February 28, 2020

Further Thanks, Further Apologies (Ferret/Shower Cap)

My friends,

Thank you so much for you very kind words in response to yesterday’s post. I can’t express how much that outpouring of support meant to me. I have the best readers a fake superhero could ask for.

Regrettably, real life keeps coming between us this week. My very beautiful, very old, cat’s health took an extremely sharp turn for the worse this morning. I’ve spent much of the day at the animal hospital and will be returning there shortly; they’re keeping her overnight and running a bunch of tests. I’m hopeful, but we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. 

Unfortunately, this has interfered with my ability to deliver tonight’s promised blog entry. Assuming life leaves me the hell alone for a bit, I plan on resuming the blog Monday. 

Thank you for your understanding, and spare a thought for my small grey friend if you’re able.

- Cap 

http://showercapblog.com/further-thanks-further-apologies/

February 27, 2020

A Little Apology, and a Lotta Gratitude (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Hey folks,

I want to do something a little different tonight.

So yeah...first let me apologize real quick for the recent wonkiness of the blog schedule. There’s been some real life stuff, and honestly I’m still trying to adjust to the Dem-primary-driven news cycle; the Republican fuckery that I cover here has kinda faded into the background a bit, especially with President Shitstain traveling abroad.

Anyway, this week, the real life stuff has centered largely around that comic book I’ve been telling y’all about. The physical copies arrived just yesterday, and I’m headed to C2E2, one of the largest comic conventions in the country, this weekend, to see if I can’t get the book in the hands of an editor or two. To finally take the first real steps towards achieving a dream I’ve had since I was a kid; a career writing comics.

And I have y’all to thank for that.

I never planned on having a blog, let alone anything as specific as a Shart Jokes About a Fuckhead Criminal President blog, but after two years and change, I’m mighty damn glad this thing worked out. Because this silly stack of juvenile poo gags has, oddly enough, changed my whole dang life.

Cliff notes version here, a lack of confidence has been one of, if not the single biggest obstacle in my life. I’m sure many of you can identify; that nagging little voice that tells you not to bother starting the new project, or taking the big risk, because you’re a piece of shit and you’ll fail anyway, so why fuckin’ bother? That voice is lying, no-good, turd-gargling, sumbitch, but...boy howdy it sure can scream loud, can’t it?

And it’s held me back for...well, just about my entire life.

Until y’all came around.

I can’t understate what the response to this blog has meant to me. It’s truly amazing what a steady diet of kind words and encouragement can do for a human soul. With each comment, or retweet, or private message, you start to believe, more and more, “hey, maybe I have a lil’ somethin’ to offer after all.” And the voice screaming “you’re wasting your time, loser” finally starts to fade into the background.

So please allow me to thank you for that. All of your supportive feedback over the years (holy fuck it’s been YEARS) has made me a stronger person than I’ve ever been, and frankly a stronger person than I ever imagined I could be. Who knew referring to the President of the United States as a “shartcannon” could have such restorative, invigorating, Chicken Soup for the Fake Superhero’s Soul effects?

Anyway, moving on, the All-New, All-Confident, Me took the plunge, and made the comic, and came to y’all, hat in hand, asking you to support the book via Kickstarter. And I didn’t know what to expect. Y’all don’t owe me shit; I just told you what I’m getting out of writing this blog. I got a transformed life, and now I’m asking for money, too? What a greedy bastard, right?

Going in, I figured I’d be lucky to sell 20 copies, but by the end of the Kickstarter, I had orders for more than 250, mostly from readers of this blog. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your generosity, but again, from the bottom of my drunken, profane, masked-and-bathrobed heart, I thank you. I can’t wait to get the book out to everyone who ordered it. And I can’t wait to start delivering the new Rogues pages and letters some of you ordered.

Ok. Enough mushy shit. I’m gonna get back to the regularly scheduled format tomorrow night, because I’ve got the con this weekend. Beyond that, again, I’m trying to navigate a different type of news cycle, so bear with me if I’m not as regular as I’ve been.

Stay safe out there, Resisters. I love you all!

(If you feel like visiting the site, here you go: http://showercapblog.com/a-little-apology-and-a-lotta-gratitude/)

February 22, 2020

Richard Grenell? We'll Be Auctioning Off Cabinet Posts at MAGA Rallies Soon. (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Folks, we, as a country, are one boiled-ass frog. Today feels like the day, where if you’d fallen into a coma after election night, 2016 (and who could fucking blame you?), and woke up just this morning, you’d wonder how we let everything fall so completely to shit, why we’re not all out in the streets ‘round the clock, demanding our country back. How the goatfucking hell has it come to this?

(Surely at this point, nobody needs to be told that this post can be found, WITH nifty nooz links, at: http://showercapblog.com/richard-grenell-well-be-auctioning-off-cabinet-posts-at-maga-rallies-soon/)

So apparently, in 2017, treacherous Russian Congresspet Dana Rohrabacher visited malodorous cat neglector Julian Assange in his London embassy home, to tempt him with a full pardon from President Crotchrot himself, in exchange for a statement denying Uncle Vlad had anything to do with the DNC hack. Good lord, there’re more turds in the preceding sentence than at sewer treatment plants that service multiple White Castles. It’s a whole row in Dirtbag Traitor Bingo. You rarely see so many assholes in one place outside of a hot dog processing plant. Anyway, in the wake of this revelation of shocking corruption at the highest levels of our government...nothing whatsoever has happened, and Dana is still walkin’ the streets, doing whatever it is ex-Congressmen on Putin’s payroll do with their days.

Watching Rod Blagojevich’s sad little attempt to reinvent himself as a sort of 21st Nelson Mandela Only with Lego Man Hair was good for a laugh, though. Congrats are in order for Rodward, I suppose, for referring to himself as a “freed political prisoner” without immediately getting struck down by lightning. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he’ll probably be in the Cabinet by the end of the year, or that he’d be one of the most-qualified, least corrupt, creeps there?

Jerk of All Trades Mick Mulvaney confirmed the most obvious thing this side of the nose on your face; it’s not just your imagination, the GOP’s apocalyptic screeching about the deficit really does vanish into thin air the very instant they seize power from Democrats. Well, I’m glad we’ve got that out in the open. We’ll all remember this when Dems are back in charge, yes? When we’re trying to pass some legislation that’ll help Americans outside the Republican donor class for a change, and Chuck Todd wags his finger in our faces, chastising us about deficit spending, we can smack him square the face with Mick’s confession until he runs away, crying, “I understand I was never qualified for this job and I apologize for my role in degrading the public discourse!” right? RIGHT?

For those who find it darkly amusing to understand precisely how and why the world is falling to shit, in sort of a reading-a-book-about-where-glaciers-come-from-on-the-deck-of-the-sinking-Titanic kind of way, may I recommend WaPo’s article detailing the manner in which conservatives have manipulated Facebook into transforming itself into a massive right-wing propaganda distribution system. See, because one side disproportionately relies on disinformation, you can’t combat disinformation without seeming like you’re biased against that side, which you must never do for...reasons. Y’know, bothsidesism comes from a good place, it really does, from a place that believes in and desires fairness, but here in the real world, it’s leading our culture to continuously reach out to pet this snake that just keeps on biting us, over and over and over, and I fear we may not learn our lesson until the poison has spread through our entire bloodstream.

Speaking of sinister chuckles, didja see the bit where Donnie Two-Scoops’ favorite ongoing grift, the one where We the People Chumps pay him to play golf at his own properties, essentially makes him America’s 10th-highest paid athlete? Yeah, I’ll be snickering like Muttley next time we go through the quarterly ritual where he theatrically donates his salary, as the rubes of Cult45 praise his selflessness, before loading up AF1 for another weekly trip down to Marm-a-Lago, merrily brainstorming new upcharges for the Secret Service. “Oh, you want a pillow to sleep on while you risk your life protecting your petty mobster commander-in-chief? That will be $7,000. Per night.”

Roger Stone started a change.org petition to demand pinstriped jumpsuits and garish top hats within the federal corrections system, because he’s looking to serve his shiny new 40-month prison sentence in style. We’re still in that magical place after the sentencing but before the pardon, when we can fantasize for a bit about living in a country with real laws that matter. It’s a similar thrill to when me and my buddies made Ninja Turtle costumes out of refrigerator boxes and shot videos in the sewers near our house. ”Rich white men facing long-overdue justice? COWABUNGA!”

Today in Direct Assaults on the United States that Republicans Can’t Even be Bothered to Pretend to Condemn, we learned that Russia is once again interfering in our elections, to keep their ugly little dog with his tiny, inadequate, little paws in power here, because he’s done such a fine job of undermining American interests that Putin believes he deserves four more years of that sweet golf vacation money, as a treat. And it’s hardly been a news story, this act of war by an enemy nation.

Moving on to Presidential Cover-Ups of Foreign Attacks That Republicans are Apparently Totally Down With, when the Acting Director of National Intelligence, Joseph Maguire, briefed Congress on this attack on the nation by a hostile power, Hairplug Himmler fired him for (checks notes) doing his job and protecting his country. I know our expectations of Republican patriotism and/or decency are pretty low after the impeachment trial debacle, but I would’ve thought at least Susan Collins would have wanted to break out her best furrowed brow over FIRING THE DNI FOR TELLING CONGRESS ABOUT A FOREIGN ATTACK.

Then, in Seriously Ben Sasse, After All Your Hectoring Lectures on Ethics You’re Really Not Gonna Say Shit About This news, the Marmalade Shartcannon replaced Maguire with, of all his malicious, clownish, stooges, Richard Fucking Grenell, a glorified internet troll with nary an hour’s worth of experience in the intelligence field, a thuggish hack whose appointment screams, “the USA’s entire intelligence apparatus will now serve its criminal president rather than, and indeed at the expense of, the nation.”

Can we seriously not get a single Republican to muster a simple, “Hey, this is sub-optimal?” Some milquetoast tweet from Marco Rubio, condemning the politicization of the intel community’s work? Is it really too much to ask a retiring backbencher like Pat Roberts to stand straight and tall for the first time in his useless professional life, and proclaim “I for one stand with my country, and against her enemies?”

Please don’t answer any of the questions in the above paragraph; doing so will only make you sad.

The clips from Tangerine Idi Amin’s Klan rallies keep getting nuttier and nuttier, coming off like a smug grad school performance artist doing an extremely non-PC monologue mocking your racist grandpa’s descent into dementia. Regrettably, these incoherent babblings, these slurred laundry lists of petty grievances, do indeed reflect the mental state of the most powerful person* alive. A xenophobic rant about the (kickass) South Korean film PARASITE winning Best Picture over all the REAL MURICAN movies, movies about burning your sneakers when Nike put Colin Kaepernick in an ad, appears to be a new staple. No, he’s still not offering plans to improve health care, or infrastructure, or the economy; he’s just riling up a white supremacist hate cult, and you can’t say he doesn’t know how to give his audience what they want.

And the new Shart House personnel head, Johnny McEntee, previously fired by John Kelly for alleged financial crimes and gambling problems, is already positively horny to purge the federal government of anyone less crooked than himself, lest ye think the standards couldn’t get any lower. We’re about six months away from initiation ceremonies where political appointees have to bump off a member of the “deep state” before they’re “made,” and thus able to officially assume their post.

In keeping with the purge theme, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot’s trade adviser, Peter Navarro, claims to be diligently hunting for that wascally wabbit, the anonymous New York Times op-ed writer. I suppose it’s a better use of Pete’s time than doing his actual job, which has so far cost the country untold billions. Ok, told billions, we know how much the farm bailouts have drained from the Treasury, and what the bonehead trade war has cost the American consumer, but sometimes you just have to be a little dramatic, for effect, y’know? I’m not actually even a super-hero. (The beer stuff is all real, tho.)

Ah, a criminally emboldened, increasingly reckless, cabal of malignant dipshits, cleansing the government of the patriotic and the competent, just like the founders intended! I for one am ready for the weekend. And just a heads up, I’ve got a personal life thing to attend to on Monday (nothing to worry about), so I won’t be able to check in next week until Tuesday. But no, you can’t help yourself to the leftover pie in the fridge just cuz I’m not around. It's mind. Get your own fuckin' pie. 

*Well, vaguely-person-shaped, semi-mobile, lump of wildebeest shit, anyhow.

P.S. - Aw, I see Devin “Pigfucker” Nunes, emulating his beloved Turd Emperor, was humiliatingly defeated in court today. Sniff...they grow up so fast! (But seriously, California pork farmers, lock the pens tight tonight, Devin gets aggressive when he’s angry.) 

February 19, 2020

I Beg Your PARDON, But It's Time for a New Blog...Get It? GET IT? (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Hey, everybody, it’s another light one; I’m spending most of my days and nights working on a rudimentary time machine designed to send what I believe will be some helpful, clarifying, specific, constitutional changes to James Madison, circa 1785 or so, cleverly hidden in the form of a racy-if-not-outright-pornographic pamphlet. Like, once I’ve captured J-Mad’s attention with a tantalizing drawing of a shapely ankle, he’ll notice it’s accented not with some lacy garter, but rather very fine text, reading “LIMIT PRESIDENTIAL PARDON POWER, DUMBASS.”

(As always, find this post WITH nifty nooz links, at: http://showercapblog.com/i-beg-your-pardon-but-its-time-for-a-new-blog-get-it-get-it/)

Noted Shoe Design Thief Ivanka Trump was dispatched to Dubai to play diplomat again, because that’s just the sort of thing you have to deal with when you make a semi-sentient shower drain hair clog President of the United States. Not content with the embarrassment she brought upon her country with her mere presence, Princess Grifty praised the autocratic, medieval, regimes in Saudi Arabia and the UAE for their infinitesimal gestures towards expanding women’s rights, even as female activists are brutally tortured in their jails. At least, I suppose, she demonstrated the good taste to save the remarks thanking the journalist-dismembering House of Saud for their contributions to the Trump Organization for a private conference.

A Florida Cult45er is refusing dialysis because the hospital won’t let him take his service animal to treatment with him, only the “service animal” is, and oh how I wish I was making this up, a life-sized cardboard cutout of Government Cheese Goebbels. Y’know, I think about the struggles millions of people face, seeking and often failing to obtain necessary healthcare, and I want to launch this loon into the fucking sun. I stopped taking my security blanket with me everywhere when I was...well, I don’t remember exactly, but it was before prom, anyway.

Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo is leading an effort to eliminate funding for a State Department cultural exchange program named in honor of Christopher Stevens, the U.S. Ambassador killed in the 2012 Benghazi attack. Why, it’s almost as if Stevens and the other Americans who died that day were never anything more than convenient props for a cynical Republican smear campaign, casually discarded once they were no longer useful. Everyone is disposable to the GOP, from Gold Star families to country-western groups to, y’know, the entire working class.

And I see the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits stocked the presidential limo with goat porn and stale fast food burgers, and took it for a joyride around the track at the Daytona 500. Now, in an era when one needs a scorecard to keep track of all the high crimes n’ misdemeanors, this seems like a tiny, barely-even-worth-mentioning story, a blip on the radar, or maybe the radar guy just sneezed on the screen, even. I mention that only to point out that this clearly illegal use of taxpayer-funded resources for a campaign activity would have been, far and away, the single biggest scandal of the entire Obama administration, and Sean Hannity would STILL be screaming about it, today, probably right at this very moment, in fact.

Anyway, I haven’t been able to to keep any food down since I heard Uncanny Valley Centerfold Stephen Miller got married. I confess I don’t like to think about the kind of person who looks into those eerily dead eyes and sees a soulmate, y’know? Miller seethes with such unconcealed hatred that even the clown car comms shop at the Shart House knows better than to put him on television, spray-on hair or no spray-on hair, and that there’s somebody out there broken enough to want to spend the rest of their life in the immediate vicinity of that sickness...oh god, here it comes again, it’s like I’ve never eaten anything but spoiled fish and rancid mayonnaise.

The Genocidal Mustache Symbiotically Attached to John Bolton’s Upper Lip continues history’s least-appealing striptease, batting his eyes and coquettishly implying that while he may indeed be sitting on heretofore unseen evidence that could save the republic were it only placed in the right hands, y’all will just have to wait to find out about it in John-John’s little ol’ bookie-book. Man, fuck this self-aggrandizing maniac. He’s not just fiddling on the deck of the Titanic, he’s setting up a Slip N Slide. Well, sell your books, Murderstache, maybe Hairplug Himmler will let you spend the proceeds in the Gulag commissary.

More than 2,000 former Justice Department officials are calling on Redactor General William Barr to resign, partially because he never fucking starts a new pot of coffee in the break room when he takes the last cup, but mostly for betraying American democracy by transforming federal law enforcement into a blunt instrument for a cheap crook President to wield with autocratic glee, a weapon of horrifying power with just two settings: HELP FRIENDS and SMASH ENEMIES. Man, why is it a power-mad, theocratic, goon like Barr who gets to see his wildest dreams come true? Why couldn’t it be some happy-go-lucky kid who just wants it to rain root beer every now and then?

And oh yeah, the pardons. Y’all, we’ve been misinterpreting the whole “drain the swamp” thing. Yes, the swamp stands for corruption, but we were wrong to assume Strawberry Shartcake agrees with us that corruption is a bad thing. Corruption is his life’s work, his one true passion, the only fucking thing he’s ever been any good at. Drain the swamp, yes, but drain it directly into the public water supply, spray it into the air we breathe, broadcast it in prime time on every channel, until America is one fetid, sweltering, swamp, spanning from sea to shining sea, no need for high-speed rail, just canoes and machetes!

Pundits are racking their brains trying to figure out what this latest wave of pardons means. Is he angling for some unseen demographic ahead of the general election? Paving the way for future pardons, of Stone and/or Manafort? You’re thinking too hard, kids, he just fundamentally disagrees with the notion that corruption is something to be punished, is all. It’s Dirtbag Darwinism, why should anyone face consequences for working the system, or bilking a few rubes? Silly rabbit, jail isn’t for wealthy white folks!

Anyway, here’s a partial list of Orange Julius Caesar’s pardons n’ commutations today: Auric Goldfinger, Rod Blagojevich*, Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase, Gordon Gekko, Michael Milken, Bob Ewell, The Xenomorph from the first Alien movie, Bernard Kerik, Thoth-Amon, Charles Montgomery Burns, Eddie DeBartolo Jr., the kid who grabbed all the Halloween candy from the unattended plastic jack-o-lantern with the sign that said “please only take one,” Benedict Arnold, Hans Gruber, and the Bubonic Plague.

But even today, the news isn’t all miscarriage of justice and overfull litter boxes; an appeals court in North Carolina blocked the state’s GOP-backed voter ID law, on account of how it’s a racist attempt to suppress the African-American vote, and Republicans were all “But that’s the whole point!” and anyway, this seems like a good time to ask y’all to chip in a buck or two towards Cal Cunningham’s campaign to send Trump toady Thom Tillis back to the private sector, don’tcha think?

Alright, folks, that’s all for tonight. I’d wish for more news in order to merit longer blog posts, but I certainly don't want to risk unleashing the Trump-era version of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, y’know?

*Who today became the very first presidential commutation recipient upon whose lawn I have urinated. 

February 15, 2020

How Many Bill Barr Stories Does it Take to Ruin Valentine's Day? Let's Find Out! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

I went to the store to pick up a Valentine for my beloved country, but they didn’t have one that said I Still Love You Even Though a Mush-Brained Fascist Has Been Shitting All Over You for Three Years, so I settled for a card with some orange cat professing to “love you more than lasagna,” whatever that means, but I got plenty of beer, too, so I’ll be okay. Let’s do the news.

(As always, you can find this post, with nifty news links, on my blog site: http://showercapblog.com/how-many-bill-barr-stories-does-it-take-to-ruin-valentines-day-lets-find-out/)

At the rate we’re going, the history books are gonna come with a laugh track. Future generations will surely chuckle at this chapter in The Tragic But Somehow Darkly Hilarious Downfall of the United States of America, as they read, “The once-mighty nation took its next sudden, unexpected, and massive step towards totalitarianism, not in response to an energy crisis or a foreign invasion, but to keep a single, clownish, criminal named Roger Stone out of prison.”

Y’see, when prosecutors recommended a stiff sentence (well, stiff for a wealthy white dude, anyway, it’s not like he stole $40 from Wal-Mart or anything) on account of all those felonies Stone committed, the Candycorn Skidmark leapt into action, which was really strange to see, after all these years of never once lifting a finger to help anyone but himself. Suddenly a new, lighter, sentencing recommendation materialized out of air which smelled suspiciously of overcooked steak farts.

So the entire prosecutorial team quit the case in protest, with one leaving the Justice Department altogether, and the rule of law continued to shrivel up like a houseplant purchased by an over-optimistic college kid experimenting with responsibility. Watching the Manchurian Manchild’s gloating victory lap, as he proclaimed the “absolute right” to command DoJ as his own personal plaything was not my favorite moment of the still-young year; I definitely preferred the Super Bowl halftime show, and also that one time I ate some bad tuna and violently puked for five hours.

Trumpal corruption is hardly a one-way street, of course; while President Crotchrot works to get his buddy Rog out of that prison jumpsuit and back into suits he’s too white for, he’s simultaneously pushing the military to further punish, defame, and generally torment Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman for the ghastly crime of (checks notes) obeying a subpoena and telling the truth. Personally, I preferred the days when we praised folks like Vindman and shunned the likes of Eddie Gallagher, but I suppose honor is out and murderous bigotry is in, I don’t really keep up with the trends anymore.

It appears as though Jacket-Fearing Human Jockstrap Gym Jordan did shed some tears for the victims of the Ohio State sexual abuse scandal after all, assuming you take Gym’s view that the real victims weren’t so much “the people assaulted by a serial sexual abuser, enabled by countless coaches and administrators who knew what was going on but couldn’t be bothered to stop it,” but rather the cowardly Congresscreeps whose political careers would be threatened if word of their craven behavior ever got out. Anyway, fuck Gym Jordan, and fuck every single shitsack who votes for him.

Former Chief of Staff John Kelly took a little break from profiting off of his former boss’ concentration camps to finally criticize a handful of Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot's blunders and crimes, years too late, and if you’re looking for a pat on the head, John-John, you can get in line behind Jim Comey, John Bolton, and Omarosa. I’m sure Cult45’d be happy to pelt you with turds while you wait. Aw, nobody’s on your side these days? Guess you should’ve taken one of the three or four million opportunities you had to take a stand back when it would’ve meant something.

And President Gas Station Urinal Cake is working to gut a scheduled pay raise for federal workers, citing a “national emergency” and/or some sort of alleged “serious economic conditions” as his excuse to fuck over millions of hard-working Americans. This super-serious, super-severe, economic emergency does not seem to be quite so pressing as to necessitate a cut in his weekly golf vacations, or the accompanying transfer of wealth from the U.S. Treasury to his own custom-tailored-for-those-wee-little-hands pockets, oddly enough.

Hey, another fun way the Turdmaggot Administration is choking the Constitution to death right in front of us is that thing where they keep stealing congressionally-appropriated funds from the military budget in order to finance the Big Stupid FailWall Nobody Wants. Sooooo...I dunno who needs to hear this, but if the Executive can respond to a budget passed the duly elected representatives of the people, and just go, “Aw, that’s adorable! Anyway, thanks for the money, we’re spending it however we fucking well feel like, ya wusses!” then we don’t really have separation of powers anymore, we have tyranny. Tyranny by a mouth-breathing dolt with a head full of used cat litter and hatred, which is an unusually undesirable form of tyranny.

Like a dirtbag hipster showing off that brand new, prefaded, Alf t-shirt at the local kombucha bar, Hairplug Himmler is struttin’ around town in those platform shoes the Senate GOP just gave him, you know, the ones that elevated him permanently above the law? Life’s certainly a whole lot easier now that the unshakable sycophancy of his pet caucus has been so firmly established; why, he doesn’t even need to bother committing his crimes in secret anymore! I mean, if you’re gonna unconstitutionally extort the great state of New York, why not do it right in public, on Twitter, in front of the whole world, so you can make Ben Sasse and Marco Rubio squirm a little in the process? Man, remember when we thought of the President as a public servant, rather than a petty gangster, weaponizing the powers of the executive branch for personal gain? We sure were chumps, huh?

Yes, it sure looks fun out there, at Bed Bath & Beyond the Reach of Consequences. You can unburden your conscience, and confess “I sure did send my creepy, incest-y, lawyer to Ukraine to dig up dirt on the Bidens,” but I suppose that would imply the existence of a conscience, so we’re probably dealing with more of a Taunting the Coppers scenario here. Shit, if the State of the Union had been a couple of weeks later, it might’ve been a giddy recitation of every crime Fat B*Bert has ever gotten away with, from knocking over little Susie Brubaker’s lemonade stand in second grade to colluding with Vladimir Putin to weaken and ultimately destroy the United States. (And Republicans STILL would’ve applauded every minute of it.)

Redactor General William Barr sat down for an interview with ABC, during which he proclaimed his incorruptible impartiality, vowing that no political influence would shake the Justice Department’s commitment to independence, no matter the pressure, no matter the length of the unhinged tweetstorm, not on Bill Barr’s watch, bah gawd! Anyway, for his second, contrasting, monologue, he tried a little Falstaff, but he didn’t really pull it off, cuz he’s got the jowls but not the chops, if you take my meaning. If that went over anybody’s head, it was an acting joke, because Bronco Billy is betting that America won’t demand an honest Attorney General so long as they’ve got somebody who plays one on TV.

Back in the real world, Barr continued dutifully doing Donnie Dotard’s dirty work, digging his grubby little fingers into not only the Stone case, but also Mike “the Turkish Delight” Flynn’s. There’s actually enough William Barr news this week to spoil the holiday, and indeed, the very concept of love, forever, so let’s all agree to just eat another layer of our Whitman’s Samplers and move on with our Valentine’s Day.

Susan Collins must be all, “I don’t understand why the President keeps on hacking away at the tree of liberty with that axe I gave him! I told him it was a decorative axe!”

Tragedy struck in QAnonLand, as Deep State Pizzagate Lizard King Andrew McCabe will not face charges for the TOTAL BULLSHIT reason that he didn’t committee any crimes, and not even a pan of Mrs. Barr’s famous lemon squares could convince the grand jury to charge him anyway, just as a lil’ ol’ favor; maybe the rule of law still has a fighting chance after all. So McCabe walks free, no word as yet on potential charges pending against Mrs. Miller*.

And now I see Tangerine Idi Amin is deploying elite ICE tactical units onto the streets of several sanctuary cities, and let me just say that this would be extremely unwelcome news even during a week that didn’t already feature numerous examples of Romero-style-zombie creeping authoritarianism transforming into 28-Days-Later-style-zombie sprinting authoritarianism, but in the current context it feels like a real WHAT THE LIVING FUCK IS HAPPENING TO MY BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY kind of moment.

Well, shit, it’s a (greeting-card-company-manufactured) holiday, so I can’t leave y’all without a little good news. How about we swing by North Dakota real quick, where Native American tribes overcame a particularly scuzzy GOP plot to disenfranchise them? Or how ‘bout the defeat of Medicaid work requirements in a federal appeals court? See? There’s always a little fancy mustard lyin’ around to spice up your shit sandwiches!

And that’s what I’ve got for ya, folks. Hmmmm...I’m so used to pimping my Kickstarter in this space, I don’t know what to say now that the Kickstarter has concluded. So, um...how’s the family? Seen any good movies lately? Uhhhh...yeah, look, I should get going, early day tomorrow and all that. We should have lunch. Soon. Really.

*You don’t get no Robert Altman jokes on Jake Tapper, is all I’m sayin’. 

February 11, 2020

Merely Mildly Manic Monday: A Slow News Day Lately is Like Drinking Diet Bleach (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Y’know, this might be the shortest, lightest, blog I’ve ever written. Since last Friday’s update, the usually-ceaseless onslaught of insanity has been refreshingly mild. It’s been like being locked in a really upscale asylum for a change, instead of the bleak, 1960’s, Shock Corridor kind. The straightjacket is actually comfortable, almost snug, made from a soft cotton blend, why, it’s almost like being swaddled. And taking in the headlines today is merely like being rapped gently on the forehead by a pony’s hooves, rather than the kick square in the temple from an angry horse, like we’re used to. How soothing.

(You can get this special super-short post, WITH news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/merely-mildly-manic-monday-a-slow-news-day-lately-is-like-drinking-diet-bleach/)

I for one am getting quite sick of white nationalist marches, but it seems white nationalists have an insatiable appetite for marching, and they never ask me for permission, so we had yet another dickless white boy parade last weekend, in Washington, D.C. There were no Tiki Torches this time ‘round, though they did wear masks, giving thanks for the hard-learned lessons taught by their trailblazing predecessors, who lost their fast food/strip mall shoe store jobs so the dirtbags who came after them would not need to. Still, it’s odd, that they’re so proud of that white skin, yet simultaneously terrified to show it off in public.

Tom Cotton, aka The Senator From the Creepy Gas Station Down the Road From the Haunted House, is planning for the future! Tommy Boy saw all the headlines about that fancy new coronavirus, and with visions of inheriting the largest, pointiest, hat in all of Cult45 dancing in his little pin head, he said to himself, “say, now here’s an opportunity for some xenophobic fear-mongering!” Future Republican presidential primary debates are essentially going to be competitive hate-offs. Why not go full reality TV, in the spirit of the Velveeta Vulgarian himself? America’s Next Top Klansmen, er, “Republican Nominee!” Who can propose the biggest rollback of voting rights? Who can burn the biggest, brightest, cross? Who can spray paint the most anti-Semitic graffiti in the dead of night, without getting the cops called?

A small group of Republican Senators apparently rallied around a last-minute effort to protect Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman from Shart Garfunkel’s retaliatory wrath, out of respect for the Purple Heart recipient’s long and faithful service to the United S-hang on, that’s not right. Lemme try this again: “A small group of Republican Senators apparently rallied around a last-minute effort to protect mouth-breathing rich boy Gordon Sondland from Shart Garfunkel’s retaliatory wrath, because he’s a deep-pocketed GOP donor.” Yeah, I didn’t think that was right; in the initial version, it sounds almost like Ron Johnson and Susan Collins have principles, so I knew right away something was off.

If you see Rudy Giuliani screeching into one end of a tin can tied to a string, take comfort in knowing that were you to follow that string all the way to the end, the other tin can lies in the halls of the U.S. Department of Justice! Yes, Redactor General Billy Barr has helpfully set up a special “intake process” just for Trenchmouth McIncest's batshit anti-Biden conspiracy theories, and let me offer congratulations in advance to all the actual criminals who will now get to elude justice because law enforcement resources were diverted to investigating the voices that talk to Rudy through the fillings in his teeth.

And I see the Shart House rolled out their annual Holy Fuck You Sure Do Hate People budget proposal. A budget is a declaration of values, or some shit, that’s the saying, yeah? Well, President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster’s values are (still) exactly what we thought they were; to the American people he says Eat Shit and Die But Also Please Gimmie Billions and Billions of Dollars for a Big Stupid Wall as a Monument to My Insatiable, Turd-Spewing, Ego Anyway Seriously Why Haven’t You Plebs Died Yet? The fact that the lion’s share of the proposed cuts would fall on the very voters who installed Hairplug Himmler in office in the first place might have provoked a dark chuckle or two, if I weren’t spending so much time these days vomiting in disgust.

But look, just because he’s proposing draconian cuts to the social safety net millions of Americans rely on and love doesn’t mean Fat Q*Bert’s tiny, inadequate, fingers aren’t comfortably positioned directly atop the pulse of the REAL MURICAN voter! You better look out, Dumbocrats, because while you’re bickering about Medicare for All, the opposition is consolidating the vote where it really counts: the pivotal, swingable, Pete Rose Should Be in the MLB Hall of Fame demographic! Look, while Donnie Dotard has abandoned many of the popular positions that helped him get elected, from lowering prescription drug prices to protecting Medicare and Medicaid, he’s been phenomenally consistent in his pro-cheating-and-stealing views.

Getting back to the Big Dumb Wall for a second, I see the government is now literally defiling sacred Native American burial sites, because hey, new depths of depravity aren’t going to just find themselves, y’know. Never have I wanted more to find a kernel of truth in all those old schlock horror films.

Now that Mitt Romney has demonstrated just enough love of country to tearfully proclaim that it was a hard decision for him, but yeah, maybe we should keep the Constitution and do at least some of what it says, his physical safety can no longer be guaranteed at the annual gathering of frothy ragemonsters known as CPAC. Surely MAGA nation would tear him limb from limb, if only because his mere presence would remind them of the last dying embers of their shame, their decency, and their humanity, and who wants that, especially over a weekend where the whole point is to cut loose and disappear into the hate mob?

But yeah, generally a slow news day. I did pop in on Tangerine Idi Amin’s latest public event long enough to watch him fantasize about expanding the death penalty so he could start stackin’ up drug dealers’ corpses; y’know, like in China. President of the greatest nation in the history of the world, and he’s still jealous of a petty thug like Rodrigo Duterte. Anyway, let me go on the record as formally against giving Donald Trump additional authority to execute people, and also against any moves towards making American government more China-like generally. These people are not to be trusted anywhere, least of all in the vicinity of slippery slopes.

Ummmm...yeah, that looks like basically it. The Oscars seem to have popped a bunch of veins in America’s most racist foreheads, that’s somethin’. The Dem primary is sucking up a lot of the air, and that’s not really what I do in this blog, so it’s been kinda light lately. Bear with me, I may need to make some adjustments, in terms of depth or frequency...I’ll figure it out.

Meanwhile, we are in the home stretch for the Kickstarter for my very first comic book, The Worth & The Cost (https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/worthcost/the-worth-and-the-cost). It wraps up on Thursday morning, so this is your last chance to get in on it! You’ve all been insanely generous so far, and I’m beyond grateful for your help in making this very old dream of mine come true. Can’t wait to get the book home from the printer and share it with all of ya! 

February 8, 2020

Well, the Week's High Points Were Mitt Romney and Joe Walsh, So I'm Ready to Move On, Thanks. (F/SC)

Rough week, Resisters. It’s no fun watching a 400-pound sack of monkey shit take a victory lap, is it? It makes a hyper-gross schlorping kind of sound, and the stench lingers for days. Well, this too shall pass, motherfuckers. Take my hand, and I’ll guide ya through the worst of it.

(As always, you can find this post, with all them nifty news links, here: http://showercapblog.com/well-the-weeks-high-points-were-mitt-romney-and-joe-walsh-so-im-ready-to-move-on-thanks/)

When last we met, we were on the very cusp of Hairplug Himmler’s final State of the Union address, which I confess I did not watch, because I had been blogging all day, and I didn’t want to ruin my evening’s drinking by pairing it with 90 minutes of the belchings and gurglings of a semi-sentient talking turd, forgive me. Anyway, you usually pick up the high points in the following day’s headlines, but Nancy Pelosi robbed President Crotchvoid of his precious publicity with a flick of her queenly wrist.

Yes, between the humiliatingly abysmal, you’re-no-Barack-Obama-and-it-shows ratings and the Paper Tear That Launched a Thousand Faux-Outraged Tweets, the contents of the Adderall-Addled Assclown’s speech (which I’m told was unusually hateful and unusually dishonest, even by his slug-that-lives-at-the-bottom-of-an-outhouse standards) faded away without notice. You know you suck when it only takes four short, sweet, simple, gestures to beat you at your own game.

Some members of the Republican Party, which, I’ll remind everyone, exists for no other purpose beyond helping the Trump family commit crimes, have latched onto the notion that Pelosi is guilty of illegally destroying government records, which seems laughably Orwell-for-dummies at this moment in time, but if we don’t eject these thugs from power, I doubt they’ll require stronger rationales once the show trials roll around. To be fair, as described above, Pelosi absolutely did destroy Fat Q*Bert’s speech in the public consciousness, but shredding photocopies is still legal, even if they’ve got shit all over them. Hope you washed your hands after, Madame Speaker.

Now, the one thing that did break through from the Shart of the Union was the bit where one racist scumfuck gave an award to another racist scumfuck, in celebration of their success in advancing the causes of racism and general scumfuckery. Of course, the Farthuffin’ Fascist corrupts everything he touches, but awarding odious hate-monger Rush Limbaugh the Medal of Freedom? Little on-the-nose, don’tcha think? Actually, it’s kinda perfect, now that I reflect on it. After all, what is Trumpism about except the “freedom” to be an absolute shitstain? The freedom to do nothing with your life except hurt people, and receive not comeuppance but fame and riches?

I guess he also delivered a second crazed, hate-filled, rant, this time at a prayer breakfast of all places, showing off the rot of his soul and the advancement of his metal deterioration, but y’know what? Fuck that speech, too. I don’t see any reason to continue allowing the rage-fueled mouth turds vomited up by a subpar golf cheat to pollute my precious brain space.

And though it was a touch anti-climactic, since everyone has known what the result would be for weeks, the official ending to the Senate’s sham impeachment trial came on Wednesday, and the verdict was...guilty on all counts! Oh, Sultan Spraytan got off, sure, but the Senate GOP caucus was found hellaciously guilty, of violating their oaths, of assisting the coverup of a criminal conspiracy against the United States and its citizens, of pretending the Constitution has a “just kidding about all this shit” clause tacked onto the end, of cowardice, of complicity, of corruption, of leaving the gate to American democracy unlocked overnight so that an authoritarian shitweasel could sneak in and raid the joint. The punishment is the disdain of all decent folk everywhere, and the inescapable, defeated, gaze of the shrunken nothing that looks back at them from every mirror. And hopefully the loss of the reins of power this November.

Among Republicans, only Mitt Romney managed to clear the atom’s-width-high hurdle of Acknowledging the Metric Fuckton of Evidence Sitting Right There in Front of Everyone’s Face, voting with unified Democrats to remove the Tangelo-Tinted Taint Tumor from office. Of course now he’s facing the predictable calls for excommunication and public stoning. Look, I’m certainly no Willard stan, but hoo boy, give me ten thousands Romneys* before a party that gives mouth-breathing dolts like Matt Gaetz and Shartboy, Jr. veto power over the membership.

A new report shows hundreds of asylum seekers deported by the United States to El Salvador have been abused or murdered, and honestly, you have to wonder if everything that’s gone down these last few years isn’t just karma catching up to us.

And the Tiki Torch Parade Administration petulantly blocked residents of New York State from using Trusted Traveler Programs until the state government agrees to conform to Stephen Miller’s wettest dreams and implement his white nationalist deportation policies. Very cool to take these early steps down the path of separate privileges and punishments for red and blue states. Looking forward to having sewage from Alabama pumped directly into my living room** while the U.S. Postal Service intercepts mom’s care packages and diverts the precious chocolate crinkles to David Duke’s house.

The Treasury Department took a quick break from digging a shaft to the very center of the Earth, wherein they intend to construct a vault with twenty-foot thick vibranium walls, in which they will hide Shartolo Colon’s tax returns until the fucking sun burns out, to build scenery for a thrilling new theatrical endeavor from Grassley/RoJo productions: The Sham Investigation of Hunter Biden! I’m starting to understand why folks try so hard to get the fuck out of banana republics, aren’t you?

You’re never gonna believe this, but an internal report from Fux Nooz has discovered that the network has been platforming dishonest people who spread disinformation! AUDIBLE GASP!  It’s like finding a secret memo from your cat revealing that she shits in a box. Still, if even the propaganda-spewing sewage pipe that is Fux has begun to realize “whoops, we did a Frankenstein,” maybe there’s hope that we can get this country back to a shared reality at some point before we fall into a deranged, permanent, coma.

Nobody tests the theory that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” more than deadbeat dirtbag Joe Walsh, god knows, but he’s dropped out of the rigged GOP presidential primary, calling his party a cult on the way out, and vowing to back any Democrat, even a socialist, come November. I guess we’ll call it the Coalition of the Decent Plus I Guess There’s Room for a Handful of Deeply Skeezy Creeps at the Back but Keep Your Mouth Shut and No You Don’t Get to Take a Turn Driving the Bus.

Checking in at the Things Susan Collins is Concerned About But Will Ultimately Enable Desk, Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman has been fired from his White House job, because once your pet Senate majority has made it clear you can run an international extortion ring with taxpayer money, well, retaliating against witnesses just ain’t no thang. The petty crimes will likely pile up quickly now; expect the shiniest exhibits in the Smithsonian to pop up in Bedminster and Marm-a-Lago by summertime.

Shit, the Bonespur Buttplug even fired Vindman’s twin brother, Yevgeny, just for spite. If anyone’s thinking that perhaps it isn’t in America’s national interest to allow a criminal and a traitor to purge the government of principled patriots in fits of vengeful spite, well, the likes of Senators Collins and Alexander have earnestly assured us that Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot had learned his lesson. They’re right, of course, only the lesson he learned is that he’s been elevated permanently above the law by his submissive swarm of sycophantic Senators, and Lamar? Susan? He couldn’t wait even a week before rubbing your noses in the unchecked power you so recklessly handed him. Who could have seen this coming except everybody?

And now I see Gordon Sondland has been purged, as well. For a doddering old man who can’t figure out how to close an umbrella, Government Cheese Goebbels is actually quite a swift learner, when he wants to be.

And Redactor General William Barr has proclaimed himself the sole arbiter of which presidential candidates and campaigns get investigated by the feds, and I’ll bet criminals all over the world are seething with envy at the bloated, subpar, crime lord who has his very own pet Attorney General to block for him. Hey, what good is power if you’re not willing to abuse it in order to ensure you never have to relinquish it, right?

Well, jeez, I feel kinda bad about this one, friends. Ugly-ass week. I’d be down in the proverbial dumps if I weren’t so thankful for all your kind support of the Kickstarter for my first comic book. Check it out, it’ll cheer you up. Well, it’ll cheer me up anyway...you’ll have to wait until it comes back from the printer, but it’ll cheer you up in a few weeks! Just five days remaining! https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/worthcost/the-worth-and-the-cost

*Think of the stimulus to the car elevator construction industry!

**Is this code for “Jeff Sessions is crashing on my sofa?” I’ll never tell. 

PS, I still don’t know what all these hearts are about, but thanks, y’all! It’s very kind!

February 5, 2020

Oh, You Can Have Your Iowa Caucus Results...IN HELL!!!! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Oh ho, and now the madness bleeds over onto the blue side of the field, how charming! I admit, I kinda liked having a little island of sanity to rest my weary head upon when necessary, but no, it’s caucus time, bitches, and nowhere is safe now! Sigh. Let’s do that thing we do.

(And yes, you can find this post, WITH nifty news links, on my site: http://showercapblog.com/oh-you-can-have-your-iowa-caucus-results-in-hell/)

Hot on the heels of the corrupt majority’s decision to magically transform the Senate impeachment trial into a government-sanctioned coverup with a flick of Mitch McConnell’s creaky, reptilian, wrist, the Department of As Much Justice as William Barr Will Allow revealed that they’re sitting on a couple dozen emails about the Ukraine scheme, some of which may even give insight into what was going on in the walnut-sized wad of half-chewed McDonald’s fries Donnie Dotard calls a brain. I mean, more evidence is always nice but the President’s guilt has been established several times over, we just have this nifty system where underpopulated regions like Wyoming and as many as seven different Dakotas get more representation than the places where people actually live, so it’s kind of up in the air right now, whether or not anything actually matters.   

Lamar Alexander, embracing his new role as Lead Republican Bullshit Geyser, trundled out onto the Sunday Shoz to insist Government Cheese Goebbels has learned his lesson, and that he’ll surely think twice about committing any more crimes, or soliciting any more foreign interference in our elections. Lamar old boy, I feel like, in my position as a Drunken Yahoo in a Fetching Mask n' Bathrobe Combo, I should not be lecturing United States Senators on Things That Are Painfully Fucking Obvious, but the lesson he’s learned is that the Senate GOP Caucus is his personal private sea monkey tank, filled with crooks and cowards who will abuse the powers of their office to ensure he gets away with whatever felonies and treasons happen to strike his fancy. He’s dreaming about deploying the Marines to swing states to prevent voting in Dem-leaning districts by now, you useless, complicit, stooge.

Joni Ernst pulled a different disingenuous talking point straight out of the grand ol’ elephant’s ass, telling Jake Tapper that while she most certainly would not be fulfilling her oath to support and defened the U.S. Constitution, the record must be amended to show that she said both “tsk” and “tsk” to the Velveeta Vulgarian’s taxpayer-funded international extortion scheme, because in the end, actions are kinda silly, don’tcha think? WORDS, that’s where it’s really at.

Joni also shamelessly announced her party’s intention to impeach Smilin’ Joe Biden before he even has the chance to steam clean the smell of tanning lotion, hair tonic, and fast food flatulence out of the Oval Office curtains, because the standard is “we’ll burn, bury, or ignore any and all evidence of Republican wrongdoing, but for Democrats? An unsourced rant from some rando posting on 4Chan as QsFavoriteCuck is like unto a tablet Moses dragged down from the mountaintop.” I know I say it a great deal, but fuck these awful, awful, people.

Intimidated by the barrage of ads from Actual Billionaire Michael Bloomberg, Weehands McNodick comforted himself by making a couple of tired, lame, short jokes which frankly wouldn’t pass muster on any self-respecting grade school playground. If he has to stand on a box, Donnie, at least it’s a box of money, because Mike doesn’t have to lie about what he’s worth.

Well, Stephen Miller got his early birthday present, or late Xmas present, or Happy Anniversary of the Day Your Festering Hatred Flash-Fried Most of Your Hair Follicles gift, when Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot expanded his racist travel ban to six new nations, including Nigeria, Africa’s largest economy. It would be cool to have our executive branch acting in the national interest again, instead of ticking off items on the Charlottesville Tiki Torch crowd’s wish list.

Now, after three years of more or less constant bumbling, blundering, and general dumbfuckery, we have certainly learned to adjust our standards for the presidency. No longer do we expect the leader of the free world to, say, navigate a conversation with a fellow head of state without puking on her shoes, but surely even the guy who believes stealth planes are literally invisible can manage to sit in a chair for a few hours with a football game on without fucking TOO much shit up, right?

But no, King Midas Only With Turds somehow managed to turn the simple act of watching the Super Bowl into an Olympic-level gymnastic failure routine. How? Well, he started by sticking taxpayers with a $3.4 million bill, because he apparently can’t take in the big game without maintaining proximity to gold toilets and fake Time Magazine covers, necessitating a journey down to Marm-a-Lago.

Then he disrespected the national anthem, which is, of course, the one true cardinal sin for the American conservative movement, which will now finally begin abandoni-wait, hang on...I’m reading the fine print, aaaaaaand, yes, it turns out that rule is just for black people. I apologize for bringing it up.

And Shart Garfunkel held the traditional Super Bowl Sunday presidential sit-down with that weaselly Hannity fellow. I’d call it a softball interview, but...I don’t actually know the rules, do they give tongue baths in softball?

And then, yeah, he congratulated the champion Kansas City Chiefs for doing such a sweet-ass job representing the great state of Kansas, which, to his credit, is awfully close to where the Chiefs play, but which, in the end, remains an entirely different state than Missouri. It boggles the mind, how the simplest things elude him. How the living fuck do you fuck up a congratulatory tweet to a sports team? I bet if the 49ers had pulled it off, he’d just have shot out that list of slurs John Kelly had tattooed on his wrist, under the heading DO NOT SAY ON TV.

Oh, and he shelled out millions to broadcast the most despised ad of the entire game, a laughable attempt to cast himself as a champion of minorities and a uniter of families. May as well have tacked Ronny Jackson’s health report onto the end, so long as you were half-heartedly gaslighting, Shart-O.

Looking ahead to life after he cashes in the Get Out Impeachment Free Card Mitch gave him for Xmas (scribbled on the back of a corner Yertle tore off the Constitution, naturally), the Marmalade Shartcannon is making himself a lil’ ENEMIES LIST, how sassy n’ Stalinist of him! Yes, he’s looking for some excuse to lock Genocidal John Bolton and his Murderous Mustache away, and fuck him sideways for making me take Bolton’s side. Y’know, future Cult45 rallies will require detailed programs, so the slavering rube mobs don’t get confused while they’re chanting LOCK (target of today’s Two Minutes Hate) UP! “No, bro, we screech at Andrew McCabe later, we’re doing Bolton now!”

The Fascist Farthuffer, in one of the petulant tantrums he’s known for instead of any positive leadership qualities whatsoever seriously not even punctuality, banned CNN from attending a fancy pre-State of the Union lunch. Other networks attended, rather than showing solidarity in the face of this latest assault on the free press, because I guess sometimes you just have to politely hold the door of your own work camp bunkhouse open so it’s easier for the bastards to shove you through it.

So, can we finally stab, shoot, behead, draw-and-quarter, drown, and generally bludgeon the living fuck out of the Iowa caucuses now? And preferably also skullfuck the corpse before cremating it and scattering its ashes across the entire known universe to prevent the Iowa Caucuses from ever, ever, coming back? Not that I have a problem with a system that allows a Tiny Group of Privileged White Folks With Ample Spare Time to decide who gets to contend for the most important job in the world or anything, I just don’t want the future alien archaeologists who uncover our civilization to think we were really this stupid/insane/generally-deserving-of-mass-extinction.

Y’know, it’s not like the Rube Goldberg Democracy Distorting Machine we call the caucus is in any way a necessary evil. We already have a system that works, and works better; it’s called an election. It’s like trying to bake a cake, only instead of sticking to the recipe, you buy six pounds of sand, three mice, and a tuba, and you yell “YEAST” at them while rubbing boysenberry yogurt all over your body; it isn’t going to work, so why the fuck are you trying?

JUST HOLD A FUCKING ELECTION, is all I’m saying. And let me go officially on record as saying so, if only to impress the alien archaeologists.

And Susan Collins formally announced her retirement from the Senate today...she just doesn’t know it yet.

Anyway, I’m drafting this before President Liposuction Clinic Dumpster snarls his way through his last State of the Union speech, but I’m gonna ahead and say he lied a whole fucking bunch, and said a bunch of epically stupid shit, because I’m just fucking clairvoyant.

Ok folks, that’s all I’ve got for ya tonight. Little light, even with the extra day. I’m sure the madness will pick up again soon. And we’re heading into the last week for the Kickstarter for Cap’s first comic book...be sure to get in on that shit, all the kewl Resisters are doin’ it... (https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/worthcost/the-worth-and-the-cost)

February 1, 2020

I've Read 25 Books About America...Fuck It, I'M PRESIDENT NOW! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

Oh, hello! I didn’t hear you come in! I was out back, burying my country. Yeah, we’re gonna do a little service on Sunday, nothing fancy, but bring a casserole or a pie or something. Let’s round up the news real quick, because I have some serious drinking to get to.

(As usual, this post, WITH nifty news links, can be found here: http://showercapblog.com/ive-read-25-books-about-america-fuck-it-im-president-now/)

All hail Jared “the Shart of the Deal, Jr.” Kushner for rolling out his long-anticipated Middle East peace plan! Jar-Jar painstakingly transcribed Bibi Netanyahu’s wettest dreams onto the back of a cocktail napkin, handed it to the other stakeholders, and said “take it or leave it, dorks!” Careful, Jared, if you win a Nobel before your stool-sample-in-law, holidays could get awkward real quick.

Oddly enough, the “plan” was immediately rejected by the Palestinians, but that’s when the master negotiator played his trump card; rising to his full height and unleashing the power of a voice that would perhaps seem commanding in a room filled with marmots, Kushner proclaimed, “I have read five-and-twenty books on the subject of Israeli-Palestinian relations, and thus, by the ancient laws of our forefathers, you must - hey. Hey, stop laughing. I read 25 books! Ok, 19 books and a few pamphlets, but STILL! Do you know how long that takes? A LONG TIME STOP LAUGHING AT MEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

A collection has been taken up backstage at Fux Nooz, to replace all the veins that popped in Sean Hannity’s forehead when he found out Mitt Romney would vote to allow witnesses at the impeachment trial. Erecting even the tiniest speed bump in the Turd Emperor’s coverup highway, in the name of truth, or the rule of law, or even just putting on a respectable show before caving, is now an excommunicable sin for Cult45. Indeed, no sooner was the final vote cast, than Willard was formally disinvited to the annual gathering of rabid assclowns known as CPAC. Party in the Romney family car elevator that weekend!

America has never been more divided, and this week even saw the rise of two competing metaphors for the buffoonish failure of Trumpism via the Big Dumb Border Wall. Countless Americans think the “newly-installed border wall panels blew over in the first strong wind and landed in Mexico, which did not pay for them” story is more fittingly hilarious, while rival factions prefer to point and laugh at the “enormous floodgates, which must be left wide fucking open for months, rendering the Wall completely ineffective as a wall, will be required to keep the Wall from falling over” story. My friends, we must not let our differences tear us apart. Let us join hands, and mock both these failings with one, unified, voice.

Now, Team Treasonweasel’s legal defense team did, in fairness, face an impossible task in the impeachment trial, what with their client’s obvious, documented, guilt and all. It was all fun and games, watching them hem and haw and screech and moan and trip over their ridiculous arguments, until Alan Dershowitz came along with his mega-creepy “The Donald is the state and thus all acts which inconvenience him even slightly are treasons, I’m looking at YOU, Guy Who Designed the Golf Pants That Make His Ass Look Big.” Yes, Alan is looking for a king to crown, declaring crimez aren’t crimez, so long as the criminal views his re-election as being “in the national interest.”

Dersho is always extremely eager to dismiss serious wrongdoing, ain’t he? Wonder what that’s all about? “Surely, if the President decided that receiving a massage from a minor at a known sex trafficker's house was in the national interest, that would be no crime, so long as he kept his underwear on! And actually, if he didn’t strictly ‘keep his underwear on,’ and if there were, say, ‘photographs of him committing sex crimes in someone’s safe’ would that not also be in the national interest? Asking for a friend.”

I see Over-Juiced Prune Wilbur Ross woke up just long enough for some unseemly drooling over the opportunities presented by the coronavirus outbreak to further line his tomb with precious jewels and exotic foreign spices, because he is a ghoul whose heart pumps not blood but viscous distilled greed.

In the midst of all this this apocalyptic, Will Democracy Even Survive news, let’s pause to appreciate the fact that the entire institutional Republican Party has debased itself and abandoned every principle for a drooling manchild who honestly seems to believe that our stealth fighters are literally invisible. Like Wonder Woman’s plane.

Onetime Whistleblower Advocate Rand Paul now devotes himself full time to outing, stalking, and otherwise harassing the alleged whistleblower in the Ukraine affair. Rand wants to out the whistleblower like that one rabbit wants a big fat fuckin’ bowl of Trix, y’all. Rand Paul broke into the whistleblower’s house, opened the fridge, stuck his dick in the ranch, and then left a note on the fridge reading “I stuck my dick in one thing in your fridge, but I won’t tell you which one, Mister Whistleblower Man, HAPPY HUNTING!” Stuck the note to the fridge with the whistleblower’s favorite magnet, a souvenir from REDACTED, too. Ass.

For those who follow the news cycle ‘round the clock, there was a fun little stretch Thursday evening when retiring Senator Lamar Alexander teased everyone that, free as he now is from the burdens of electoral politics, he might just behave honorably and provide a key vote to hear witnesses in the impeachment trial. Lamar chuckled to himself at the futile hopes of the peasant classes, before taking his evening constitutional along the banks of the Potomac, tossing a pillowcase filled with newborn puppies into the river, as is his custom. Tell you what, next time you feel like waiting for Lamar freakin’ Alexander to do the right thing, I’ll wait for Godot, and we’ll race.

Indeed, Alexander busted out the special occasion, artisanal, straight-from-the-doomsday-prep-bucket-he-bought-from-Glenn-Beck salt to rub into America’s wounds, saying, “We don’t need to see witnesses because the House totally made their case; Tangerine Idi Amin did everything he’s accused of, I just don’t give a fuck, and I’m a Senator and you’re not, serrrrrrrrrrrfs!”

To be clear, Lamar’s spin here is that while illegally withholding congressionally-appropriated military aid from a besieged ally in order to blackmail them into fabricating dirt on a domestic political foe does indeed register on the Noot Gingrich Naughtiness Scale, it does not qualify as an “impeachable offense.” See, an impeachable offense would be like if Barack Obama changed lanes without using a turn signal, or if Donald Trump ordered the Air Force to drop a nuclear bomb on Boston. Maybe not that second one.

Marco Rubio took the craven cowardice even further (truly, he is a master of the form, the Da Vinci of Disappointment, the Stravinsky of Sycophancy, the Botticelli of Crawling on his Belly) mumbling something about how just because a presidential crime spree is technically impeachable doesn’t mean the cheap thug president should actually be removed, I mean, what if he LIKES committing crimes and extorting allies? Anyhow, it turns out that the Florida state Constitution doesn’t actually stipulate that their Senators must legally possess vertebrae, so I guess Marco’s safe for now.

But the Gaslighting Gold goes to Lisa Murkowski, who voted against a fair trial because, she claimed, the trial wouldn’t be fair. Seriously. Zombie George Orwell crawled out of his grave and shambled over to her office just to shake her hand for that one. Yes, Murkowski, having spent the past three years observing, and frequently assisting her colleagues as they’ve assaulted the fundamental structures of American democracy with sledgehammers and power saws and, ahem, tiki torches, now expresses shock and outrage that our institutions have failed. Gosh. Lisa should write her fucking Senator.

“Let the Voters Decide (Not the Black Ones, Obviously)!” some Republicans cry, invoking Federalist No 22.65, which states “Oh fuck yea, the President can commit all the crimes he wants in an election year, or, y’know, the year before an election year, or really whenever, so long as your whole party is a hopelessly corrupt flock of traitors.” Anyway, they know their excuses are bullshit, they just don’t care. They have a massive multimedia propaganda-and-smog-spewing machine doing their bidding; millions of Americans haven’t heard a shred of the evidence against Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot; instead, they’re getting fed memes of Adam Schiff’s face on a donkey’s butt or some shit.

It’s not even party before country. It’s Oozing Pile of Festering Pubes Pulled From the Bathtub Drain Plus There’s a Tumor in the Center before country. All available polling, and there was a fuckton of it, showed overwhelming public support for calling witnesses, the kind of numbers you usually only see for secret Beyoncé album drops and new marshmallows in Lucky Charms. These fucks understand they don’t have the will of the majority of the American public; they’re going with other tactics now. Gerrymandering, voter suppression, poll taxes, foreign interference, disinformation campaigns...and there’s no reason to imagine they’ll stop there.

...you’d hate to see, like, the world’s eighth-greatest deliberative body, right? Like, the Lord of the Flies kids have gotta be in the top ten, by the standards we’re using. But the joke’s on you, Republican enablers! Since you’re too lazy to even put a show trial (outworked by the North Koreans? Embarrassing!) actual exoneration is impossible! All you’ve accomplished is getting the stench of Shart Garfunkel’s corruption all over yourselves...and it never washes out, campers. “Trump stooge” will be the lead in every one of your obituaries.

You have to wonder if future generations of Americans will debate the ethics of traveling through time to smother Baby McConnell in the crib, or at least leave some ethics-based children’s books nearby.

And the Bolton leaks just keep on coming, like poo squirts from a genocidal diaper. Tearing down the mile-high walls of bullshit being constructed by desperate Republicans, what we ultimately have in John-John is an eyewitness to a vast criminal conspiracy operating out of the Oval Office, the biggest scandal in American history, and thanks to procedural loopholes and parliamentary shenanigans, Senators are legally allowed to refuse to hear his testimony. NEAT. We also discovered that Pusillanimous Pat Cipollone isn’t just the lawyer for the Hair Club for Traitors, he’s also a co-conspirator!

...I’m still not buying your fucking book, jackass.

But Murderstache isn’t the only one thirsty to testify. Lev Parnas is apparently stumbling around D.C., offering armloads of evidence to anyone who’ll listen, including a recording of him chillin’ with the Marmalade Shartcannon himself, and folks, if a third-rate goon like Parnas can record the President of the United States, the issue isn’t whether the pee tape is real, it’s whether the pee tape isn’t merely the (yellow snow) tip of the iceberg when it comes to blackmail-worthy recordings of the Kompromat Kid.

Brexit was today too? Lordy. It’s the Year Zero of a whole new dirtbag white boy calendar.

And just to take one last dump on today’s turd sundae, I see President Crotchvoid is bringing land mines back. Fucking LAND MINES.

Pretty shitty day, folks, one of the darkest in American history. We’ve known all along the Senate GOP was gonna drive Fat Q*Bert’s getaway car, but it’s still quite something to watch the fucks sell out their country in real time. Can’t say I’m a fan.

So, here we are. We’re the only party that believes in the foundational principles of the United States of America. Fuck, we’re the only party with principles of any kind. It's gonna be one helluva fight, friends. Still, we have literally 100% of decent folks on our side, and that's not nothin'. I dunno about you, but I really feel like kicking a white supremacist hate cult’s ass right now. So here’s the plan:

Take their power away.

Never give it back.

(And if you’re looking for something to help you unwind as you battle for your nation’s soul, why not buy...MY COMIC BOOK? Yeah, it’s an inappropriate time, but I’m gonna shill my shit. Sue me.) 

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/worthcost/the-worth-and-the-cost?