Well, if you’ve come sniffing around this blog hoping for smug, salacious gossip about perverts in high places, I hope you’re ashamed of yourself. In this household, we honor our president’s wishes, especially the ones about ignoring his intimate friendship with the head of the most infamous child sex trafficking ring in the world.

Yeah, I’m switching teams, gang. Thought I should let you know right up front. I know I haven’t mentioned it often, but I sincerely care about real cane sugar that much.

I’m selling out. Not for fame or fortune, just to make Coke taste the way it did when I was six, because I’m regressing to childhood, not unlike the drooling fuckwit I’ve agreed to worship.

I’m sure I’ll come around on the concentration camps and constitutional abuses, and I’ll do my best to remember to clap whenever he brings up that cognitive test, and I believe I heard something about an Epstein? Lindsey Graham seems happy enough, I suppose, if a trifle…hollow.

Boy, he sure is proud of that cognitive test, isn’t he? He is a two-term United States President who has single-handedly derailed the once unstoppable ascension of an honest-to-gosh superpower, but the one thing he’s proudest of is passing a cognitive test.

He leads with it. Because to this day, he believes it was a hard test. He perceives a cognitive test as SO DIFFICULT that only GENIUSES could pass it. He’s challenging Democratic congresswomen to cognitive showdowns at high noon, and I say we should take him up on it, so long as we get real stakes.

The President of the United States vs. AOC and Jasmine Crockett, playing commercially available board games, simple cognitive exercises. Winner gets to fill the next federal judicial vacancy. Do a round of Monopoly just to make it mean. The only one I can think of where his feral toddler rage might create an advantage is Hungry Hungry Hippos, but of course there’s the problem of the hands…

Real cane sugar. Just belching up EOs based on the old commercials that flash by as that never particularly average brain decays. He’ll impose 58% tariffs on Sanka next week. And possibly invade Greenland. I’m sure the Roberts Court has prepared justifications for all threatened crimes in advance.

I would like to watch a really self-indulgent Meat Loaf play Donald Trump right now.

Dementia taking hold. Compulsively grabbing at anything he thinks he can take with him. The long-loyal throngs suddenly massing outside the castle gate, chanting Epstein! Epstein! Epstein! with mounting fury.

It’s Shakespearean, in a really trashy, embarrassing way that America probably deserves, and in my heart of hearts, I believe only Mr. Loaf could express it properly. Alas, it cannot be.

It is growing difficult not to notice the, um, kleptomania. He keeps, well, gathering all shiny things unto himself. Filling the Oval with the shiniest baubles from the Smithsonian was one thing, but he’s straight up stealing shit now.

Like, the thing with the soccer trophy wasn’t shady enough; he has to steal some guy’s medal at the ceremony? “Want. Take. Mine now.” Just steals it. Takes a champion athlete’s medal, puts it in his pocket, and sneaks away like a shoplifter.

All of it is to be interred with him, you understand, in the mausoleum we taxpayers are shortly to have the honor of financing. Every bit of it. The trophy and the medal and the nuclear secrets and the entire federal workforce, and JD Vance, embalmed alive to guard o’er it all, like the good little doggie he is.

…and the Epstein Files, of course.

I get why this episode has the White House so shaken. For a decade they’ve somehow managed to maintain control of one of history’s freakier cults without once needing a crowd management strategy more sophisticated than LOOK OVER THERE.

LOOK OVER THERE. Works on dogs and MAGA 100% of the time, from Access Hollywood through a criminal conspiracy to violently overturn an American election to masked cops snatching people off the streets and Alligator Alcatraz and CECOT, and don’t you miss the days when you didn’t know the names of so many extraconstitutional prisons?

LOOK OVER THERE. Undefeated. Until now.

Excuse me, did you say you’re not going to look over there? Drat, that was literally the only card in my hand.

They have no fucking clue how to get out of this now. Poor, overmatched Jimmy Comer, stomping around in a cardboard costume he made himself, “Ooooo, look over heeeeeere children, I’m the auuuuuuuutopen!” Bongino required an entire spa day.

In fairness, you did promise these people a public orgy of bloody retribution, and don’t get me wrong, everyone in my subdivision militia is wearing your cologne, but we lost a bunch of money on the meme coin, and it’s long past time to butcher the pedophiles, if you don’t mind.

Could it be that the Q Kru cannot be turned away like common JFK Jr. truthers? I had abandoned hope that this voting block still possessed the capacity for object permanence. This is how many people you can fool all of the time, I assumed. Shame they vote.

IT WAS AT THIS POINT, DEAR READER, in the composition of the ol’ fart joke blog, that I received the push notification about the, well, you saw it, the Jeffrey Epstein’s Friends Sent Him Bawdy Letters for a 50th Birthday Album. One Was From Donald Trump thing in the Wall Street Journal.

Like a lot of us, I’d never actually put much thought into the (50’s sci-fi trailer voice) EEEEEEEEEpstein Fiiiiiiiiiiiiles, because I didn’t think they’d matter because nothing seems to matter with these dorks, but I never imagined they contained the grossest possible letter anyone could conceivably type to the head of a pedophile ring, complete with a drawing “depicting a woman’s breasts and a ‘Donald’ signature in the place of pubic hair.”

In a “leather-bound book compiled by Ghislaine Maxwell.” Prime candidate for cursed tomehood right there. I bet if you say “klaatu barada nikto” while holding that book, something awful happens.

So here’s how America works in July 2025:

This One Pedophile, previously adjudicated a rapist and a felon thirty-four times over, gets to revoke your citizenship if he dislikes you. And dispatch armed marines onto American streets whenever he feels like it, wherever he feels like it. Maybe he even gets to hand-select the late-night network television lineup; we’ll see.

We are subject to his every whim. Every Walmart shopper in the nation gets to pay a tithe now. Why? So Daddy can brag about the revenue the tithe has raised. He takes the time to wave the money he’s stolen in your face before he spends it on camps and military police. Rude.

This pedophile, and the burlap sack full of half-drowned weirdos he’s chosen to serve him, would rather incinerate 500 tons of food aid than feed a few of the millions of human beings they’ve abandoned, one last time for old time’s sake. They get to rip a billion dollars in funding away from NPR and PBS overnight, like it’s a national emergency, which, well, I suppose that’s what press coverage looks like to fascists.

A child molester gets to make these decisions. For another 3 1/2 years, in fact. Unless the cankles thing turns out to be…hmmm, how to put this…

I’m writing about this specific news story not, as is customary, for the benefit of the alien archaeologists excavating the no doubt malodorous ruins of the civilization we destroy in what I assume is the near future, but for the interrogator in the gulag in the timeline where we keep colliding with every Jim Comey and Anthony Weiner on the goddamn planet.

So let’s get this out of the way: yes, it would be a massive gift to humanity if nature finally caught up to Donald Trump before he can complete his authoritarian takeover of the United States of America. That is a reasonable position for a masked political blogger to take and heck you’re gonna waterboard me anyway aren’tcha so why don’t we get to it?

Point is, we are told one of the President’s many chronic insufficiencies is “venous,” and of course you’ve all worked so passionately to create the environment where we cannot trust one word you utter on this subject, so congratulations on your success there.

Swollen ankles, nothing to worry about. Oh, also, the part of his brain where he remembers what happened during his first term? Gone. Healthiest president ever. Youngest ever, too, betcha didn’t know that. 90% approval rating.

WHY’S EVERYBODY SO WORKED UP ABOUT EPSTEIN YOU SHOULD BE GOING AFTER THE GUY WHO APPOINTED POWELL THERE’S YOUR PEDOPHILE sir you appointed Powell I’M FRIENDS WITH THE UNABOMBER and he slips another priceless national heirloom into his pocket on the way out of the room bellowing SET UP THE COGNITIVE THING WITH CROCKETT!

All this Epstein talk ruined the Butlerversary, alas. That must be very disappointing for a narcissist, particularly one watching those pasty legs swell and swell. Pretty inconvenient time to wander within piñata range of an increasingly impatient hate cult, actually.

What you could use right around now is some problem-solving skills, but you’ve screened that shit out as a matter of policy, so all you’ve got is Boebert, mid-handjob, helpfully hollering like a drunk at an improv show MAKE MATT GAETZ THE SPECIAL COUNSEL.

I KNOW says one of them, probably Tuberville, LET’S FIRE THE PROSECUTOR FROM THE EPSTEIN CASE and that’s what they did, because they are dumb and overwhelmed, and firing people makes them feel powerful.

My god, it’s been a whole week, and they haven’t been able to make it go away. More than a week. Object permanence, who knew?

Lookit alllllll the vicious little freaks that suddenly want a thwack at the piñata. There’s Alex Jones; he’s a husky boy. Is that Nick Fuentes? I imagine he’s deceptively wiry. There’s Elon and even Rob Schneider. Okay, this party got too cool for me, but you boys have fun. Call me if you need more thwacking sticks.

Now he’s suing Fox and Murdoch. Let’s hope that’s a long, grinding process, where the two sides keep passing an unusually explosive gastrointestinal bug back and forth.   

Still, I don’t understand how anybody can get worked up over a birthday card with Minneapolis in the state it’s in. Why, it’s one BLM protest shy of an active war zone, Stephen Miller told me so. The parks aren’t safe. Only masked, militarized, totally unaccountable law enforcement can prevent what’s happening in Minneapolis from coming to YOUR TOWN.

You can’t blame Senate Judiciary Republicans for wanting to minimize scrutiny of the first of these fashy new picks for the federal bench, now that the Federalist Society has been cast out. You would think the idea of handing a lifetime of power and influence to an autocrat’s flunky would repel every single serving senator regardless of party affiliation; that was certainly the country I was promised in my beloved AP American History textbook, but alas, we got not titans but Tillis.

I’m thinking about compiling these sad little tantrums Thom’s been pitching as he fades, for a one-man show about a weak man disappearing.

I’ll stride out into my spotlight, full of the vim and verve of one who waited until late in life to locate the courage to draw a line in the sand, and by gum, I won’t be bullied any longer, I’m tellin’ the TRUTH from now on and then just as I’m about to launch into my opening song, Stephen Miller slithers out and says, “Masssster needsss you to confirm a loyal ssservant to the Third Sssircuit,” and I DROP to my knees YES SIR OF COURSE SIR and for the rest of the evening I get smaller and smaller until I’m balled up in the fetal position and I drag myself offstage with my lips.

If Josh Hawley worked as hard for his constituents as he does to deceive them, maybe so many of them wouldn’t’ve lost their health care coverage. Josh votes for the cuts, the cuts become law, then Josh announces with great fanfare his new bill to repeal some of the least popular cuts, which he will never once lift a finger to pass. Won’t stop him from bringing it up on the campaign trail, I imagine, and if you fall for it, you deserve to have Josh Hawley represent you in Washington.

Meet Derek Huffman, but don’t get too attached to him, since he fled the wicked US of A for Russia “to avoid LGBTQ+ indoctrination,” only to get press-ganged by Putin and sent to the Ukrainian front. What happens when we fuck around, Derek?

You’ll sleep soundly knowing “creating MechaHitler” isn’t a dealbreaker when it comes to $200 million defense contracts.

“Before I sign over two hundred million taxpayer dollars, can you promise your AI won’t turn into some sort of artificial, mechanical Hitler?”

“Clearly I cannot.”

“Ah well, nevertheless. Okay, let’s get you into the Pentagon mainframe, MechaHitler!”

Okay, I gotta get to my waterboarding. It’s not so bad, plus I’m told they use Coke with real cane sugar on your birthday, so that’s something to look forward to. If you enjoyed this drunken diatribe, my beer fund now accepts PayPal, Cash App, Venmo, and lascivious birthday doodles. Follow @john_luzar, and sign up for regular emails on showercapblog.com! And stay safe out there!