Hey, everybody. Hope you’re doing reasonably well out there, in this bizarre reality where the President of the United States is actively trying to kill you. If he shows up at your door, remember, just throw an open umbrella at him, and he’ll become confused and run away. Anyhow, the news:

President Crotchvoid is likely to feel extra murderous now that Senate Democrats slipped a provision into the coronavirus stimulus bill prohibiting him from getting any bailout money for his tacky-ass golf clubs, or Trump Waffles, or whatever other business venture he’s chosen to fail at next. Shit, even the regular golf grift is on the shelf for now…poor little guy, if he wants to rip off taxpayers during this crisis, I guess he’ll have to resort to stealing wee packets of Splenda from the West Wing break room.

Or maybe the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor is just pissy because, after years of antagonizing our international allies and economic partners, he’s now forced to go door to door, holding out his tiny, inadequate, little hands, begging for the very supplies he deliberately chose not to have produced here, back when he thought he could lie and bully his way out of this jam, as though a pandemic would be just one more contractor he didn’t feel like paying. He’s a walking fable, our Dotard.

Mike Pompeo is certainly helping the international outreach effort, shitting in the punch bowl at a meeting of the top diplomats of the G7, obstructing the issuance of a simple group statement by rejecting the agreed-upon COVID-19 nomenclature, demanding instead that everyone call it the It’s All China’s Fault and Also My Boss Weighs 239 Pounds Virus. The Pompeo tenure will ultimately be a useful experiment, I suppose…I mean, I doubt anybody ever really thought that petulance and bigotry were desirable traits in a Secretary of State, but at least now we know for sure.

If anybody’s happy about Pompeo’s antics, it’s Former Earwig Magically Transformed by a Witch Into a Senator Tom Cotton, who has started emitting creepy, inhuman, noises akin to unearthly mating calls at the prospect of using the outbreak as an excuse to start a war with China. When it comes to conflict with China, Cotton is hornier than a 7th grade boys’ sleepover with their first Playboy. Keep an eye on this creep, he wants to be President himself someday.

The Committee to Re-Elect the Turdmaggot is starting to wake up to the fact that Boss Shart has been providing his opponents so much attack ad fodder he’s probably vulnerable to prosecution for illegal in-kind donations to the Biden campaign. They’ve sent cease and desist letters to television stations airing one particular ad from a Dem PAC, which is, in all fairness, a jackhammer applied directly to the presidential scrotum, and, hilariously, comprised entirely and damningly of the President’s own fool words. They’re even threatening the FCC could yank the stations’ operating licenses, just to drop a few authoritarian croutons on their pathetic whinging salad.

Well, the teevee networks are struggling with the ethics of giving Sharty McFly free air time every day for the disinformation parties he has sinisterly labeled “coronavirus briefings,” because between spreading lies that will get countless thousands killed, and handing their airwaves directly over to his damn campaign, they’re essentially swapping ratings for the downfall of civilization. It’s like, fool me once, shame on you, fool me 17,442 times, plunge the nation into an era of darkness, despair, and death…is it really so much to ask the media to learn this ONE lesson before he kills us all?

Well, the Shart Administration’s EPA flipped the sign on the front door over to “closed,” suspending…um, holy shit…suspending ALL environmental rules indefinitely, allegedly because of the whole coronavirus thing, which of course makes no sense, and in fact now seems like a particularly unwise time to challenge Americans’ immune systems with a fresh load of unregulated pollutants. Another massive giveaway to corporate donors at the expense of us plebs, while we’re mostly just focused on surviving. Deeply evil shit here, folks.

I fear the coronavirus is likely to remain a blue state problem, friends, because while Democratic Governors like Andrew Cuomo, Gretchen Whitmer and J.B. Pritzker have taken the hard steps necessary to contain the disease’s spread, issuing shelter in place orders, the REAL MURICAN leaders are smart enough to treat the issue not as a medical problem, but as the latest front in the culture wars! Alabama’s Kay Ivey defiantly insisted “we are not California,” while Mississippi’s Tate Reeves further upped the ante by insinuating his state was “never going to be China.” Ok, kids, I’ll play. Is your state bigger than a breadbox? I can figure this out in 20, I promise.

You have to imagine some time next week, one of these clods will call a press conference to demand COVID-19 say “Merry Christmas” instead of “Happy Holidays” as it ravages their state’s population. In related news, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis finally found his thumb; it was up his ass.

Whitmer, by the way, tells us that vendors have told her that the Feds told them not to send crucial medical supplies to Michigan, and what a demented little game of “telephone” we’ve played in this sentence. While I certainly hope voters in this pivotal swing state pay attention to the way the President of the United States is working to murder them, politics aside, may I be so bold as to suggest that allowing this sociopath to hand-pick who lives and dies based only upon his whims and grievances is, um, maybe bad. Like, we’re no longer dealing with amusingly pathetic little lies about crowd size or phone calls with foreign leaders gushing with praise; this about a catastrophic shortage of life-saving resources, and a needy, vindictive, madman sitting atop the pile, dispensing and withholding the very right to stay alive like a shitty, spray-tanned, Lear.

Y’know, to a certain extent, you can’t blame Tangerine Idi Amin for his failings during this crisis, in that he’s just behaving according to his deeply fucked-up, hopelessly damaged, tragically limited, nature; I mean, if you lock your dog up inside all day, it’s gonna shit on the floor. But never stop blaming, and never forget his craven Republican enablers, and let’s set aside a special place in hell for the 52 Senators who saw ironclad evidence of Trump’s crimes and betrayals, and refused to remove him from office, inflicting his disastrous, murderous, incompetence on the rest of us. Mitch McConnell, you thought you could handle him, that you’d tamed a monster that eats decency and craps out conservative judges, but now he’s out of control and thousands of us have to die for your arrogance and amorality. You will not be receiving an Xmas card from me, sir.

Ah, it seems like only yesterday when U.K. Prime Simpleton Boris Johnson was bragging to the world about shaking hands with coronavirus patients, well guess what Boris just got? No, not a pizza. Not a PlayStation. What? No, he didn’t get a DVD box set of beloved children’s film franchise The Land Before Time! C’mon, this is easy. No, Boris Johnson did not get…a haircut. Cute. THE CORONAVIRUS, OKAY? He got the motherfucking coronavirus! OBVIOUSLY. Jerks.

Florida Congressdipshit Matt Gaetz, always on the lookout for opportunities to curry favor with the feral assclowns of Cult45, raised his voice in (faux) righteous anger about a tiny sliver of the $2 trillion stimulus bill earmarked for Howard University, a, and what a zany coincidence for a target of Gaetz’s wrath, historically black university.  With a hospital serving as a coronavirus treatment center. Sorry your team forgot stamp WHITES ONLY on the cover of the bill, Matty, but them’s the breaks.

Well, the Marmalade Shartcannon went on Hannity last night (postponing a scheduled phone call with Chinese President Xi Jinping, just to demonstrate his perverse priorities) to muse that this whole “ventilator shortage” thing just didn’t sound right him, and by God, there is no phenomenon in all human history more baffling than Donald Trump’s entirely-unearned self-confidence. YOU FAILED AT THE CASINO BUSINESS, YOU UNBELIEVABLE DUMBASS. The very first fishy life form that ever dragged itself out of the primordial swamps couldn’t have fucked up a casino. It would’ve been all “holy shitballs, it sure is hard to walk around on these barely-evolved flippers, but making money off slot machines and blackjack? Fuck yeah, I can handle that,” so what I’m saying is LISTEN TO THE MOTHERFUCKING DOCTORS AND SCIENTISTS, YOU FUCKWITTED DOORSTOP.

Anyway, after backing away from negotiations with General Motors to produce ventilators amid Jared Fucking Kushner’s concerns that he’d get stuck with a bunch of surplus ventilators that’d just lie around in the corner of the Marm-a-Lego conference room, gathering dust, Dorito Mussolini finally, finally did what everybody’s been yelling at him to do for weeks, and used his power under the Defense Production Act to order GM into production, or as he put it, “Invoke P,” repurposing the command he once gave in that fateful Russian hotel room, that got the whole world into this goddamn mess in the first place. Or maybe he hasn’t actually done it yet, nobody knows, because he is very very dumb, and very very bad at his job.

After years of unprecedented partisan animosity, it was almost refreshing to see everyone, Trump, Democrats, Republicans, Dogs, Cats, Hatfields, McCoys, come together to shit all over Kentucky Congressjag Thomas Massie, who threw a tantrum over the coronavirus stimulus bill, and made dozens of his colleagues fly back to Washington to change his diaper. Since there are now 5 members of Congress who’ve tested positive for COVID-19, this dork’s selfish stunt was extra reckless, but again, being Republican means never having to say “I accept the consequences of my actions.”

Well, despite the Massie Meltdown, the stimulus bill passed. The Velveeta Vulgarian childishly refused to invite Speaker Pelosi to the signing ceremony, because he’s still mad Nancy won’t let him visit his balls, which she has kept in an ornamental thimble on her desk since she mercilessly destroyed him in the late ‘18/early ‘19 shutdown fight. Well, Shart-Shart, if you really needed that tiny, petty, victory, I hope it sustains you for a bit, because if you haven’t noticed, when it comes to your whole “open for business by Easter” pitch, COVID-19 hasn’t been returning your calls.

And no doubt some of y’all are worried about the recent surge in the Candycorn Skidmark’s approval ratings. I say, if the rally-‘round-the-flag effect can’t even get you to 50-50 during the biggest crisis since 9/11, you’ve got problems, Bub. And when the country isn’t open by Easter, and when the consequences of his inaction continue to mount, and the death tolls rise ever higher, we’ll see the limits of going out on television to congratulate yourself on all your wild success.

Yyyyyyeah, rough times, y’all. Um. I hope the President doesn’t kill you. I hope we all get to go to restaurants again someday. I hope, um, what’s the third one there? Oops. AW SHIT SURPRISE RICK PERRY JOOOOOOOKE, CAP OUT!