Say, for such a young feller, this Biden kid’s got some chops.

Yet another too-good-for-Fox-to-spin jobs report, on top of the nobody-gloat-till-the-vote-closes fleecing of poor Keville Chamberlain. Hey, House Republicans, if you’re wondering where Joe’s pants are, check a couple inches north of the boot up your ass.

It’s never fun, making concessions to the Republican Party, but the debt ceiling kerfuffle was quick and relatively painless, and anything that makes Chip Roy this mad is okay with me.

This was the best Chip Roy shitfit yet, because you got to watch him figure out, in real time, that he never actually had the power he was promised. Yeah, Chip, Biden did roll McCarthy, but McCarthy rolled YOU.

Kevin seemed quite pleased with his fistful of shiny beads, though. Anything that takes less than fifteen tries goes on the fridge at the McCarthy household. Man, the rest of the caucus did all that reading for nuthin’.

Apparently, Jack Smith has a recording of the Dotard admitting he doesn’t have the magical declassifying powers he invented for himself upon getting caught with stolen nuclear secrets. And that’s a tidy little piece of evidence, if a touch unnecessary.

“My client holds a deep, profoundly sincere belief in these imaginary powers, Your Honor.”

“Yes, well. They remain nonexistent. Got anything to say about any real laws?”

“I do not.”

“Ok, then.”

Also, the document discussed in the recording is still missing. Nothing super important, just plans for war with Iran. Maybe he’s holding onto it as part of some revenge scheme targeting Milley. Maybe he sold it to the highest bidder. Maybe he drew a hamburger on it and ate it.

Wouldja believe turmoil has arisen within the fetid tangle of bottom-feeding grifters that comprise Donnie One-Term’s “legal team?” Infighting, even. Perhaps they are not, as I once envisioned, a somber assemblage of top-tier legal minds, united by noble purpose. Perhaps they are hogs, battling for spots at the trough before the NFT money runs dry.

In honor of Pride Month, the woke mind virus paraded its freshly assimilated corporate drone: Chick-fil-A! Look, Real Americans, you’re simply not calling in enough bomb threats to Target. Major League Baseball now requires teams to hold on-field grooming festivals during the seventh inning stretch because YOU let your bomb threat game get soft! Do you sheeple even WANT a country?

If Ron DeSantis truly hopes to get elected President, at a certain point, he’s going to need to figure out how to at least approximate human behavior. I can’t be the only one who sees a self-loathing Conehead who’s had extensive cosmetic surgery.

He even bullies the press awkwardly. He’s aiming for “macho MAGA strongman,” but hitting “bratty libertarian dweeb.”

The sloppy doofus can’t even decide how to pronounce his own name. Not quite done focus testing it with Proud Boys and Three Percenters, y’see. “Which way sounds more foreign?” “Would you be more likely to kidnap a Governor Duh-Santis or a Governor DEE-Santis?”

I’d like to thank Rich Lowry, for immediately delivering on that running gag I predicted last week. Lowry is Ron’s own personal H.A. Goodman, which is suitably embarrassing, I think.

Anyway, DiSappointus is a wad of gum rapidly losing flavor, destined for the underside of the Starbucks counter of history, so forget him, forget, if you’re able, the unsettling echo of his inhuman laughter; the new n’ improved savior of traditional, apple-pie-and-warning-labels-on-rap-cds conservatism is none other than…Chris Christie!

Don’t laugh. Please clap.

“He’s a fighter! Why, Chris Christie once slew seven Marco Rubios with one blow! He’ll meet Trump down in the pig shit and he’ll wave his hands and do the Rubio trick and the high priesthood of the death cult will pass to him!”

(What actually happens is, at the first debate, Christie spends 45 minutes trying to muscle in some workshopped one-liner, at which point the reality television host backhands him with a fat joke straight off the third grade playground, and the feral audience goes apeshit, then a couple of ‘em jump Christie in the parking lot afterwards. Spoilers.)

Riding a wave a Pencementum on the news that he won’t be charged for mishandling classified documents unlike some people we could mention, Mother’s Little Man announced the announcement of his own presidential campaign, wherein he will attempt to gain the support of an electorate that once sought his public execution.

Nobody seems to’ve bothered to prepare a Mike Pence will save us! think piece for the occasion, because why would you? Somebody actually signed their name to a column titled Why I believe RFK Jr. will be the 2024 Democratic nominee, which is more favorable overage than Pence could muster.

Anyway, Nikki Haley & the However Many Dwarves spent the week trying and failing to generate attention, and I bet it would save time if I simply cut and paste this sentence into every blog between now and Iowa.

I confess, I didn’t know there were so many Texas Republicans in the deep state until they impeached Ken Paxton. Hey, if these creeps want to rip into one another over a turd like Paxton, I say proceed. Feels a little Bakhmut-y to me, but I suppose that’s not the worst thing, under the circumstances.

Actually, we may be entering a golden age of wingnut circular firing squads. Project Veritas is suing James O’Keefe, for example. May their struggle be long and financially burdensome. Why, even the white nationalist terror orgs can’t seem to get along anymore.

I see Kayleigh McEnany got flash-excommunicated this week. I imagine that is a sobering experience. One day you’re directing the hate mob, the next, you’re the target. Well, this is why we don’t join authoritarian movements, Kayleigh.

The Failing New York Times gave us a delightful peek behind the curtain at Fox News, as they lost the Dominion lawsuit. You should read it. It’s basically consequences porn, which I am addicted to. Please don’t tell Josh Hawley.

Tommy Tuberville officially descended into the Gosar Zone, where your own family feels compelled to publicly denounce your hatefulness. Lost his top military advisor, too, over the ongoing promotions tantrum. Tommy also has lots of thoughts to share about “inner city” teachers, who’re almost as bad as U.S. Senators who can’t correctly identify the three branches of government.

Speaking of the Gosar Zone, which I made up in the preceding paragraph, I see the princess finally dropped daddy’s name, ouch. Guess it’s hard to sell knockoff designer shoes when your brand evokes sexual assault, violent insurrection, and bragging about passing a cognitive test for literally years.

Elon Musk keeps finding geniusy new ways to drive Twitter’s value lower, like boosting paid users’ hate speech, and promoting Matt Walsh’s anti-trans “documentary.” It’s like watching a guy shit into an ice cream maker. An ice cream maker he paid forty-four billion dollars for.

Well, the QAnon Shaman, having paid his debt to society, has opened an online merch booth. That’s American history, unfolding before our eyes. My god, I capitalized “Shaman,” like “QAnon Shaman” is a title or something. I wonder if he takes Trump Bucks.

Russia wants to arrest Lindsey Graham, and I think that should be part of any opening offer at potential peace talks. Hell, why not kick things off with a gesture of goodwill?

Vlad’s war is still going great, though. Sure, he’s driven waves of his nation’s best and brightest away, but he’s gained Tara Reade. Somebody’s been studying The Art of the Deal.

Lordy. No wonder Dark Brandon’s running circles around ‘em.

Okay, that’s enough stupid for one week, I’m gonna go drink beer and watch John Frankenheimer movies now.  You stay safe out there, folks.