So, everything is, obviously, still largely insane, but, I dunno…it’s starting to feel like maybe we’re near the end of the detox scene in Trainspotting? Like, we got through the baby-on-the-ceiling part, and maybe we’re finally approaching a point when life will be more than incessant, hallucinatory awfulness all the time? That’d sure be swell.

Hey, if you’ve been waiting until the last minute to pitch in, financially speaking, to the battle for the House and Senate, well, the last minute has arrived, my friend. Why not take a quick pass through Shower Cap’s Fascist-Flushing 2020 Action Guide? I promise you’ll find a few candidates worthy of your support.

Treasonous Cousin-Fucker Rudy Giuliani’s life has descended into raw humiliation porn along the lines of Election or Meet the Parents, and I am not only enjoying it in real time, I have pre-ordered the multi-disc special edition DVD box set, featuring a commentary track by Rudy’s Russian handlers. Even fiction seldom delivers such satisfying comeuppance, but in real life? To a wealthy white Republican male? It’s almost too rich, too good, like fucking in giant fondue pot.

Anyway, staking your big October surprise on foreign disinformation distributed by a drooling fuckwit who merrily skips straight into a hotel bedroom with a giant, flashing neon sign on the wall that says HONEY TRAP? Yeah that was a home run, Sun Tzu. I mean, the Kremlin can’t be THAT much more sophisticated than a Sacha Baron Cohen film crew, right?

Y’know, I’ve been so focused on the Velveeta Vulgarian’s domestic failings (what with the quarter million dead folks n’ all) that I completely forgot about the way he’s turning my beloved homeland heel on the global stage. Yes, between Chief Thuglomat Pompeo’s zeal to join the world’s shittiest autocrats in some sort of League of Anti-Abortion Rights Jagoffs, and the push to mendaciously label human rights organizations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch as anti-Semitic, President Crotchvoid just keeps on transforming the United States of America into the sort of nation we’ve traditionally joined alliances against.

Word on the street is, Government Cheese Goebbels is looking to fire Christopher Wray, over the FBI director’s reluctance to produce a sequel to 2016’s “The Comey Letter,” that critically-reviled ode to misplaced self-righteousness that plunged the entire fucking planet into darkness and chaos. Good on ya, Chris.

In contrast, DNI John Ratcliffe emerged from his default position, attempting to suckle on Donald Trump’s butt acne, to dutifully spread his farthuffing fascist master’s latest desperate spin. In a pathetically transparent attempt to elbow former President Obama’s excellent campaign speech off the evening news, Yes-His-Name-Really-Is-Ratcliffe’s hastily-convened press conference attempted to cast a series of e-mails, allegedly from the Proud Boys, threatening Biden voters with physical violence, as a plot against Donnie Dotard because…reasons. You know the magic has gone out of a would-be dictatorship when the gaslighting gets this lazy.

I see Mitch McConnell’s body has begun visibly rotting away right in the middle of his career-capping anti-democratic power grab, in case anybody was considering cutting a deal with that Kentucky bog witch, thinking she could never hope to make good on her outlandish promises or ominous threats…I mean, Mitch looks like he spent the week performing colonoscopies on demons.   

Anyhoo, Wrinkly Gamera and his morally bankrupt caucus continue their slow-motion heist of RBG’s Supreme Court seat, merrily violating rules and norms when necessary, while gleefully delivering hectoring lectures on the Passion of Robert Bork when the absurd procedural calendar permits time for speechifyin’. All this political theatre is dull and irritating, I know I’m going to hate the ending, and honestly, I wish they’d just get on with it, because I need to pee*.

I see some shitty white boy losers had their loser terrorist plots against Smilin’ Joe and Kamala foiled, because all Trumpists are shit-brained failures, who, like their Ruptured Hemorrhoid Emperor, cannot do one single thing right. Let’s see, there’s the teenager with an AR-15 and child pornography, and the shitweasel in Maryland, did I miss anybody? Forgive me, all these mouth-breathing dumbasses look alike to me.

(Y’know, an underreported factor in the election is the sheer number of Cult45ers who won’t be able to make it to the polls on account of being imprisoned on felony charges.)

Turns out when you fuck around with Americans’ right to vote, they get really fucking angry. Also, they vote the very minute you let them. The early voting numbers are…holy crap, Resisters, I didn’t expect y’all to fuck around or anything, but you are NOT FUCKING AROUND out there. With eye-popping, historic numbers every single day, honestly, I don’t understand how Mark Meadows is smuggling all the overflowing diapers out of the Oval Office without drawing media scrutiny.

Still, grassroots MAGA hooligans are pitching in wherever they can, because the party that suppresses the vote together…um…shit. I seem to have backed myself into a corner here. Impresses the goat together? “Blesses the scrote together” certainly fits the house style, but it makes no damn sense, sooooooo…y’know what? Forget I started this paragraph.

THE POINT IS, from illegally surveilling voters in Philadelphia to armed goons playing poll watcher in Florida, the Taintfungus Campaign, understanding they don’t have a snowball’s chance in Jimmy Inhofe’s front pocket of winning fairly, will use every trick in their filthy, fascist book to keep us from exercising our rights.

To these thugs I say, “Lil’ man, you may as well take your toys and go home, we’ve been waiting four long years to do this, and it’s gonna take a helluva lot more than some dickless Call of Duty cosplayers to intimidate us.”

At the final debate, in a virtuosic display of rhetorical brilliance that prompted Zombie Seneca to rise from his grave to slow-clap in awe, the Marmalade Shartcannon successfully vanquished all talk of the raging coronavirus outbreak from the public discourse, replacing it with a bipartisan white hot rage that Hunter Biden, surely history’s greatest criminal, is free to walk the streets, committing God knows what additional atrocities, even as we speak.

…in his own mind, anyway. Here in reality, he mostly just lied and lied and lied, between bursts of genuinely batshit ranting laced with the indecipherable jargon of the wingnut media bubble.

We quickly came to understand why his “strategy” during the first debate was to screech like a marmot in a blender every time it was Old Handsome Joe’s turn to speak: he’s utterly, conclusively outclassed, and the side-by-side comparison of a compassionate elder statesman who knows the issues inside and out to a yelping slug, shitting noxious hatred from every orifice at once, didn’t exactly benefit the incumbent.

…but because Fat Q*bert never quite dry-humped the lectern, the unteachable media applauded his improved “tone” anyway. And Jesus wept.

Embattled Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, taking a page out of Gameshow Göring’s despot playbook, has fired or otherwise sidelined four of the seven whistleblowers who revealed his corruption to the public, and we really have to do something about this whole Criminals Get to Fire the People Investigating Them thing. I feel like we shoulda caught that one before it left the kitchen, honestly.

What else, what else…so, Clay Higgins is A) a United States Congressman, with the power to craft the laws the rest of us are compelled to follow, and B) completely, totally, chipmunk-who-got-into-the-meth-jar insane. Seems Clay’s wife had a little dream where “federal squads” took away all their precious bottled water and canned ravioli, and so he took to social media to bemoan the tragic loss of freedom…in his wife’s dream. Which he claims is a “premonition.”

And so, Clay Higgins, not, in fact, from a padded cell, but rather from his seat in the United States House of Representatives, laments the state of the fallen world of his MOTHERFUCKING WIFE’S SUBCONSCIOUS, demanding the rest of us share in his goofy paranoia because he is so ass-backward goddamn stupid that he believes he married an oracle.

Y’know, one of the unfortunate side effects of Democrats’ recent swing-district dominance is that the dwindling House GOP Caucus increasingly resembles an orgy at the Heritage Foundation after Gym Jordan and Louie Gohmert hijack a truckload of opioids.

I see Lou Dobbs is trying to get Lindsey Graham fired. This could be Lou’s entire destiny, the misbegotten sack of shit. Like, maybe he’s White Nationalist Gollum. 

Ok folks, I’ve only got a couple more chances to plug my new comic, MINE; the Kickstarter closes in five short days. If you dig SPACE POLITICS, you’re gonna love this book. I seriously do write these comics with you folks in mind, and I think we’ve got a lovely little space fable for the politically inclined here. Check it out.

Ok. That’s enough insanity to last you through the weekend. If you need a snack, why not try some videos of Shart Garfunkel mindlessly ranting while his rabid fans flash white nationalist hand signals? Some ”closing argument,” huh?

*Ideally right on Willard Romney’s hypocritical shoes.