From a certain angle, the Dotard had his best week, legally speaking, in quite some time. No, think about it. Today, he stands before the public facing fewer felony charges than he has in months. Once, that number climbed and climbed, ultimately attaining a truly daunting eighty-eight total counts, but now he’s down to a much more respectable fifty-four. Like a Mafia…accountant or something, but not necessarily the guy Joe Pesci plays.

Of course, he is a convicted felon now.

And not just a convicted felon, but a convicted felon 34 times over.

Actually, not just a convicted felon 34 times over, but a convicted felon 34 times over as well as an adjudicated rapist and fraudster, who can’t seem to keep his unnatural sexual attraction to his own daughter to himself, who deployed state force against peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square amidst a catastrophically botched pandemic response that crashed the economy and cost tens of thousands of Americans their very lives, who can neither wear pants nor eat steak like a functioning adult, who put kids in camps, who leaked classified intelligence to a Russian spy in the Oval Office, and who has repeatedly proven himself the mental inferior of the wily umbrella.

Oh, and this one time, he engaged in this monthslong criminal conspiracy to overturn an election he lost, and seize power, presumably forever. You remember, the one with the riot with all the cosplay Viking incels?

Yeah, that guy. Seems to me the one job that guy should definitely not have is President of the United States, but it would appear opinions vary, here in our advanced, wealthy, exceptionally healthy democracy.

I’d like to take a moment to complement the electorate on their exemplary information-filtering skills. We’re just overmatched primates, aren’t we? The gods handed us cell phones and the internet, left the room for ten fucking minutes to make a sandwich, and when they got back, millions of us had created this entire shitty religion that’s based on letting this one rapist do whatever he wants until he dies.

He’s their Turd Golem. They watch him gripe and (allegedly) sleep-fart his way from trial to trial, and their eyes well up with hydroxychloroquine-laced tears, for he is bearing these burdens, enduring the twin torments of accountability and air conditioning, for every down-and-out wannabe brownshirt who ever nurtured a crazy dream about burning a book, or having sex with his own daughter.

Anyway, he sure lost that trial, all 34 counts of it, mostly because he did exactly what he was accused of, and left a bunch of evidence all over the place, because he’s really, really dumb. Seriously, y’all…umbrellas.

Faced with perhaps the most enticing in a long series of off-ramps, the Republican Party once again chose…poorly. Look, I concede you folks are a sad, soft, sorry lot, but surely you can dig up somebody who sucks a little less.

Alas, no other turd will do. This turd is special. They don’t need this turd to open umbrellas or manage pandemics; so long as it makes liberals mad and takes a cognitive test every so often, it should be allowed to rape whoever it wants, and also order airstrikes.

Sacred indeed is the turd tithe, because the small army of Lionel Hutzes losing all these cases don’t come cheap, y’know.

Doddering old fop schlumps himself out for his little press conference, looking like a half-melted butter sculpture at a state fair on Giedi Prime, to remind the nation he is no longer capable of speaking without slurring his words, and the entire Republican Party forms a human chain around him. (A metaphorical one, of course. If actual people showed up in the real world, they wouldn’t be lying about crowd sizes again, now would they?)

According to the New York Times, this almost unendurably cringe-inducing spectacle constitutes “leaning into an outlaw image.” Yes, he’s the Too Cold Kid, a rootin’/tootin’/rapin’ antihero who whines about the temperature between courtroom naps. Identifies drawings of farm animals faster than anyone west of the Mississippi. No fancy animals, mind. Couldn’t expect a man to recognize a cassowary. Wouldn’t be fair.

Somehow, there’s a line out the door to debase yourself in full view of history on this felonious clown’s behalf. The line is comprised of politicians and pundits, some of the most powerful and influential people in America, and it’s hard to tell them apart, partially because they’re all dressed alike, and partially because of the many layers of shame drenching them, which have grown so thick and numerous as to manifest physically, in the form a viscous, semitranslucent goo.

Pretty sure one of ‘em is Little Marco, looking littler than ever. I think I heard Mike Lee swear a solemn vow to obstruct Senate functions extra hard unless the Dotard gets set free and awarded complimentary Dairy Queen for life or something, I wasn’t really listening.

The line runs right by whatever’s left of Bob Good, excommunicated and discarded for a younger, hotter proto-fascist, but cautionary tales work about as well as off-ramps with these dolts.   

Speaker Moses, a famously devout chap, reminded us of the fine print on the wrapper the Bible comes in, you probably threw it out ages ago, but trust me, there’s this bit that clearly states all laws n’ lessons contained herein are null and void in the event of a rapist who hosts his very own game show, so there’s certainly no need to reexamine any messianic delusions at this time.

Of course, mere groveling is insufficient for those who long to skip straight to the part where they purge the government of the insufficiently loyal (COUGHCOUGHBOBGOOD) and launch the revenge prosecutions, of Biden and Hillary and Dr. Fauci and every single furry kid who ever shat in a litter box at a woke school, oh, and Cynthia Whatsername, who rejected my advances in the tenth grade.

And Robert De Niro, who, denounced as one whose “movies, artistry and brand have gone WAY DOWN IN VALUE” by a guy who managed to fail at the casino business, dejectedly sulked away with his two Oscars, to hang out with the Super Bowl champion, the billionaire pop star, and the other losers and haters who don’t get to be in this awesome, hard-to-get-into club.

Once a film star of some note, De Niro now will now live out the remainder of his days mourning his lost access to the salons at Scott Baio’s place, which isn’t technically a van anymore, since he pawned the engine for groceries.

I’m beginning to worry that middle school children in the society that rises from our ashes will watch clips of our “strongman” doing that rock ‘em sock ‘em Pillsbury Doughboy dance of his alongside Hitler’s rants, and they’ll mock us relentlessly for succumbing to such a shoddy knockoff. Side by side, he’ll come off like one of those “nailed it!” memes, where somebody failed to replicate an ornately decorated cake.

“Lookit him, saluting during Amazing Grace, I can see how somebody would attack an FBI building with a nail gun, or a human being with a hammer, for that guy. He’s just so impressive.” And then they’ll shove our entire culture into a locker. Which we deserve.

It was, after all, only a matter of hours before the yammering heads on Newsmax began insinuating those twelve jurors better not turn down any dark alleys, with all their fancy, big city ideas about the rule of law. Then the doxxing efforts and death threats started rolling in, right on schedule. All part of the organized assault on the nation’s justice system. We don’t need that for anything, do we?

Because again, this one rapist must be kept out of prison at any cost. Safest place for him is the White House, y’see, because if he’s not President when these other trials finally start (and Aileen’s doing her best, but every stall tactic runs out in time) he’s got a solid chance of meeting the business end of every single one of those fifty-four outstanding charges, because if half of what we’ve read in the papers about these cases turns out to be true, he once again did that thing where he (being an idiot) left stupefying amounts of evidence of his crimes lying around, in, for example, a bathroom.

He also apparently “called ‘Apprentice’ contestant Kwame Jackson the N-word, according to the show’s producer,” but outside of that and the felonies (and the rape and the thing at the Capitol and the kids in the cages) he’s basically Jesus.

Which, no doubt, is why he’s so popular in “right-wing prophetic Christian media” circles. I assure you, the fine print on that Bible deals with the rape and the crime and the lusting after his own daughter in exhaustive, frankly pedantic detail. You really shouldn’t’ve discarded that wrapper.

Shout-out to this week’s Top Stopped Clock: Libertarians! Booing that goon off your stage demonstrated uncharacteristic good sense, you guys, thank you*!

Oh, and just so you know, Sammy Alito ain’t recusin’ from shit, no matter how many crosses it turns out his wife burned outside the neighbors’ bedroom window, mere inches over the property line.

The DC Bar’s main disciplinary panel recommended Rudy Giuliani for disbarment, because the Comeuppance Fairy hired Four Seasons Total Landscaping to cover every inch of the old bastard’s lawn with rakes. And it is glorious to behold.

Looks they did Dinesh D’Souza’s yard, too; his shitty donkey movie’s been disavowed and pulled from circulation by his publisher following a defamation lawsuit. The bigger the lie the costlier, it turns out. Heh.

Feels like it happened six months ago, but I guess I should officially state that while I’m not precisely certain what a “blowjob liberal” is, I figure I fit a number of the potential definitions, and I remain staunchly opposed to my own persecution. Just thought I’d mention it, since we’re tossing around violent rhetoric. Let it not be said of us, “First they came for the blowjob liberals…”

I bet it was a blowjob liberal who welcomed Trey Gowdy to New York City so appropriately. Some of my best friends are blowjob liberals. They are a gentle people, who neither riot nor support rapists electorally. We should not harm them, we should ask them to teach us their ways, which are wise.

Hey, I’m starting to hear folks’re receiving their copies of Marguerite vs. the Occupation from the CEX run! Shoot me a screencap, at showercapblog.com, or tag me @john_luzar on Elon’s Deteriorating Fun House, if you got one! There should be some copies available in comic stores, but I’d call ahead, it’s only going to be in shops that stock small press titles.

Speaking of comics, I’m gonna take that time off I talked about last week, gotta get under the hood and tinker with this DRAFT I’ve been working on. Two weeks, maybe three. If I ever finish this damn script, y’all’re gonna love it.

So if you missed this pass at Marguerite, there’s another Kickstarter coming, somewhere down the line, and you’ll have another shot. Once again, enormous thanks to everybody out there who’s supported these comic book projects, you’ve made this drunken internet loudmouth’s dreams come true.

Anyway, if you’d like to help keep me lubricated throughout this period of revision and renewal, GOOD NEWS, my digital tip jar now takes Cash App, Venmo AND PayPal, and all proceeds go directly to mostly local microbreweries who’re probably ethical but certainly not vetted in any way. See you in a bit, stay safe out there till then, all ye blowjob and non-blowjob liberals.

*Please do not take this expression of gratitude as an invitation to discuss any of your dumb ideas.