If you’ve ever read this blog before, you know the opening paragraph is always some needlessly verbose variation on “can you fucking believe how fucking crazy this shit is,” and I have never once needed to deviate from that format, because seriously, can you fucking believe how fucking crazy this shit is? If you were hoping this would be the week that ends that streak, well…DiMaggio ain’t got shit on me, alas.

Frankly, I’m surprised it took as long as it did for the inevitable post-Roe horror story, of a raped 10-year-old facing nightmarish obstacles to abortion care, to surface. Less surprising was the response by America’s right wing, which revealed both ethical deficiencies and mental health disorders at heretofore unimagined levels.

The first stage of wingnut propaganda is always denial, of course, and cries of “hoax” reverberated throughout the disturbingly effective media bubble that recently led god knows how many Americans to ingest livestock medicine. No one bothered to think that maybe the relative dearth of available information was due to entirely sensible laws protecting the anonymity of such young victims of such abominable crimes, because you have to be interested in telling the truth to do that sort of basic due diligence.

Still, when an inconveniently real arrest blew up their narrative, everyone promptly apologized, provided the definition of “apology” is “an immediate pivot to anything but contrition, ideally racist in nature.”

The shrieking heads over at Fux Nooz didn’t just feverishly spread disinformation at every opportunity, (though they remain leaders in the field) they went the extra stochastic terror mile, sharing the involved doctor’s name and face with their measurably-more-violent-all-the-damn-time audience, in case, y’know, any “disturbed loner” felt like running the ol’ George Tiller play.

So now it’s a bit of a race, between the crazed, bloodthirsty mob, and the flail-wielding, zealot state, to see who gets to administer punishment to this sinner, who dared to (checks notes) provide necessary health care to a 10-year-old rape victim. Indiana AG Todd Rokita couldn’t seem to keep himself off television, so eager was he to publicly proclaim his intention to prosecute, never mind the fact that he never bothered to check to see if the doctor followed the law, which she did. Better luck next time, Inquisitor.

See, this is what this creep has been waiting for his whole miserable life. And this is how he plans to spend every working moment, for the rest of his life: hunting down and punishing the women he’s always despised. Him and millions like him.

This whiff of theocracy, after so many years of grudging acquiescence to the principles of democracy and equality, has driven the revanchist minority into a frenzy, and they’re approaching the wide-open legal landscape like Hungry Hungry Hippos, desperate to gobble up as much power as possible while we’re still sorting out the chaos, the better to enforce their will upon a resistant public.

Because, as Montana crackpot/state Rep. Brad Tschida put it, with the eloquence of Ray Liotta in the dinner scene from Hannibal*, a woman’s womb “serves no specific purpose to her life or well-being,” so fucking OF COURSE the state is allowed to treat her like fetus tupperware. While it’s entirely clear the Founding Fathers never intended religious freedom to imply a right to pretend biological science is imaginary in order to justify the dehumanization of half the populace, it would appear Amy Coney Barrett disagrees, so here we are.

Indicted Texas AG Ken Paxton, eager to kill as many women as possible, sued the federal government, hoping to further limit access to abortion care, specifically in cases where the mother’s life is in danger. Senate Republicans blocked a bill   guaranteeing the right to cross state lines in search of non-dominionist health services. And Ted Cruz helpfully reminded us of his vindictive cabal’s eagerness to claw back even more civil rights, with Obergefell next in their greedy, regressive sights. Because they will never, ever, ever, ever, ever fucking stop.

Thanks to the Failing New York Times, the cautionary tale of Ray Epps, targeted by the very hate cult he joined, is just, y’know…sitting around, waiting for anybody who might need t’hear it. Not unlike the widely ignored Frankenstein story. In case anybody out there is still capable of, or interested in learning.

Glancing at the sign in the break room, I see America has gone zero weeks without a news outlet publishing a terrorist-sanitizing op-ed, attempting to paint the goddamn Proud Boys of all people as apple pie-spattered, Norman Rockwell-designed, teddy bear guard dogs. Written, did I mention, by a Proud Boy’s wife. Not the choice I’d’ve made; I think we’re normalizing political violence at an alarming enough rate, thanks.

Speaking of the Proud Boys, and who doesn’t a love a week with multiple headlines referencing our burgeoning Brownshirt movement, the January 6th commission showed the world that video of Roger Stone taking their loser cosplay brigade’s pathetic, white supremacist “oath.” Always fun to have members of domestic terror orgs advising Presidents. Our democracy is almost too healthy, really.

Seems like the appropriate place to bring up the feral House GOP Conference unanimously voting against an amendment to the annual defense spending bill ordering the Pentagon to investigate white supremacist/neo-Nazi activity in our military. Also, all the current and former members of that military charged with crimes committed during the Capitol Riot. And the Oath Keeper “death list.” Because training violent insurrectionists in the ways of war seems a bit, I dunno, counter to the national interest.

One of the skeevy freaks of the alt-right incite-o-sphere called for a “Red Wedding” on January 6th, and as a bit of nerd/geek/I’m-wearing-a luchador-mask-for-pity’s-sake/dork, I resent these thugs appropriating my culture. Or any culture, really; the “we created western civilization” crowd never created shit. Creating is not their thing. Hurting people is.

And Paul Ryan wept. Apparently. That’s from the Book of Spineless Enablers, 11:35. But yeah, we’re told one of the chief architects of the civilization-devouring conflagration that is the modern GOP was momentarily moved to sorrow by the completely predictable consequences of his misspent life’s vicious work. How touching.

Honestly, I was almost grateful for the crude, geopolitical slapstick of the John Bolton interlude. Ol’ Murderstache can’t get his pants on without stepping on two or three rakes, which goes a long way towards explaining his Turd Midas contributions to the flow of human history.

Well, well, well, looks like Steve Bannon may be one slug the salt shaker’s finally caught up to; his legal stall tactics have almost run out, and now leaked audio (it should be illegal to publish “leaked” and “Bannon” in the same headline, by the way) reveals the Stoopid Coo ringleaders plotted from the very beginning to Just Lie, Baby, blowing yet another cavernous hole in the “Donald Trump was but an innocent fawn, who opposed the peaceful transfer of power for unspecified but totally noble reasons” defense.

And I guess when he’s not stumbling around Marm-a-Lago, absentmindedly tampering with witnesses, the Deposed Dotard spends his days plotting the launch date for the third presidential campaign he believes will keep him out of prison. Y’know, if somebody’d just subtly place, say, a wood chipper at the bottom of the escalator this time…

So, the cornered rats of Trumpworld think they can stick Mark Meadows with the soggy cracker and slink away, huh? I mean, excellent choice; Marky Mark’s a walking confession, and he richly deserves all the comeuppance the universe can muster. And to the lingering collaborators, what can I say but…(lightly taps NYT Epps profile).

Still, the Mark Meadows Miles Over His Head in Fascist Bullshit subplot has been a personal favorite. Can you fucking believe, this overmatchedest of all possible cretins attempted to cajole a resigning staffer into sticking around, because “we’re actually going to be staying.” That’s a whole lotta misguided confidence for a fellow working off a blueprint designed by Sidney “No Reasonable Person Would Believe Anyone as Batshit as Me” Powell, and Rudy Giuliani, in his How Many Four Seasons Could There Possibly Be phase.

“Dr.” Ronny Jackson, one of the very smallest of the many small men who yielded to Donald Trump’s corruption with no resistance whatsoever, whimpered that the infinitely more decent of the two Presidents he served sent him the I’m-not-mad-just-disappointed letter he’s earned ten thousand times over. Honestly, I think I’d be willing to accept a little more oppression if it meant being spared the whining.

Speaking of the institutional rot that is Donald Trump’s first and only successful endeavor, I guess the Secret Service wants us to believe their mega-suspicious deletion of texts from a certain blustery, January Wednesday was Just One of Those O-So-Normal Things™️, and, speaking as someone who was born yesterday, I’m inclined to take them at their word.

…especially after Cassidy Hutchinson’s testimony regarding Wee Donnie One-Term’s manchild meltdown got confirmed. Say, did that on-the-record refutation ever actually go down? No? Why, it’s almost like the offer was only ever designed to muddy the waters in the immediate aftermath of the most damning testimony yet regarding a criminal conspiracy perpetrated by idiots who frankly left us too much evidence to keep straight.

None of their manic tactics actually worked, which strikes your humble, bathrobed blogger as a solid reason to abandon them, for those unmoved by the whole “right and wrong” thing, anyway; but of course, “ineffective and morally repugnant” is the GOP’s policy wheelhouse, so it’s full steam ahead on electoral cheating. New York gubernatorial candidate Lee Zeldin got caught submitting 13,000 invalid, mostly photocopied signatures, in an effort to procure an extra spot on the ballot, as a third-party candidate; and then Colorado Congressthug Ken Buck got his fascist ass recorded asking a party official to straight-up submit fraudulent election results. Kinda makes you wonder how much fuckery is going undetected, huh?

Herschel Walker’s Senate campaign has been like an Advent calendar; every day, you open a tiny, perforated, cardboard door, and behind it is a fresh, new example of the ABJECT FUCKING MADNESS of the idea of electing Herschel Walker to the United States Senate. Anyway, dude’s take on air pollution put in me mind, for whatever reason, of the kid who sat next to me for most of first grade, who did not outgrow his booger-eating phase during the period of our acquaintance. Vote Warnock.

Lauren Boebert’s shrine to psychopathy, the “gun-themed” restaurant that propelled her to MAGA stardom in the first place, has closed, alas, so if you’re looking for someplace in Rifle, (yes, “Rifle”) Colorado to get hammered and bust a gut every time anybody shouts, “let’s go, Brandon,” well, there’s always the parking lot behind the laundromat, where Eddie from high school sells meth, which is doubly convenient, now that I think of it.

Now, considering the Category 5 shitstorm documented in the preceding 7,292 paragraphs, the week’s good news is as unsurprising as it is encouraging. Turns out, these loony Republican candidates are as close to broke as they deserve to be, while their Dem opponents make like Scrooge McDuck, (Beto, in particular, is making it rain) proving the American public has no intention of submitting docilely to dirtbag idiot supremacy just yet.

And that excites me. And I hope it excites you, too. And I hope it inspires folks to join the Do the Damn Work camp, because maybe there’s easier self-satisfaction to be found in the Whine About Joe Manchin camp, but the work remains either way.

With that, the sweet release of craft beer beckons, so I must leave you. Stay safe out there, my friends, and we’ll return to our regular Shower Cap time next week, same Shower Cap channel.

*Don’t look that one up if you’re squeamish, by the way.