Look, I don’t want to get all swoony, but doesn’t Dear Leader excel in SO many fields? Identifying drawings of animals, detecting the secret “b” in the word “dumb,” closing umbre-well nobody’s perfect. He is of course a prolific rapist.

But of all the things he does better than anyone who ever lived, it is the playing of golf which he does betterest. He just won his forty-third championship (that we know about), leaving his vanquished foes strewn across the course like so many Iranian schoolchildren.

Since another trophy would only blend in with the rest of the gilding in the Oval Office, the prize this time was a fresh new head of hair that we promise wasn’t harvested from Lindsey Graham’s corpse.

Hey buddy, can you spare a Patriot missile? A reckless manchild lobbed all of ours at a theocracy. Why? Fuck if I know. They must not get too deep into modern warfare tactics on those cognitive tests.

Anyway, if any expansionist neighbors felt like taking advantage of our depleted ammunition stockpiles, I’m not exactly saying I for one welcome our new Canadian overlords, but there might be room on my couch for a reconnaissance team that brings enough beer.

Marjorie Taylor Greene, Thomas Massie, and Joe Kent want Tucker Carlson to run for president on a MAGA-fracturing third-party ticket, which I would generally support, though of course you worry the platform, explaining in detail the schism between two factions of the dumbest motherfucking movement in human history, would open a rift to some sort of nightmarish alternate dimension populated by many-angled beings who feed on the seething resentment of the mediocre.

Speaking of which, Andy Ogles lost his primary? Had no idea that was even on the table. American kakistocracy might have some limits? Wonderful! Like finding twenty bucks in the pocket of your winter coat.

Golly, maybe the old man’s endorsement doesn’t pack the same punch it did back before he taught the Ayatollah how to make our gas more expensive.

Actually, it’s a bit of a funny story; in one Michigan district, he endorsed a fellow named Amir Hassan, and I don’t even need to tell you how that worked out, although I certainly hope American history teachers of the future remember the detail that the dude who won the blowout victory dropped out weeks before the election, because that shit would make a killer extra credit question.

I’d like to tell Amir Hassan not to worry, though, because us Dumocrats (no “b” in that one) are going to evict MAGA from power before they can deport you to a Salvadoran torture gulag, so, y’know…you’re welcome.

So, “Capital One says it closed hundreds of bank accounts associated with President Donald Trump and his businesses in 2021 ‘for anti-money laundering reasons,’ according to a recent court filing from the financial institution.” 

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my share of bank accounts closed for anti-money laundering reasons. It’s just that when you reach the point of hundreds, one issue is that you’re shitty at money laundering.

No wonder the Dotard is grifting so hard. After a lifetime of failing at every single thing you try, when the fucking casino business proves too difficult for you, it must be delightful to finally find something that’s too easy to fuck up.

Of course, the money’s not really any good anymore unless it can buy a cure for cankles. Anyway, Junior n’ Eric are just gonna trade whatever’s left for magic beans the second he’s gone. War turned out to be hard, so he’s primarily focused on redecorating as much of the planet as possible, though here the “awful at everything harder than leaving a bribe jar outside the White House” issue again rears its head.

Can’t say I hate watching Jeanine Pirro suffer the wrath of her narcissistically injured boss, but if that algae comes back again, he’s gonna nuke us all. While the courts are certainly correct to halt construction on his precious ballroom, we’re probably safer with him in the playroom than the Situation Room, y’know? Let him fiddle with his “red brick pavers” till he gets sleepy; celebrate one more day got through.

Boy, this Max Miller kid sure is a dead-eyed creep, huh? 3-time winner of the Um Actually I’ll Wait for the Next Elevator pageant. When Max isn’t leveraging his two-year-old daughter’s mental health to score pettiness points in his “acrimonious divorce proceedings,” he likes to unwind by writing laws the rest of us have to obey.

In the early drafts of the Bill of Rights, there was an amendment that would’ve formally enshrined the right to pelt any member of the community who would actually withhold a stuffed animal from their own fucking child (Madison’s words, not mine) with small rocks and/or animal droppings until said community member understood themselves to be exiled from all decent society forever, but it was ultimately decided that ten was a nice round number.

Regrettably, we cannot yet move on from the distressingly specific topic of ultra-skeevy dudes serving in the House Republican Conference, as we must first consider the sad, gross tale of Chuck Edwards. I recommend you wrap yourself in your fluffiest blanket before clicking any links leading to detailed descriptions of Chuck’s ham-handed advances on his young staffers, because if you don’t, you will cringe yourself right in half.

One of my favorite little shows is the one where your Cornyns and your Tillises squawk a bit before folding, your Collinses and your Muskowskis issue Brave Statements Demonstrating Independence, and then everybody pretends that some all-but-translucent nonentity, say maybe a Bill Cassidy, would ever, could ever summon the intestinal fortitude to protect the nation from just ONE of Donald Trump’s unqualified thugs. It’s an amusing little show. The Attorney General Todd Blanche Show looks kinda dum*, though.

Incidentally, as long as we’re breaking laws about putting living politicians on currency, I’d love a coin capturing (the husk of) “Senator” Cornyn’s defeated impotence as he wheezes, “Well, there’s nothing we could do to, uh, rein in the president…” The coin should be worth four cents.

Rand Paul and some other dorks formally pronounced Dr. Fauci in contempt of…shit, I don’t know. Something. Contempt of horse dewormer, I suppose. In America, we do this thing sometimes where senators shout fake science at real scientists. You may find our culture mystifying, but we’re mostly just idiots.

All in all a largely manageable week, though I did feel burrito-shamed by Dan Crenshaw. No doubt beer will aid me in restoring emotional equilibrium, as it has so many times. If you enjoyed this lil’ rant, you can buy me a beer, or perhaps even an extravagant burrito, via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal.

I have an email list and a Xwitter account, plus there’s that second issue of GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE coming soon to Kickstarter. Oh, and we still have the slow-motion, slapstick collapse of the regime to look forward to, so stay safe out there, old chum…

*Apologies, I meant “dumb” of course. Sneaky little astrard.