Keeping up on current events, one winds up banging one’s head on one’s desk with some regularity, so I can’t be certain I’m not hallucinating most of this…that’d be preferable, honestly. I would like to request hallucinations of a more enjoyable nature, however. Cartoons or pornography, I’m not particular.

So, in my lonesome wanderings through the wasteland called “the news,” I stumbled across a conversation in which Alex Jones suggested to Marjorie Taylor Greene that she should run for president, because she’s “smarter” than Trump, and smoke’s been pouring out of my ears ever since.

The question, “who is less intelligent, Donald John Trump, or Marjorie Taylor Greene?” is…it feels almost too big wrap your mind around. Cosmic. Unknowable.

I mean, who can forget the spectacle of that dizzy twit, babbling about disinfectant injections and ultraviolet light, expectantly waiting to be showered with gratitude and hooker piss, while the world watched Deborah Birx’s soul flee her body? That dude’s pretty fucking dumb.

But Marj’s brain resembles nothing so much as a single tapeworm, forever devouring its own ass end. This week alone, she fell for the shittiest imaginable photoshopping, yet still felt confident enough to dismiss recent mass shootings as Democrat false flag plots, based on nothing but the same voices in her head that told her Jewish space lasers cause wildfires.

It’s too close to call, folks.

I suppose the good news is, even bathsalt-garglers like Jones are looking to move on from the Deposed Dotard, thanks to the January 6th commission’s tight, sturdy work. Hey, I’ll take my silver linings where I finds ‘em. Times is hard.

Ah, but who shall inherit the death cult high priesthood, and with it, the power to command America’s burgeoning, bloodthirsty, endlessly bilkable, white grievance blob? All sorts of putrid, viscous consensus seems to be congealing around Ron DeSantis, for his culture war cruelty. “See how effectively I harness the power of the state to harm the people you despise?” he coos, and because he does so without shitting himself or tweeting slurs, he comes off like Trump But Seriously a Genius, Bro…Republican standards are what they are.   

Down in Florida, Ron-Ron’s malevolent “don’t say gay” bill just kicked in, and with it, the desired climate of fear. I confess I’m at a loss to explain what’s gained by making it unsafe for a public school teacher to display a photograph of their spouse in the classroom, beyond delighting the hateful…oh, silly me, it was right in front of me the whole time.

They have “civics boot camps” in DeSantistan now, and isn’t that a positively perky bit of branding? You can picture Snape sending Harry Potter to a civics boot camp, can’tcha?

Well, we’ve come to the “trans children fleeing Texas for their own safety” stage of American history, and y’know what, I’m starting to think the “don’t worry kid, democracy’s basically on autopilot” vibe my 7th grade civics textbook gave off was maybe a wee bit hubristic.

Republican gun laws once again ushered an angry young creep from homicidal ideation to mass slaughter with ease and accommodation you sure as shit don’t get at the post office, admittedly with an assist from the little turd’s father, who figured what his knife-collecting, violence-threatening spawn really needed was access to weapons of war. A toddler orphaned for your shitty judgment, Dad. Nice work.

Now, wingnuts hate the aftermath of a mass shooting, (this one absolutely ruined Illinois Republican gubernatorial candidate Darren Bailey’s holiday festivities) because they know their official position is so socipathically batshit that only brain-dead nutjobs can regurgitate it without shame. On the other hand, there are no kinks in the “brain-dead Republican nutjob” supply chain.

It’s like a bad improv game, where you have to deliver an indignant jeremiad based on some drunken audience member’s random suggestion. “Weed!” bellows Laura Ingraham. “Uppity broads!” sneers Tucker Carlson. There aren’t a lot of options left, frankly. Once Republicans get around to blaming mass shootings on bike lanes, watermelon Oreos, and the season of That ‘70s Show they did without Topher Grace, they will have suggested literally everything except the glaringly obvious truth.

But if you want to see the issue through the eyes of a guy who’s spent years jabbing at his brain with an ice pick, check out Scott Adams’ Twitter feed, for some deep philosophizin’ on violence, mental health, and euthanizing your own children for the good of humanity. What the living fuck, dude. We’re repossessing more than one “#1 Dad” mug this week. Jesus.

Boy, nothing exposes the all-consuming insecurity animating every single white supremacist better than a masked mediocrity march, of the type staged by…by…oh hell, one of those loser cosplay clubs…the Proud Boys? The Klan Kids? The “I’ve Built an Entire Personality Around Hating a Star Wars Movie” Gang? Really, who gives a shit?

“Ja we are the master race oh god please don’t tell my boss I was here or my mom or the girl at the Hardee’s I go to twice a week I don’t think she’s noticed the restraining order is about to expire.” ‘Course, I dunno why these creeps’re bothering with masks, considering the state of the discourse on the campaign trail.

In the Arizona gubernatorial primary, Trump-endorsed candidate Kari Lake, with the true fanatic’s audacity, proclaimed her opponent’s refusal to embrace the debunked-a-thousand-times-o‘er Big Lie “disqualifying,” even “sickening,” prompting Zombie George Orwell to slowly mouth, “damn, girl” at such a tidy bit of gaslighting.

Ol’ Donnie One-Term sure can pick ‘em. He’s also endorsed Kristina Karamo, who believes, in addition to the Big Lie, and all sorts of additional wacky, wacky shit, that abortion is a satanic child sacrifice ritual. As Michigan’s Secretary of State, Karamo would oversee elections, which maybe isn’t the best idea.

Seems Herschel Walker’s campaign staff are clear-eyed about their boss’ well-stocked buffet of shortcomings, calling him a “pathological liar,” among other, um, “criticisms,” so naturally they spend their days laboring to get him elected to the United States Senate, because you really can’t get anywhere in Republican politics anymore without enabling a manifestly unfit psychopath or two.

See, these skeevy little climbers’re aspiring Lindsey Grahams, each and every one dreaming of their glorious moment in the sun, manipulating their very own overmatched cretin, before they have their own subpoenas to defy, over their own crimes against American democracy. It’s the proto-fascist circle of life.

On the topic of Lindsepher Grahamwich, he’s still recovering in the burn ward at Walter Reed, alongside fellow “essential lapdog in Trump’s kennel” Kevin McCarthy, following release of a profile titled, “The Most Pathetic Men in America,” which you’ll enjoy, if you haven’t seen it already.

I guess Jim Comey and Andrew McCabe both, in another of those wacky coincidences that pop up from time to time under vindictive tyrants, received the same ultra-rare, ultra-intrusive, “random” IRS audit, which seems scandalous, sure, until you remember Hillary Clinton beat Vince Foster to death with a bottle of hot sauce, which she then used to season his face before eating it.

So, some asshat blew up this strange monument in Georgia, almost certainly motivated by dipshit wingnut conspiracy theories about “globalism” and “satanism,” because these days, the American experiment is mostly about figuring out how much schmuck terrorism modern society is willing to tolerate.

Again, I don’t want it to seem like I’m asking for better Nazis, but goddamn, we must have the stupidest right-wing extremists of all time. It’s a plague of dumbfucks, hopped up on talk radio and ivermectin. We’re probably about six weeks away from some Dilbert acolyte detonating a dirty bomb next to some pizza parlor’s nonexistent basement.

Adam Kinzinger’s getting to be like that guy at the office who won’t stop yakking about his boring-ass kid, only instead of meandering anecdotes about junior hockey exploits, he keeps going on and on about all the threats of violence he and his family receive. I mean, yeah, the GOP’s feral base wants you dead for daring to place country above party, WE GET IT, DUDE.

Honestly though, there’s just so goshdarn much right-wing violence to talk about these days. If you’ve got the stomach for it, here’s an article on the rise of online Christian fascist propaganda, which introduced me to the term “#ChristPilled,” and in so doing, sent a mighty shiver down my jaded, bathrobed spine. ChristPilled…yikes. Haven’t seen the last of that one.

It was certainly overdue, but the Conservative Party in Great Britain finally initiated the ritual defenestration of Boris Johnson, over his loutish incompetence and general asshattery, and I haven’t felt such anglophilic envy since I discovered the Stone Roses in college.

Ok, that’s enough for now, I don’t have the strength to get into the shit that’s happening elsewhere; suffice to say, we’re not running out of awful.

Incidentally, next week’s blog is gonna be delayed till Saturday, owing to a rare opportunity to spend my Friday doing something more fun than sifting through the turds that fall from Tucker Carlson’s mouth. Stay safe out there, friends.