Wow, what a super-fun week for left-leaning news junkies! You’re probably expecting the next CNN push notification to read, “You shoulda gotten that thing on your back checked out six months ago, oh well; also, your parents always considered you a disappointment.”

Been a bit GRIM of late, huh? On occasion? Here n’ there? All our already-exhausting struggles seem t’be getting harder. On the bright side, the blood, toil, tears and sweat buffet is open 24 hours now, so that’s nice.

Ah, fuck it. Shitty week. There’ve been a few. There’ll be more. Rip off the bandaid, says I.

So grab yourself a beer, or a joint, maybe a candy bar, something at least mildly unhealthy, I dunno, text an ex you never got over, give in to some dark urge, is all I’m saying, you deserve it, for keeping your eye on the ball during such baaaaaatshit times. I mean, don’t do anything that’d land you in a Todd Solondz film, a cupcake or something.

And let us bear witness.

Where to begin?

Oh, right. That.

As you may’ve heard, everybody’s favorite gang of grifters, theocrats, and sex pests took that 6-3 SCOTUS majority Yertle n’ Donnie stole on their darkest joyride to date. Turns out, when you’re a star, or at the very least a President belonging to the same party as the financiers of Clarence Thomas’ lavish lifestyle, they let you grab all sortsa shit.

So I guess we’re officially elevating Off-Brand Orbán beyond the reach of the law now? Okay. That is certainly…a choice.

I fear in a restored Turd Reich, nary a West Wing mattress tag would be safe. To say nothing of Liz Cheney. Hell, at a certain point, they may even get around to peeking under luchador masks.

Honest to God, how many quarters do you have to shove up your fucking nose to hand Donald J. Trump (the “J” stands for adJudicated rapist) a constitutional blank check? He commits so many crimes already, you guys.

…well, perhaps that will teach you peasants not to criticize Mrs. Alito’s traitor flags.

The visibly deteriorating doofus who absolutely must be granted these limitless criming powers thinks electric airplanes plummet to presumably fiery dooms whenever the sun’s not out, by the way, kinda like how he thinks magnets break when they get wet, so we’re obviously gonna need some clarifications from Chief Justice Roberts n’ friends…like, can he legally mandate bleach chugging? Excuse me, “disinfectant injection?”

…and somehow it’s the other guy’s cognitive ability we’re talking about, because of how fair life is. While the aforementioned rapist giddily tests the limits of his newfound impunity. Again, on account of all the fairness.

I suppose we should be grateful the subpar supremacists who would rule over us’re still willing to allow a more-or-less “bloodless” revolution, (no need to get your knickers in a twist over every little hammer attack, libtards) but all things considered, I think I’d rather hang the electoral millstone of the mad, fashy planz they were dumb enough to commit to writing around their dorky, Nazi necks.

Honestly hard to blame ‘em for moving their platform-drafting process behind closed doors. Who wants the Lügenpresse around while you copy/paste from Project 2025?

Even the Dotard himself is now frantically backpedaling away from that freaky little doc, mostly for spoiling the surprises he had planned for his day one dictatorship. “Oh pay no attention to the legion of weirdos lining up to staff the concentration camps!”

Dunno about that, champ. Gettin’ pretty hard to ignore, frankly.

The Republican candidate for Governor of North Carolina, “Pastor” Mark Robinson, struck death cult branding gold this week, and I’ve no doubt we’ll be seeing his catchy new campaign slogan, Some Folks Need Killing, upon many a made-in-China red ballcap, in many a riot to come.

“Some folks need killing.”

On the campaign trail. From the stump. In a fucking church, in fact. As a policy proposal, it seems unwise, but I’m sure the Roberts Court would uphold it.

In a desperate attempt to free herself from the political doghouse, Kristi Noem took a feeble shot at Vice President Harris, but that dog won’t hunt, not in the dog-eat-dog world of the MAGA veepstakes. No, I’d have to say the Governor is…(Dr. Evil finger take) barking up the wrong tree?

Congratulations to Dug Bugman, you finally earned enough punches on your telegroveling rewards card to redeem for your big Politico profile! Sure, it’s mostly about what an obsequious sellout you’ve become, but worry about history’s verdict later, Dug!

Seems Indiana Congressdolt Victoria Spartz earned herself a criminal charge, for she could not bear to be parted from her beloved firearm for e’en the duration of a single flight. Look, in Spartz’s line of work, you just never know when you’ll be called upon to assist the lynching of a disloyal Vice President, or fend off a carpetbagging colleague’s wandering hands during an otherwise pleasant evening of musical theatre.

Forgive me for staring, UK, I just couldn’t help but ogle your peaceful transfer of power this week. Anyway, once the celebrating dies down, I think you might find some of us’re willing to revisit the whole “price of tea” issue, among others.

It’ll be a shame if David Cronenberg doesn’t direct the inevitable RFK Jr. biopic. It writes itself: maniac runs world-wrecking spoiler campaign, whilst unsuccessfully battling cranial parasite’s cravings for dog flesh. (Or possibly goat flesh.) Don’t suppose anybody’d be down for pinning a sexual assault allegation or two on the ol’ brainworm, by any chance?

Amidst all the GRIM, I do hope you took a moment to appreciate the latest moist, mushy bounce of Rudy Giuliani’s spectacularly satisfying fall from grace, it was a good’n. Traitors don’t get disbarred every day, y’know. I’d drink to that even if I wasn’t looking for excuses.

…but since I am, may as well toast the pitch black timing of that nihilistically narcissistic Voting Is Like, Dumb n’ Stuff editorial the New York Times picked this of all weeks to publish. Ah, however did we find ourselves so far up shit creek, with the steady hand of our media gatekeepers guiding the discourse?

Speaking of which, I suppose it’s just about time for me to return you to this generally stress-free moment in American history, brimming with fun, fun gossip about this awesome pickle we’re in.

Poor, dumb Kevin McCarthy did his best to join the dogpile, but since he’s Kevin McCarthy, he figured out a way to fuck it up:

“One time, during one of the many negotiations where he took me for everything but the fillings in my teeth, Joe Biden offered me a cookie, as a sort of consolation prize for achieving the summit of political power only to succumb to my own insurmountable lack of ability, anyway, I totally shoulda hung onto that cookie, I bet the pawn shop down the street’d give me fifty bucks for it.”

Cool story, bro. Were there free cookies at the party after you didn’t oust Nancy Mace in her primary? I suppose if serial failure begat any humility at all, you wouldn’t be a MAGA Republican in the first place.

Okay, that’s what I’ve got. I guess we both have to go back to worrying about Joe Biden’s age now, sorry. My own sources tell me the President is pounding Werther’s Originals in order to stay awake through a 24-hour Murder, She Wrote marathon, but thank God, I’m just a drunken loudmouth in a bathrobe, making shit up for yuks.

And I wouldn’t be able to do that without beer. And beer costs money. You can probably guess where this is headed.

…to the TIP JAR, which I have rather roguishly styled as my BEER FRIDGE, (now accepting Cash App, Venmo, AND PayPal!) as part of my adorable-if-abrasive “Shower Cap” persona. I don’t actually have a drinking problem, I promise, though it’s always sweet when someone reaches out to express concern. Honestly, I don’t really wear the mask & bathrobe much either, except to church, because I like to be both comfortable and anonymous when I’m finding out which folks need killing.

(I also gain desperately needed validation whenever anyone joins the email list at showercapblog.com, or follows @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke. And those things are free!)