I used to find the whole “first 100 days” thing kinda arbitrary, but that was back before I ever viewed a presidential term as something to be survived. Well, now that we mark the passage of time in terms of gulag avoidance milestones, we may as well celebrate, I suppose.

Presidents typically tout their achievements at this point, but of course that requires achievements to tout. When you’re reduced to bragging about influencing the 144th pick of the NFL draft, you can safely cancel the Mount Rushmore redesign.

Hard to take a victory lap when the objective truth is that your uniquely belligerent brand of anti-competence has rendered the Right electorally toxic even in other countries. Yes, the fart of Trumpism wafted through voting booths all across Canada this week, and still looks potent enough to endure the long journey to Australia.

That’s how much people hate you, Mr. President.

It’s hard to blame them. Turns out a hundred days is more than enough time to crash a booming economy, if you’re willing to fanatically commit to a dumb enough idea. After eleven straight quarters of growth, GDP is already shrinking, and if Donnie Dotard expected things to get better any time soon, his message wouldn’t be, “uh, by the way, next quarter is Biden’s fault, too.”

Interesting how quickly things shifted from “lower prices on day one” to “you should probably get ready to tell your kids Santa died,” isn’t it? This year, children will deliver their Xmas lists to department store Stephen Millers, with spray-on beards, who will sneeringly declare all their desired toys contain lead paint, and deport anyone who cries.

Demanding austerity of the serfs while gilding every surface in the Oval Office, down to the Diet Coke button, is certainly…a choice. “As long as there’s nothing on the shelves for you to buy, surely you won’t mind if I reach into your pocket to finance another golf weekend, or that North Korea-style military parade I’ve been wanting.”

All while Lutnick makes the rounds, with his trademark huckster grimace, cheerfully condemning American families to generations in the factories. It’s a boldly Antoinette-y approach to an impending downturn, I’ll say that.

Still, whatever the Turd Reich may lack in actual accomplishments, it more than makes up for in fabricated ones. If you ask Karoline Leavitt, it’s been 100 days of pure, radiant winning; though of course, to ask Karoline Leavitt anything, one must increasingly be an obedient regime stooge, as she diligently replaces the journalists in the briefing room with “MAGA influencers,” like Jack “Pizzagate” Posobiec, Dom “Banned from Twitter for Kiddie Porn” Lucre, and Kambree Nelson, who at one point last fall believed the moon had disappeared.

Anyway, lowering grocery prices on Truth Social is way easier than in real life, and whatever your personal financial struggles, perhaps you’ll find it consoling that somewhere in Florida, there’s one magical station where gas is practically free.

If not, well, there must be some cake to eat. Someplace.

And you deserve cake, because statistically, you are almost certainly one of the 258 million people Donald Trump personally saved from a lethal fentanyl overdose. And if that seems like a teeeeeensy bit of an exaggeration, all I’ll say is that Pam Bondi understands that when it comes to a Cabinet meeting, it’s better to be Regan or Goneril than Cordelia.

…which brings us to Mike Waltz. Looked for a minute there like Mikey was going to survive Signalgate, but you have to remember, the national security team serves at the pleasure of Laura Loomer. So now he’s been demoted to UN Ambassador, which’ll at least give Jeffrey Goldberg an opportunity to meet some diplomats.

A $60 million jet fell off an aircraft character, sinking to the bottom of the ocean, though not, I was shocked to learn, because Secretary Hegseth was personally steering at the time. No, they were just swerving to avoid a Houthi missile attack.

And I’m sure House Republicans will get around to blocking any investigation into just what the fuck an aircraft carrier was doing within range of a tenth-rate Al-Qaeda’s arsenal just as soon as they’re done blocking any investigation into Pete-o’s propensity for sharing military secrets with his World of Warcraft guild.

The measles outbreak isn’t spreading fast enough for RFK Jr., so he decided to resurrect the old conspiracy theory that vaccines contain “aborted fetus debris,” which, as it happens, is the name of the band I saw open for Megadeth in ‘98.

Tom Homan unveiled a promising new program to lower childhood cancer rates by deporting children with cancer. House Republicans responded by killing an amendment that would’ve blocked ICE from detaining and deporting U.S. citizens, which is unfortunate, on account of all the U.S. citizens ICE keeps detaining and deporting.

You know you’re living in a golden age of populism when you can buy your way into a D.C. club co-owned by the President of the United States’ large adult son for a mere half million bucks. It’s a wonderful opportunity for any member of the proletariat struggling to stand out amidst all the petrostate bribes in the cryptocurrency arena.

Off-Brand Orbán is gonna try to revoke Harvard’s tax-exempt status, as part of a broader effort to tie education funding to Stephen Miller’s, ahem, let’s say “unconventional” definition of patriotism. There’s sure t’be plenty of money for Oklahoma, where Superintendent of Public Instruction Ryan Walters introduced his new social studies curriculum, designed to indoctrinate high school students in the Big Lie. I suppose future generations won’t technically need functioning brains, in Howard Lutnick’s factories.

I guess some DOGE kids gained access to the nation’s nuclear secrets. I’d be upset, but between the docs left lying around Marm-a-Lago, and all the various Signal chats, I just assume we don’t have any nuclear secrets anymore.

Panicked denials notwithstanding, word on the street is the Tesla board of directors is looking for a new CEO, no doubt fantasizing about the economic benefits of unshackling their brand from a dorkpilled, globally despised ketamine addict. I’m told the planned “We’re No Longer Starving African Children to Death” ad campaign has real potential.

So, apparently, Clay Higgins keeps a list of judges he wants to see arrested, because even fascists need hobbies. Caucusmate Paul Gosar, for example, enjoys chasing joggers with a dental drill, hissing, “IS IT SAFE?”

There was talk for a hot minute that Amazon would display tariff costs for consumers on their website, but of course Bezos is far too thoroughly cucked to permit such a “hostile political act.”

That’s a shame, because those who’ve cravenly complied in advance seem all the more contemptible now that the pettiest power grabs are collapsing in court. A federal judge blocked that bullshit EO targeting Perkins Coie, even as law students organize boycotts of firms that chose appeasement.

I’m just saying that capitulating to such a manifestly unimpressive would-be autocrat may not’ve been such a sound investment after all. Sloppy old fop wore a blue suit to the Pope’s funeral, for fuck’s sake.

But we really should celebrate. Frankly, when the nuclear codes are in the stunted, ineffectual hands of a guy who genuinely believes Kilmar Abrego Garcia has “MS-13” tattooed on his knuckles, surviving 100 days is fucking miraculous.

So toss a buck or two into the ol’ tip jar (now accepting Cash App, Venmo, and PayPal!) and let’s drink to ENDURING THIS SHIT! I can always use new signups on the email list at showercapblog.com, and new followers @john_luzar, incidentally. Until we meet again, stay safe out there, m’lovelies…