God, we’re so close. We’ve known all along it would get worse at the end, as this human skidmark lashes out with all his might, backed by the terrifying power of the American Presidency. We knew it would suck, and HOLY BALLS IT SUCKS SO VERY, VERY HARD, but I think I got over the hump today. Just now, actually. I can see the finish line. I can make it through the home stretch. COME AT ME, NEWS, I can fuckin’ take ya, is what I’m saying.

So, let’s be honest. The President of the United States, already a stupid, craven, venal twerp, warped by hatred and debilitated by his own narcissism, has finally, from a combination of age, stress, illness, fear of prison, and the mingling of god knows what drugs prescribed at Walter Reed with whatever black market cocktail he’s gobbling out of the medicine cabinet back home, lost his motherfucking mind.

I mean, I got to the same place, sanity-wise, without the benefit of experimental medication, just by keeping up with all this garbage, but whatever.

Rod Rosenstein has been walking this ethical tightrope in the public eye for what feels like forever, and, uh, yeah, that was all for nothing, bro. Turns out Rowdy Roddy teamed up with his old boss, Jeff “Too Racist for the 80’s” Sessions, to orchestrate and implement one of the greatest evils of the Turd Reich, the child separation policy. All those self-righteous contortions, and you’re just one more monster among monsters in the end. This is your place in the history books, Rod. You earned it.

Redactor General William Barr quietly, insidiously rolled back long-standing Justice Department policies that prohibit prosecutors from interfering in elections, so if any enterprising young fascist feels like screaming HUNTER BIDEN KILLED CHRIST in a bid for a spot commanding a concentration camp of your very own in the new world to come, well, understand your dirtbag boss isn’t likely to get less desperate as the walls close in.

There’s no Comey letter in your quiver this time, Billy Boy. I’ve seen the inside of your quiver, you’re down to rat turds and one Oliver Queen-style boxing glove. You made your choices. You had your fun. The party’s over and the law is at the door. Sucks to be you.

In a skeevy moment of offhanded weaselry that perfectly captured the pure, unfettered, shitty rich kidness of the man, President Gas Station Urinal Cake actually tried to blame his coronavirus infection on a visiting group of Gold Star families, I guess because he was worried the electorate didn’t fully understand what a revolting little punk he is. A cursory look at the timeline reveals the transmission threat almost certainly flowed in the other direction; a perfect, maggot-gnawed maraschino cherry for this particular turd sundae.

Well, Mike Pants entered the Vice Presidential debate tasked with achieving what a billion wasted dollars couldn’t: making a case for the re-election of his homicidally incompetent administration that wouldn’t make the American people laugh derisively/roll their eyes/run him out of town on a rail. He left the subject of derision and memes after being upstaged by a fly that briefly considered taking up permanent residence in his demonic scalp, before ultimately flying away, unable to bear the stench.

I mean, Kamala was always gonna kick Mikey Hairshirt’s theocrat ass, but I confess I don’t understand why a campaign looking down the business end of a historic gender gap figured a droning old white dude talking over two women for 90 minutes would pull them out of the cartoon quicksand pit they’ve all but disappeared into.

Let’s explore the week’s events with a little cause n’ effect, shall we? Because Donald Trump was too stupid to take simple precautions, he caught COVID-19. Because he caught COVID-19, the Commission on Presidential Debates decided the second debate couldn’t be held in person, on account of the President’s COMMUNICABLE DISEASE. Because Typhoid Donnie is a blowhard and a coward, he backed out of that debate. Because this is not Joe Biden’s first rodeo, he said “Well, you enjoy yourself at home, Second Place, I’ll just do a prime time town hall without you.” And now Wee Don has lost access to one of the two largest remaining audiences available to his flailing campaign as the pages of calendar turn. Any questions?

Getting back to that futile billion for a minute, though the campaign coffers are now so bare that the Committee to Re-Elect the Taintfungus has pulled ads from must-win swing states (though I imagine Shitty Evita’s checks still arrive on time), Gameshow Göring has discovered a brand-new source of funding: YOUR POCKET! Yes, the very same executive branch that STILL refuses to take the simple steps necessary to contain the coronavirus outbreak, like implementing a national testing strategy for example, is working overtime to get their pathetic $200 bribe for seniors out the door.

Now, who’s on the hook for this SEVEN BILLION DOLLAR donation to the Trump campaign? Why you and me, of course, the dumb cuck American taxpayer! Needless to say, this won’t work any better than that time he tried to sneak his shitty little signature onto the initial stimulus checks…a lousy $200 payoff for the entirety of 20frickin’20? That’s like a nickel per atrocity, fuck you.

They say life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans, and if you don’t believe me, just ask the members of the Trump-inspired white nationalist terror cell who currently find themselves behind bars rather than working out the finer points of their plot to kidnap and execute Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer.

Now, I acknowledge we live in times of unprecedented division, but surely we can still muster a grudging bipartisan handshake over a statement as non-controversial as “terrorism is bad,” right? It’s not like we’re some third-world shithole where increasingly violent religious sects openly fund child soldiers who murder their perceived political foes or anything, RIGHT?

Like, I don’t if you’ve been paying attention, but ever since Weehands McNodick took his Pokémon Go game to Lafayette Square and said, “I choose YOU, fascist crackdown!” things have changed, and he’s not hiding his despotic impulses anymore. So yeah, not only did he refuse to condemn these would-be murderers, he actually attacked Whitmer, going so far as to approvingly parrot the terrorists’ point of view. If anything, he’s pissed off that there’re thirteen fewer thugs available to “stand back and stand by” for his inevitable call to violence.

On the white-collar side of the white nationalist crime syndicate that is the Trump/McConnell Republican Party, fundraiser Elliott Broidy is America’s Next Top Felon, anyway, I believe we were having a discussion about who the “law and order” candidate is?

Now, I don’t think Mike Lee gets the same top-shelf shit his Turd Emperor has access to at Walter Reed, but let me just say that if the COVID-infected Utah Senator’s casual anti-Democratic musings are not, in fact, the result of ingesting hallucinogens, then he goes on the Never For One Second Take Your Eyes Off These Fascist Jags list with Tom Cotton and Josh Hawley.

The Shart House Covid outbreak has gotten so severe that Mitch McConnell said he’d rather obey the will of the American public than visit Donald Trump’s Plague Pit at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. It sure is fun that folks are afraid to set foot near the People’s House because doing so puts you at extremely high risk of a lonely, painful death. I mean, I dunno if anybody is still looking for blindingly obvious symbolism, but it’s here if you want it.

Though the Manchurian Manchild remained too ill to appear live on camera this week (Did you think we wouldn’t notice? We noticed.) his presence remained as oppressively inescapable as ever, as manifested by a never-ending deluge of batshit tweets and a series of deranged phone-in interviews with all of his favorite safe spaces: Fux, Hannity, Limbaugh…there’s neither time nor room to document all the raw lunacy that dropped, turd-like, from Fat Q*bert pinched sphincter mouth during these mad little chats, and I have too much respect for you to poison your mind with inane Chris Cillizza (but I repeat myself) listicles, but among other drooling nonsense, he seems intent on resurrecting his debunked “Obamagate” conspiracy theory, which won’t win him any votes, but hey, it’ll keep Ron Johnson busy.

Oh, and of course he isn’t shy about proclaiming himself Cured of Coronavirus and Functionally Immortal, Prolly, deceitfully promising to order the U.S. military to deliver his unproven, experimental, million-dollar miracle cure to the American people free of charge. The pestilential creep actually tried to get back on the campaign trail, promising rallies during what even the Ronny Jacksons and Sean Conleys of the world would admit is still within the What Part of “Extremely Contagious” is Giving You Trouble, Bro? period of his illness.   

Turmoil in Shartopia as President Crotchrot lashes out at the underlings who never quite managed to turn the USA into the police state of his dreams. Bilious Bill earned a special blast of Adderall-infused ire when he announced the findings of his bullshit investigation into the origins of the Russia probe will not, in fact, deliver the Wikileaks reunion tour Government Cheese Goebbels so desperately needs. Did you expect loyalty, William, for being such an enthusiastic henchmen? Bless your fascist heart.

Y’know, I was starting to get pretty confident, almost cocky, about our chances on November 3rd, but then I saw Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo announce he’s gettin’ ready to release a fresh trove of HILLARY’S E-MAILS, and hey, democracy had a good run, but they’ve outplayed us fair and square. It looked like it was gonna be a coronavirus election there for a minute, but how can nine months of entirely avoidable mayhem and suffering and death hope to compete with Hillary Clinton’s godforsaken e-mails?

Ummmm…what else? The Failing New York Times uncovered yet another massive Trump financial crime, and while that kinda stuff has trouble breaking through in these days of stochastic terrorism and steroid-fueled mental breakdowns, to me, this is just one more indicator that Strawberry Shartcake’s post-presidency will be spent in courtrooms and prison cells, watching his ill-gotten fortune get whittled away to nothing by lawsuit after lawsuit, until he dies, destitute and despised, with even Steve Bannon refusing to return his texts.

I see Lindsey Graham tried to back out of his debate with Jaime Harrison rather than take a coronavirus test, because while he has absolutely, 100% been exposed to contagious carriers, he would rather risk the lives of everyone around him than endanger his party’s shitbag ploy to steal one last Supreme Court seat before everybody gets (justly) fired. That thing about power corrupting? I dunno who came up with that, but I think they’re onto something.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. See that, you Nazi fucks? Four years you’ve been flooding the zone with a tidal wave of shit, hoping to wear us down. Well, we haven’t worn down, motherfuckers. We got through it. We got through the four years, we got through the Category 7 shitstorm of the last two weeks, and we’ll get through whatever you throw at us over the next 24 days. You’re finished.

Hey, there’s still time to check out the Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide, where you can donate to our great House and Senate candidates. And yes, the Kickstarter for my next comic book, MINE, is up n’ running as well! I’ll promote ‘em both harder next week when I’m not so fucking exhausted. Stay safe out there, Resisters.