Y’know, I really do love worrying less about what the crazy man is doing with the power of the American presidency, but watching the Republican Party congeal into its next, apparently equally grotesque form is…hoo boy. It’s somethin’. Like, “oh, we’re keeping ALL the crazy parts, huh? That’s…a choice.”

I don’t get it. Why are they still so feverishly loyal to Donald Trump, who can no longer navigate even his periodic ceremonial duties without A) whinging like a kid who didn’t get the Happy Meal toy he wanted, and B) waddling around aimlessly like someone who has never once in his life experienced a human social interaction?

Remember when you thought you lived in the greatest, most advanced country in the history of the world? Well, here we are, facing the deadliest days of this pandemic to date, worse off than any nation on Earth, because a political movement built on fascist-style disinformation finally bent our culture to the point where it snapped like balsa wood.

Spreading the coronavirus has essentially become a point of cultural pride for the president’s followers, which has of course proven catastrophic, but let’s not lose sight of just how deeply insane that shit is. This movement’s gleeful complicity in its own gaslighting, even in the face of mass casualties, is, by my calculations, the single mathematically damndest thing I have ever seen.

Gameshow Göring slithered down to Georgia for one of his precious hate rallies, allegedly in support of Loeffler and Perdue, who were paraded before the mob just long enough to absorb their manic “fight for Trump” chants. Heh. You clods thought he came all that way to help you? To give you a hand, out of the goodness of his heart? Does that sound like Donald Trump to you?

No, he was there to threaten y’all. “You want me to drive these cattle to the polls? Shit, you need me to, if you’re to have a snowball’s chance of competing with the massive coalition that rose up in opposition to my avalanche of atrocities. Well, you heard ‘em: fight for Trump.”

Alternatively, he can bring their bovine fury down upon your head; just ask Brian Kemp. I mean, the election is over. The fight is lost. Georgia’s votes have been counted three times and certified twice. But still, Hairplug Himmler calls to demand deliverance from democracy.

“There’s simply no way to accomplish that, Mr. President,” Kemp frantically attempts to explain, but it is an unforgiving Turd God you Republicans have elevated; you get him what he wants or he feeds you to the volcano.

See, that’s what pushes this shit over the line from garden-variety authoritarianism to pure Trumpist madness: not only must you overthrow the entire American system of government for your Maggot Monarch, he also requires you to design the whole plan from scratch and put in all the legwork yourself, and if you could get that done by the time he’s finished golfing, that’d be stupendous. The laziness in the face of such astronomical stakes is…Garfieldian.

Anyway, this particular excommunication ritual has been repeated countless times these last four years, yet somehow Republicans just keep lining up to get fed, one after another, into the wood chipper. Y’know, one of the reasons this party is so bad at governing is that they’re incapable of learning. (And 2020’s lessons have not been subtle.)

Like, what sort of Stalinist fun house are we locked in where only 27 of the 249 Republicans in the House and Senate are willing to acknowledge, on the record with the Washington Post, the objective truth of Joe Biden’s landslide victory? It’s not in dispute. You wouldn’t ask Roy Blunt if mustard exists.

Look at this silly, childish inaugural committee vote. Sure, it’s just some arcane bit of political theatre we never once thought about, but it’s still the leaders of the congressional Republican Party, frickin’ Mitch McConnell and Kevin McCarthy, lending the prestige of their offices to this dangerous drivel, and fucking OF COURSE it’s radicalizing millions of Americans.

Meanwhile, Texas AG Ken Paxton, certainly no stranger to bringing shame upon his office, picked up a half-eaten crayon and drafted his own warped, treasonous parody of a lawsuit, demanding the invalidation of crucial swing states’ election results, because the voices that speak to him through his molars are reasonably confident there was oodles of fraud.

Will any of this clownish fuckery succeed? Fucking of course not, it’s shitty performance art designed to distract and manipulate a colicky manchild king, but it’s also gasoline on millions of fires burning in millions of individual rabbit holes. This is how we wind up with armed terrorists besieging Michigan Secretary of State Jocelyn Benson’s private residence. I was really hoping the GOP would get out of the stochastic terror business post-Dotard, but I suppose these moral weaklings will never stop finding new ways to let us down, will they?

Yeah, seems like home delivery has become quite the popular innovation in wingnut rage swarm circles; the trend is really taking off in Idaho, where death cultists, excuse me, “anti-maskers” terrorized a 12-year-old child in his home, in the name of preserving the coronavirus’ God-given right to spread, unimpeded, from host to host.

Ron DeSantis finally earned his Police State Crackdown merit badge, sending armed officers to raid a coronavirus whistleblower’s home, menacing her children at gunpoint. See, Ron-Ron shows us where the Trump-infected Republican Party is headed; thuggish, mediocre white dudes experimenting with state violence to see how much they can get away with. Fascism filtered through the frat house. Gonna be great.

All across the nation, pundits shouted BINGO, as Rudy Giuliani became the latest Shart House figure to contract COVID-19. He was quickly joined by fellow Elite Legal Ninja Strike Force With Laser Eyes Too team member Jenna Ellis; the uninfected list is pretty much down to Betsy DeVos and Eric’s sex pillow, the one bearing Betty Rubble’s faded, crusty likeness.

Typhoid Rudy’s treacherous vacation exposed so many Arizona Republicans they had to shut down both houses of the state legislature, an event which concisely illustrates why I seldom invite death cultists to game night.

And the Empress Malaria unveiled her snazzy new ”tennis pavilion,” because “reading the room” doesn’t translate into Slovenian. I can’t imagine future administrations will even use these courts, on account of the absolute certainty they will haunted by the restless Covid dead.

Nothing drives home the reality of American decline under the Turd Reich quite like watching coronavirus vaccination begin…in other countries. England started dispensing doses this week, and Canada won’t be far behind, but here in the U.S. we’re doing this wacky thing where we let malicious idiots make life-or-death decisions for the rest of us, I don’t get it either, ANYWAY point is we’ve still got quite a few weeks of rather intense dying ahead of us yet. Who’s a superpower NOW, huh?

And fucking of COURSE Doctor Dotard declined a deal to acquire millions of doses of the Pfizer vaccine for U.S. citizens. Of COURSE those doses, including many manufactured on American soil, will instead be shipped to foreign nations who had the good sense not to elect yam-brained assclowns. Never forget, America, you make this mistake, you pay for it every minute for four years, no days off for good behavior.

I see Princess Ivanka and Jar-Jar, understanding they’ll be despised forever by all decent human beings, bought themselves a plot of land on a heavily-guarded island for peasant-fearing billionaires, in a refreshing, if uncharacteristic acknowledgement of objective reality by high-ranking Trump administration officials.

The Arizona GOP, again, the very party exposed to a potentially lethal disease by Tangerine Idi Amin’s high priest just a few short days ago, apparently feels perfectly comfortable encouraging their base to die for Donald Trump, who would merrily set any one of them on fire for six dollars and a half-filled sandwich shop punch card. There’s gotta be a better cult you can join, guys. There’s just got to be.

And somehow Ron Johnson is still, STILL babbling about hyrdroxyfuckingchlorquine and platforming anti-science maniacs? Do we have to revisit drinking bleach and shining magic lights up our buttholes, too? Can we please move on from at least some of the lunacy? The parts that’re getting folks killed, anyhow?

You know deep in his broken, transactional heart, the Shart of the Deal truly expected the Supreme Court to gratefully deliver the United States government to him on a plate, to be looted in perpetuity by his shitty grifter spawn, so I sincerely hope some enterprising aide whipped out their phone in time to record the tantrum he threw when he received word they’d rejected his latest dumbfuck lawsuit. History deserves to see that tantrum. As do I, personally.

I really thought I was gonna make it through this shitstorm with my sanity scarred but basically intact, but watching Louie Gohmert’s tooth fall out, something deep within me finally snapped. Without quite understanding how, I find myself sewing an elaborate costume and working up a plot to kill the Batman. I…don’t even know where all this pleather came from.

What madness. And now Lou Dobbs and Stephen Miller are squabbling like shitty loser fascist cats and evil scumfuck Nazi dogs. 17 different Republican state attorneys general have joined Texas in their Pretty Please Murder Democracy For Us Amy Coney Barrett lawsuit, and…I dunno, I kinda thought everybody would be like, happy and relieved to leave the cray-cray con man death cult behind, but I guess some folks just like screeching gibberish while covered in their own filth. Different strokes.

Wait, what’s this? President Crotchvoid got Ted Cruz to agree to argue Paxton’s fatuous lawsuit before the Supreme Court? Don’t get me wrong, Ted’s ongoing debasement has been a welcome bright spot during dark times, but this is getting hard to watch. He’ll be dog-walking Cruz up and down the National Mall by a string of anal beads before long.

Well, forgive me for the unorthodox schedule this week, I’m adjusting to the post-election news cycle. If there’s not enough fresh bat guano by Friday to merit a full blog….hmmmm, I dunno what I’ll do. Might post a short one to get back on schedule, might post Saturday, might catch up next Monday. We’ll see. Only thing I know for certain is what comes next, which is drinking. Stay safe out there, friends.