Writing about Republican politics is like babysitting the shittiest kids in the world, and honestly, I feel like these little assholes owe us a good, long nap. Never a moment’s fucking peace. Little shits.

Ok, you kicked Ilhan Omar off the Foreign Affairs Committee, yippee for you. Took you fifteen tries just to turn the lights on, but when it’s time for petty payback, you’re one-take wonders. I was told there would principled moderates preventing this kind of thing. Tell me some more about Don Bacon, and all the shenanigans he won’t stand for, by gum.

This playground power grab was hailed as, I kid you not, a successful test of Kevin’s whipping operation. Zounds. You ever get the feeling these dolts’re held to a different standard than, say, oh, I dunno, Hillary Clinton, for example?

Anyway, I’m sure you fooled lots and lots of people with your pious justifications for excommunicating the brown lady; I mean, you were fighting anti-Semitism so hard, surely no one noticed you elevating that one deranged bigot to a position of national prominence. No, not the dentist, the other one, the one with the history of anti-Semitism substantial enough to warrant a callout from the US Holocaust Museum.

Yes, Marjorie Taylor Greene is cleaning up her image to gain power, if the headlines are to be trusted. Cleaning up her image. I feel like once you’ve publicly suggested that wildfires are caused by Jewish-owned lasers stationed in outer space, the ol’ reputation is more or less locked in.

Kevin, probably because he likes answering questions about Ashli Babbitt, gave Marj all the power she could ask for anyway, which is how she found herself on an honest-to-goodness congressional committee, bellowing about the $5.1 billion-per-school wokeness grants she made up. Another stellar bit of leadering by the 55th Speaker of the House, arguably the leaderest leader this nation has ever seen. Pelosi was a cuck.

My god, this doofus is flummoxed by Joe Biden’s wily insistence that House Republicans state an opening position in the debt ceiling standoff they started. Flat out flummoxed. Never in his wildest dreams did Kevin McCarthy imagine he’d need to publicly identify the specific spending cuts he wants. It’s breathtaking to behold.

“What do you want, Kevin?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“What do you want? What policy outcome are you seeking?“

…and Kevin can’t get his head out of that bag. It’s been a week, folks. A week.

“Aw heck, Mr. President, you’ve got me all tied up in knots! I figured we’d call you names for a few weeks, and then, I dunno…maybe you’d cut Medicaid?”

“Mmm. Well, come back when you figure out what you’re asking for, and we’ll take another crack at the ‘negotiating’ thing. Say hi to all your naked pictures of my son!”

Flummoxed. Fllllllllllummoxed. You haven’t seen the last of that word, friends. This goon squad can’t even convene a committee without accidentally granting the opposition a supermajority.

Obviously, everyone’s been super busy, fighting anti-Semitism, and owning imaginary libs with their cute little assault rifle pins, but I’m sure the serious governance is right around the corner. Any day now. Two weeks.

Watching Off-Brand Orbán’s campaign apparatus lurch back to life has been…well, it’s the old, familiar nausea, isn’t it? I’d almost forgotten the doddering old creep’s limitless capacity for resentment, for hate, for endless, mewling victimhood…can’t you just leave us alone, you fucking loser? Go home, loser, inflict yourself on your shitty kids, nobody likes you.

…nobody except, granted, your whiny loser cult. Congratulations on seven years and counting of falling for this sad, flaccid con, dorks. I know your precious media bubble is shielding you from the spectacle of your boy pleading the fifth over and over again like the cheap mobster he is, but it’s right here waiting for you when you’re ready. Top shelf, next to the Covid vaccine.

Until then, enjoy your big, tuff “revenge tour,” watching grandpa ramble about his secret plan to end the war in the Ukraine by kissing Putin’s ass extra hard, in that secret spot only he knows about. He’ll play all the hits, (I hear he’s got an extended version of the toilet flushing bit that runs fifteen minutes, with a Stephen Miller drum solo) while working in new material here and there; it’ll be like watching a fascist prop comic at a state fair.

Incidentally, does “pink-haired communist teachers” sound like something you could get behind hating? Could that branding entice you to pitch a fit at a school board meeting or phone in a bomb threat or perhaps even join the ranks of some paramilitary organization and do some terrorism?

Because that gurgling undercurrent of violence will, obviously, be following Donald Trump back to the campaign trail; (and to Facebook and Twitter, thanks, billionaire tech bros!) he’s only gotten dumber and crazier in his Norma Desmond phase, he’s always spreading Q shit, and I bet somehow his pants fit even worse now, in incomprehensible, cubist ways.

Never fear, though, the Republican establishment is finally awake to the threat, and they are ON IT. They’ve developed a foolproof plan, to hope real hard that someone solves their problem for them, I mean, everybody dies eventually, right?

Should this stratagem somehow fail, the fallback plan, as expressed by such paragons of moderatey moderateness as Larry Hogan and Chris Sununu, is to once again wholeheartedly support the fellow who spent the entire transition period attempting to overturn the election he lost, culminating in a terrorist attack on the U.S. Capitol. My goodness, it’s so blindingly moderate, I find myself wearing sunglasses indoors.

I see Nikki Haley requires remedial education in the fundamental forces of white nationalist politics. Money donated to Nikki Haley’s presidential campaign should be taxed at a rate of 200%; surely a nanny state is required in the face of such senseless waste.

It’s hard enough to imagine a lower pursuit than emulating Donald Trump, but then Ron DeSantis’ dumb, thuggish take on MAGA authoritarianism is just so…repellent. The bits that kill on the death cult retirement home circuit might not play so well with voters who don’t have the luxury of driving themselves insane on the right-wing internet all day, y’know.

There are limits to the audience for the whinging white grievance of this spat with the College Board, and believe it or not, there are voters who won’t view your pathetic bullying of small, liberal schools as promotion-worthy. I’m just saying there might be a few underpants gnomes in this grand plan to ride a wave of Fauci derangement and petty tyranny to the White House.

But hey, if you creeps really want to stomp around, snatching books about Rosa Parks out of school libraries, while Joe Biden talks America’s ear off about all the jobs he’s created, you go right on ahead. Go apeshit. Build your “National Election Integrity Team” to keep looking for bamboo fibers, while reminding everyone what crazy, crazy assholes you all are. If it worked for Kari Lake, it’ll work for you!  It totally worked for Kari Lake, by the way. She’s the uncrowned Queen of Arizona, Steve Bannon told me so.

At the rate we’re going, the 2024 Republican presidential debates’ll wind up as contests to see who can shout “groomer” the loudest. Moderated, no doubt, by Chaya Raichik. Of course Wee Don squealed with glee at the opportunity to roll around in the trans panic slop and call it campaigning; he’s right at home.

Apparently this “Silk” person believes the rudimentary t-shirt stand grift she ran with her recently deceased sister was important enough to merit assassination, and by spiffy, sci-fi “bio-weapon” to boot. Bless your narcissist heart. “We gotta get Diamond, but no one can know it was us!” said George Soros to Peter Strzok, in some smoky pizza restaurant basement.

The Ohio Department of Education is investigating a Neo-Nazi homeschooling network, because we’ve got Neo-Nazi homeschooling networks now, out in this “Real America” I’m always hearing about.

George Santos announced he will be stepping down from his committee assignments, in order to spend more time with his imaginary donors. George is gonna make somebody one helluva cellmate some day soon.

How fun would that be? You know he’ll have some story about, like, microfilm of what’s really on Hunter Biden’s laptop or some shit, that he buried someplace, and when you get out, you go looking for it, even though you know he was lying, and of course it turns out he was, but you’re not even mad, because you had such a fun little adventure. And then you get home and George Santos is robbing your house.

Nice to see Tucker Carlson sticking up for young George, nothing but winners there. Maybe the two of ‘em can spend a cozy evening in the glow of the scrotum-tanning machine, griping about stoves, and ranking animated candy mascots by sexual attractiveness. Always kinda had a thing for the Trix Rabbit, if I’m honest. Ambition is hot.

I see the Dotard is suing Bob Woodward, and I think America deserves to know precisely how much time he spent trying to sue Robert Redford before the lawyers talked him out of it.

After thorough consideration, I have decided the Chinese spy ballon story does not fall within my jurisdiction, so I will not be composing a joke about it at this time, though circumstances can always change, if some Republican congressman compares it to the Holocaust, for example.

We mentioned the Biden Boom a few paragraphs back, and I’d like to pop back there before we sign off, just to waggle them stats tauntingly at our populist Brexiteer brethren across th’pond, who are experiencing results of a somewhat different nature. It’s almost like loud idiots aren’t good at governing things.

Plus, it’s always nice, wrapping up on good news, don’tcha think? Perhaps I’ll write a book about the last half of Joe’s first term. I’d call it “Flummoxing McCarthy,” but for now, I need a beer. And the fridge is well stocked, owing to the generosity of the readership, which humbles me weekly. You stay safe out there, chums.