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
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.
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.
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.
This Blog is Better Than the Disease, But Worse Than the Cure, or I Don’t Even Know What to Wear to a Culling
Well, it was difficult to find time in my busy schedule of drinking beer and perpetually re-sterilizing every inch of my apartment, but I figured I’d drop by for a quick news round-up. It’s been a real positive, uplifting, week, full of daisies and puppies and exotic French pastries, except for that one thing that’s fucking up every aspect of life on Earth. Also there were no daisies, puppies, or pastries. Sorry.
In the midst of the greatest global emergency since the international success of the Blue (Da Ba Dee) song, the Shart House has been hard at work. On containing the virus, or procuring desperately-needed equipment for the hospitals about to experience catastrophic shortages? Don’t be silly, the Clowncar Full of Bleeding Rectums running the country is focusing on the really important shit: a government-wide communications strategy to blame China for everything from the coronavirus to the economic crash to the photographs that make Tangerine Idi Amin’s ass look half a mile wide in golf pants.
Beyond the endless, fatal, fuckups, the Turdworm Administration is also staying on-brand by using the coronavirus crisis to attempt a clumsy dictatorial power grab, how predictable, if terrifying. Yes, Redactor General Billy Barr wants the authority to detain folks indefinitely without trial during emergencies, and you can go ahead and mark me down as FUCK NO, YOU FART-SNIFFING FASCISTS on that one. I swear, that Barr kid is like a poorly-trained dog, always snatching food off the counter if you turn your back on him for a minute…only with freedom instead of bacon.
Is there anything Rand Pauler than Rand Paul catching the coronavirus, and smugly going about his life, giving a staunch libertarian middle finger to social distancing, lunchin’ with his homies, spreading his disease (in addition to his everyday Paul family cooties, of course) all over the Senate gym, sending several of his colleagues into quarantine? You’re such a rugged individual, Rand! Surely you won’t require any medical treatment, we can just drop you off at the edge of the jungle with a bow and arrow, and you can hunt and kill your own ventilator.
Republicans, bless their blackened, bile-pumping, little hearts, tried to structure the emergency stimulus bill so it would dump $500 billion directly into a bucket in Steve Mnuchin’s office, which he would then disperse however the fancy struck him, with no oversight whatsoever, and even the added proviso that he could conceal the identities of the recipients for six months. Like, “Surprise! We gave sixty million dollars to Marm-a-Lago while every small business in your hometown withered and died!” I’m just trying to imagine the possible non-corrupt reasons to keep stimulus payments secret, and giving thanks that the crooks in charge aren’t better crooks.
Turns out last July, Hairplug Himmler, in one of those fits of very stable genius that overtake him from time to time, figured he’d trim down the big, bad, government by eliminating the position of a certain CDC expert. Whose job was to monitor disease outbreaks. In China. Hindsight is 20/20 and all, and in the end, this would have simply meant one more expert for the bloated jackass to ignore, but honestly, if, hypothetically, Donald Trump knew in advance this outbreak was coming, and he wanted it to inflict maximum damage on the United States…is there anything he’d have done differently? He is a machine that fucks things up, and is damn near perfect in that regard.
All of us are having trouble adjusting to life under quarantine, of course. Routines have been disrupted, and emotional needs are going unmet. It’s really tough to live without all those little snippets of human contact one takes for granted; the familiar strangers from your morning commute, the barista who starts your drink the moment you walk in the door, the joggers and dog-walkers and stroller-pushing young parents who populate your neighborhood sidewalks. And if you happen to be a tar-souled narcissistic egomaniac, hopelessly addicted the adrenaline rush that comes from whipping angry mobs into deranged, hateful, frenzies, well…then you’ve got real problems.
Luckily for him, if not for the safety and health of the general public, the Marmalade Shartcannon has jury-rigged a passable substitute for his Klan rallies, and he even gets to pretend they’re press conferences. The howls of blind adulation may be missing, but the other elements translate rather cleanly: self-praise, whinging victimhood, sinister misinformation, and all the lies you can handle for only 7.99, add the dessert bar for just a dollar more.
Not to disrupt any boiling frogs or anything, but it is Ken-Russell-on-bad-acid insane that we find ourselves at this dizzyingly fucked up point, where this self-serving madman, this barely-human poosquirt, is handed this enormous platform, every single goddamn day, to shamelessly belch out whatever dangerous fabrications he imagines will hold his poll numbers up for a few more hours, without a single passing thought for the well-being of his millions of constituents, and nobody seems to know how to stop him.
It’s very strange, not being able to believe the President during a time of crisis, but I confess it’s even stranger that anyone anywhere still trusts that mendacious bag of excised colon polyps. Like, folks, this is the same sad little clown who launched his term with a pathetic series of falsehoods about the size of his inauguration crowd, you’re really gonna defer to his snake-oil-peddling ass when it comes to medical treatment? Over the actual FDA? And real doctors? Unbelievably, some folks do, and Fat Q*Bert’s cynical pimping of an untested malaria drug as a miracle corona cure, while a transparent bid to trick the stock market into thinking everything’s copacetic, has actually prompted nationwide shortages, to the chagrin of those who actually, y’know, need the stuff to live.
And of course, a man has already died, and his wife was hospitalized, after swallowing chloroquine phosphate on their Turd Emperor’s expert advice. While President Crotchrot’s handling of the entire situation has been a disaster sandwich between two slices of What the Fuck is Wrong with You, you have to give the old dolt credit, he keeps finding innovative new ways to get people killed.
With the nation looking to the steady, even, hand of New York Governor Andrew Cuomo for much-needed comfort, his Florida counterpart, a walking butter statue by the name of Ron DeSantis, refuses to take necessary precautions and lock down the Sunshine State, even as, to the shock of literally no living thing, spring break beach partiers who defied calls for social distancing have begun coming down with COVID-19. It’s certainly an unconventional political strategy, actively facilitating the deaths of thousands of your constituents, and I’m excited to see how it plays out when Ronboy seeks reelection in 2022, assuming we aren’t all clubbing one another with tire irons over ten-year-old cans of Beefaroni by then.
So, a fun way to pass time during quarantine is to start a “Fauci watch” group with your friends on social media, wherein everyone makes bets on how long it will take for Government Cheese Goebbels to finally fire the only member of his team that still holds the public’s trust, for the high crime of Telling Folks the Truth Rather Than Comforting Lies That Will Only Get More Americans Killed in the Long Run. Frankly, between his competence and expertise, I’m surprised Dr. Fauci hasn’t been replaced by Diamond and/or Silk already.
Sorry serfs, but your feudal overlords have grown weary of this whole “taking the steps needed to combat a global pandemic” thing, now that the truly important shit (money) is involved, so it’s time for all you filthy takers to get your asses back to the
charnel house, excuse me, the “workplace.” Yes, the malignantly wealthy, through the mouths of their demonic spokesgoons at Fux Nooz, have announced “the cure is worse than the problem,” because all this life-saving social distancing has cut into their yacht-and-racehorse funds, which simply will not do…why can’t the lesser classes have the good manners to understand how expendable they are?
President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster really wants to “re-open” the economy, and he’s not gonna let anything silly, like “scientists and doctors,” or “mountains of human corpses” spoil his fun. One of the few remaining functional processes in the wad of used chewing gum he has for a brain reminds him constantly that bad economy = no reelection = no presidential immunity = bunkmates with Harvey Weinstein, so please understand he would giddily accept any death toll, however high, to get the stock market back up, even it means going from hospital to hospital to personally unplug ventilators with very own (tiny, inadequate) hands.
Defying all common sense and basic decency, the murderous idiot actually wants to relax the standards that haven’t even been in place long enough, or universally enough, to slow the spread of this wily motherfucker. He’s openly fantasizing about shit being more or less back to normal come Easter. When that doesn’t happen, because the body count will have a couple more zeros tacked on by then, expect him to recklessly tell the nation that COVID-19 can be cured by ingesting a mixture of bleach, paprika, and Marshmallow Peeps.
(It goes without saying that doing things Donnie Dotard’s way only leads to the worst of both worlds; more senseless deaths, and all the economic damage plus more to boot, but you have to look at it from his point of view…I mean, what if tomorrow never comes?)
In addition to the ridiculous cure/disease branding, he’s test-driving some fresh new bullshit about quarantining leading to a massive wave of suicides, presumably because folks will just be so goshdarn distraught at the financial losses of the Republican donor class. Can’t speak for y’all, but along with my stash of Pringles and beer, thinking about Sheldon Adelson’s vanishing billions is just about all that’s keeping me going lately. In fact, ruminating on it right now, I’m about as far from suicide as the night I lost my virginity.
Texas Lieutenant Governor Dan Patrick is certainly eager to serve as conductor aboard America’s 3:10 to Yuma, taking it upon himself to speak for all of the nation’s elderly, and volunteering them as willing sacrifices to the voracious volcano god men call the Dow Jones. Ah yes, as the saying goes, when the going gets tough, the tough immediately propose mass murder of the old. It’s been, like, a week. Dan. Bro. Let’s pursue a few non-genocidal solutions before we jump right into Soylent Green territory, okay?
And yes, even as the turds deposited by this shitstorm bury us up to our goddamn necks, the Treasonweasel Administration is STILL fighting in court to dismantle the Affordable Care Act, because obviously what this country really needs right now is a few million more uninsured folks, especially with the ranks of the unemployed swelling by the hour, with no place to turn for insurance but the Obamacare exchanges. Their unerring instinct for making shitty situations even shittier leads me to believe that while the medical equipment shortage isn’t likely to be addressed any time soon, Stephen Miller will likely organize the release of immense swarms of bees into every hospital in America within the week.
To all my readers out there, I don’t think I need to say this, but I value you a great deal more than the stock market,* so please take care of yourselves out there. We’ll pull through this crap, and the party we throw when we finally fire these rat finks in November will be all the sweeter for it. See y’all soon.
*Not you, Kevin.