So, I see Dr. Fauci says we might have to live like this for another year or more, and I’m like, “don’t be silly, my vocal chords couldn’t possibly hold out that long,” as yet another news cycle reduces me to baying at the moon like a stray dog that got into Uncle Brody’s still again, a drunken, formless, primal yowl...yeah, I can do another year. Standing on my damn head, bro. (Weeps)
(The weeping began at Cap’s blog site, where this post originated: showercapblog.com/...)
In parts of our poor, bleeding country, the literal color of the fucking sky has changed to a sickly, unnatural hue as wildfires rampage out of control. A gender reveal party sparks a blaze that consumes more than 13,000 acres, while legions of radicalized wingnut drones blame imaginary swarms of antifa arsonists. Life in America feels more and more like being trapped in a SimCity game run by some kid with a sense of vindictive justice shaped by old EC Comics.
Some fella named Bob Woodward, who as near as I can tell is a character from a Robert Redford movie come to life, and somebody should really look into how the fuck that happened, ANYWAY, he’s got a book coming out. It is a book about Donald Trump, in case you feel like letting the cancer of his already inescapable presence spread into even more of your life. Me, I’ll stick to the headlines.
The headlines are plenty, God knows. So, it turns out the Dopey Dotard with Diminutive Digits knew all along that COVID-19 was deadly, he just lied and lied while we died by the tens of thousands.
I guess it counts as newsworthy that his rabbit turd brain was actually capable of processing information more sophisticated than See Spot Run, but like, didn’t we know this shit already? Or have we lowered our standards so far that we just accept the President probably thinks all this stuff about viruses and transmission is “witch talk,” and hope for the best?
The Velveeta Vulgarian’s spin here is that he didn’t want to cause a panic, which, yes, is really quite ludicrous coming from the wheezing turdnozzle who spends his days conjuring images of a scythe-wielding Joe Biden rampaging through the suburbs one Applebee’s at a time, but it’s also a fairly weak excuse. “I didn’t want to panic people, so I got a quarter of a million of them killed instead.” Oh. Well. That was poor judgment. Are you sure you’re cut out for leadership?
Other highlights from the upcoming Woodward include Government Cheese Goebbels’ boastful revelation of a classified weapons system, the sort of insecurity-fueled groveling he usually reserves for Oval Office meetings with Russian spies.
Oh, and he also bragged (so confident, our president) about helping murderous thug MBS get away with dismembering a Washington Post journalist...to an associate editor...of the Washington Post. He worked harder to shield an autocrat from accountability for an atrocity than he has to protect his 330 million constituents from the coronavirus and yeah, I just feel like Joe Biden is a better fit for this gig.
Oh, and speaking of Russian spies, Andriy Derkach sure is one! But that’s not all, Andriy is also Rotten-Mouthed Cousin-Fucker Rudy Giuliani’s partner in various international Biden-smearing ventures, AND Senator Ron Johnson’s personal disinformation dealer, and honestly, I hope Putin pays the guy what he’s worth. Weird that a Wisconsin Senator is doing the Kremlin’s bidding, but seriously, Derkach has clearly earned that Employee of the Month parking space.
Impeachable crimes: like treasonous Lay’s, it is difficult, apparently, to stop at just one. A DHS whistleblower alleges Acting Gruppenführer Chad Wolf repeatedly ordered the subversion of his department’s national security duties to the fleeting political whims of his Maggot Maharaja. Wolf, and his shit-eating worm sidekick, Ken Cuccinelli, are suppressing intelligence on Russian assaults on the 2020 election, and demanding official assessments match up with whatever viscous blobs of bullshit happen to fall out of Donald Trump’s pinched sphincter mouth.
...and it’s not even the biggest story of the day. I don’t think it even landed with the general public, honestly. “Flood the zone with shit,” right? Life in the fall of 2020 is lived between the ticks of a clock attached to a bomb; we’re just waiting to see if the person holding the cutters is the protagonist, or some sort of disposable act one throwaway played by a character actor. Please don’t be Sean Bean.
Looking to somehow pander hard enough to make folks forget that he’s single-handedly responsible for the greatest decline in the quality of Americans’ lives since the Great Depression (or the third Coldplay album, depending on how one measures these things), Strawberry Shartcake released an updated list of undomesticated assclowns he’d consider elevating to the Supreme Court, a veritable who’s who of people-loathing scumfucks, including Tom Cotton, Hugo Drax, Bobby Heenan, Liberty Valance, Josh Hawley, Waluigi, The Nothing, Ghislaine Maxwell, A Wad of Pubic Hair From an Alabama Truck Stop Restroom Which Has Gained Sentience, the Reverse Flash, and, ew, Ted Cruz.
“This looks like a job for Joe Lieberman!” said precisely no one ever, and yet Joe Lieberman inflicted his pomposity upon the world anyway, endorsing feckless concern-expresser Susan Collins’ re-election, in the name of some long-extinct bipartisan ideal that exists nowhere outside of Joe Lieberman’s unearned sense of self-regard anymore. You wanna shake the man, ask him what fight he imagines he’s fighting in this age of rapidly-encroaching fascism, but you don’t trust yourself to stop shaking, y’know?
Speaking of sanctimonious dithering in the face of mass suffering, Mitch McConnell’s latest dreary, cynical piece of political performance art, a “skinny” coronavirus relief bill, was defeated as predicted. I think it’s weird that so Americans are about to cast their votes for Yertle and his cronies, considering their extremely public devotion to making a terrible situation worse, but I guess folks take that War on Xmas stuff pretty seriously.
I’ve said this before, but I’ve really come to understand why so much of the art from behind the Iron Curtain was absurdist in nature; everything is just so huffing-nitrous-oxide-through-your-butthole-using-a-Shop-Vac-ingly insane lately. Like, how do the burgeoning millions of QAnon devotees reconcile their belief that Shart Garfunkel is secretly fighting a vast international left-wing child sex trafficking cabal with his confession, in front of the whole damn world, six months and nearly 200,000 corpses into the pandemic he continues to neglect, to watching as much television as a third grader on summer break? “Donald Trump working” is the nuttiest part of the whole conspiracy theory, honestly.
Even Mike Pants is attending Qnatic fundraisers now, HOW CHRISTLIKE IS THAT? In fairness, I imagine it’s more fun to pretend you’re fighting a secret society of pedophiles than to face the reality that you’re personally responsible for more human suffering than almost anyone alive, and that if Jesus came back, he’d deliver a very long, passionate sermon holding up you, personally, as an example of religious hypocrisy and phony piety.
The lying librul media would have you believe the Committee to Re-Elect the Taintfungus exists in a state of constant panic and existential dread over their inability to figure out how, HOW FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THE DARK GRIFTER GODS, do you run against Joe Biden, but if that were the case, would they be confidently proffering this latest frantic lie, that Old Handsome Joe, whom they have tried n’ tried to paint as a drooling nitwit, scarcely able to dress himself, only appears so lucid in his constantly multiplying public Trump-stomping events because he’s taking some kind of performance-enhancing drugs?
The idea here seems to be that there’s some sci-fi, Flowers for Algernon miracle pill that temporarily vanquishes dementia, leaving only Mad Rhetorical Skillz in its wake, but nobody’s ever thought to slip one to Doc Dotard before he waddles out to tell Americans to shoot bleach into their goddamn eyeballs? Sure, Jan.
A senior prosecutor working on John Durham’s “investigation” into the origins of the Russia probe resigned, presumably because she believes her duty is to the rule of law, rather than to manufacturing a bullshit October surprise for the Emperor of Hemorrhoids, to whom the entire executive branch must bow, according to Redactor General William Barr. I miss Jeff Sessions, and I don’t like the way that makes me feel.
Condolences go out to Chief Thuglomat Mike Pompeo, whose wife has been caught using a private email address to conduct government business. By the extremely consistent rules of modern conservatism, her life is now forfeit to the God of Information Security. I’m told the ritual is...quite grisly.
And we’re back to the concluding paragraph, without even the novelty of nudity to spice up the proceedings. Oh, hey, there ARE a bunch of new entries in the Fascist-Flushing Action Guide, so keep checking back, and keep sharing, the Guide is growing all the time! Stay safe out there, campers.
(You haven’t forgotten about my upcoming comic book, have ya?)
Head over to showercapblog.com to sign up for updates, and you’ll be the first to hear about the coming Kickstarter! @CapShower on the Tweetymachine! LET CAP FLOW INTO YOUR LIFE!