well, he started by sticking taxpayers with a $3.4 million bill, because he apparently can’t take in the big game without maintaining proximity to gold toilets and fake Time Magazine covers, necessitating a journey down to Marm-a-Lago.

Then he disrespected the national anthem, which is, of course, the one true cardinal sin for the American conservative movement, which will now finally begin abandoni-wait, hang on…I’m reading the fine print, aaaaaaand, yes, it turns out that rule is just for black people. I apologize for bringing it up.

And Shart Garfunkel held the traditional Super Bowl Sunday presidential sit-down with that weaselly Hannity fellow. I’d call it a softball interview, but…I don’t actually know the rules, do they give tongue baths in softball?

And then, yeah, he congratulated the champion Kansas City Chiefs for doing such a sweet-ass job representing the great state of Kansas, which, to his credit, is awfully close to where the Chiefs play, but which, in the end, remains an entirely different state than Missouri. It boggles the mind, how the simplest things elude him. How the living fuck do you fuck up a congratulatory tweet to a sports team? I bet if the 49ers had pulled it off, he’d just have shot out that list of slurs John Kelly had tattooed on his wrist, under the heading DO NOT SAY ON TV.

Oh, and he shelled out millions to broadcast the most despised ad of the entire game, a laughable attempt to cast himself as a champion of minorities and a uniter of families. May as well have tacked Ronny Jackson’s health report onto the end, so long as you were half-heartedly gaslighting, Shart-O.

Looking ahead to life after he cashes in the Get Out Impeachment Free Card Mitch gave him for Xmas (scribbled on the back of a corner Yertle tore off the Constitution, naturally), the Marmalade Shartcannon is making himself a lil’ ENEMIES LIST, how sassy n’ Stalinist of him! Yes, he’s looking for some excuse to lock Genocidal John Bolton and his Murderous Mustache away, and fuck him sideways for making me take Bolton’s side. Y’know, future Cult45 rallies will require detailed programs, so the slavering rube mobs don’t get confused while they’re chanting LOCK (target of today’s Two Minutes Hate) UP! “No, bro, we screech at Andrew McCabe later, we’re doing Bolton now!”

The Fascist Farthuffer, in one of the petulant tantrums he’s known for instead of any positive leadership qualities whatsoever seriously not even punctuality, banned CNN from attending a fancy pre-State of the Union lunch. Other networks attended, rather than showing solidarity in the face of this latest assault on the free press, because I guess sometimes you just have to politely hold the door of your own work camp bunkhouse open so it’s easier for the bastards to shove you through it.

So, can we finally stab, shoot, behead, draw-and-quarter, drown, and generally bludgeon the living fuck out of the Iowa caucuses now? And preferably also skullfuck the corpse before cremating it and scattering its ashes across the entire known universe to prevent the Iowa Caucuses from ever, ever, coming back? Not that I have a problem with a system that allows a Tiny Group of Privileged White Folks With Ample Spare Time to decide who gets to contend for the most important job in the world or anything, I just don’t want the future alien archaeologists who uncover our civilization to think we were really this stupid/insane/generally-deserving-of-mass-extinction.

Y’know, it’s not like the Rube Goldberg Democracy Distorting Machine we call the caucus is in any way a necessary evil. We already have a system that works, and works better; it’s called an election. It’s like trying to bake a cake, only instead of sticking to the recipe, you buy six pounds of sand, three mice, and a tuba, and you yell “YEAST” at them while rubbing boysenberry yogurt all over your body; it isn’t going to work, so why the fuck are you trying?

JUST HOLD A FUCKING ELECTION, is all I’m saying. And let me go officially on record as saying so, if only to impress the alien archaeologists.

And Susan Collins formally announced her retirement from the Senate today…she just doesn’t know it yet.

Anyway, I’m drafting this before President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster snarls his way through his last State of the Union speech, but I’m gonna ahead and say he lied a whole fucking bunch, and said a bunch of epically stupid shit, because I’m just fucking clairvoyant.

Ok folks, that’s all I’ve got for ya tonight. Little light, even with the extra day. I’m sure the madness will pick up again soon. And we’re heading into the last week for the Kickstarter for Cap’s first comic book…be sure to get in on that shit, all the kewl Resisters are doin’ it…