Despite my nigh hourly ritual sacrifices to the God of Cankles, I confess I’m glad he lived to see all these new polls about how much better Joe Biden was than the pathetic loser who replaced him.

Heh.

Bet that stings when you’re an aging narcissist with health problems.

You can structure your whole life around receiving made-up trophies from industries you’ve economically blackmailed, but when you’re the biggest, most despised fuckup alive and also irredeemably addicted to cable news, it’s tough to hide from negative feedback.

WHADDYA MEAN? DIDN’T THEY SEE WHERE I PUT A PICTURE OF AN AUTOPEN IN HIS SPOT IN THE HALL OF PRESIDENTS? And then he tries to throw a bottle of ketchup at the wall, but he’s too weak now, so it lands on the carpet four feet away with a barely audible fart noise that starts another wave of rumors that he shat himself, plus Susie has to reapply the hand makeup that covers up the ever-expanding necrotic splotch.

Yes, the L’s are starting to pile up. Not only did Gruppenführer Homan beat a hasty retreat from occupied Minneapolis with nothing to show for the incursion but historic disapproval levels, but the Dotard himself is losing ground in the dipshit attention economy to some blithering doofus who quite literally hits himself in the face with hammers. And at that last cognitive screening, he was pretty sure that drawing was of a Heffalump, but Dr. Ronny chuckled so nervously…

How’s an aspiring tyrant supposed to persecute his enemies with Jeanine Pirro’s dance photographer pal from the Tuesday afternoon boxed-wine-and-mah-jongg club prosecuting the case?

Sounds like some sort of Mirror Universe Legally Blonde sequel, doesn’t it? Elle must guide an adorably stubborn orphan tomboy through a makeover in order to win a dance scholarship while simultaneously crafting comically labyrinthine courtroom arguments designed to bamboozle a grand jury into depriving Dear Leader’s enemies of their constitutionally guaranteed rights.   

The Congressional Subcommittee on How Pam Bondi is Trash held a public hearing to raise awareness of how much even one year of service in Donald Trump’s cabinet can rot a human soul. Pam Bondi’s soul is like those lungs they show you in middle school to scare you out of smoking.

Reviews of Bondi’s tantrum tended towards the negative, but I think she deserves credit for refraining from chastising the Epstein survivors over their frankly conspicuous lack of gratitude for the stock market.

Greenhouse gases are no longer bad, and are in fact part of a balanced breakfast now, according to the latest American institution to succumb to the current corruption: the Environmental Protection Agency. All federal employees working on climate change have been reassigned, mostly to posts applying crude oil to marine wildlife as reparations for cleaning past oil spills.

Evolutionary biologists were stunned to discover long-dormant self-preservation behaviors in a handful of Republican Congressmen who voted to oppose one of their idiot manchild leader’s more destructive policies: the tariffs, which cost the average American household a thousand bucks last year.

In my day, a threatening tweet guaranteed caucus-wide acquiescence; now some of these jokers’re getting the idea that they work for their constituents? Shoot, has anyone even bothered showing up at Massie’s place with a hammer?

I suppose it’s hard to muster the old homicidal fury when the God Emperor keeps sending such mixed signals. Tariffs on steel and aluminum turned out to be exactly as suicidally imbecilic as the economists warned, so we’re walking those back, but the other tariffs are smart and effective and making lots of people rich, just not you or anyone you know.

If you take his tariffs away, presidenting won’t be any fun at all. Where else can such a petty bish find the instantaneous gratification of jacking up rates on a whole-ass country because the Swiss Prime Minister’s tone displeased him?

(“Switzerland doesn’t actually have a prime minister,” mewl the critics, who’ll be sent to reeducation camps as soon as Jeanine’s Pilates instructor works out some kinks in his new legal theory.)

Maybe he can get the same kick from shutting down bridges. Yeah, so, Canada built this bridge to Michigan, paid for it and everything, and instead of enjoying the economic benefits of a new bridge, we’re holding the opening hostage until Canada agrees to become the 51st state or at the very least make his birthday a national holiday.

They promised shock and awe. They promised the clear, resounding voice of Real America. They promised nothing less than Culture War D-Day. What they achieved was arguably more impressive, though admittedly counterproductive to all stated goals.

How does one even manage to wind up in a lip-synching scandal when one has prerecorded one’s show? Historically, the time between recording a performance and broadcasting it has offered the opportunity to correct at least the largest mistakes, but such things must not even occur to the kakistocrat, who is perhaps incapable of even imagining basic competence.

Now Kid Rock’s sad, flaccid MAGApalooza festival has been canceled due to toxic levels of loserstink, such was the rout of the Battle of Halftime. You probably saw Megyn Kelly stumbling around the field with that thousand-yard stare, feverishly muttering that she was “so sure speaking Spanish at a football game was unconstitutional.”

Now House Republicans hope to devote their dwindling days in the majority to investigating the honorable Mr. Bunny’s many crimes, which include “widespread twerking,” “explicit displays of gay sexual acts,” and “making our guy look like a carny who cooks cut-rate meth on the side in comparison.”   

And I can’t help wondering, looking at the ten thousand rake marks on poor, dumb Jimmy Comer’s forehead…how is it possible that any of these guys still think they can pull off a congressional hearing? Y’ALL CANNOT SUCCESSFULLY BROADCAST A QUARTER HOUR OF PRE-TAPED KID ROCK CONTENT.

These things are too hard for you because ALL THINGS ARE TOO HARD FOR YOU.

If you discover a civil war erupting in your organization because a not insignificant number of your employees have fallen under the sway of Candace freakin’ Owens, you’re not incubating the leaders of tomorrow. Okay, the night shift managers who have to register as sex offenders of tomorrow, maybe.

Under kakisto-fascism, staffing is…hooboy, NOT a small issue. It’s like if a sewage treatment plant had a reverse setting.

And you can’t fire anybody, because at this point, any replacements higher on the evolutionary ladder than banana slugs’re gonna 25th Amendment the old man before lunch, so I guess we’re stuck with Kristi n’ Corey making the beast with two dipshits in the back of that private jet us taxpayers paid for.

And Secretary Funsoxx gets to sever the Pentagon’s ties to Harvard, cuz you don’t want any nerds around when you’re warfighting. They’re always bringing the vibe down with woke shit like telling everyone how much the jets you lost in the ocean cost.

The Health and Human Services Secretary used to snort cocaine off toilet seats, information he volunteered to the public in order to explain his lack of fear of germs. Maybe we’re lucky that only measles is back, y’know? If you got a CNN push notification that said there’s bubonic plague in Mississippi now, would you even blink?

There’re plentiful opportunities for advancement within the Reich, provided you’re one of the very worst people alive. Why, after just a few short weeks of infusing the Labor Department’s social media feed with white nationalist dog whistles, 21-year-old Peyton Rollins got plucked to troll on behalf of the whole dang Department of Homeland Security.

A whole ‘nother gaggle of geniuses in our overfunded border security apparatus caused a nifty little national security panic, shutting down the airspace over El Paso by mistaking a cluster of “party balloons” for a cartel drone and firing an experimental laser weapon at it. Which, if the Stranger Things kids did that, it’d be kinda cute. Hits different in real life somehow.

They’re trying to get this sloppy wad of white mediocrity called “Jeremy Carl” confirmed to some post at State that DOGE forgot to eliminate, but he simply cannot repress his deeply held affection for the mega-racist white replacement theory, even at his confirmation hearing.

Democratic Senators are all, “So, white replacement theory, huh?” and Jeremy goes, “Totally. It’s my favorite replacement theory, probably,” and suddenly even a rubber stamp like Utah’s John Curtis discovers the will to defy a decaying old man who once hosted a reality television competition.

I am here for every inch of the And Fall portion of the program. Whatsamatter, can’t the big, scary fascists keep one itty-bitty rainbow flag down? Why, it’s almost like all of you put together ain’t shit. Like the entirety of your movement, from the Oval Office down to the loneliest weirdo dry-humping his Trump Bible, is worth less than your weight in rat turds.

Pardoned Capitol rioter Andrew Paul Johnson is headed back to prison for molesting children, because Trumpism isn’t just for elite pedophiles, no matter what the haters say. They don’t all have private islands, y’know. Why, Andrew Paul had to invent a fake government settlement just to attempt to buy his victim’s silence.

Incidentally, Ghislaine Maxwell will gladly absolve you Tuesday in exchange for clemency today. I think they should try it, honestly, if only because I believe God will finally strike Mike Johnson down when he defends it.

President Rapist would very much like the public to move on from the Epstein story, but I think we should continue our journey towards the Donald Trump No Longer Gets What He Wants portion of American history. Tell the algorithms that’s the content for me.

L’s for fascism and craft beer — that’s what I want from 2026. You can help out with the beer part via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal, if you’re so inclined. Otherwise, sign up on the email list, follow @john_luzar, and stay safe out there, old chum…