TheFerret
TheFerret's JournalThe Further Adventures of the Flatulent Rapist and His Loser Death Cult
So I see the Dunning-Krugerest fellow to e’er walk the Earth has decided to refer to his opponent, who dog-walked him so brutally in their one face-to-face encounter that he now curls up in the fetal position, sucking that runty little thumb of his, at the mere mention of the word debate…as a “dummy.”
(As ever, get this post with nifty nooz links here: https://showercapblog.com/the-further-adventures-of-the-flatulent-rapist-and-his-loser-death-cult/)
In a just world, when a blithering doofus who comprehends how neither tariffs nor umbrellas work, who spent years (YEARS) bragging about passing a cognitive test, impugns anyone else’s intelligence, the ghost of Alex Trebeck would appear, to, at the very least, fart directly into his mouth.
Speaking of imbecility and passing gas, the Dotard used a speech in Detroit as an opportunity to shit on Detroit, and possibly in his pants as well. Pretty consistent with the trajectory he’s been on since that trial he sleep-farted through; you remember the one, where he got convicted on all 34 felony charges?
Shucks, he’s deteriorated to the point where even the New York Times has taken notice. Better late than never, since the all but visibly decomposing old fop can no longer navigate a podcast interview without the hosts laughing directly in his face at his decline. Since his Art of the Deal ghost writer says, “It’s long been deeply unsettling to me how many behaviors associated with psychopathy Mr. Trump exemplifies.” Since former Joint Chiefs Chairman Mark Milley calls him “the most dangerous person to this country,” and “a fascist to the core.”
Since he’s apparently remained in regular phone contact with freakin’ Putin. “Hey, Vlad, I was just dropping a line to see how your genocidal war of conquest was going. Still bogged down, huh? Well, if you can hack up some new emails for me, maybe I can do something about that! I, um, guess your get well soon card from the last assassination attempt got lost in the mail like the first one, huh?”
Anyhoo, maybe we can reassign some of the reporters from the summer’s 24/7 Joe Biden Stammer Police beat to figure out precisely what the fuck “Biden circles” are? To ask him, once and for all, just who he imagines “the late, great Hannibal Lecter” is or was?
Though his handlers have prudently kept him away from military cemeteries of late, Off-Brand Orbán still manages to squeeze an impressive amount of desecration into his schedule, defiling a Purple Heart here, a Jewish prayer book there, grinning like a brain-damaged hyena while holding a photograph of a hostage kidnapped by Hamas…projectile indecency is simply second nature to him.
Now, personally, I wouldn’t go around ranting about “bad genes” were the fruit of my loins as staggeringly subpar as Junior n’ Eric, but of course there’s a reason 21st century America’s white supremacists spend their lives snugly cocooned within a disinformation-saturated alternate reality.
…which, and I’m addressing this to the alien anthropologists excavating the blasted remains of our dumbfuck civilization in the surely-not-too-distant future, is how we wound up with a culture that responds to natural disasters by threatening scientists’ lives.
Yeah, meteorologists are receiving death threats now, that’s normal and healthy, right? Might wanna ask the doc about that at our next checkup. Oh, the doctor fled the country after her office was deluged with bomb threats, you say? Reasonable.
The real shame of this, the what-the-fuckest hurricane season since the Dark Ages at least, is so much of the carnage could’ve been avoided. Kamala was totally prepared to turn the weather machine down, if not all the way off, but Ron DeSantis refused to take her call, because he was too busy threatening criminal charges against television stations that air abortion rights ads.
So now the FEMA battalions march through Real America, confiscating Trumpy Trouts from those sheeple too timid to heed Laura Loomer’s call for noncompliance. And we never would’ve learned any of this if Elon Musk hadn’t overpaid for one of the world’s largest social media platforms.
I see Elon’s decided to put in a bid for the most bribable man alive, suppressing stories on Xwitter at the campaign’s request, offering exorbitant, probably illegal wages to swing state canvassers, perhaps even going a-door-knockin’ himself. Of course, should the nation actually fall to this grotesque supervillain team-up, of the guy who bankrupted casinos and the guy who lost more money than anyone in human history, by summer 2025, you’ll find America up on cinder blocks outside a meth lab.
While Musk no doubt amasses a bonesaw dismemberment list in anticipation of having his very own pet president to puppet, he’s gonna have to get in line, and the queue for state-sponsored vengeance gets longer every day: Milley, Romney, Deloitte, (the whole company is to be punished because one employee leaked those messages where JD Vance accidentally told the truth about his future running mate) CBS, (for that 60 Minutes interview Littlefinger was too chickenshit to do) plus whoever blew up Mr. McMahon on Monday Night Raw all those years ago.
Turns out Trump Bibles are produced in China, presumably in a sweatshop down the street from the one that manufactures those bright red baseball caps we use to identify our idiots. I’m assuming “made in America” didn’t make it onto that carefully crafted, grifter-friendly checklist Oklahoma Superintendent of Public Instruction Ryan Walters concocted for his little unconstitutional shopping spree.
So, on the Sunday shoz and elsewhere, a number of prominent Republicans, including Senator Tom Cotton, and the Speaker of the Whole Dang House of Representatives, were unable to answer a question any third grader could: who won the 2020 election?
So I’m thinking it’s time to lower the bar. Forget about policy, we need to know which of our elected representatives believe the Earth is flat. Is the moon made of green cheese? In the case of a “legitimate” rape, does the female body indeed possess ways of shutting “that whole thing” down? (Boy, Akin wouldn’t even merit an above-the-fold headline in 2024, would he?) Do you believe the government controls the weather via space lasers, be they Jewish-owned or communal?
Apparently we need to ask these questions of the GOP’s nominee for Vice President of the United States. C’mon JD, what other objective truths do you deny? You probably think Shane lives at the end, don’t you? DON’T YOU?
Viewers who normally tune in to Jesse Watters’ show for the sneering misogyny and wingnut propaganda got a special treat this week, in the form of dating advice, from the least impressive white supremacist this side of Nick Fuentes.
I guess my worry is that when I’m in the gulag, getting waterboarded, with my testicles hooked up to a car battery, I still won’t be able to force myself to refer to Stephen Miller as a “sexual matador,” no matter how much I may want the pain to stop. Anyway, once you appear on national television with spray-on hair, you forever lose all rights to refer to anyone else as “beta,” that’s on the tablets Moses hauled down from the mountaintop.
Okay, that’s more than enough of that. I do believe I shall now drink until the neural pathway within my poor, beleaguered brain, between “Stephen Miller” and “sexual matador” is bludgeoned to atoms. I shall no doubt require fiscal assistance in this noble quest for sweet obliteration, so feel free to drop a few bucks in the ol’ tip jar, (now accepting, you guessed it, PayPal, Cash App, AND Venmo) because I actually think about matadors quite a bit, thanks to that one Bugs Bunny short.
Or you can share this post on social media, sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com, and follow @john_luzar over at the Bad Place, for free! Stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Say, Why Not Have One Really FRIENDLY Day Instead? (Ferret/Shower Cap)
At the rate we’re normalizing this shit, within five years we’ll be lamenting the commercialization of the official Day of Violence. Your kids’ll come home from school hopped up on sugar from the candy in the lynched Pence piñata, and the whole family’ll gather in the living room, to sip mulled horse dewormer while rewatching all those corny Lifetime specials, where the disillusioned big city girl returns to her hometown and reunites with the (Proud) boy next door to burn down all the ethnic restaurants on Main Street.
(I bet you know this by now, but if you click this link, you’ll be whisked away to a magical land of links n’ shininess; https://showercapblog.com/say-why-not-have-one-really-friendly-day-instead/)
Aw, who’re we to begrudge our proto-fascist brothers and sisters their “one really violent day,” anyhow? One day of dictatorship, one Kristallnacht, bomb threats and half price appetizers during happy hour every other Tuesday, surely that’s fair.
Yeah, shit’s getting downright freaky, here in the closing weeks of the 2024 campaign. In Off-Brand Orbán’s defense, his assessment, that driving millions of brainwashed voters insane with fear and hate represents his best chance of avoiding prison time, is probably accurate.
Faraway caravans are so 2018, now migrants are about to “walk into your kitchen and cut your throat." Memories of playground nicknames like Crooked Hillary and Sleepy Joe seem almost whimsical as he snarls that his opponent is “mentally impaired,” in between rants about waterless restrooms and former hetero life mate Kim Jong-un’s plot to assassinate him.
In such context, Jack Smith’s new filing probably hit the Children of the Candy Corn as welcome confirmation of their Turd Emperor’s willingness to actually commit the crimes most wannabe autocrats only fantasize about.
I suppose the biggest takeaway from the filing was that one insurrectionist shitbag’s “make them riot” line, shocking evidence that the massive conspiracy that lost more than 50 court cases actually accomplished one of its goals.
Anyway, I understand why the Dotard’s wranglers pulled him out of that 60 Minutes interview; aside from their entirely reasonable fear of granting the electorate a second side-by-side comparison with Vice President Harris, he’s certainly colicky enough these days to issue orders more specific than “stand back and stand by.”
Not that his stochastic murder mob really needs concrete direction. Let’s round up a few headlines from our exceptionally healthy democracy, shall we? I don’t really know how to make jokes about this shit, so maybe just imagine Stephen Miller taking a pie to the face after each one:
An Ohio Businessman Faces Death Threats for Praising His Haitian Workers
As election threats rise, Justice Dept. says its options are limited
Philly-Area Republican Couple Threatened After Filming Kamala Harris Ad
…yeah, I dunno, I think they’re gonna have trouble squeezing everything into just one day. (Did the pie thing help? No? Well, I tried.)
Oh, I almost forgot to mention it, but in a second Trump term, in addition to the menstrual surveillance and legal retaliation targeting political opponents, there will be no overtime. Populism sure is wacky.
Well, JD Vance poured himself into his very best skin suit, lewdly cooed “I’d fuck me” to his reflection, and ventured out to play Normal Human Boy for the duration of the vice presidential debate. And y’know what? Since the moderators never asked him to order donuts, he almost pulled it off, but for the stuck hog squeal he emitted upon having one of his racist lies fact-checked.
JD needs his lies like he needs Peter Thiel’s money. Ol’ Timmy Walz really flummoxed him with that exchange on the 2020 election, too. “C’mon, you gotta let me have the BIG lie, that’s Unca Donnie’s favorite!”
In the devastating aftermath of Hurricane Helene, Joe Biden and Kamala Harris rowed from house to house, looting Real Americans’ homes of belovéd family heirlooms to ship to Ukraine and/or undocumented immigrants. FEMA spokesman Notseth Rich proclaimed the disaster “the most successful test to date” of the Deep State’s weather modification technology, though they’re optimistic that as soon as 2035, they’ll be able to target Republican voters in their beds, while leaving neighboring drag queen story hours unscathed.
…that’s what I read online, anyway. One wonders, with our misinformation-mangled media ecosystem, which will have further reach: Trump’s malicious lies about the current administration’s response, or the firsthand witness accounts of his own politicization of disaster relief? Guess we’ll find out November 5th.
Either way, somebody should ask Marjorie Taylor Greene if there’s anything those Jewish space lasers can’t do? Wildfires, hurricanes, no doubt they make julienne fries.
Apparently Melania tried to charge CNN a quarter of a million dollars for an interview, no doubt buoyed by her recent success in extorting similar sums from the Log Cabin Republicans, and while I admire the confidence, you’re probably only gonna see numbers like that from groups fearing imprisonment in camps in the Reich to come.
Amazingly, that merits mere runner-up status to this week’s champion grifter: Oklahoma Schools Superintendent Ryan Walters, who hatched a dorky little plot to steer his nowhere-near-constitutional order for 55,000 Bibles for use in public schools to his favorite celebrity rapist. He’s not gonna fuck you, Ryan.
I see Tom Cotton hasn’t allowed the calamitous unpopularity of the idea to dampen his dream of gutting Obamacare. I’m guessing injuries sustained at the hands of law enforcement while exercising what you quaintly believe to be your “free speech rights” will not be covered under whatever Tom and his fashy friends deign to leave us with, so this feels like a good spot to link to the Tester, Allred, and Mucarsel-Powell fundraising sites.
God will have his vengeance for separating Tina Peters from her precious “magnetic mattress” for the next nine years…according to Tina Peters. Not sure if the abovementioned deity was consulted in Peters’ plot to hack state election systems on behalf of a treasonously deranged bedding merchant, but best brace for a plague of unusually unintelligent locusts, just in case.
Impending Klobuchar belt notch Royce White apparently believes “the bad guys won in WWII,” so I guess Black Nazis are a bonafide thing, who knew?
Tennessee Congresscreep Tim Burchett called George Soros “a money changer of the worst kind,” which I think means he’s extra Jewish.
Somehow, despite the normally foolproof strategy of betting everything on white supremacists and the inherent coolness of the letter “x,” Elon Musk has managed to piss, fritter, and donkey punch away nearly 80% of Twitter’s value. That said, industry insiders expect the “free blue checkmark with every cross burning” promotion slated for Black Friday weekend to turn the beleaguered social media platform’s fortunes around.
In contrast, the Biden/Harris Administration remains the same job-creatin’, strike-avertin’, disaster-relievin’ machine it’s always been, but polls say Americans narrowly prefer the rapist who told us to drink bleach to steward the economy. You see why I drink.
Longtime readers no doubt recognize the transition to the traditional Rattling of the Tip Jar, styled as a “beer fund” as part of my adorable Drunken Scamp in a Bathrobe and Luchador Mask persona, “Shower Cap.” Now accepting Cash App, Venmo, and even PayPal.
Or, for the low, low cost of absolutely nothing, you can share this post on social media, join the email list at showercapblog.com, or follow @john_luzar on what’s left of Twitter. Whatever you do, or don’t do, stay safe out there, my friend…
Beware Adjudicated Rapists Offering Protection, and Other Unnecessary Proverbs (Ferret/ShowerCap)
Don’t let the lamestream liberal media fool you, ladies, Donald Trump will be your protector. (“Protector” is a synonym for “rapist,” right? I missed a few English classes, back in the day.)
(Hey look, it’s the obligatory link to my blog site, and all the helpful news links found there: https://showercapblog.com/beware-adjudicated-rapists-offering-protection-and-other-unnecessary-proverbs/)
Now, don’t worry your pretty little heads over the fine print, but some exclusions do apply. No protection will be offered to “dumb as a rock bimbos” like MSNBC’s Stephanie Ruhle, obviously. Should, at any point, any blood come out of your wherever, protection will be rescinded.
Women who recount their sexual assault at Trump’s hands in election season ads probably shouldn’t get their hopes up, though there’s certainly strength in numbers.
Otherwise, you’re in for so dang much protection, “you will no longer be thinking about abortion,” mostly because you’ll be jailed for criticizing the illegitimate SCOTUS majority that stole your bodily autonomy rights in the first place.
Protection of Ukrainian women is to be outsourced to Vladimir Putin. Haitian women are to be preserved as scapegoats, and fodder for the Two Minutes Hate, have fun with that.
Incidentally, it’s no longer just Springfield, OH basking in the warmth of Off-Brand Orbán’s magnanimous protection, (and maybe bomb threats aren’t considered symbols of security in whatever shithole you’re from, but when you’re here in ‘Murica, you’ll do things our way, by gum) now Aurora, CO and Charleroi, PA’re getting a taste of the immigrant-demonizing fun, too.
“Gosh, Mom, d’ya think maybe someday, Donald Trump might terrorize the migrants in our town with a reckless campaign of racist lies?”
“Well, Timmy, if you eat your peas, and he gets tired of watching people leave his boring-ass rallies early because even a cultist can endure just so much ranting about Kamala Harris inventing a fake McDonald’s career for whatever reason, and if you boo Zelensky really hard, anything’s possible in America!”
Truly anything. Why, for the first time since Steve King, a Republican Congressman was officially deemed…too racist! Poor, dumb Clay Higgins must’ve fallen asleep at the back of the ghost bus during the meeting, he figured anything shy of the N word was fair game.
Clay tweeted out a little locker room talk, assuming the locker in question stores Klan robes. To hear Moses Johnson tell it, the backlash drove Higgins deep into prayer, where I guess God told him to delete the post, while offering a defiant non-apology, which was good enough for the Speaker, who believes in redemption…for unrepentant bigots.
Speaking of, Mike Lindell offered his Hitlerest discount code to date, pitching shoddy pillows to savvy white supremacists at the low, low, (and subtle, subtle) price of $14.88. Lindell claims this embrace of widely known neo-Nazi symbolism is mere coincidence, and golly, as the only lackluster bedding merchant to participate in the attempted overthrow of the federal government, I figure he’s earned the benefit of the doubt.
Free speech absolutist Elon Musk has taken to banning Xwitter accounts that share the leaked opposition dossier the Dotard campaign ignored in lashing themselves to the electoral anchor some call JD Vance. Solid plan, bro. Now if you can just figure out some way to purge the information superhighway of every single trace of every single moment of Vance’s time as a public figure, he can begin the long, arduous climb out of the Lollapalooza outhouse where his approval numbers currently reside.
You’ll probably want to start with all the things he used to say about “America’s Hitler,” before he came to see greater profit potential in obsequious hate-mongering. Don’t miss these new revelations, when JD groused his future running mate “thoroughly failed to deliver on his economic populism” amidst the multitudinous other debacles of his disastrous term.
Then you’d best scrub all evidence of the company Vance keeps, lest the public discover his pal Tucker Carlson’s conversations with Roseanne Barr, about how us libs eat not just cats and dogs, but human babies. (Please. As if I could afford baby in this economy.) Probably wise to preemptively sweep his upcoming appearance on Christofascist Lance Wallnau’s traveling blasphemy tour under the rug, too.
Oh, and make sure to wipe out the egg thing! JD had the grocery store set up just how he likes it, full of normal, human shoppers primed for the normal, human interactions that are his forte, plus plenty of egg cartons, astronomically marked up, in Kamala’s own handwriting, but alas, tricksy Haitian migrants switched the price tags a split second before the cameras started rolling.
Those bastards at Newsmax settled their defamation suit with Smartmatic, cheating us out of what would’ve been an absolutely hilarious trial. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see these voting machine companies get the justice they’re owed, but just once, we deserve to watch some scumbag lawyer squirm their way through “well, Your Honor, uncritically platforming the nonsensical ravings of a self-proclaimed ‘cactus artist’ seemed like solid journalistic practice at the time, because, um…wow, we really didn’t settle, huh?”
RFK Jr. has managed to keep busy since dropping out of the Presidential race, fighting to get added to some state’s ballots, but removed from others, depending on his rapey new boss’ needs, while using his platform as a campaign surrogate to raise awareness for a cause near and dear to every right-thinking patriot’s heart: American teens’ decreased sperm count. Big congrats to any and all journalists who may’ve blown up their careers sexting this whale-decapitating, teen-sperm-count-obsessed nepo baby.
The dastardly Deep State treacherously targeted Democratic New York City Mayor Eric Adams, in retribution for kinda sorta staking out ground in the general vicinity of Trump’s position on immigration, surely. Particularly wily of them to entrap Adams into leaving a genuinely buffoonish trail of evidence of his crimes, but that’s how they getcha.
I see Rudy Giuliani collided with yet another branch on his long, slow, slapstick plummet from the Tree of Consequences, getting officially disbarred in Washington, D.C. And while I certainly enjoyed that, he’s been disbarred before, y’know? I need new, boundary-pushing Rudy comeuppance content, ideally some sort of pratfall into livestock excrement. Fresher the better, if I’m allowed requests.
In the unlikely event that there’s a spare hundred grand in your bank account after the Trump Bucks and Bibles and NFTs, (to say nothing of the tithe for your portion of the Turd Emperor’s massive legal debts) well, why not piss it away on a shitty Trump watch? Take a number and form a reasonably orderly throng at the trough, ya fuckin’ rubes.
Mass resignations rocked Mark Robinson’s “gubernatorial campaign,” likely owing to the staff’s fear of getting pissed on, cuz the Nazi stuff didn’t seem to bother anybody when the candidate was enthusiastically bellowing “some folks need killing.” Reports that Robinson vindictively peed at/upon departing staffers as they fled are unconfirmed at press time, though rumors abound over at Nude Africa.
In a probable violation of House ethics rules, freshman Republican Congresscreep Anthony D’Esposito hired both his lover and his fiancée’s daughter, a scandal so quaint and old-fashioned as to merit bullying within the feral MAGA caucus. “Whatsamatter, Anthony? Scared to take a high school girl to a drug-fueled sex party? Oh, you’ve got a mistress? That’s adorable, have you paid for her abortion yet? Call me when you get caught trying to bribe staffers into carrying your child, dork.”
Like, look at Marjorie Taylor Greene’s boyfriend, urging people to ethnically profile voters at their local precinct, and still has time to Karen the fuck out over being denied bottomless salad bar privileges at Jason’s Deli. You’re a fucking amateur, D’Esposito.
Lindsey Graham took a little weekend getaway to Nebraska, hoping to convince the state’s Republicans to change the rules at the last possible moment, to award the Dotard the 2nd district’s electoral vote without all that pesky democracy. Lindsey being Lindsey, he failed completely, the latest setback in his quest to reclaim that spot at the foot of the bed down in Marm-a-Lago from Jason Miller.
Tommy Tuberville referred to Vice President Harris as “the first-ever AI presidential candidate,” further evidence that there are no more than nine words in the entire English language he understands. In a different time and place, be would’ve called her the “Y2K candidate,” or the “Syringe in a Pepsi Can candidate.”
A Harris campaign office in Tempe, Arizona was damaged by gunfire, prompting soul-searching, apologies, and a movement-wide pledge throughout MAGA culture to tone down the anti-Democratic rhetoric. Or at least that’s what the flying pig told me.
Apparently, Mitt Romney is preparing for life as an enemy of the state under a restored Turd Reich, bullet-proofing the car elevator, bodyguards for the dressage horses, that sort of thing. Shame he won’t enjoy the same protection as all those lucky ladies, don’tcha think?
Alex Jones’ ill-gotten assets are, at long last, to be auctioned off to pay the $1.4 billion he owes the Sandy Hook families he terrorized for years. I’m thinking about making an offer, so forgive me for rattling the ol’ tip jar a little more vigorously this week.
Normally, I ask for a few bucks for beer money, (now accepting Venmo, Cash App and PayPal, by the way) but in my quest to lead Jones’ misguided flock back to the light, I may have to match InfoWars’ full street value, currently estimated as high as $42.58 plus those expired soup cans at the back of the pantry you’ve been meaning to throw out.
Or, as always, support these blatherings for free, by sharing ‘em on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, or following @john_luzar over at the House Elon Wrecked. And for the love of Pete, stay safe out there, my friends…
Pet Eating, Black Nazis...Are We Absolutely Certain This is Real Life? (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Well, this time, the Secret Service caught the little dipshit before he could get any rounds off, but honestly, if you don’t get to wear a ceremonial ear diaper, does it even count as an assassination attempt?
(You know the drill. Links n’ bright shiny colors await ye here: https://showercapblog.com/pet-eating-black-nazisare-we-absolutely-certain-this-is-real-life/)
Anyway, we’re supposed to cut it out with the “rhetoric” now, about the military cemetery-defiling adjudicated rapist who tear-gassed peaceful protesters in Lafayette Square, because pointing out that he’s a threat to democracy JUST BECAUSE he tried everything he could think of to overturn the election he lost, up to and including inciting a lynch mob, might endanger him further, which is no laugher matter, unlike that time Paul Pelosi got attacked by a hammer-wielding psychopath, that was hilarious.
Look, political violence is always, always wrong, most especially when it would cheat the world of the party we’ll get to throw when that soft, sloppy sack of shit dies in prison. That’s when JFK Jr.’s coming back, y’all, flying a plane carrying Prince, Tom Petty, and a couple dozen enchanted, bottomless kegs. Do not fuck that up for the rest of us, we fucking well deserve it.
All Elon Musk wants to know is when’s somebody gonna get around to shooting at some Democrats for a change? To his credit, he did stop shy of offering his legion of incel fanboys a bounty (or fifty percent off a blue checkmark for six months, anyhow) to do the deed, which I suppose might score him a point or two during his forthcoming interrogation by the Secret Service.
(Of course, the Dotard will never serve a day behind bars, not with his own personal, pet Chief Justice working pro bono, but we may as well enjoy the fantasy. Oooo, I just decided the guards found him in the fetal position, orange jumpsuit bunched up around his ankles, one tiny hand clutching his withered, dusty member; the other, Ivanka’s senior yearbook portrait.)
The Lügenpresse would have you believe JD Vance has been spewing racist lies, for they fail to appreciate the brilliance of his strategy of “creating stories,” about a horde of tabby-devouring Haitians, in order to draw attention to real issues, such as the increased murder rate in Springfield, Ohio, caused by the surge in admittedly-not-pet-eating migrants.
“But that’s not true either!” you protest. Ha ha ha! Poor fools! Do you not see, Vance has cleverly concocted a story-within-a-story! The pet-eating lies were the shiny bauble to capture your attention, the murder rate lies drew you into the labyrinth, where you, you sad, deceivéd libtard, would have no choice but to face the inconvenient truth, that while these migrants may be neither noshing upon Rover nor murdering anybody at all, they’re certainly spreading diseases like HIV at a rate unseen in poor, besieged Springfield!
…which is, of course, also entirely untrue.
Ah, but only now do you begin to appreciate the intricately structured fiction JD has woven, lie collapsing into lie, like a doughy, subpar, white boy fractal, leading to the ultimate truth, not about Springfield, or its essentially upstanding migrant community, but about the Republican Party’s nominee for Vice President of the United States: that he is racist trash, who would happily see residents of the state he represents terrorized by a hate mob before abandoning his vicious little fabrication.
He knew it was bullshit from the very start, by the way. Seems the hogwash that launched a thousand bomb threats originated with a single police report, from a single citizen sleuth, who found some meat in her yard, and, with Holmesian precision, deduced, “why, this meat belongs to my very own kitty-cat, butchered by the Haitian neighbors!” from the available clues, which included, “I have temporarily lost track of my cat’s whereabouts,” and “I am an incurable bigot.”
Pretty airtight, you’ll agree. That the cat was later discovered, uneaten, might give one pause, sure, but don’t let me interrupt you if you were menacing a grade school or anything.
What’s tragic is, Vance wasn’t always such an unrepentant hatemonger, though he’s actually attempted to delete any evidence of that. Anyway, when he’s not siccing white nationalist harassment mobs on his own constituents, JD likes to unwind by plotting the reversal of Obamacare’s protections for Americans with preexisting conditions, and, you know, the sofa thing.
The moment we’ve all been waiting for finally arrived, when Donald Trump unveiled the vulnerable minority group he plans to blame for his imminent electoral defeat. Can I get a drum roll please? Oh wow, this envelope sure is sealed tight, gimmie a sec…okay, got it. And the scapegoat issssssss…JEWS! Obviously, they were heavy favorites. This is Jews’ 2,539th consecutive win in this category.
Golly, there’s so much hate in the news these days, it’s kinda depressing. We could use a lil’ palate cleanser, don’tcha think? Some kitten videos, or OOO WAIT I KNOW! Wanna hear something adorable? Mike Johnson tried to pass a funding bill this week! He held a widdle pwess confwence an’ everything! I’m sure he’ll navigate the Dotard’s shutdown threat with grace and aplomb, like the big, tuff House Speaker he is!
Somehow, in between all the trials and golfing, Off-Brand Orbán found time to launch his very own cryptocurrency, (RapeCoin) which has to be the grifter singularity. Money invested in Trump crypto isn’t merely lost, it disappears entirely from this plane of reality, as though it never existed at all. For pity’s sake, at least get an NFT out of it, ya rubes.
Should he prevail in November, Mark Robinson would become America’s first Black, Nazi Governor, though I personally wouldn’t commission artwork for the commemorative stamp just yet. Maybe something nice and Rockwell-y, of his sister-in-law pissing on him during anal intercourse.
Mark apparently mused that slavery should be brought back, so he could “buy a few,” which gives him something in common with Minnesota state Representative Jeff Dotseth. Now, nobody likes the rule of three more than me, but there’s no way we’d get three pro-slavery statements from Republicans in just one short wee-hang on, I’m being handed an update…
Anyway, seems “Pastor” Robinson enjoys Mein Kampf almost as much as getting peed on by his sister-in-law, which is to say…a lot. Yes, we’ve learned a great deal about Mark this week, for example: he’s learning German, he has an Ashley Madison account, and he will not be the next Governor of North Carolina.
In contrast, all Matt Gaetz did was take a 17-year-old high school junior to a “drug-fueled sex party.” Super gross for sure, but no pee, no Hitler. I mean, obviously, throw both of ‘em into a deep, dark hole in the ground. I assume there’re differences between the Nazi hole and the pedophile hole, but I’ll leave that to Dante.
Former Turd Reich Spokesfascist Sarah Huckleberry Slanders attempted to shame Vice President Harris for her (biological) childlessness, claiming her own children “keep (her) humble,” which, um, no. No they do not. Demonstrably. You could occasionally detect the faintest hint of embarrassment in Sean Spicer’s demeanor, but Sarah’s sneering disdain for the truth is about as close to humility as the White Sox are to playoff contention.
Trump Administration EPA officials illegally retaliated against whistleblower scientists, who obstructed the return to American Greatness™️ with killjoy reports finding new chemicals “caused miscarriages and birth defects in rats,” along with similar petty complaints. I mean, how’re we supposed to develop mutant powers without chemically induced birth defects, ever think of that?
When the texts chronicling this misbegotten stretch of American history are written, the phrase “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed” will appear more than once. Hell, historians will link those four words to a hotkey, saving hours of labor. “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to book the Four Seasons.” “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to realize he was in a Borat movie.” “Rudy Giuliani utterly failed to walk ten steps during the RNC.”
Anyhoo, his latest utter failure was to “establish personal jurisdiction” in the nuisance defamation lawsuit he filed against President Biden, but next week could be literally anything. Maybe he gets his dick stuck in something, perhaps a toaster, perhaps an owl, who can say? It’s the magic of Rudy Giuliani!
Look, we’ve all been misconstrued from time to time, and Rich Lowry stands before you today asking to be judged not by the slur which may or may not’ve been peeking coquettishly out the door of his subconscious, but by the years of ignorant garbage he has written and published, much of which has been every bit as racist, but, y’know, way politer. Six of one, half dozen of the other, says I.
Melania Trump asks, “Why do I stand proudly behind my nude modeling work?” I really don’t care. Do U? “Why has the media chosen to scrutinize my celebration of the human form in a fashion photo shoot?” she continues, citing scrutiny which is occurring nowhere on Earth. Given her ol’ ball n’ chain’s insistence that there was an audience at the debate he just lost, I’m starting to think maybe narcissistic hallucinations are sexually transmitted.
Speaking of the debate, I guess some folks need conspiracy theories to explain the Manchurian Manchild’s self-immolation, which I suppose makes sense, because “the game show host I worship proved incapable of resisting the bait he knew in advance his opponent would dangle” must be a difficult thing to say to the mirror.
Near as I can figure, an ABC whistleblower alleged collusion between the network and the Harris campaign, died in a mysterious car accident, and had their face eaten by Hillary Clinton and Huma Abedin in a satanic ritual, all without ever existing in the first place. Neat trick. Good enough for Ted Cruz, apparently.
In a party where your presidential nominee uncritically platforms the fabrications of literal, actual neo-Nazis, it can be difficult to stand out as unusually hateful, but I guess Louisiana Senator John Kennedy likes a challenge.
Like the abandoned-in-a-dumpster love child of Joe McCarthy and Foghorn Leghorn, John managed to squeeze a genuinely impressive number of Islamophobic stereotypes into a brief, TV-friendly window during a Judiciary Committee hearing, culminating in telling the Arab American witness he was berating, “You should hide your head in a bag.” The hearing was on hate crimes, incidentally, which, it appears, the Senator is for.
On his Senate campaign website, Eric Hovde describes himself as a “classic entrepreneur,” who “made a career out of rolling up his sleeves, getting businesses back on the right track, and building for the future,” oddly omitting the “smuggling $26 million worth Mexican drug cartel money over the border by airplane” part, most likely because his sleeves were buttoned at the time, surely.
Neuticles, the company that manufactures cosmetic testicle prosthetics for neutered dogs, announced a massive expansion into southern Lebanon, wonder what that’s about?
Ok, I definitely nailed the whole toned-down rhetoric thing. I think we can all agree, the real threat to democracy is the emptiness of my beer fridge. If I’m forced to spend even a moment of this weekend sober, the terrorists win, so if you care at all about freedom, toss a buck or two into my tip jar, now accepting Cash App, PayPal AND Venmo!
Or, share this rant on social media, follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s fashy playpen, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for free! Until we meet again…stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Well, If I Absolutely Had to Pick a Favorite 2024 Presidential Debate... (Ferret/Shower Cap)
In lieu of a blog tonight, I have composed an open letter, to the American Broadcasting Company, which I hope you, dear reader, will consider signing:
(And, as ever, click here for nifty nooz links: https://showercapblog.com/well-if-i-absolutely-had-to-pick-a-favorite-2024-presidential-debate/)
Dear ABC and/or the Deep State,
As something of a political junkie, it was with great interest I noticed the two-hour block on your broadcast schedule for the evening of Tuesday, September 10th, 2024, labeled “U.S. Presidential Debate.”
Though I’ve become intensely emotionally invested in the syndicated reruns airing on a rival network, of a situation comedy program titled “Who’s the Boss?,” after carefully weighing my options, I decided to place my civic duty above my longstanding affection for will-they-or-won’t-they romantic tension, albeit temporarily.
Image my surprise when I tuned in to encounter not the expected thoughtful discourse on the day’s leading issues, between the best and brightest American politics has to offer, but the gruesome, real-time vivisection of some aging, sickly, intellectually debilitated primate-adjacent-at-best evolutionary dead end, more suited to an R-rated Discovery Channel After Dark streaming service than prime time television.
Plus, I bet Tony and Angela finally got together, and I missed it, goddamn you.
Sincerely,
Shower J. Cap, Esq.
Yeah, Kamala dog-walked him so effortlessly, Putin got jealous. I’ve never seen a whoopin’ that bad that wasn’t accompanied by Jim Ross commentary. I don’t think I’ve ever fully understood that old Aesop’s fable, the Prosecutor and the Rapist, until now.
You remember that one, where this Rapist and this Prosecutor are having a race, and the Prosecutor says, “My, my, what small, bored crowds you have,” which makes the Rapist shit himself, and start rubbing the shit all over his face, forgetting the race completely, while the entire community watches, live on television? Boy, that Aesop could be surprisingly scatological when the mood struck him.
The moral of that story, as Hillary Clinton put it, is, “A man you can bait with a tweet is not a man we can trust with nuclear weapons.” Kamala just applied the ol’ show-don’t-tell principle, is all.
The whole thing put me in mind of this really weird dream I had a couple months back, where the national news media insisted cognitive fitness was a major issue coming out of a presidential debate. Pretty wacky, right? My favorite dreams are the ones with wildly fantastical elements, like dragons that breathe pancake batter, or political pundits that hold Donald Trump to the same standards as Democrats.
The doddering old fop couldn’t pass a cognitive test with the assistance of two-way radio earrings. If you showed him a drawing of an animal, he’d probably just try to rape it.
He really imagines he’s pulling off the Jedi mind trick with that dopey abortion answer of his, doesn’t he? Waves his hand and goes, “you WANTED it to go back to the states,” somehow can’t figure out why it’s not working. I dunno, man. Could be the stunted, ineffectual fingers, or perhaps the stunted, ineffectual brain.
When the topic turned to health care, we learned nine years of monastic study had failed to yield a concrete plan, though he does have “concepts” of one. While this response was widely mocked, I personally found it to be the most comforting of the entire debate, because lest we forget, the last time he turned the full force of his very stable genius towards an issue of public health, what he ultimately came up with was Bleach: Good for Tighty-Whities AND Your Insidies!
But it was an exchange on immigration that, I think, most clearly illuminated the choice before the electorate this November.
If you’re looking for workable solutions to the real problems facing the American people, Vice President Harris is the obvious choice, sure, BUT if you’re motivated by more, shall we say, fictitious concerns, I think we have to be honest, and admit she doesn’t have as much to offer.
Seriously, what’s Kamala Harris’ plan to fight windmill cancer? What’s Kamala Harris’ plan to keep furry kids from shitting in litter boxes at school? What’s Kamala Harris’ plan to stop George Soros from sending busloads of Antifas to your town to distribute rainbow fentanyl to trick-or-treaters on Halloween?
She doesn’t have one. And you might say, “Geez, Cap, Presidents have a lot on their plate, it doesn’t make sense to devote resources to imaginary problems fabricated by actual neo-Nazis.” Yeah, well, tell that to all the poor, innocent household pets that aren’t getting eaten in Springfield, Ohio.
Must be awful fun being a neo-Nazi in America these days, where you might just hear the vilest shit you can concoct parroted uncritically by the most prominent and powerful Republicans in the country.
Anyway, Hitler-grade dehumanizing rhetoric aside, Kamala made him jump through a few more hoops, until he was all tuckered out, and the umps invoked the mercy rule. With the masochoist’s pathological hunger for one final serving (scoop?) of degradation, he actually lurched into the spin room, pathetically clutching a Newsmax poll like a security blanket, in search of someone to drive him home in time for Wapner.
Hard to believe things went so badly with his fashy new gal friday, Laura Loomer, heading up the debate prep team.
Laura. Loomer. Hoooooooboy.
I mean, we’ve seen Wee Donnie One-Term turn to some genuine freaks when his back’s up against the wall, but Laura Loomer is so racist, Marjorie Taylor Greene begged Jared Moskowitz to borrow the space lasers for just one quick zap.
Anyway, barely two weeks after desecrating Arlington National Cemetery, this 9/11 conspiracy-spewing psycho was his date…to the 9/11 memorial ceremony in New York City.
And I say “date” because yes, rumors’re flying, amidst footage of the two obscenely pawing at one another in public, though I believe these rumors are a plot to decrease turnout by causing mass suicides. Why, during the composition of this very paragraph, I ordered a railway spike off Amazon, and was only just able to stop myself from jamming it up my left nostril, by reminding myself of how beautiful and worthwhile life is in the immediate aftermath of a debate Donald Trump lost so decisively.
They don’t seem to share my exuberance over in the wingnut media bubble, though a few prominent MAGA shrieking heads managed to channel their impotent frustrations into fantasies of an authoritarian crackdown on ABC, especially those dastardly moderators, who dared to fact-check their Turd Emperor’s blood libel.
Yes, even for a loser of Donald Trump’s magnitude, so much concentrated failure has been rare. No wonder he's too terrified to debate her again. It must’ve been like watching Eric’s birth on the very same day you bankrupt a casino. And that was before Tay-Tay endorsed.
As in all healthy democracies, Swift’s endorsement was met with a wave of rape threats by leading supporters of the opposing candidate, and I’m sure historians will struggle to explain the gender gap in the 2024 election.
Yes, this metastasized MAGA hasn’t handled recent setbacks well, though they seem curiously unwilling to attempt any solutions beyond “let’s get even shittier,” with Off-Brand Orbán himself leading the charge, threatening to prosecute his political opponents, vowing to deliver “a bloody story” of mass deportation to the soft, sloppy horde of white mediocrity he leads.
And whether it’s Texas AG Ken Paxton suing for access to the records of women seeking out-of-state abortions, Missouri Secretary of State Jay Ashcroft attempting to decertify an abortion rights ballot measure, or Ron DeSantis dispatching his “election police” to harass petition signers at home, they’re anything but shy about abusing state power to suppress Americans’ fundamental rights.
Of course, the attack on Springfield, Ohio’s Haitian community is going exactly according to plan. Bomb threats emptying schools, immigrants fearing for their safety; why, JD Vance was so pleased with his role in the affair, he took a celebratory swim, with his shirt on, like the exceptionally non-weird fellow he is, ahead of his interview with Hitler apologist-platforming Tucker Carlson!
They’re running anti-Semitic ads in Michigan, highlighting Vice President Harris’ marriage to one of those you-know-whats, targeting any Muslim voters who somehow haven’t heard anything else Donald Trump has ever said.
Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin isn’t ready to commit to the peaceful transfer of power just yet. In his defense, Markwayne was only in the House during the last insurrection, and Josh Hawley has promised to share his scampering route to the best hidey-hole next time.
Tommy Tuberville resumed his one-doofus war on U.S. military readiness, unilaterally obstructing the promotion of a top aide to Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin, to raise awareness that Tommy Tuberville is So a Senator, With Power n’ Everything. Everyone is very impressed, I’m sure.
Speaking of playing the hits, Speaker Moses pulled a bill at the last minute, because he doesn’t have the votes, a CR to keep the government open this time. Golly, we’re one Lauren Boebert handjob away from a full-on 2023 revival.
Okay, the labradoodle I snatched from the downstairs neighbors ain’t gonna fricassee itself, I suppose, so I’ll sign off here. The plan is to drink until the part of my brain that houses memories of the Trump/Loomer story is good and dead.
That’s gonna take a fair amount of beer, so feel free to toss a buck or two into the ol’ tip jar (which now accepts Cash App, Venmo AND PayPal), or, support the blog for free by sharing this post on social media, following @john_luzar over at the House Elon Broke, (he hasn’t threatened to rape me…yet) or signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com! I appreciate you folks! Until next time…stay safe out there!
Strange Bedfellows and Useful Idiots. And Some Third Thing, Probably (Ferret/Shower Cap)
So, this blog site went live exactly seven years ago today, aiming to chronicle the kookiness of the kakistocracy-curious creeps who’d infested my beloved country’s government. And after each and every post, my most fervent wish has been to run out of material, to turn y’all away with a mournful “Outside of a brief, largely courteous Wyden/Romney spat over public land use, nothing of note occurred this week, sorry.”
…well, maybe next time. (And as always, get links n’ such here: https://showercapblog.com/strange-bedfellows-and-useful-idiots-and-some-third-thing-probably/)
A lot has changed in those seven years. For instance, though it feels like ancient history nowadays, once upon a time, our political press believed an aging politician’s merest slip of the tongue merited days of breathless commentary; now, a visibly decomposing septuagenarian can yammer incoherently on the leading issues of the day, indeed, can belch up gibberish that’s barely discernible as English, with nary a mention in the morning paper.
Shoot, he can even forget who he’s running against, and not one single column demanding his immediate withdrawal from the race will appear! Silly rabbit, standards are for Democrats!
And sure, he took no questions at the latest “press conference” he duped the media into attending, opting instead to utilize their proffered platform to further defame and harass several of the women he’s sexually assaulted, but on the other hand, ethically and substantially equal in every way to the previously mentioned rapey hand, Kamala Harris appears to have flip-flopped on the issue of paper straws.
At said “press conference,” the preferred candidate of American evangelicals dismissed one of his many accusers, by saying, “She would not have been the chosen one.”
“The chosen one.”
(This space left blank to give the reader time to wipe the vomit off their keyboard/screen)
He won’t rape just anybody, y’know. You have to look more than a little like his daughter, (the hot one, not Tiffany) for a start. Then, you gotta pass a cognitive test. Yes, all of it, even the really tough bits, with the drawings of farm animals.
As this adjudicated rapist, this felon 34 times over, schleps and whines and sleep-farts his way from trial to trial, (congrats on the sentencing delay, by the way) it’s worth noting that one cop-killer whose sentence he commuted has already been convicted again, this time of assaulting his wife. Of course, you wouldn’t see shenanigans like that in a second Trump term, not under Attorney General Enrique Tarrio.
“Sometimes you need a strongman,” proclaimed the weakest man alive, retreating into his favorite fantasy, the one where Viktor Orbán swaddles him in a blanket, and whisks him away to his magical castle in Hungary, where dictators get the most ice cream scoops no matter what, and absolutely no prosecutors, special or otherwise, are allowed, enforced by a dragon.
Republican thoughts and prayers once again failed to prevent the latest school shooting, further evidence that they are idiots, despised by God.
It’s hard to blame Him. To JD Vance, all this eminently preventable carnage is merely a “fact of life,” so I guess the rest of the developed world is populated by some superior life form, one less willing to see its children butchered, if perhaps a trifle incapable of accurately evaluating the worth of Oasis tickets.
“Sure as the tide rolls in, kids who’ve already been investigated by the FBI for threatening a school shooting will receive semi-automatic rifles as Xmas gifts,” hectored JD, “Are we supposed to ban Santa Claus?”
Vance’s proposed solution? You guessed it, MORE GUNS in schools, only with ivermectin-laced bullets now, so the slaughtered children won’t have to worry about Covid, or worms. Because being death cult clergy means never having to say a single word that makes a lick of fucking sense.
The estate of Isaac Hayes joined the ever-lengthening list of entities to defeat the Dotard in court, though I suppose if you can’t even overturn one measly presidential election, what chance would you possibly have against Black Moses? And look, ABBA and Céline Dion wait in the wings, for their own turn with the paddle of copyright law.
Without the benefit of intellectual property protections, we may have to fall back upon constitutional provisions against cruel and unusual punishment to safeguard the public from Tom Petty-defiling RNC Chair Lara Trump’s latest single. On the other hand, maybe if we feed it into these newfangled AI thingamajigs, it’ll short ‘em out from within. On the other other hand, that might be precisely the sort of thing that would lead a machine intelligence to determine humanity is a menace in immediate need of total eradication.
Melania’s got a memoir coming out, too. I was able to obtain an advance copy, and I think it might surprise you. The chapter where she discusses her husband’s brush with Covid-19 was particularly moving. All those long, lonely nights, listlessly perusing the prenup…riveting stuff.
Nick Fuentes doesn’t understand where it all went so wrong. His Turd Emperor told him they stole the 2020 election from him, and would a rapist who stole from charity and cheated on multiple wives and stiffed contractors and defrauded banks and insurers lie? I mean sure, he lied about crowd size and colluding with Russia and September 11th and the path of a hurricane, but would he lie about the integrity of our federal elections?
One wonders if falling for such a blatant con might lead young Nickward to question his belief in his own racial supremacy. Barring that, one wonders how to get in touch with him regarding the opportunities for profit Amway offers.
Furious indignation reverberated throughout the right-wing disinformation ecosystem, in the wake of revelations that many of MAGA media’s leading dipshits have been “unwittingly” operating as useful idiots for Vlad Putin’s murderous regime.
“WHERE’S MY CUT?” demanded Tulsi Gabbard. “I spread way more Kremlin propaganda,” whinged Candace Owens, “Besides, Tim Pool’s just gonna spend those rubles on beanies and waifu pillows!”“Tell Mr. Putin it would probably be easiest if he wrote the check directly to the Sandy Hook families I terrorized,” bleated Alex Jones.
Of course, it’s Pool, and Benny Johnson, and their ilk, who’re the Real Victims Here™️, according to a bunch of Republicans who’re definitely not sweating over the idea of DoJ looking into their own revenue streams. Sorry, Senator Rubio, “preexisting political opinions” aren’t covered under the Foreign Agents Registration Act.
Golly, It’s getting so’s an enterprising young wingnut grifter can’t even engorge himself at the trough of a hostile foreign power. Why, mean ol’ Merrick even indicted Dimitri Simes, longtime advisor to Senator Rand Paul, and Individual One himself.
Tucker Carlson, having all but dissipated into irrelevancy, sat seething on the sofa, watching Jesse Watters diddle away his diligently indoctrinated prime time Fox audience on garden-variety MRA piffle about the inherent girlymanness of drinking a “vanilla ice cream shake” through a straw*, and knew he’d need a big, fat, dumb stunt to win back the attention of the rubes he lost in his acrimonious divorce from the Murdochs.
Enter Holocaust revisionist Darryl Cooper. Revisionist, rather than outright denialist, in that he believes the Holocaust happened, but that it was Churchill’s fault, for being such a meanie to Hitler, who only wanted everyone to have bunnies and cupcakes and hugs. (Much nicer than fuddy-duddy Winston’s blood, toil, tears, and sweat, I'm sure you’ll agree.)
Which is horseshit, of course, but if there’s one thing white supremacists love, it’s being lied to, (see Fuentes, Nick) especially about their loser movement’s loser history. And if you don’t believe me, I’ve got seven years’ worth of blog archives to prove it.
Anyway, Tucker definitely got the attention he wanted, so much so that JD Vance said, “Me next!” because he wanted to sit in the Hitler apologist’s chair while it was still warm. Also probably to sniff it, but I imagine they’ll edit that part out.
Terrible news, comrades! That damnable Ron Johnson uncovered the truth about our dastardly Deep State proto-Jade Helm known as the “Great Depression.” Ah, we were fools to believe we could ever slip anything past a genius of such caliber, particularly after he single-handedly unmasked our elaborate “pandemic” hoax.
An armed standoff between McDonald’s Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris never worked at McDonald’s) and Accent Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris uses a fake southern accent) thankfully ended without bloodshed, when the leaders of the two factions met face to face, and realized they were the Bundy brothers.
Seems North Carolina Republican gubernatorial candidate Mark Robinson may have a few skeletons in his closet, though they are believed to be safely hidden behind the mountains of pornographic videocassettes, and the stolen Girl Scout cookies.
With Liz and Dick Cheney endorsing Vice President Harris, Team Rapist unveiled some defectors of their own: a few distant cousins of Tim Walz, take that, libtards! They may not be able to pass fifth grade English, but at least they got to meet Hulk Hogan. (UPDATE: it’s been brought to my attention that they did not actually get to meet Hulk Hogan. In my defense, I made that up.)
A fistfight broke out at a Saline County, Arkansas Republican Committee meeting, because these lil’ guys get crabby if you don’t let ‘em run around in the yard, maybe violently disrupt a government proceeding now and then. You’re lucky they didn’t shit on the floor.
Okay, I’m off to celebrate my seventh blogiversary, by binge drinking until I can wrap my head around how I wound up in a coalition with Dick Freakin’ Cheney.
As always, you can contribute to my degeneracy via my tip jar (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, AND Venmo), or by sharing this post on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, (seven years old today!) or following @john_luzar over on Elon’s hopelessly busted, post-decency playground, where I am doomed to spend all eternity.
*REAL men dip their balls in their milkshake, absorbing it through scrotal osmosis.
I'm Still Undecided, But I'll Probably Wind Up Voting For Whoever Defiles the Fewest Cemeteries (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Rich Lowry emerged, bloodied and barely alive, but beaming, from the deepest, darkest recesses of the Take Jungle, having been presumed forever lost in the dense underbrush of the DeSantis Can Still Pull This Thing Off, Dangit columns of the long-forgotten Republican primary, like some less impressive, in-fact-almost-never-right-about-anything Allan Quartermain.
“Stop the bloody presses!” Lowry bellowed, in an English accent, leaning into the Quartermain thing for whatever reason, waving his Take high in the air for all to see.
“Eureka!” proclaimed the opinion editor at the New York Times. And thus was the Take transmitted, by caravan, carrier pigeon, and steamship, back to civilization.
Lowry returned in triumph to the family estate, (called Blithering Heights or Dumbfucket or something) to rearrange the big game trophies in his study, in order to clear space for the inevitable Pulitzer.
Finally, on the twenty-sixth day of the eighth month in the year of our Lord two thousand and twenty-four, the Take was published for all to see:
“Trump Can Win on Character.”
And then, not two minutes later, Lil’ Donnie One-Term waddled out to desecrate a cemetery.
(Links n’ shininess are, as ever, to be found here: https://showercapblog.com/im-still-undecided-but-ill-probably-wind-up-voting-for-whoever-defiles-the-fewest-cemeteries/)
Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery, to be precise.
Sure didn’t take long for the famed “Lewandowski Touch” to reappear, did it? (For the uninitiated, “the Lewandowski Touch” refers to “physically assaulting a woman for doing her job.”)
Fading fast in the polls, the very worst human beings alive concocted an imbecilic scheme, to not only defile the graves of our fallen heroes with a cheap campaign stunt, but to spin their profanation as some sort of official memorial ceremony their dastardly Dem opponents refused to attend, opting instead to spend the day changing the kitty litter in gender neutral furry restrooms in blue state public schools, probably.
But alas, there was barely enough time to snap a few quick pics of the soft, sloppy fop, with his nubby little thumb in the air, grinning like he just heard Aileen Cannon’s latest ruling, before some killjoy ANC employee emerged, with blood coming out of her wherever, hemming and hawing about how they were breaking the law and had to stop, which is a shame, because they had this whole second setup worked out, where he’d be standing on a grave in a big cloud of tear gas, clutching this Bible, it woulda been so fucking sweet, you guys.
Plus, they had to scrap a bunch of ads they’d planned to shoot, for his new digital trading cards (“the official NFTs of suckers and losers!”) his new picture book, My Ear Got Nicked for Your Sins, Now Won’t Somebody Please KILL ZUCKERBERG, and his upcoming adult coloring book, Not My Type, depicting each of his twenty-six known sexual misconduct allegations, plus a bonus page illustrating what he’d like to do to Ivanka.
So they shoved the ANC employee out of the way, and launched a big, fat warning shot from the MAGA harassment cannon, to intimidate her out of pressing charges. Which worked, because who wants to spend the rest of their brief, precious life looking over their shoulder for hammer and/or nail gun-wielding psychos? Oh well, I’m sure the proto-fascist bullies will stop there.
Still, all this talk of laws and their enforcement has been exhausting for the adjudicated rapist who already had that superseding indictment from Jack Smith to deal with, further depleting those finite energy reserves of his. (And, as the oldest presidential nominee in history, there’s only so much exercise left to avoid.)
Seems like only yesterday when my phone would tremble and shake, emitting terrifying weather alert noises every single time Joe Biden stammered, but I guess the public doesn’t need to know the other guy’s lurching along the side of the highway in a backwards hospital gown, bleating that Jesus thought he won California, and people don’t eat bacon anymore because of wind farms.
He’s also proposing sweeping changes to the U.S. Constitution, wherein flag burning would be punishable with jail time, but the first thirty-four felony counts for falsifying business records are free.
As for how he plans to vote on Florida’s abortion rights ballot measure, well, he’s forgainst it. Wait, I see he walked that back, now he sopporses it. That Kamala Harris sure is a flip-flopper though, amirite?
The Michigan GOP’s cold civil war turned hot, or at least lukewarm, like a Tupperware container of clam chowder you forgot in the car overnight, as ousted former Chairfreak Kristina Karamo led her crackpot battalion against the almost-as-buffoonish-but-not-quite forces of Pete Hoekstra, setting off what historians are already calling the Battle of People You Pretend Not to Know When You Run Into Them at the Grocery Store.
Quick update, I’m amending my prediction from a few paragraphs ago, in light of new developments regarding Texas AG Ken Paxton’s law enforcement raids of Latino Democratic campaign volunteers’ homes, but I’m confident the proto-fascist bullies will stop here, for real this time, give or take an insurrectionist riot or two.
Scandal continues to dog (GET IT?) embattled Democratic vice presidential nominee Tim Walz, as James O’Keefe released illicitly obtained footage from the antifa puppy mill he runs out of the Minnesota Governor’s Mansion subbasement, where canines deemed insufficiently photogenic for the all-too-temporary role of “Scout” are sold to gay, communist meatpackers.
Walz furthermore refuses to denounce so-called “son” Gus Walz, despite the latter’s now infamous display of familial affection at last week’s Democratic National Convention, and…aaaaaaaaaand I don’t suppose I could convince anybody to get mad about the 20-year-old Nebraska Chamber of Commerce thing? Any chance at all? Megyn Kelly’d really appreciate if you could give the tampon thing another look…anyone? Bueller?
Meanwhile, while JD Vance didn’t have to face anything as challenging as ordering some donuts this week, he did manage to get booed by a firefighters union. Yeah, bit of a rough stretch for Peter Thiel’s third-favorite pet dork, but he finally started to look more like his old self once he retreated to his comfort zone: sneeringly repellent misogyny.
Speaking of which, the nation gained unwanted insight into Jesse Watters’ Pornhub search history, following comments vile enough to draw rebuke from odious Th’Five cohost Jeanine Pirro, so congratulations on slithering beneath that low, low hurdle.
Tulsi Gabbard’s long journey around the horseshoe led her at last to the if not Promised, at least Settled-For Land: Off-Brand Orbán’s hopefully unnecessary transition team. Golly, who knows which other poisonous, faux leftists could join her in a restored Turd Reich? Might it be Matt Taibbi’s voice indignantly squawking out the latest crowd size fibs from the bushes on the White House lawn? Or Glenn Greenwald’s, perhaps?
It’s a tantalizing deal, certainly. The last mold-chewed remnants of your good name and/or soul, in exchange for a few months of groveling, until you’re discarded as a “terrible, stupid person.”
Hey, if the pot’s not sweet enough, what would you say to all the rotting beached whale meat you can eat? Cuz RFK Jr.’s been invited to this party too, y’all! (Though it does appear as though that cranial parasite ate the part of the brain in charge of regulating whether or not you end your ratfucking campaign in time to actually get removed from swing state ballots, so maybe bring your own roadkill, just to be safe.)
I saw a bunch of headlines about a Republican group claiming the notorious Dred Scott decision means Vice President Harris is ineligible for the presidency, and I got mad, because I assumed somebody was plagiarizing an old blog of mine, but no, that’s real news from the real world.
Moms for Liberty finally revealed their plans for all those school library bookshelves they’ve been so feverishly emptying. See, once the Rosa Parks biographies have all been burned to ash, they’re to be replaced, with Glenn Beck’s new teen novel: Are You There God? It’s Me, Stephen Miller, about a very special white nationalist boy, who learns to overcome early-onset baldness with a magical can of spray-on hair.
H.R. McMaster’s new book details the ease with which the world’s dictators manipulated the Dotard into serving their interests. Nothing tricky to it, of course. You flatter him a little, you find a prostitute with a passing resemblance to his daughter, you get her to pee on him, and BAM: classified intel falls into your lap, right in the Oval Office.
But he can still win. On “character.” Rich Lowry told me so.
Ok, that’s more than enough of that. For now, my short-term goal is to drink until I forget I live in a world where Rich Lowry gets to write for the paper of record, so if you would like to aid me in that noble quest, know that my digital tip jar now accepts PayPal, Venmo, and Cash App, and that your kind donation will be converted directly into beer, at the speed of fucking light.
Or, you can share this post on social media, follow @john_luzar over on Elon’s Busted, Unprofitable Wasteland, or sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for freeeeee! Or you can do none of those things, proving yourself part of Mitt Romney’s 47%, ya filthy taker! Either way, stay safe out there, old chum…
Frankly, I Found Beyonc's Speech Wonky and Off-Putting (Ferret/Shower Cap)
поздравления, comrades! Operation Jade Helm VIII: Joy Buzzer succeeded beyond our wildest imaginings, and soon, we shall deliver these hapless “United States” into the tan suit-clad arms of our DEI hire and a mere assistant coach! Muah hah hah hah hee hee ho ho hah hah!
…hoo. (Yadda yadda links n’ colors: https://showercapblog.com/frankly-i-found-beyonces-speech-wonky-and-off-putting/)
Yeah, for four whole days without a single pro wrestler, it went okay, I guess. I understand Melania has already plagiarized Obama’s dick joke for that eulogy she’s been restlessly tinkering with.
It was such an exuberant display of unity for the Coalition of the Decent, from Bernie to Kinzinger and back again, you just know Mike Pence turned to Mother to ask if she thought it would be a good idea to reach out to the Exonerated Five about starting some sort of Guys Donald Trump Tried to Murder euchre league.
It’s a great big beautiful tent, and all are welcome…except the HAW HAW HAW TIM WALZ’S KID HAS EMOTIONS WHATTA CUCK crowd. Y’all have to go to the other tent. I wouldn’t drink the water.
You can’t miss it, it’s the one full of mediocre white dudes pitching fits. It can be hard to tell ‘em apart, so I’ll give you a hand: the runty little weasel screeching that the Obamas are “uppity” is Nick Fuentes, whereas the smug creep with the projectile Dunning–Kruger effect trying to make birtherism happen? That’s Jesse Watters. Just laugh derisively whenever anybody mentions Doritos, and you’ll blend right in.
Aren’t you glad you’re not MAGA? Isn’t it wonderful to possess no desire whatsoever to mock a neurodivergent teenager for (gasp) expressing affection for his father? Fuck it, having seen so many stumble over the lowest imaginable hurdles, I’m gonna strut my basic humanity from here on out. “Yeah, not only did I never make a single Paul Pelosi hammer joke, my body’s sixty percent water! My fingernails grow constantly, and I voted against the wannabe autocrat all three times!”
Still, amidst the positivity and patriotism, I would be remiss in my duties if I failed to note the one demographic explicitly marked for exclusion under a Harris/Walz regime: Rapist, Insurrectionist Game Show Hosts. In a Harris Administration, RIGSH-Americans would be denied their right to engage in their people’s most sacred traditions, from violently overturning the elections they lose, to rape.
Why, mere weeks ago, one of our nation’s leading Rapist, Insurrectionist Game Show Hosts fantasized openly about the crime spree that lay ahead in the wake of the constitutional blank check issued by the Roberts Court; now, he’s been reduced to trolling the wingnut media bubble for television personalities to tag along on his proposed Venezuelan exile.
Even with the polls and forecast models moving in Kamala’s favor, (and I doubt he’s getting an answer he likes from his Mirror Mirror Who’s the Fairest bit, either) you know it’s the massive L in the ratings war that’s reduced him to a blubbering mess, ineffectually mashing the buttons on his phone with those tiny, inadequate fingers, while Fox Nooz hosts insist they can’t talk right now, they’re washing their hair.
Little did the unsuspecting libtards realize their precious convention had been infiltrated by a crack squad of MAGA Mata Haris, led by masters of disguise Matt Walsh and Mike Lindell, who wound up ensnared in one another’s respective honey traps, a tangle of starched flannel and shoddily-manufactured bedding discovered necking in a dumpster behind the Billy Goat Tavern.
(Don’t worry, before departing for his clandestine tryst, Mike obtained permission from the 12-year-old who owned him earlier in the day.)
Well, the once promising RFK Jr. op had devolved into a Wile E. Coyote-esque ratfuck boomerang, so the GOP called Bobby & his Brainworm home. In between bites of the raccoon he ran over on the way to the press conference, the weird sheep of America’s most famous political dynasty offered extended musings on the age at which girls reach puberty, in addition to his endorsement of the Dotard, which’ll look great on the mantel, between Kid Rock’s and Catturd’s.
No wonder these clowns remain so thoroughly flummoxed by Coach Walz’s normcore playbook. The swiftboating revival closed out of town, so the new smear is that he’s a sleeper agent for the Chinese Communist Party, because he got married on the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre, y’see, which admittedly explains the tank-shaped wedding cake bearing down on the petit fours personalized with each guest’s name.
In contrast, walking MAGA monkeypaw JD Vance keeps shambling through a grotesque anti-campaign that’s barely an imploding drummer shy of a Spinal Tap outtake. Looks like all those long hours of Normal Human Donut Ordering prep were for naught, alas, but honestly, who could be expected to navigate such a fraught social interaction without earning a restraining order or two?
Rudy Giuliani and Donnie One-Term himself are “invited guest speakers” at the “J6 Awards Gala” taking place next month at Bedpisser, the tacky golf resort which somehow has yet to be seized by law enforcement. The race for “most damning evidence uploaded to a terrorist’s own social media account” category is particularly competitive this year.
Y’know, there was a time when getting a law degree, representing a domestic terror group, fucking one of the terrorists, and advising the others to destroy evidence ahead of their seditious conspiracy trial was a reliable path to the middle class in this country. As Kellye SoRelle’ll tell ya, those days have gone the way of Mayberry and Crystal Pepsi. (In the distance, a bald eagle caws a mournful caw.)
Now that his buddy Poots sold him out on that whole hostage exchange thing, word is Off-Brand Orbán’s been begging Bibi through back channels to reject any ceasefire deals, because I guess when you’ve got 34 felony convictions with 54 more queued up, what’s a violation of the Logan Act, more or less?
A Trump-appointed federal judge in Kansas was feeling frisky, and decided to invent a constitutional right to own a machine gun. Now, in Federalist No. 10, James Madison talks extensively of the awesomeness of the Grand Theft Auto franchise, so I think this one will hold up on appeal.
House Republicans finally released their sad, flaccid Biden impeachment report, which found exactly zero impeachable offenses, but recommended impeachment anyway, if only for the sake of poor, dumb Jimmy Comer’s mom, who hasn’t had anything to put up on the fridge since that finger painting of a duck driving a bulldozer, which turned out to be stolen from another kid’s cubby.
Well, after federal law enforcement rejected his initial offer of the key to Anthony Devolder’s safety deposit box in Medellín, George Santos pleaded guilty to a couple of felonies, as if any prison could hold him. As for the issue of whether or not he’ll be allowed to sew a fake collar into his jumpsuit, SCOTUS will hear arguments next March.
Hulk Hogan dropped a leg on his public rehabilitation efforts with a drunken, racist rant in which he offered to “body slam” Vice President Harris, no doubt costing himself a speaking slot at the 2028 RNC, and, more importantly, the accompanying 20 dollar gift card to the buffet at the casino slated to host, which was a big part of the Hulkster’s retirement plan.
Maria Bartiromo heard it from a friend who heard it from a friend who heard it from another Texas has been messing around with registering undocumented immigrants to vote, which is, of course, nowhere close to true. Now, if Maria worked for a reputable news organization, she’d be under the gun, possibly even forced to take it on the run, but she doesn’t, so I imagine she’ll keep on ridin’ the storm out. I imagine these REO Speedwagon jokes aren’t landing, so I believe it’s time for me to fly.
Before I sign off, I’d like to welcome the blog’s newest sponsor: meet TRUMPY TROUT, the hot new animatronic male masturbator taking Cult45 by storm! 9 out of 10 incels say “Close enough, although how the fuck would I know?”
Of course, as longtime readers know, Shower Cap’s Blog is actually brought to you by BEER. And while the celebratory beers of August have been far sweeter than the Holy Fuck We’re All Going to Die beers of June, the liquor store still stubbornly insists upon payment.
Make no mistake, I’m prepared to turn to a life of crime if necessary, but relying upon the kind generosity of the readership seems safer. The tip jar now accepts Venmo, PayPal AND Cash App, so pick yer poison. And as ever, sharing this post on social media, following @john_luzar, and signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com are free! Stay safe out there, me hearties…
P.S., I think we should all just act like Beyoncé did show up, and put on a killer show. We’re allowed to gaslight them for a change. Just say Elon blocked it because she made up a little impromptu song about all the money he lost on Twitter.
Tampon Tim's Racist Tacos, and Other Dumb, Dumb Shit (Ferret/Shower Cap)
Life’s just one long Downfall parody down at Marm-a-Lago these days, for the craven creep cabal brought low by the devastating simplicity of those two humble syllables: “joy” and “weird.” Plus, the Chief Creep got ketchup all over the printout of that nude selfie Kim Jong-un sent for his birthday, which was the one thing the FBI let him keep from those crates of documents he stole, and now it’s all ruined.
(As ever, links n’ shininess await here: https://showercapblog.com/tampon-tims-racist-tacos-and-other-dumb-dumb-shit/)
Anyway, after an Adderall-fueled all-night brainstorming session, the decision was made to dispatch Epstein’s plane to pick up Corey Lewandowski and some cereal and maybe a VHS copy of Gangs of New York for JD.
The Dotard’s wranglers have been urging him to focus more on policy, while simultaneously distancing himself from the radioactive Project 2025 policy platform they ritualistically circle jerk to at their secret Christian nationalist clambakes. Obviously, such concepts are far too complex for a brain that managed to bankrupt casinos, but as a compromise, he’s taken to mendaciously claiming credit for the Biden/Harris Administration’s insulin price caps, to spice up the dead space between the blatant racism and the windmill rant.
…or so I’ve read. Maybe some people can endure seventeen consecutive hours of two charisma-deficient billionaire narcissists tongue-bathing one another without researching what it would cost to have Amazon dispatch an assisted suicide drone to their apartment, but I myself lack the strength.
Alas, if only those wily busloads of antifas had succeed with their super-ultra-hyper-microtargeted DDoS attack on the website Elon definitely didn’t break himself, we might’ve been spared all that interminable, grievance-saturated slurring. DO BETTER NEXT TIME, ANTIFAS!
Sigh. I suppose in the end, he’d only find some other pile of groceries to grouse near. No, it’s far too late to change him now, and I feel bad for the warden who’ll have to try when he’s sentenced next month. Pro tip to any prison guard tasked with smuggling contraband fast food into his cell: take a page from the city of Asheville, North Carolina’s book, and get your money up front.
As the walls close in, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot is trying to spend as much time as possible doing what he loves most: shitting on the losers and suckers who served the nation he betrayed at every opportunity. Did you know you can give your whole dang life for this country, and all you get in return is the sissy-ass Medal of Honor? Whereas hate-mongering talk radio hosts and wingnut megadonors get the good shit, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which you can pawn for way more Trump Bucks.
While Wee Donnie One-Term certainly made no shortage of powerful enemies over the years, I think even he realizes he went too far this time. Honestly, no wonder he’s hiding out at his tacky golf resorts instead of campaigning. Shit, they’re still finding pieces of the last guy who fucked with Céline Dion…but never two in the same time zone, y’know?
With Off-Brand Orbán cowering at home, it’s up to his historically unpopular running mate to barnstorm the nation in his rickety, malfunctioning Trump Plane™️, expounding upon the issues that matter to “normal” American women, like “the whole purpose of the postmenopausal female,” for example. Sure, technically they can babysit, but wouldn’t it be more efficient and humane to send ‘em straight to the Soylent factory as soon as you’ve swapped ‘em out for a younger, hotter model?
…don’t call him weird, though. An amoral vulture capitalist, maybe, but not weird.
President Biden had no choice but to mobilize the National Guard to quell the race riots touched off by Tim Walz’s inflammatory (GET IT?) spice comments. “WHITE TACOS MATTER,” yelped Ben Shapiro, before launching into a blubbering, falsetto rendition of “Old Man River” in the parking lot of the Chipotle he’d spent several hours unsuccessfully attempting to set ablaze.
Roger Stone found, to his dismay, not the promised horde of horny MILFs awaiting at the end of that email link he clicked, but rather Iranian hackers, who only wanted him for his Trump campaign secrets. Multiple news outlets have access to this data, but refuse to release it to the public, citing the sacred journalistic oath originally administered by the great Roman listicle maker Cillizzacus: “First, do no harm…to Republicans.”
Gosh, Ted Cruz has been uncritically platforming so much Iranian propaganda lately, I just assumed Supreme Leader Khamenei issued some sort of religious edict proclaiming his wife ugly, but it turns out he’s just an asshole.
With polls showing Kamala n’ Tim putting North Carolina in play, disgraced ex-Senator Richard Burr emerged from the old insider trader’s home to endorse the rapist he once voted to impeach, because principles have a half-life of about eleven minutes in the GOP.
In Burr’s defense, right before his appearance, he did swing by Nikki Haley’s place to ask to borrow a cup of dignity, but she was fresh out. So then he asked Nancy Mace, who responded, “Dignity? You shouldn’t make up words, Richard!” before skittering out for a CNN hit, where she engaged in a little performative shittiness, hoping to make losers like her more.
Following the resounding defeat of his party’s attempted power grab this week, Wisconsin Republican Speaker Robin Vos vowed to “get” not only Democratic Governor Tony Evers, but his little dog as well.
Former Nebraska Senator Ben Sasse’s tenure atop the University of Florida may’ve barely lasted the span of a fruit fly’s life, but that’s all the time he needed to vanquish the scourge of Not Paying Ben Sasse’s Buddies Millions of Dollars, another crushing defeat for the woke mind virus.
I guess RFK Jr. tried to finagle a Cabinet post out of the Harris campaign, in return for dropping out. When he was rebuffed, he said he’d be willing to settle for a bag of cranial parasite chow and whatever leftover roadkill happened to be in the break room freezer, but by that point, the intern who fielded his call was too busy leaking the conversation to the Washington Post.
Hats off to th’Deep State for successfully framing exceptionally stable genius Tina Peters on seven counts. These new bamboo fibers are functionally undetectable, so stealing the 2024 election’ll be like taking candy from a baby, or selling two dollar bills to Hannity viewers at twenty bucks a pop.
Between Tina’s conviction and the public outing of Millersville, Tennessee Assistant Police Chief Shawn Taylor as a QAnon adherent, it’s been such a great week for our global human trafficking conspiracy, I’m told Hillary n’ Huma authorized the tapping of a fresh keg of children’s blood for our satanic celebrations this weekend, so drink deep, comrades!
A tearful Vladimir Putin begged the international community for relief, citing the (admittedly imaginary) provision of the U.N. Charter that explicitly prohibits invadees from invading their invaders. “Nobody lets me assassinate anybody anymore, an’ they were s’posed to surrender in three days an’ I can’t even remember the last time I had a McRib, it’s not faiiiiiiiiiiir” the murderous despot whinged, before again checking to make sure his bunker was stocked with sufficient quantities of kiddie porn.
Meanwhile, between exuberant campaign stops, President Biden rolled out $1.5 billion in savings for Medicare recipients, under the long overdue law he signed allowing the government to negotiate prices with drug manufacturers, the latest Big Fucking Deal in a series of Big Fucking Deals.
I’ve actually asked Joe if he can work out a discount for me at the liquor store down the street, but he seems pretty busy these days, so for now, I’ll just mournfully rattle my tip jar (now accepting Cash App, PayPal AND Venmo!) in the hope that you kind folks will once again help me restock the ol’ beer fridge.
And as always, sharing this post on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, and following @john_luzar are free! Stay safe out there, m’lovelies…
Catturds and Couches and Bears, OH MY! (Ferret/Shower Cap)
I’d like to dedicate this week’s blog to all those puritanical pundits out there, clutching their pearls to powder over the exuberant outpouring of couchfucker jokes from the rejuvenated American Left. Sure, JD Vance spends his entire professional life spreading vicious lies in service to a dork supremacist movement that seeks the end of American democracy, but are we any better if we ourselves hump sofas?
(Links? Shininess? U know u want it: https://showercapblog.com/catturds-and-couches-and-bears-oh-my/)
Well…yes. Yes we are. Lots better. And judging by the polls, the electorate agrees.
Yes, things went from catastrophic to worse for the Committee for the Re-Election of the Rapist, as the already surging Vice President unleashed HELL ON EARTH, in the form of Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, who somehow navigated his introduction onto the national stage without causing voters to go, “Say, this guy seems like the sort of fellow who would copulate with furniture.”
Now the Children of the Candy Corn don’t know whether to shit or go blind, withering before Tim’s weapons-grade dad vibes like b-movie vampires when the sun comes up. “TAMPON TIM,” they feebly bleat, desperately clinging to the 20-year-old toy swift boats they played with when they were young, and tomorrow belonged to them.
While Harris and Walz rock stadiums with wholesomeness n’ hope, JD lurks in nearby parking lots, trailing a pitiful coterie of pasty bros, fantasizing about defiling the upholstery on Air Force Two. Vance may not be able to draw crowds of his own, but the mere mention of his name elicits enthusiastic chants at ours. Granted, they’re “HE’S A WEIRDO” chants, but there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?
(Checks JD’s approval ratings) Okay, there’s definitely such a thing as bad publicity.
Want some more? Okay, here’s 20 months’ worth of text correspondence with Holocaust-denying taintfungus Charles Johnson. Shit, if the little freak did fuck couches, it’d be the most likable thing about him.
All this is extra hilarious since JD’s the only one on the GOP ticket anywhere near the campaign trail, while Grampa catches up on naps down at Marm-a-Lago, with well under 100 days to go. The Dotard did manage to briefly drag his visibly decomposing ass as far as Georgia, to push the once reliably red state back into the election nerds’ toss-up column, by praising Putin, and shitting on popular Republican Governor Brian Kemp.
You know they’re in full meltdown mode whenever they let Stephen Miller out of his crate, but I don’t think we’ve seen that particular creep this rattled since the spray-on hair incident. Oh, “Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are the number one traffickers of children—girls into sex slavery on planet Earth,” you say? Okay, groomer.
Such delectable desperation. Time’s running out, and the next But Her Emails/Hunter’s Laptop is nowhere in sight.
By far my favorite current delusion is Off-Brand Orbán’s own sad, flaccid effort to goad Joe Biden into storming the DNC, swinging a steel folding chair, to reclaim the nomination. It’s yet another page right out of fellow rapist Vince McMahon’s book, from the ultra-stable genius who hoped to ride Hulk Hogan’s dusty, skulleted coattails back to the White House.
Which brings us to the “press conference.” If anybody out there was wondering what four additional years of inhaling cheap bronzer fumes had done to the brain that told the nation to inject Lysol during the pandemic…wonder no more.
Donnie One-Term proclaiming himself the survivor of an imaginary helicopter crash was apparently not enough to merit any breathless speculation regarding cognitive fitness from the media that sent me push notifications every time Joe Biden stammered; if anything, they praised him for “taking questions,” as opposed to Kamala, who spent the last three weeks (aka her entire campaign) playing Call of Duty, I guess.
He claimed the incel insurrection he incited drew a larger crowd than Martin Luther King Jr.’s March on Washington, which seems unlikely to me, though this figure was confirmed, by a suspiciously Sean Spicer-like voice emanating from the bushes.
Beyond that, he told the usual lies and spewed the usual bigotry, before retreating to the comfort of the wingnut media bubble, where he found Jesse Watters waiting, like always, with a hamberder and a handjob.
“That abortion question was masterfully evaded, sir!” fawned the sycophants, “I can’t imagine that one’ll come up ever again!” And then they all took turns congratulating him on his nebulously racist but ultimately gibberish “Kamabla” nickname. It’s a really cool cult, you guys. I bet there’s a waiting list.
Especially now that y’all’ve launched Normies for Trump, to counter the weirdness allegations, consecrated by His Holiness Jon Voight, in a sermon brimming with regular guyspeak like, “It's a war crime that Obama is directing and Kamala Harris will be the cackling hyena that just listens and repeats,” and led by self-proclaimed white nationalist Laura Loomer, who is prepared to handcuff herself to every swing voter in the Rust Belt if necessary.
Ah, but perhaps Team Rapist has taken the weirdo vote for granted! Turns out, you can spend decades ranting about Hannibal Lecter and toilet water pressure and how much you wanna bang your own daughter, but suddenly, at last possible moment, some nepo baby with a cranial parasite and a freezer full of roadkill can swoop in and out-batshit the Joe Rogan endorsement right out from under you.
Which, as you can imagine, REALLY upset Catturd*. In fact, we may be on the brink of what historians are already calling the dorkiest of all possible civil wars, unless cooler heads prevail, or Mom cuts off internet access.
Oh, by the way, RFK Jr. is officially peeling more votes away from Trump than Harris now, which probably explains the conniption Individual One pitched at the Failing New York Times over the fake helicopter crash. I’d be upset too, if I realized I was going to die in prison.
Almost as panicked is David Nicholas Dempsey, who was really counting on getting pardoned out from under that 20-year sentence he just received for assaulting all those cops at the Capitol Riot. Oh well. Fuck ‘im.
Anyway, I dropped by my local 7-Eleven for a buffalo chicken roller and some pornography, but my card was declined, because of the Xwitter ads I was forced to purchase after Elon Musk successfully sued under the secret Eleventeenth Amendment to the Constitution Jimmy Madison scribbled on the back of the Bill of Rights, which clearly states “Thou Shalt be Forced to Advertise Upon Any Platform Whose Owner Tells You to Go Fuck Yourself.”
The FBI seized Tennessee Congressdope Andy Ogles’ cellphone, as part of their investigation into whether or not such an obviously braindead nitwit can even read. It’ll give him something to talk about with Scott Perry, I suppose. When they’re cellmates.
I guess Jenna Ellis had such a blast flipping on the fake elector conspiracy in Georgia, she’s signed up for a whole ‘nother round in Arizona. And looka here, she’s already got company.
Shocking new reporting uncovers a single breakfast burrito purchased by Clarence Thomas, in March of 2009, using his own money, rather than Harlan Crow’s. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s simply a matter of misfiled reimbursement paperwork.
Ok, that’s more than enough for one week. Think I’ll take a little impromptu road trip up to Minnesota this weekend, maybe meet up with Laura Ingraham in Milwaukee for drinks and a quick geography lesson.
And, as always, if ya feel like chipping in for my beers, and maybe an atlas, you can toss a few bucks in the ol’ tip jar, (now accepting Cash App, Venmo, and PayPal!) or support these rants for free by sharing on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, or following @john_luzar! Either way, you stay safe out there, ol’ chum…
*Ten, twenty years from now, third grade American history tests are gonna be WILD.
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Member since: Fri Mar 24, 2017, 07:48 PMNumber of posts: 652