Mad with laughter and completely fucked up on pure, uncut, schadenfreude, it’s a miracle I managed to get a post up tonight. Seriously, I’ve been cackling so hard it’s difficult to type. Watching a wannabe dictator shipwreck on the shores of his own petulance turns out to be rather intoxicating.

You may have missed this little story, of Little Donnie Dotard begging NASA to reach Mars before 2020 so that he would look cool, because he understands concepts of space and time and engineering and budgeting about as well as he comprehends the mechanism of the nigh-miraculous umbrella. You may consider this story sort of a Laughing at President Dumbass appetizer; there are many more courses awaiting you in this blog. Get yourself some sorbet, is what I’m telling you.

Since we last spoke, my friends, the Shart of the Deal has been a veritable whirlwind of negotiation, demonstrating the deal-making prowess he’s so famous for. Conman Don figured he’d made a clever move in calling Nancy Pelosi’s bluff on cancelling the State of the Union until he opened the damn government, but he hardly had time to extend his tiny, inadequate, hand for a high-five when the Speaker shot back with a formal un-invitation, on official stationary and everything.

“You’re welcome to deliver your speech straight into my burning asshole, little man, but the floor of the House will be closed,” proclaimed Queen Nancy, and Shart Garfunkel responded by summoning the full force of his manly, dominating, might and…completely capitulating. Which, it turns out, would be useful practice for later.

The Fascist Farthuffer’s Former Fixer, Michael Cohen, backed out of his planned testimony before Congress, citing threats from the President and his newer, much-more-incest-prone fixer, Rudy Giuliani, which is half “Aw dang, I can’t believe my favorite show got cancelled,” and half “Oh, so I guess we live in a third world dictatorship now.” Anyway, the Sensei of Sez-Hoo has already been subpoenaed by the Senate Intelligence Committee, so we’ll get his testimony soon enough, and for Mike, I’m sure that’ll be a nice break from jail.

So, something is going on in Venezuela. I haven’t done the reading, so I don’t know the ins and outs enough to process it, let alone say anything clever. Anyway, I’ll try to get back to it, but if this paragraph is still in the blog when you read it, well, I guess that means I didn’t.

Look, I know what everybody’s here for tonight, but before we dive into this big beautiful pool full of MAGAt tears, let’s take time to check in on some state-level GOP fuckery, if only to remind ourselves that the fight is never-ending, and the enemy remains as ass-backwardly awful as ever.

Utah Republicans are considering a shockingly dehumanizing anti-transgender bill. New Ohio Governor Mike DeWine announced that’s he’s positively horny to roll back reproductive rights in his state. And the Turdworm Administration just granted a waiver to South Carolina foster care agencies to discriminate their hateful little hearts out so long as they wink and say they’re only hating the people God tells them to hate.

You can’t take your eyes off these bastards for a minute, is what I’m saying. Next thing you know, they’ll be filling important state-level appointments with creepy weirdos who like to dress up in mega-racist Halloween costumes, blackface and all, like…oh wait, that already happened. In Florida, naturally.

So, a gossipy new tell-all from a former Drumpf staffer alleges that Kellyanne Conway has actually been leakiest pimple on the President’s ass this whole time, and after two years of his panicked crusade against leakers, she’s still there, right under his nose, and I know we’re laughing at the President for many much larger reasons today, but spare at least a chuckle or a snort for that amusing little tidbit; the doddering old fool really can’t do one single thing right.

Take, for example, the ongoing bungling of shutdown messaging! The official, tightly-coordinated Shart House comms strategy has been “Marie Antoinette, only with more sneering and less charm.”

First came Lara Trump, who cheerfully suggested that the hundred of thousands of federal workers going without pay for a month were merely experiencing a “little bit of pain” in not being able to pay their bills or feed their families, and anyway that’s an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny price to pay for Big Stupid Wall That Nobody Wants and That Won’t Work Anyway! Truly, I have never seen such populism!

As Bad-Auditions-Episode-of-American-Idol tone deaf as Lara’s comments were, Commerce Secretary Wilbur Ross burst into the room, shouting, “Hold my vodka-spiked Ovaltine.” Wilbur doesn’t understand why the peasants don’t just take out loans to cover expenses during their time as unwilling pawns in service of a racist goon’s ego-driven temper tantrum. “Everybody knows peanut butter sandwiches and tomato soup just taste better when you know you’ll be paying 9% interest in a month!” he croaked, before retreating to his home inside an old rotted-out tree stump, to sit upon the pile of coins and baubles he confiscated from the travelers he’s murdered.

And President Crotchvoid himself weighed in, suggesting all you struggling families need not worry, just take a stroll on down to Old Man Johnson’s corner store, and tell him to put your groceries on your tab for another week or so, a proposition that will certainly be met with a grandfatherly smile rather than a call to the police. Why, perhaps he’ll even give junior a penny’s worth of candy floss to keep his spirits up as he goes without supper for a few days.

Anyway, some genius looked out at the mess the President and his surrogates were making, and said “This looks like a job for LARRY FUCKIN’ KUDLOW!” Lar-Dawg suggested that furloughed employees were happily “volunteering” to work without pay out of feverish devotion to their Turd Emperor. “Why, they’ll probably refuse all future paychecks, insisting their salaries be transferred directly to the wall fund, such is their love and dedication!” Bill Shine is certainly doing a crackerjack job as Communications Director.

Speaking of rewarding failure, looks like Ronna NotRomey McDaniel won a second term as RNC chair, because dammit, you shouldn’t leave a job unfinished when there are still so many congressional seats left to lose! Seems to me a little bit like slapping a fresh coat of paint the Maginot Line, but hey, I certainly support the continuation of any and all further blue-wave-enabling activites, wheresoever they may manifest.

Authorities are searching for Colorado Senator Michael Bennet, wanted for questioning in the murder of Ted Cruz on the Senate floor Thursday. See, Senator Shitbeard pulled out his best phony preacher voice to disingenuously whinge about the Democrats’ responsibility for the shutdown, and Bennet rose up, a veritable God of Oh Hell No, to remind Cruz of that time Ted Cruz shut down the whole government just to fluff his own presidential ambitions. Teddy barely had time to whimper, “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good,” before disintegrating into nothingness.

After a pair of failed votes to re-open the goddamn government, the Senate Republithug Caucus retreated to a private meeting with Vice President Mike Pants that quickly devolved into childish slap-fighting over who was to blame for their current predicament, until Glinda the Good Witch floated in on a bubble to proclaim, “Silly Assclowns! You are ALL turd-gargling sycophants, and equally at fault!” and a valuable lesson was learned by precisely no one.

This week we learned that when young Jared Kushner held out his trick-or-treat sack, asking for a high-level security clearance, career security specialists looked at him and said, “That would be a New-Coke-level shitty decision, lil’ fellah. Hell to tha no.” but they were overruled by a political appointee and so now he gets to sell America’s deepest secrets to the Saudis for fun n’ profit. Oh, and there have been at least 30 such instances, of experts getting overruled to grant clearances to various shitweasels in this pack of cheap grifters. Now, this story has kind of faded into the background amidst the week’s sexxxier news, but it’s pretty damn important, so don’t forget about it, okay?

If you’re reading this, you probably didn’t get arrested by the FBI this morning, and that is a key distinction between your life and Roger Stone’s. Yes, the long arm of the law has finally caught up to the Ratfucking Ghoul who’s been making this country shitty since before I was even born. The bad news is, if you can posture and troll your way out of serious legal jeopardy, Stone is sure to walk free. The good news is…you can’t.

Anyway, Roger’s so toxic now he’s been disavowed by the Wandering Ghost of Richard Nixon, and as the case for collusion becomes clearer, suddenly Julian Assange is treating the Ecuadorian embassy staff with a newfound courtesy. Drip drip, motherfuckers.

Taking a quick detour to the 2020 Dem presidential race, Richard Ojeda dropped out, dealing a significant blow to the entertainment value of the primary debates, and it turns out Beto O’Rourke is a Satan-worshipper, which pundits believe will play well in Super Tuesday states.

And of course Shartdown-related headlines continued their predictable trajectory through “Breadlines? In America? Really?” to the practically apocalyptic, with stories of unpaid NASA employees being asked to take breaks from the relatively trivial work of keeping the astronauts on the International Space Station alive to scrub toilets, and of furloughed national park rangers dueling to death over the precious meat in a raccoon corpse. I may have made one of those up.

The last straw seems to have been the massive delays at the nation’s airports, as the FAA announced they were down to a single air traffic controller named Wes who was doing an 8-ball every three hours to stay awake and that probably wasn’t going to be a sustainable system. Something had to give.

Finally, The Hairplug That Ate Decency called up Nancy Pelosi to plead, “Madame Speaker, I require your aid in removing my boot from atop my own dick. You can have whatever you want. You can have your bill to re-open the government with no wall funding. You can have Eric. Just please please please rescue me from this hole I have dug with my sad little baby hands!” and Nancy said “Nice try, I’m not taking Eric,” and Don said “Dammit, well, I had to try, anyway I’ve got to slink out and debase myself in front of the entire world now, I’ll send a messenger over later with my testes.”

And so the government will re-open at last. The FBI agents who arrested Roger Stone will get paid, millions of Americans can stop worrying and suffering, I’ll finally get my damn tax refund, and President Gas Station Urinal Cake has nothing to show for it except for a shiny new expansion to the gap in his approval ratings.

But there was no joy in MAGAville as Weehands McNodick struck out, only confusion, and anger, because somehow Cult45 still believes that this sad, sorry, little man, who radiates insecurity so discernibly that it can be seen from outer space, is “strong.” Ann Coulter seems particularly upset, because she thought she’d finally set America on a track where she’d be able to own slaves in a few years, but now it’s all falling apart.

And so Captain Caveman retreats to the Residence, to fume over what’s certain to be a full weekend of unceasing coverage of his complete and utter cucking. As smarter folks than I have pointed out, this kind of humiliation is the very worst thing in the world to a narcissist. And because he is very, very, very, stupid, he’s threatening to start this whole shitshow over again in three weeks. Some people just can’t get enough losing, I guess.

Meanwhile, Speaker Pelosi has problems of her own. She has to have new pet fitted for a collar, and of course there’s no way he’s potty trained.

Well, that should last you though the weekend, Shower Captives. If I missed anything, forgive me, it’s only because I was having so much fun watching every human being on Earth dunk on Little Donnie Two-Scoops.