Well, my prayers to the God of Cankles have gone as yet unanswered, so I suppose we may as well chronicle the week’s fuckery. Might try escalating to ritual sacrifice, if I can think of something a cankle god would enjoy.

Yeah, another week in our merry little post-apocalyptic reality show, our mad, mad, mad death race between accelerating authoritarianism and Dear Leader’s rapidly decomposing mind meat.

Don’t worry, America; that’s not, as it must initially appear, your racist grandpa getting the whole family banned from Denny’s for life, but in fact the President of the whole dang United States, holding forth on the issue of the fitness of certain races for certain jobs.

Oh look, he’s up on the roof of the White House, no doubt retrieving that draft he hid of the screenplay expanding on that scenelet from his birthday note to his pal Jeff Epstein. He was never quite able to recapture the raw, gag-inducing skeeviness of the pubic signature, but that’s okay; Paramount has to produce it anyway.

He just galumphs about in a daze, demanding praise for imaginary accomplishments. DRUG PRICES ARE DOWN LIKE TEN THOUSAND PERCENT PLUS GAS IS BASICALLY FREE AN’ ALSO, AS YOU CAN PLAINLY SEE, CHART GO UP and we let him stomp through the global economy, smashing whole nations to bits.

I suppose any energy directed towards redecorating isn’t funneled into tyranny, but the enshittification of the White House grounds certainly hasn’t slowed. How does he keep finding new surfaces to gild?

Folks’re mad about the paved-over Rose Garden, but I think it’s really gonna come alive once they install that TrumpCoin vending machine. We can watch the various heads of state pay their protection money live on Newsmax. Three giant bars spin, slot-machine-style, and land on your tariff rate. That’s how international trade works now. Yay.

Speaking of, does Tim Apple give good bribe or what? That 24-karat gold plaque’ll look amazing next to the nuclear secrets in the Marm-a-Lago guest bathroom.

It’s actually a nifty bit of irony when you think about it. After failing at more or less everything he’s ever attempted, from marriage to casinos to pandemic management, it turns out “set up a crypto grift jar right outside the Oval Office” is the one scheme simple enough for him to pull off.

Still, I have to admit, watching the rich n’ powerful bow and scrape before this speedily melting county fair butter sculpture of a man fills me with an increasingly familiar blend of revulsion and dread, like the fart that makes you wonder if you shouldn’t maybe call a doctor.

Ah, it’s probably nothing. What’s that? They’re using the Justice Department to persecute another political opponent, New York AG Letitia James this time? Concerning, but I’m sure everything will work itself out.

Hmmm? You say a leaked memo shows the Decidedly Unsuper Hegseth Bros pushing to normalize the deployment of the military in domestic law enforcement situations, even as the Dotard orders a crackdown in D.C.? You know, perhaps seeking the input of a specialist isn’t the worst idea, now that you mention it.

I dunno, Doc, somethin’ ain’t right with my democracy. The President wants to call in the National Guard cuz one of his DOGE brats got mugged? Christ, we aren’t even afforded the dignity of, like, the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, we’re stuck with the Carjacking of Big Balls.

It’s a good thing Secretary Funsoxx reminded our warfighters how to warfight, because in addition to all domestic protest-busting duties, they are to be deployed against foreign drug cartels. How much harder could it possibly be than staging a military parade or warring with the Houthis?

Of course, there’s no constitutional authority for any of this, Doc, so you understand why I wanted you to give the ol’ democracy a once-over. Well, give it to me straight. Nothing we can’t clear up with a few mild, manageable dietary adjustments, surely?

Hey Doc, why’re you giggling?

The mean ol’ media ruined JD Vance’s Epstein party, and after he spent all afternoon making pigs in a blanket, too. Probably for the best. The idea of getting JD, Pam Bondi, and Kash Patel together to solve a problem, any problem at all…it’s absurd. If you left these dolts in an escape room, they’d starve to death, and maybe that’s an option we should explore.

Congratulations, Karoline Leavitt! The boss man says you got a real purty mouth! Good thing he’s not a serial sexual predator, huh? I bet the Russian spy in charge of White House HR runs a tight ship when it comes to such matters.

The nation’s federal judges called for a reduction in death threats from the nation’s hammer-and-nail-gun-wielding psychopaths. The psychopaths’ counter-offer would limit the overall number of threats while increasing the graphic detail of the violent fantasies and expanding the list of acceptable threat recipients to include spouses and children. The matter is expected to be settled in arbitration.

The proprietors of Alligator Alcatraz, aka the federal government, announced they will be scaling back criticism of human rights violations, at least for Tangerine Idi Amin’s authoritarian besties. Really, what’s one torture gulag more or less amongst friends?

In the effervescent glow of the space laser the Illuminati keep trained on her at all times, Marjorie Taylor Greene finally noticed the sexism in the Republican Party. It’s fascinating, the little bits of reality that slip in.

I’ll tell you one thing, if MAGA Congressthug Cory Mills abuses one more woman, Speaker Johnson’s gonna get…oh man, SO mad, you guys. Mike’s one of those EXTRA-Christiany Christians, so devout that he compares himself to major biblical figures, and they do NOT tolerate this sort of thing…unless, of course, they need the abuser’s vote to swap millions of Americans’ healthcare for tax cuts for billionaires.

Look, I’m not saying that an inhuman cranial parasite has taken over our nation’s health apparatus, but I just got ahold of a leaked memo that says funding previously earmarked for mRNA vaccine research is to be diverted into the cloning and farming of delicious, delicious brains.

How in the bright twinkling fuck does Sean Duffy see a man capable of building a nuclear reactor ON THE MOON smiling back in the mirror? I feel like America deserves to see the good Secretary assemble some IKEA furniture before we make such a significant investment. Alone in a room, on camera, with no Buttigieg to blame.

I’d certainly pay 12 bucks to watch Will Ferrell play Sean Duffy attempting to build a nuclear reactor on the moon. Give it kind of a Ron-Burgundy-in-Armageddon vibe, but let’s maybe restore the cancer research instead, actually.

Where does this confidence COME from? Fucking Hegseth thinks he can build this Golden fucking Dome, and like, my dude, you cannot handle the “opsec” on your personal cellphone. You started a war with a tenth-rate terror gang and lost.

Start with an end table, work your way up to the multi-trillion-dollar boondoggle. Maybe. IF you get the hang of it. Which, gotta level with ya, Pete, feels less than likely.

Fucking LOOK at you, dude. Your dirtbag acting chief of staff tried to fire his White House babysitter…and failed. You felt the need to draw the world’s attention to your ties to creepy-ass Christian nationalist “pastor” Doug Wilson, who believes women shouldn’t be allowed to vote because, and let me quote this directly:

“Women are the kind of people that people come out of,” Wilson said. “No, it doesn’t take any talent to simply reproduce.”

Women are the kind of people…that people come out of.   

Cross “spiritual leadership at the Pentagon” off your worries list, sheeple. Did I mention they’re bringing Confederate monuments back? At taxpayer expense? Because they’re bringing Confederate monuments back at taxpayer expense.

It’s definitely not a cult, but here’s a clip from Fox News in prime time of Jesse Watters composing icky/fashy fanfic shipping Sydney Sweeney and Barron Trump, who go on to beget a political dynasty, or maybe Barron turns into a giant sandworm in Book IV; I couldn’t watch the whole thing without dying of embarrassment.

Eagerly awaiting your next nugget of manhoodly wisdom, Jess. I’ve been confining soup consumption to shameful isolation as you recommended. I don’t think I feel any manlier yet, but then, I don’t eat much soup.

Apparently Bondi plucked some model of MAGA masculinity called Jared Wise straight from his Capitol Riot trial into the federal Department of Justice, because where else do you expect a burgeoning autocracy to go headhunting?

I feel like it wasn’t so very long ago when we’d’ve seen swift, broad, bipartisan consensus that video footage of a fellow calling for the murder of law enforcement officers during a terrorist assault on a government proceeding rendered said fellow unfit for service in the government, but standards change, I suppose.

Nancy Mace announced a run for South Carolina governor on a platform of chemtrail abolition. Sounds like she’s got her finger on the MAGA pulse, honestly. The “furious idiot in the grip of a vaguely entertaining mental health crisis” lane has proven the widest in many a Republican primary over the last decade.

Busloads of Antifas descended on the handful of town halls House Republicans have dared to host. What’s the point of facing voters who’re about to be safely gerrymandered into irrelevance? Yeah, a vicious, frantic redistricting fight is just what the ol’ democracy needed, Doc. We’ll be back on our feet in no time.

I thought the Library of Congress erasing a chunk of the Constitution was a little on the nose, but Dean Cain joining ICE just insults my intelligence. With plotlines this hacky, America might not get renewed for another season.

So the bitterest imaginable D-list celebrity washout joins the unaccountable police force to vent the decades of seething resentment on vulnerable migrants? Sure, why not? Get a camera crew from Project Veritas, call it something like “Lois & Himmler.” Stick it in Colbert’s old slot for spite.

ANYWAY.

Y’all ain’t ready for this comic book. It took me so long to write that it’s accidentally timely again. It’s…actually, one of the many tasks I need to complete is composing advertising copy so I can pitch it to you, but suffice to say, if you read these rants, it’s directly up your alley.

Plus, LOOK HOW RAD JASON MUHR’S ART IS:

We just hired our colorist, so brace yourself, because these teaser images are about to become even more tantalizing.

Until then, maybe the Cankle God likes beer? You can fund my drunken pseudoreligious experiments via Venmo, Cash App, or PayPal if this little rant entertained you. You can also sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com and follow @john_luzar. Even if you do none of those things, please stay safe out there, ya cheap bastard.

OH HEY, CORRECTION: In the July 11th edition of this blog, the speech balloon emanating from MechaHitler in the thumbnail image reads, “Ach, they’re always after me Epstein files,” when “Ach, they’re always after *mein* Epstein files” is clearly funnier. The management apologizes for the oversight.