Donald Trump had a problem. A problem called “democracy.” See, he LIKED being President, (well, not the work part, but definitely charging the Secret Service to pee) but those rat-bastard Founding Fathers built all these dumb ol’ “elections” into their dumb ol’ “Constitution,” and smack dab in the middle of an economy you personally wrecked and a pandemic you disastrously mismanaged is nobody’s idea of a great time for a performance review.
Devin “Pigfucker” Nunes was an early adopter of Donald Trump’s unique blend of authoritarianism and kakistocracy, and it’s not hard to understand why; it takes a whole lotta institutional white supremacy to keep men so maliciously mediocre in positions of power.
There is no greater proof that the Republican base has no goddamn sense than Mitch McConnell’s consistently dismal approval rating from voters of his own party; the man is absolute ghoul, yes, and certainly he projects little folksy warmth, but he puts Ws on the board. Big ones. More than anybody I’ve ever seen.
One of Trump’s earliest congressional taint remoras, Ron DeSantis rode a wave of I’m With Stupid first to the Florida GOP’s 2018 gubernatorial nomination, and then, because learning from mistakes is apparently for cucks, to a narrow general election victory.
To level with y’all up front, I think Tucker Carlson is the most dangerous man in America. He’s the mouth of American fascism, and Donald Trump’s unofficial Chief Disinformation Dispenser, and, ultimately, a manufacturer of brownshirts.
Take an unusually weak mind, surgically remove evolution’s hard-won capacity to tell fact from fiction, fill the empty spaces with hate, and you’ve got Marjorie Taylor Greene. Drop that mind in the middle of the I-know-we’re-not-supposed-to-dismiss-MAGA-whites-as-racist-hillbillies-but-COME-ON shithole known as the Georgia 14th, and you’ve got the dumbest, most malicious member of the United States Congress, and ascendant American fascism’s loudest, vilest mouth.
When Rudy Giuliani, having just chugged a bottle of methamphetamine-laced NyQuil, stumbled onstage to deliver his apocalyptic sermon of fear at the 2016 Republican Nation Convention, you knew something was deeply fucked in this country.
Mike Pence is the Patron Saint of Mediocre White Dudes, and the Roman God of Failing Upwards.
A Democrat in his youth, Pence, like many men of limited intelligence, turned to religious conservatism for the convenience of being able to end arguments by claiming God shares his every fear and prejudice, while forgiving his every shortcoming, how convenient.
Secretary of State
Mike Pompeo is one of those performatively pious fake Christians who loves using his loudly-claimed-but-seldom-followed faith like a cudgel while ignoring every single word of the actual Bible, including “and” and “the.”
Secretary of State
Over the course of three decades, Rex Tillerson fucked, bribed, and murdered his way to the top of Exxon Mobil, like some sort of jowlsy Eva Peron.
William Barr actually taught me a valuable lesson. See, I didn’t look too closely at Bill when he was nominated to be Attorney General. After Jeff “Too Racist for the 80’s” Sessions and the masculine toilet guy, honestly, he looked like a nice, refreshing, safe, traditional Republican. An institutionalist who could bring a little much-needed stability.
And then he turned out to be a fascist, and one of the most dangerous enemies of democracy in American history. Whoops. My bad.
Secretary of the Treasury
Steve Mnuchin, like his namesake, the Noise You Make When You’re Dry Heaving After Getting Food Poisoning From Eating Truck Stop Gas Station Roller Hot Pockets on a Road Trip, is deeply unpleasant, and may result in the involuntary voiding of foul-smelling bodily fluids.
Secretary of Defense
Chief of Staff
National Security Advisor
Holy shit, there are Generals all over the place these days, aren’t there?
Retired General James Mattis serves as Secretary of Defense. Retired General John Kelly ran Homeland Security for a bit, before becoming the Lead Executive Branch Babysitter, excuse me, Chief of Staff. H.R. McMaster’s the National Security Advisor, and hell, he’s still on active duty.
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions, third generation of his family to carry the name of a Confedarate piece of trash and also a second Confederate piece of trash, is living his dream. As Velveeta Goebbels’ Attorney General, he’s turning back the clock to a time when women and minorities knew their place, and mediocre white dudes like himself got to run everything, even if they weren’t especially bright.
Ryan Zinke is like if the crappiest robot in Westworld escaped and jumped into conservative politics. He’s such a cartoon cowboy, I bet his right boot says “Andy” on the bottom.
Secretary of Commerce
When a witch’s curse transformed his master into a Beast and his fellow servants into household objects, Wilbur Ross became a decorative garden gnome. Unlike the rest of his compatriots, he ventured out into the world to make his fortune in the realm of shady international finance and money laundering, and when True Love’s Kiss lifted the curse, Wilbur was too far away for the enchantment to reverse, and thus he remains trapped in gnome form forever.
Secretary of Health and Human Services
If the Hippocratic Oath is binding in any sort of spiritual sense, Tom Price is royally fucked, y’all. There is some straight Dante shit awaitin’ him in the afterlife.
Secretary of Housing and Urban Development
Dr. Ben Carson is only in politics because he was rude President Obama to his face. At the 2013 National Prayer Breakfast, a traditionally non-political event, Dr. Ben, having been invited as the keynote speaker, decided to use his time to shit on the President and his policies.
Secretary of Education
Betsy DeVos is what happens when bored white ladies have enough money to really fuck shit up. Turns out, if you’re born rich and marry richer, you don’t have to settle for a book club, you can buy yourself a whole cabinet department!
Administrator of the EPA
Scott Pruitt, like a lot of boys his age, grew up watching Captain Planet cartoons. Unlike most boys his age, he decided that the various sludge-smog-and-toxic-waste-slinging villains were the role models for him.
Ok, fine. Pruitt is ten years too old to have grown up on Captain Planet, but fuck you, that’s a good opening paragraph. Make your own fucking website, you don’t like it.
Chief of Staff
Nobody wants to be Reince Priebus when they grow up. He’s just so immediately recognizable as a weaselly little tapeworm of a man, y’know?
Reince Priebus is the sort of person who would be played by Brad Dourif in a film.
Steve Bannon played Bob Ewell in a high school production of To Kill a Mockingbird, and liked it so much he decided to stay in the character for the rest of his life.
A self-described Leninist, and an outspoken populist*, Bannon wants to kidney-punch the administrative state, give it a wedgie, and steal its lunch money.
Jared Kushner was born on third base and thinks he invented baseball.
Jared’s dad, Charles Kushner, went to jail for tax evasion, illegal campaign donations, and, ahem, “witness tampering,” by which I mean he set his brother-in-law up with a hooker (not, I’m sad to report, of the Pissing Russian variety) and recorded their genital-smushing in order to blackmail him.
Daddy’s Little Girl
Ivanka Trump is what happens when you cross Gwyneth Paltrow with Mussolini’s dumbest, laziest aide-de-camp. Watching her try to sell her father’s fascism as some sort of pro-woman lifestyle brand, marketed in the sickliest imaginable shade of pink, has been one of the most bizarre subplots of this nightmare we can’t seem to pinch ourselves out of.
So, while Melania Trump is perhaps not as shitty as many of the crooks, Nazis, and Nazi crooks who inhabit her dirtbag husband’s world, she manages to impressively shitty in her own right.
When you worked for Akin, things weren’t simple
Cuz he got caught on tape
With legitimate rape
Senior Advisor for Policy
Why is it always the shittiest imaginable white dudes who turn out to be white supremacists?
Stephen Miller, who started balding eleven seconds after his conception, has by all accounts been a sack of monkey shit pretty much every single minute of his life.
Director of Communications
Oh wow, this new Communications Director looks like a real character, huh?
Where to begin? Ok, Anthony Scaramucci first came to –
Wait, what? Really?
White Supremacist Multi-Tool
Kris Kobach is like the protagonist of the white supremacist version of one of those Disney movies where a kid learns to chase his dreams, no matter how big. The kid gets tired of the monotonous grind of burning crosses on just one lawn at a time, and dreams of burning a cross big enough for the whole dang country!
Maybe he has a talking/singing Confederate flag for a sidekick. Named “Bedford.”
Roving Freelance Fascist
As seen in the famed documentary RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, when the Ark of the Covenant was opened on an uncharted island north of Crete, the burning light that issued thereof reduced the Nazi soldiers present to piles of ash and molten flesh. In time, the rains washed the fascist bio-goo into the island’s sewage system, where it mixed with the shit and piss and used tampons and such, and in time it congealed, took the shape of a man (albeit an unattractive one), slapped on a pair of glasses, and Sebastian Gorka was formed.
I Hereby Order You to Look at Just How Thirsty for That Canada Dry Melania Is
Once upon a time, they laughed at Warren Harding for pitching a “return to normalcy” but motherFUCK I would give my left arm, my eye teeth, a kidney, and half my comic book collection* for some goddamn normalcy right now. I want to sprinkle normalcy on my breakfast cereal, sew it into the lining of my winter coat, and dip my balls in it. But I don’t get to do that, do I?
David Koch is surely dealing with something straight out of Greek mythology by now, don’tcha think? Like, he could probably get that eagle to stop devouring his liver every day, but there are all these ethereal lobbyists and shady underworld dark money groups who fund an intricate network of super PACS and media outlets designed to suppress the anti-liver-devouring vote, and isn’t that just a shame?
Seems Team Treasonweasel is fumin’ mad at A$AP Rocky for refusing to devote his life to the Fascist Farthuffer’s re-election in gratitude, thus magically delivering the African-American vote to the Very Fine People. It’s adorable, in a sort of KKKabbage Patch KKKids sort of way, that these clowns imagine a single rapper’s endorsement would somehow wash away the decades of bigotry, from the Central Park Five to inciting white supremacist terrorists, but then these are the very same political geniuses who fantasized about legions of Democrats forgetting all about the concentration camps and the tax scam and the attempts to steal health care from millions if he only pardoned our One True Lord and Savior…Rod Blagojevich.
Meanwhile, somebody in the Department of Justice is sending out e-mails to immigration judges with links to white nationalist websites, and Stephen Miller is still one of the most powerful creeps on Earth, so I don’t think this is a one-rapper job, kids.
And the They Shoulda Stopped Handed Out Rights in the 18th Century Administration sent a brief to the Supreme Court asking them to forever enshrine the right of bigoted jagoffs to fire people just for being LGBTQ, and let’s all give the Log Cabin Republicans a really cinematic standing ovation for their decision to endorse the very turdwaffle who wants to make them second-class citizens in their own country.
Hey may not be very good at being president or closing umbrellas or dressing like an adult, but credit where it’s due, Government Cheese Goebbels truly excels at inspiring the shittiest people in America to be as shitty as they can possibly be. And while the terrorist mass-shooters grab all the headlines, don’t sleep on the likes of 67-year-old Jean Cramer, running for the Marysville, Michigan city council on a “keep the town white as a Leave it to Beaver rerun” platform. Jean wants you to know that she’s not racist, oh and by the way she also opposes interracial marriage. But for sure not racist.
The trade war with China is going pretty much exactly as you’d expect under the command of President All the Bad Kids From Willy Wonka Rolled Up in One. The dumb fuck just keeps getting baited into raising tariffs, or, as they are known here in the absurdist hellscape we call real life, TAXES ON AMERICAN CONSUMERS AND BUSINESSES, and then bragging about all the money he’s stealing from us.
And of course the Chinese keep retaliating, because they’re not the ones facing a fed-up-as-fuck electorate in a little over a year with no positive arguments to make beyond “even I’m not dumb enough to fuck up the economy Obama left me…yet.” In his responding tantrum, Strawberry Shartcake casually attempted to nationalize the entire American economy on Twitter, “ordering” companies to stop doing business with China. It’s that perfect collision of wannabe tyranny and pathetic impotence that just screams “Donald Trump.”
In a bid to sleep at the foot of the Turd Emperor’s bed tonight, Snivelling Lackey Lindsey Graham had an order of his own for the American people; “accept the pain” of a doddering dolt reaching directly into your pocket to set your money on fire for no reason beyond bullheaded pride as he meddles with economic forces he literally does not fucking understand. Probably the only South Carolinian who’s happy to hear that particular message from their senior Senator is Jaime Harrison.
Meanwhile, the Shart of the Deal continues to believe he can bluff his way through this shit, apparently fabricating phone calls where the Chinese begged him for a deal. And while I’m sure that impresses the drooling idiot in the MAGA cap and QAnon t-shirt, it means precisely jack shit at the actual negotiating table. Let me spoil this for you bro: they’re going to wait you out, micro-target swing state economies to make you electorally radioactive, and then sort things out whoever comes next, which should be fine so long as it isn’t that Williamson woman, right?
The weekend brought us the annual Shameapalooza known as the G7 summit, which shines the brightest possible spotlight on the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits’ many, many, defects. Watching him lumbering alongside actual, competent, world leaders, as they effortlessly outclass him, and oh-so-blatantly manipulate him with disposable flattery, practically shatters my spine with embarrassment shivers. It’s like watching Juilliard auditions, and suddenly some dipshit waddles out on stage and starts making armpit fart sounds.
Oh, and he tried to get his boss, that Putin fella, readmitted to the club, because it gets kinda boring without someone to talk about murdering journalists with. Because he is a loser who nobody fears or respects, he failed spectacularly, so he’s back to square one on the problem of paying Vlad back for the whole “getting him elected” thing, since Mulvaney keeps insisting he isn’t allowed to cede control of California to Russia.
Irritated at the insufficient opportunities to rub his peers’ noses in his imaginary successes, President Gas Station Urinal Cake even skipped out entirely on the last day’s climate change meeting. Look, he had to sorta almost work for the whole weekend, in rooms that didn’t even have Fux Nooz on, so he was pretty tuckered out, poor lil’ guy.
And now he’s invited the G7 back to his place for Emoluments Clause Violations and Chill, I guess because he wants to make it easier for his wife and daughter to take turns pushing Justin Trudeau into their bedrooms. Still going for the cheapest available grift; I bet he came back from France with a suitcase full of hotel towels.
Capping off the weekend’s buffet of humiliation, Axios broke the news that on more than one occasion, Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet broached the idea of stopping hurricanes by dropping nuclear bombs on them.
Y’know what? Fuck you, shitbag. You’ve gone too far this time. I work my ass off trying to write gags for this little blog o’ mine, and comic overstatement has always been a reliable tool in the box, but you’ve taken that away from me with your seemingly infinite capacity for ridiculousness. Nuking hurricanes? Buying Greenland? These are the sorts of conversations that tend to happen around the Ninja Turtles arcade machine at Chuck E. Cheese, AMONG TEN YEAR OLD BOYS. If I were to write “President Trump ordered the Coast Guard to combat global warming by dumping 60 tons of Hostess Sno Balls into the Atlantic Ocean,” people might chuckle, but they’d still google it real quick to make sure it wasn’t real.
Sad news for Steve King, whose re-election campaign has less money than a passably-organized Girl Scout troupe a week after the Thin Mints drop, I guess because I Lost My Committee Assignments for Hanging Out with Austrian Nazis and Also Rape and Incest are Highly Underrated Kinda Like the Deep Purple of Sexual Atrocities doesn’t turn out to be the greatest fundraising pitch. Anyway, fuck Steve King.
Deadbeat Dad/Mega-Racist Shitsack Joe Walsh announced a primary challenge to the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor from whatever right-wing nutcase alternate dimension he inhabits. I see a lot of folks saying this is a bad thing, because Walsh is also utter trash (and he is), but when you’re cleaning out the Augean Stables, anyone who feels like grabbing a shovel is welcome. Like, if I went to the doctor tomorrow, and they found a tumor in my lower intestine, and that tumor wanted to primary Donald Trump, I’d ask “would you shut down the concentration camps?” before “benign or malignant?”
And Withered Hate Raisin Joe Arpaio, on the anniversary of receiving his historically undeserved pardon from Hairplug Himmler, announced a bid to seek his old job as Maricopa Country Sheriff, because he misses violating human rights, I guess. If we don’t get to see him rotting in prison, I suppose another humiliating election defeat, dragging Trump and McSally down in Arizona along with him, is the next best thing.
In the tradition of ending the blog on a high note, here’s Ruth Bader Ginsburg, looking like she could still juggle steam shovels after her latest cancer scare. If we can all manage to be 1/8th as tough as the Notorious RBG, we’ll take this country back in no time.
That’s just about all I can take for tonight, Resisters. I’m piñata full of madness, and I will now wander my neighborhood in search of children with sticks. Be well.
*Not the Steranko Nick Fury stuff, of course.