Y’know, a failed assassination attempt should be the greatest thing that could ever possibly happen to a personality cult, but leave it to MAGA to make it embarrassing in less than a week. Ear diapers, you guys? Are you sure?

I guess I’m worried that the guy who winds up waterboarding me’ll have one on, and I won’t be able to stop myself from giggling, because it’s a fucking ear diaper, and he’ll get mad and waterboard me harder.

That’s the thing about ascendant American fascism, the scarier it gets, the cringier it gets, like some sort of incel Incredible Hulk. To prove my point, this paragraph will not be the last time you encounter the word “Hulk,” used as a proper noun, in this blog.

Took about nine minutes to roll out “The Turd I Worship Got Shot At: The Shoe,” and six more for the rubes at the trough to guzzle up the available supply. There was talk of “anointing the right ear with blood,” but the ear diaper was quickly settled upon instead, as it more conspicuously identifies the wearer as a dumbass.

Anyway, yeah, that decision to provide the nation’s legion of homicide-curious young men with a ready supply of legal assault weapons keeps paying dividends.

Who knows what 2024’s suitably subpar John Hinckley Jr. knockoff hoped to accomplish; my own personal, pet conspiracy theory, which I hope you will spread in my name, is that Jim Comey hired the little dope so somebody else would maybe be remembered as the attention-seeking fuckwit whose narcissism was most responsible for redirecting the trajectory of the American experiment into the shitter.

Or maybe “Joe Biden gave the orders,” as Georgia Congressdope Mike Collins so helpfully suggested. We’ve seen Mike’s mad detective skillz at work quite a bit lately, so I’m inclined to trust his judgment, ALTHOUGH Tennessee Congressdoorknob Tim Burchett’s reflexive impulse to blame DEI triggered the familiar release of a whole ‘nother set of pleasing chemicals in my disinformation-rotted brain, so much so that said chemicals began trickling out of my skull, via my right ear canal, but luckily, I had a diaper in place to prevent unsightly public leakage. Checkmate, libtards.

Yes, the conspiracy theory buffet is always well-stocked, with a wide variety of options, tailored to any appetite. If the full, five course Great Replacement treatment is too rich for you, why not try something lighter, like ballot harvesting, which I recommend with a light sprinkling of bamboo fibers. Of course you can never go wrong the house speciality, the Big Lie.

For the adventurous, we offer the Dagwood sandwich of howling idiocy tumbling from Marjorie Taylor Greene’s mouth, dozens of discordant flavors mingling madly, horseshit, batshit, the deep state, the media, Democrats, but definitely NOT Iran, that would be silly.

(Somehow, Marj failed to notice the way the Jewish space lasers facilitated the entire nefarious plot, which is a lucky break. Proceed to the next stage of Operation: Jade Helm, comrades! This election ain’t gonna steal itself!)

Republicans actually tried to scold us over our “inflammatory rhetoric,” but nobody could hear them, over the echoes of the Paul Pelosi hammer jokes they could not, would not stop themselves from telling, back when they so wrongly believed their “Red Wave” was cresting.

Which brings us to the RNC.

I admit I got caught up in the post-Butler gloom loop, imagining some ghastly coronation, if not an outright deification, a Nurembergy stomp towards inevitability, but what I lost sight of in that moment was that every single person involved is a loser who sucks at essentially everything. Look, I was in disarray, I apologize.

Whatsamatter, dorks? Can’t even canonize your Turd Emperor the week after he survived an assassination attempt? Dorks.

After 78 years on this Earth, four of ‘em spent as President of the Whole Dang United States, can you truly find no greater accomplishments to tout than fraudulently obtained golf trophies?

And my God, the sad, flaccid sacks of mediocrity doing the touting. When you watch Speaker Moses, who can’t blame his cognitive shortcomings on aging, short-circuit the very instant his precious teleprompter feed cuts out, do you not wonder whether it mightn’t be better to elevate non-twits to positions of prominence and power?

Even acknowledging the intrinsic limitations of turd worship, (any party attended by both Mike Pompeo and Kid Rock could not help but suck) I never imagined a brush with martyrdom could be so…boring.

COMING TO YOU LIVE…

DI-RECTLY FROM FEDERAL PRISON…

PETER!! (eter eter eter…)

NAVARROOOOO!!!!! (arro arro arro…)

…please clap.

For pity’s sake, showmanship is supposed to be the one thing these people do well.

The latest installment of the Itchy & Scatchy blood feud between Matt Gaetz and Kevin McCarthy injected a little life into the proceedings, but quickly fizzled out. Even the ritual humiliation of vanquished rivals failed to titillate. A little humdrum Russian propaganda, a quick dewormer chugging contest, and suddenly it was time to introduce the belle of the ball.

JD Vance took the stage sporting a beard so shitty it wished it could be Ted Cruz’s beard, and immediately put the nation to sleep, with however many minutes of aimless blather so instantly forgettable our horse race-addled punditocracy struggled to fill out their listicles with “takeaways.” The fourteen or so swing voters who watched all the way to the end walked away mostly pondering the link between hiding loaded firearms around the house and raising the sort of amoral shitbag who’d sell his own country out to a game show host.

Well, if JD insists on leaving the labor of defining himself to the electorate to Democratic opposition researchers, there’s no shortage of material to work with. You don’t out-grovel the likes of seasoned butt-suckers like Marco Rubio and Dug Bugman without leaving a trail of profoundly unappealing wingnut media appearances, where you’re recorded saying zany shit like, “We want to promote the types of virtues that exist in Kyle Rittenhouse.”

We’ve got JD praising Alex Jones, and promising to “aggressively attack the universities in this country,” plus what must be hours of theocrat ranting about all the reproductive rights he wants to take away, guaranteed to keep Roe in the headlines.

Headlines like “JD Vance Endorsed a National Abortion Ban in the Grossest Way Possible.”

I guess you have to take on a running mate with stances radioactive enough to lose big in red states when you’ve got Tucker Carlson whispering in your ear that th’Deep State’ll assassinate ya if you don’t. Especially if you’re a fucking mark.

The one guy who was impressed with JD was Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov, who you might remember from bungled atrocities like “the invasion of Ukraine,” and “Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo.”

Anyway, around here is when I blacked out. When I came to, Hulk Hogan was lecturing the rapt crowd on the virtues of saying your prayers and taking your hydroxychloroquine. Naturally I assumed I was hallucinating, or in Hell. Or possibly trapped in some cloyingly obvious satire, probably a direct-to-video Robocop sequel, what else could possibly explain the disgraced, skulleted carny wheezing out 40-year-old catchphrases on my screen?

No time to process the absurdity, turns out the Hulkster was just the warm-up act, for some rapist with bad hair. The rapist, I am told, will call for “unity,” after a career fueled by division, will debut a “new softness” following a humbling near-death experience, will keep the football in place while you kick it, Charlie Brown.

And that’s what happened. More or less. Well. Less.

I don’t fully understand how it’s even possible for a bonafide cult leader to make his first public remarks following an honest-to-goodness assassination attempt so fucking tedious, but Donald Trump finds a way to fail where even the least competent among us could succeed. It’s what makes him Donald Trump.

I guess if you really want to relive those low-energy ramblings, the Daniel Dale fact check shouldn’t take more than five or six hours to work through; I’m personally more inclined to focus on how fucking BEATABLE the sloppy old fop looked.

Yes, even after earning the coveted endorsement of Tyler Bradley Dykes, convicted of crimes committed at both the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally and the Capitol Riot. We have fewer terrorists in our coalition, but, correspondingly, greater appeal to the Terrorism is Bad, Actually voter.

Aileen Cannon’s stranglehold on the Trump Organization’s Employee of the Month award, and the corresponding parking space, shows no signs of loosening. Hell, couple more delays, maybe she lands the next available slot on Harlan Crow’s Xmas list.

Hey, Bob Menendez got convicted this week, on the gold bars thing, probably, conclusively proving the two parties are equally corrupt, give or take a seditious conspiracy or two.

If you’re job hunting, there’s an opening at Mike Lindell’s generic Newsmax clone, if you don’t mind getting paid in MyPillow discount codes. My sources tell me Lou Dobbs caught Covid-19 on his very first day in Shitty Valhalla, from Herman Cain.

Anyway, I know it’s not really my place to weigh in on Democratic Party turmoil, but I’ve done a lot of soul-searching, consulted friends and trusted advisors, and had my wallet stolen by a woman claiming to be an oracle, and I cannot remain silent any longer.

I am hereby officially calling upon Joe Biden to donate to my beer fund/tip jar, (which, as you may’ve heard, takes Venmo, Cash App, & PayPal) ideally more than once. This has been the longest fucking week of either of our lives, and I for one need to take the fucking edge off.

You can also follow @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke, Joe, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com. But send beer first.

Before I let you go, I just want to clarify, Sergei Lavrov was not actually in Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo. Sometimes I get carried away, but I wouldn’t want anybody to think Shower Cap is in the business of spreading disinformation. No, his scene was cut.

Stay safe out there…