Anybody else holding out hope that one morning, you’ll wake up in your bed back on the farm in Kansas, with Aunt Em and Uncle Henry and three farmhands who look suspiciously like Adam Schiff, Robert Mueller, and Rachel Maddow huddled around you, and maybe that night you even celebrate your recovery by butchering the mean old hog with…suspiciously familiar features?

No? Just me?

So we’ve got this thing with the Trump/Cohen tapes. I think I’m supposed to say “Lordy there are tapes” because back in the day Jazzy Jim Comey was all, “Lordy I hope there are tapes” so every time a story about any kind of recording pops up now, everybody says “Lordy” but maybe I should try to do better, like “Lordy Lordy look who’s forty!” only that would only work if there were like, EXACTLY forty tapes, so what about, “Sex, lies, and audiotapes!” or “Michael Cohen: Lord(y) of the Tapes! One Tape to Rule Them All! And like, Avenetti is Frodo, or maybe Aragorn is better, or…

…or maybe I should drop it and move on. There are some tapes. Mikey and Donnie are in the early stages of a Clueless-worthy friendship breakup that might just wind up bringing down a Presidency. Lordy.

Hey, before we go any further, a quick reminder that, due to a toxic cocktail of racist cruelty and unforgivable incompetence, hundreds of children in U.S. custody remain separated from their families. Much like the abandonment of Puerto Rico in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria, this unspeakable crime against humanity is quickly becoming just another fact of life under this dirtbag regime. Please don’t allow this atrocity to become normalized, and please don’t stop fighting.

Ok, we can get back to gags now.

Here’s one: DNI Dan Coats was accused of “going rogue” by high-ranking Shart House officials because he sat down with a journalist for a little while and was more or less honest. Yes, America, your ruling party equates truth with betrayal. That’s just how things are in this Orwell-by-way-of-Jeff-Foxworthy nightmare.

You might want to check out the traditional weekend Everybody’s Leakin’ at Me behind-the-scenes round-up from the Washington Post. The President remains perplexed that his record of failure and treason hasn’t been met with widespread praise. Fun detail this week: Mr. Tuff Boy gets pissy when a reporter is allowed to ask him a difficult question. Strength!

Seems one of Serial Pedophile Roy Moore’s biggest backers, who happens to be the very same scumfuck Sheriff who enriched himself by pocketed funds meant to feed inmates, finds himself accused of swapping drugs for sex with teenage girls. Y’know, I’m starting to think that maybe there are a few problems with the law enforcement community down in Alabama.

Looks like the “Manhattan Madame” has been contacted by the Mueller investigation to testify, probably about her good buddy Roger Stone, and by the way I guess Roger Stone is close friends with a procurer of prostitutes, which explains his ascension to the highest ranks of the conservative movement. Um…there’s really not much to this story, but sex sells, right? ARE YOU NOT TITILLATED? While you’re all aroused n’ shit, I guess I’ll sneak in a link to my tip jar.

The Giant Bonehead Trade War is going swimmingly, so long as you ignore the mound of stories about the economic fallout piling up like the billions of pounds of unpurchased meat and poultry accumulating in warehouses, just the latest example of an American industry enduring a senseless crotch-stomping thanks to Boss Shart’s petulant tariff-flinging.

Luckily, our Field Marshall in this struggle is that Eisenhower of the Economy, the Baron of Bankruptcy himself! Dumbshit says, and probably even believes, that stock market gains, already vanishing due to his reckless fiscal fuckery, give him some sort of fanciful breathing room to throw wrenches into the global economy, because “we’re playing with the bank’s money,” you see.

Everybody got that? If you happen to be a worker laid off from Missouri’s Mid Continent Nail Corporation, or an Iowa soybean farmer wondering how you’ll make ends meet this year, or a Harley-Davidson worker watching your job take an extended European vacation, your LIFE is “the bank’s money” to your President. A meaningless plaything for a blithering man-baby to toss about in a pudding-brained bid to demonstrate “strength.”

Lindsey Graham bravely states that he’s “willing to accept some pain” for the sake of his Turd Emperor’s idiotic experiment. Of course, the good Senator won’t be the one experiencing the pain, losing the job, missing the rent payment, choosing whether to buy the children’s school supplies or the life-saving medicine. That’s YOUR job, peasants.

Well at least the Accidental Poosquirt’s shitty made-in-China MAGA hats are another trade war causality. The world may be falling apart before my eyes, but shit like that keeps me laughing like some leashed jester in a Mad Max movie.

So, President Crotchvoid’s tenure in office has been marked by blundering failure after blundering failure, from multiple botched Obamacare repeal attempts to somehow managing to get thoroughly conned by a clownish little thug like Kim Jong-un.

Of course, this all-too-reliable incompetence usually carries negative, even tragic consequences for the country and the world, but when you see it applied to the Velveeta Vulgarian’s pathetic attempts at personal legal defense, it’s refreshingly hilarious.

Take, for example, the historic self-own of releasing the Carter Page FISA authorization documents. I guess the idea was to undercut the Mueller investigation, or discredit the FBI, or…something, but what the release actually accomplished was proving that Fat Q*Bert’s desperate spin was 100% Grade A fortified horse manure all along, that Devin Nunes is a lackey and liar, and frankly shitty at both, that Carter Page abso-fucking-lutely deserved to be under surveillance, and that Democrats have been telling the truth from the beginning. Like, can any of the Dotard’s lawyers even read?

Of course, everyone on Team Treason, from the President’s state media toadies to congressional enablers like Jim “Look the Other Way” Jordan, proclaimed complete exoneration, confident their zombie audience would merrily scarf down whatever plateful of shit they were served. “412 PAGES? TL:DR? WIIIIIIITCH HUUUUUUUUNT!”

(And also the docs further prove that Trump University is now considered an Ivy League school, that the President’s fingers are, if anything, unusually long, and that he dated Salma Hayek for six months, and in the end HE was the one to dump HER.)

Georgia State Representative Jason Spencer achieved overnight celebrity by screaming racial slurs and chasing Sacha Baron Cohen around with his bare ass in an attempt to turn him gay. Oh, and he’s refusing to resign, perhaps because hell, shit can’t get any worse, right? In related news, I am no longer capable of any level of surprise.

Spencer is actually the perfect standard-bearer for the modern GOP; a shrieking bigot without two brain cells to rub together, refusing to take responsibility for his own actions even after they’ve been broadcast around the world.

Around the same time Jason’s professional life was ending, Circus Peanut Sydney Greentstreet, cranky at having been denied his second scoop of ice cream as punishment for shitting his pants over his campaign manager’s impending trial, spent his Sunday evening shifting agitatedly in a pile of his own filth, resentment, and terror, until he decided to chase the voices in his head away for a minute or two by doin’ himself a little diplomacy.

And so he threatened Iran with some sort of vague but surely super-manly act of warlike violence, with an all-caps tweet composed in a state of mind not unlike that of a child who discovers his older brother has already claimed the prize at the bottom of the cereal box; just blind, petulant, juvenile rage.

And so suddenly we’re back to wondering if the Manchurian Manchild will sneak downstairs one night while Kelly and Mattis are asleep, and launch a pre-emptive nuclear strike, murdering hundreds of thousands just to steal a positive news cycle or two.

Grampa Grifter was extra surly this morning, either because he didn’t sleep or well, or maybe because THE MOTHERFUCKING WALLS ARE CLOSING IN AND AFTER SEVEN DECADES OF GETTING AWAY WITH EVERY CRIME FROM LARCENY TO SEXUAL ASSAULT TO HIGH GODDAMN TREASON JUST BECAUSE HIS DADDY WAS RICH, THE BILL’S FINALLY COME DUE. Hard to say really.

Anyway, he unleashed a tweetstorm with a tone somewhere between “Nicholas Cage’s King Lear,” and “Hotel Fire at a Bath Salt Salesmen’s Convention,” ranting about…oh honestly, who gives a shit? The usual lies and whinging. Whatever.

Yet another legal setback for our old chum Paul Manafort, as the judge granted immunity to five Mueller witnesses to testify against him. Paulie’s so thoroughly #Manafucked at this point, he’s walkin’ funny.

I see Rand Paul is doing another one of his trademark performance art pieces, where he pretends he’s something other than just another garden-variety Republican hack who votes the party line every time it matters. Honestly, it’s just repetitive and boring at this point. Zero Meowmeowbeenz.

Team Shitgibbon launched an attempt to strip California of the right to regulate the cleanliness of their own fucking air, because that really hits that pettiness/evil sweet spot (and more on that in just one short moment). This is likely to be just the first in a series of vindictive actions targeting blue states. My sources inform me other plans under consideration would involve the mandatory releasing of bees into all Massachusetts office buildings, filling all the reservoirs and water towers in Illinois with New Coke, and granting Stephen Miller Prima Nocta rights throughout the Pacific Northwest.

On the Bitchy Despotism front, Sarah Slanders proudly announced her scrotalrot boss was looking into revoking the security clearances of Obama and Bush era intelligence officials such as James Clapper, Andrew McCabe, and some fellah named “Comey,” for they periodically appear on his magic television box pointing out what a massive fuck-up he is, which makes him sad.

In that inimitable Shart House fashion, several of the officials listed no longer had any security clearances to revoke, so in the end, this mostly comes down to Penny-Ante Pol Pot throwing himself a wee tyrant tantrum that people are allowed to criticize him.

And now Precocious Paul’s trial has been delayed a week, which is kinda disappointing but at least now the t-shirt I picked up at the merch booth should become a collector’s item, because it has the original date on the back. Right?

What’s this now?  The Tangelo Taint Tumor’s lawyers are trying to bargain with The Bobadook?  Wee Don will answer questions relating to golf pants, Reince Priebus’ pet peeves, and Ninja Turtle trivia, but any questions about crimes are OFF LIMITS!  I bet that works out.

Jesus Fuck. Aunt Em? Aunt Em?!?!? AUNT EM WILL YOU PLEASE PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE?