After all these weeks trapped in my apartment with no company save my own, one thing I’m increasingly certain of: that turtle I kept in a shoebox back in third grade must’ve fucking hated me. ‘Course, the turtle didn’t have the unceasing madness of the 24-hour news cycle to keep him company…lucky bastard.

Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot’s first Katrina was Hurricane Maria, when he abandoned thousands to suffering and death, because in addition to their lack of clout in the Electoral College, they had the audacity to be non-white. But since we’re all trapped in his new Katrina Wrapped Inside Another Katrina With Extra Katrina on the Side, we barely even noticed the additional mini-Katrina unfolding in Iowa, where thousands remain without power following a derecho storm that hopped on 2020’s Let’s Fuck America’s Shit Right Up bandwagon. Regrettably, your federal government is in more of an “ignoring problems and hoping they go away on their own” place than a “fixing shit” place, Iowa, but please keep sending tax money.

Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo tried to strong-arm the United Nations Security Council into extending sanctions on Iran, but the world simply said, “gonna pass on that one, champ,” because it’s tough playing strongman without, y’know…strength. This was an unprecedented, deeply humiliating repudiation of U.S. leadership on the global stage, and you’d probably wonder why the fuck Team Turdmaggot forced the issue at all, if the last three and a half years hadn’t taught you at every turn that they are cud-brained buffoons who don’t understand anything about anything, hopelessly out of their depth at essentially all times.

Fat Q*Bert’s brother died, in what felt like the universe’s latest desperate attempt to reveal to the American electorate the seeping, moldy, wildebeest turd their President possesses in lieu of a soul.

Joe Biden offered simple, sincere condolences to his rival, as any halfway decent person would, but it came off like trolling, on account of how everybody knows Littlefinger is incapable of feeling human emotions. Indeed, the callous bastard went golfing (why should one death stop his fun when 175,000 haven’t?) before offering such a deranged, self-centered, eyeblink of a eulogy that you’re starting to think the writers are hitting this whole “narcissist” thing a little too hard, aren’t you?

Seems the Manchurian Manchild is desperate for one last face-to-face meeting with Papa Putin before his imminent firing, because he sure as shit doesn’t want anybody listening in on that particular conversation. Can you imagine the advice he’ll be seeking? “But I tried tear gas, everybody got mad at me! What if use napalm?”

Sources say Sharty McFly has further requested that Vlad bring a custom-made luggage set to this meeting, including at least one trunk, postmarked for Moscow, with sufficient ventilation to facilitate the escape of unusually-potent experimental hair tonic fumes, please contact Dr. Ronny Jackson for the precise dimensions; tell him Meadows sent ya if you want the real numbers.

Once upon a time, in a world with different rules, one Hilldawg Rodham Clinton committed the Gaffe of the Century, the notorious “basket of deplorables” comment, which scored an unprecedented 106 Bidens on the Gaffometer. Anyway, Circus Peanut Sydney Greenstreet once again expressed his unrepentant loathing for millions of Americans, urging his dirtbag followers to leave “Democrat cities” to “rot,” and nobody cares, because the president’s homicidal hatred for most of his constituents isn’t newsworthy anymore, it’s a simple fact of life now.

So, COVID-19 keeps running rampant through the United States, because the incumbent president still believes it’s in his political interest to pretend nothing particularly serious is occurring, and because I was naive as the newborn foal, I thought that was as bad as shit could get.

I forgot about the grifters, you see.

Yes, the world’s most famous con man remains the world’s easiest mark, and now the fucking MyPillow guy is whispering in Doctor Dotard’s ear about the latest bullshit miracle elixir he oh-so-coincidentally just purchased a financial stake in. Look, I know the grownups have been exiled and the Oval Office is just a blanket fort made out of Klan robes these days, but can we please set up just enough gatekeeping to prevent the pandemic profiteers from setting federal policy? Like, we can all laugh along as  Anderson Cooper takes this freak down on live television, but the joke’s on us, MPG’s the one with access. Sweaty creep could probably get a city in Europe nuked, if he buttered Donnie up just the way he likes and it wasn’t one of the big ones.

Former DHS Chief of Staff Miles Taylor cut an anti-Trump ad targeting the elusive The President Shouldn’t Be a Psychotic Toddler demographic, sharing super-fun stories like one where Dorito Mussolini tried to cut off wildfire aide to California because they didn’t vote for him. Why yes, I am writing this from month six of quarantine during a pandemic that spiraled out of control because our leadership initially viewed it as a “blue state problem,” why do you ask?

Hey, speaking of which, across the country, we’re doing this weird thing where schools try to re-open in unsafe conditions, leading to coronavirus outbreaks and, inevitably, swift re-closings, a truly demented ritual that’s apparently necessary because our country’s conservatives require periodic human sacrifices to prove that scientists aren’t playing tricks on them. I hate it here.

Folks, the stove is still hot. Nobody turned it off. We don’t know how to turn it off, actually, soooo…like, it’s going to be hot the next time you try to touch it, too, so it would be awesome if we could just skip that step. For once. And maybe join the ranks of the non-stove-fondling nations of the world; they can go to movies and shit and I confess I am growing envious.

Sing a dirge for the Resistance, for President Crotchrot, with a single stroke of his wee pen, made all his political woes disappear! Susan B. Anthony has been pardoned, and thus all the “suburban housewives,” as he refers to them, have swung swooning back into his tiny, inadequate arms, for women are simple creatures, who can surely be distracted from the INESCAPABLE FUCKING PANDEMIC by meaningless, misguided symbolism. I believe “checkmate, libtards!” is the phrase you’re looking for.

Somebody in the Shart House finally realized that photographs of kidnapped mailboxes and headlines about elderly veterans waiting anxiously for their life-saving, Trump-delayed medications would be counterproductive to the re-election effort, and thus PostStooge General Louis DeJoy pledged to cease the democracy-wrecking fuckery he’s been perpetrating. I imagine the avalanche of lawsuits had something to do with DeJoy’s sudden evolution on postal efficiency, but we’ll be hearing from him, under oath, soon enough.

Still, forgive us if we don’t take your word for, well, fucking anything, Louis. We’re gonna need you to put all those mailboxes and sorting machines back, by the way, it’s not really a “dang it ya caught me, sure is a shame all that electoral infrastructure got destroyed” sort of scenario; you’re staying after class to clean up your fucking mess.

Well, the Democratic National Convention launched to great acclaim by our covid-adjusted standards. Bernie Sanders and John Kasich are best friends now, they’re opening an artisanal ferret food shop together and everything, and of course a Michelle Obama speech emits enough goodness and hope to light a million lanterns in these dark times, which was just what we needed.

Across the River Styx, the RNC is taking shape. The big news is that white nationalism’s suburban dynamic duo, Captain Nimby and Privilege Lass, will be speaking, because pointing firearms at Black people is how one ascends to national prominence in the Republican Party these days. Gross.

A new report issued by the Republican-controlled Senate Intelligence Committee confirmed the Shitgeyser Campaign colluded with th’Russians to attack an American election and steal the White House, meaning the Republicans on that committee fully understood the extent of Donald Trump’s treasonous crimes when they voted to acquit him of a separate-but-similar set of treasonous crimes in his impeachment trial.  Like, honestly, I’d almost rather they suppressed the fucking report; this feels like waving a bunch of senatorial middle fingers tauntingly in objective reality’s face. For the love of all that’s holy, fire these enabling clowns.

On top of the more sinister, treacherous details, the report also informed America that Weehands McNodick sent Putin this sad, cringey, submissive-as-fuck letter congratulating him on “winning” Time Person of the Year. Can we impeach him for embarrassing us this hard? Shit, even if I could travel anywhere, how would I show my fucking face?

Ok folks, that’s enough for one night. Enjoy yourself some DNC goodness, you deserve a few nights to fantasize about the decency the future holds. And did I mention the ol’ Action Guide is coming back soon? Soooooooon…