At the risk of repeating myself, adjudicated rapist/GOP presidential nominee Donald J. Trump spent the week napping through his felony trial, though rumors of farting in his sleep are just rumors and democracy dies in darkness so we must assume he is only napping and not necessarily farting the important thing is that he’s COLD.

Him is a sweepy, chiwwy wapist. Poow wapist. Poow authowotawian wapi-okay, I’ll stop.

The point is, we’re dealing with not just a known rapist but a wannabe autocrat. (I confess I am leaning Biden at this point.)

Time Magazine took us on a harrowing, Apocalypse Now But With Cheap Bronzer expedition through the eighty-eight remaining brittle neurons that constitute the Dotard’s almost visibly deteriorating brain, and what conclusion could you possibly draw but…the horror?

The closest thing to a coherent ideology amounts, more or less, to “whatever the weirdos who show up to the rallies want so long as I stay out of prison and also nobody ever gets to tell me no and Daddy finally admits I’m not a loser and maybe says I love you just once real quiet nobody else would have to hear or anything.”

Turns out, during those long courtroom naps, the sloppy old fop’s been dreaming of deploying the military to conduct mass deportations. Of detention camps. Of granting Christofascist wet dreams like allowing the state to monitor pregnancies in case any of those uppity sluts/whores/jezebels get to thinkin’ they possess some sort of inalienable right to bodily autonomy or somethin’.

This power, and more besides, must be granted to a man whose body is no longer capable of executing basic commands like Pronounce the Word “Infrastructure,” even with all the extra rest he’s been getting. He requires absolute legal immunity, partly for the fascism, but mainly for what he’s got planned if he ever gets those tiny, inadequate hands on whoever’s responsible for the thermostat in that courtroom.

At any rate, the sleep-farting God Emperor requires nine thousand more of your dollars, rubes, to pay the fines accrued for pathologically violating that gag order. You don’t even get an NFT this time, just the thrill of participating in a cornered thug’s latest attempt at witness intimidation.

Oh, and if anybody knows of a good accounting firm, the one Trump Social was using just got charged with fraud. Or a good lawyer, all of his are either attempting to withdraw, facing disbarment, or testifying against him while he naps.

Spinning off from the smash hit porn star hush money trial, Nobody Liked Michael Cohen debuts on C-SPAN this July. According to the press release, it’s “a zany political thriller/comedy of errors, depicting a sordid criminal conspiracy perpetrated by an immense cast of malicious galoots, seen through the eyes of the guy who somehow managed to be the biggest scumbag in the room.”

I guess Hope Hicks got sad on the stand because her boss committed so many crimes in front of her. It was always gonna end up in either the courtroom, or a thousand-year Reich, Hope, and since we’re talking about a guy who bankrupted a casino, well…

Sipping a room temperature Capri Sun, Bill Barr couldn’t repress a fond chuckle, reminiscing upon those heady days when Off-Brand Orbán would stumble about, hopped up on an Adderall/hydroxycholorquine cocktail West Wing staffers took to calling “Rudy’s hair dye,” ordering the executions of whoever had bruised his fragile ego last. Well I certainly understand why you’d endorse such a fine, upstanding fellow for President, Bill.

The puppy execution scandal roiling the Republican veepstakes finally filled the schadenfreude void that opened when Ron DeSantis slunk back to Florida. God bless Kristi Noem. Bless her dented, leaking brain, and the decisions she makes with it.

She truly believed this tale of puppicide would launch her national political career, leading perhaps all the way to the White House. And I get the thought process, frankly. The cruelty, as wiser folk have observed, is the whole dang point. Republican voters want cruel candidates. Candidates who will harm their percieved enemies. Candidates who would execute their smug libtard neighbors’ pets, perhaps, but not their own.

Still, the Cricket Had it Comin’ media tour has been can’t-miss comedy. I fancy myself a joke writer, but no man-made gag can compare with the natural beauty of this magnificent flameout colliding with Kimberly Guilfoyle’s promotional tour, for her children’s book…about a dog. That’s just God showing off.

“Hey, maybe it was a plot by deep state editors to make people THINK Kristi Noem executed a puppy when she really didn’t,” mused Kimberly Freaking Guilfoyle of All People, as Noem frantically concocted ever wilder tales to justify her crime.

The dog was putting rainbow fentanyl in the children’s Halloween bags, you see. Anyway, the whole thing was staged, in front of Kim Jong-un, to intimidate him into never fucking with America cuz we’re all puppy-killing psychos, and looking around, I think you have to admit it worked. Kristi’s the whole reason you’re not speaking North Korean right now.

I hear Paul Gosar is kinda fiddling with a story about this dentist that offs beagles with novocaine, but he’s not sure if it’s a novella or a podcast yet.

A bipartisan group of lawmakers came together as the Congressional Dog Lovers Caucus, proposing billions to fund an Underground Railroad-like endeavor to evacuate all canine life from both Dakotas just to be safe, sorry Doug Bugman or whatever your name is.

Even Willard got his weekly one-liner in. Could pointing and laughing at Kristi Noem unify our broken nation? We need to be asking ourselves these tough questions, friends.

Here’s another one:

When Ron DeSantis bends the knee, are there like, lifts in the knee pads?

I think Marjorie Taylor Greene liked things better when the Speaker of the House slept curled up inside a matchbox she kept in her bedside table. Now she’s all mad the uniparty vetoed her plan to replace the Whatchamacallits in the Capitol rotunda vending machines with individually wrapped bologna slices, so she called a press conference, alongside the guy Jacob Wohl said was banging Elizabeth Warren, a pet rock allegedly containing JFK Jr.’s soul, and Thomas Massie, to announce plans to waste a little more of everyone’s time next week. No wonder she’s making so many friends.

I guess Kevin McCarthy finally found a champion to defend his honor in the arena against Matt Gaetz, or at least to primary the little creep. I know we’re focused on Ukraine right now, but I’d hate to see this particular circular firing squad die down for lack of ammunition. If nothing else, somebody toss these two a single, rusty fork.

Seems Texas Congresscreep Troy Nehls may’ve stolen an itsy bitsy teenie weenie yellow polka dot bit of valor. Gosh, and he seemed so honorable. Except for that time he got fired from that police department for “20 violations in just over a year, including destroying evidence, making an improper arrest and disobeying orders,” of course. Oh, and that time he participated in that plot to overturn that one presidential election.

Arizona Republicans selected a freshly indicted fake elector and a QAnon-spewing former state representative who was expelled from office for ethics violations to represent them on the RNC, where they will play tambourine and go-go dance in Lara Trump’s blasphemous Tom Petty cover band, while also attempting to end democracy in the United States.

Vivek Ramaswamy says the Founding Fathers are waiting in the afterlife to judge us, and I’m not gonna lie, that sounds kinda hot. Suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to get somebody to handcuff me to the bed, put on a powdered wig, and read me Thomas Paine till I beg for mercy.

Speaking of politically themed sex acts, I just read the headline “J.D. Vance Goes Full Memory Hole With Claim About Mike Pence On Jan. 6,” which conjured an image that’d make Hieronymus Bosch slap me. Regardless, as one of the GOP’s most craven Trump enablers, Vance doesn’t deserve to get “memory holed,” whatever that may entail, ever, even if he pays for it.

According to the Wall Street Journal, the culture on RFK Jr.’s potentially world-wrecking spoiler campaign runs a little on the “cultlike” side. I refuse to believe it. The blithering anti-vax kook attracted a small army of malcontents with emotional problems? Gosh, I thought I knew a thing or two about human nature, but…I’m gonna have to really rethink some stuff, y’know? “Cultlike.” Golly.

Mega-smart super-genius Elon Musk finally reversed the historic failure of his disastrous acquisition of Twitter; turns out all the joint needed was one more yapping Nazi incel, and now that Nick Fuentes has his platform back, it’s literally raining money. I’ll leave you to the long line of advertisers begging to be taken back, Mr. Genius, sir.

Young Nick’s getting normalized all over the place these days, if his boasts about infiltrating Charlie Kirk’s brownshirt bureaucrat temp agency are to be believed. You know, it might be a good idea to keep the American Right away from the levers of power for a spell.

Actually…y’know what? I’m finally convinced. Longtime readers would characterize this blog as staunchly anti-Trump, but somewhere around the eighth or ninth time he waddled out to whine about the temperature, I finally saw a personality worth building a cult around. It’s suddenly so clear to me: IT’S TOO COLD. Only by warming this one specific rapist can we hope to restore American greatness.

And if I’m gonna go MAGA, I’m gonna need EVEN MORE BEER, to kill off all those brain cells. You can fund my descent down the evolutionary ladder by throwing a few bucks in the tip jar, (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, and Venmo!) or you can join the email list at showercapblog.com or follow @john_luzar over at Elon’s Distressingly Fashy Playland, where all the hugs are free. See ya next week, chums…stay safe till then.