The entire raison d’être of the Republican Party is now to scare white people into voting for them so they can continue to wield power (on behalf of billionaires, of course) with the backing of a craven minority of the U.S. population.
Indeed, the only problems conservatives seem interested in solving are ones that clearly do not exist.
I grew up in northeast Wisconsin, about 40 miles outside of Green Bay. So, naturally, I’m a Packers fan.
You might say Packers fandom is part of my DNA. So, in a way, anti-vaxxers are right. The vaccine—or at least one gormless Green Bay goober’s decision to reject it—has changed my DNA, and not in a cool X-Men way or anything.
How the hell did Republican Louie Gohmert of Texas ever become a member of the House of Representatives? Did he collect the most Froot Loops box tops in his district? Did our reptilian alien overlords take a sudden liking to him halfway through eating his brain? Did he run against a seagull crapping in a bag of Ruffles?
I really want to know, because something here just isn’t right.
No matter how worthless a white person’s opinion is, the media will eventually seek it out. On a recent episode of CBS News Originals’ Reverb series, the network sent a reporter to find out what the fuck is up with critical race theory.
Because we white folk are apparently the snowflakiest hominids in the history of bipedalism, the media feel compelled to take our pulse from time to time (i.e., always).
Because Donald Trump lies about everything, right? All I need to hear is that Trump said a thing to determine—with metaphysical certitude—that that thing is false.
When I first heard about the alleged pee tape, I thought, “Hmm, interesting—but come on! Really? Too lurid to take seriously.
I half expected Sen. Kyrsten Sinema to show up on the Senate floor today dressed as Ramses II, arriving on a pink, three-legged Shetland pony before airily plucking imaginary Skittles from Rand Paul’s leonine mane of laissez-faire locks. Turns out I should have bet the over.
Watching Sinema “legislate” is a little like watching H.R. PufnStuf on acid, only orders of magnitude more maddening. She and Sen.
During interviews earlier this month with the House select subcommittee on the pandemic, Dr. Deborah Birx conceded that the Trump administration was “distracted” from its work on COVID-19 because of the election, and that the administration’s early failures likely led to as many as 130,000 unnecessary deaths.
If U.S. democracy falls this century, it will likely be at the hands of a stubby-fingered sack of extra-piquant donkey farts who likely never bothered to read the Constitution he swore to uphold—and certainly didn’t understand it if he did bother. In other words, we’re at the stage in the Siegfried & Roy show where the tiger starts picturing Roy as a semi-ambulant canned ham.
The latest news from Bizarro World is that Donald Trump is finally starting his own social media company—and it’s named TRUTH Social. Because while irony is long dead, that doesn’t mean Trump can’t beat it in the head with a shovel a few more times just to watch its corpse jiggle.
Sure, some people are still eager to invest their money with Donald Trump. And some kids still stick their tongues to flagpoles every winter.
Most people would—quite rightly—assume that “fresh produce” and “Donald Trump” have no business being in the same sentence unless there’s some secret Russian kompromat Christopher Steele left out of his dossier. I’d like to say Trump and produce are like oil and water, but they’re more like matter and antimatter. I shudder to think what would happen to his body if he ever came within 100 yards of a kale leaf.
Tim Burchett is an actual U.S. representative from the state of Tennessee, and he apparently has no idea how unemployment insurance (UI) works. As in, we don’t (very rarely, anyway) pay people who quit their jobs. The people who are quitting are frequently applying early for Social Security and/or living off whatever savings they managed to claw back from the hulking dragon hoard of our oh-so-magnanimous cabal of hardly working plutocrats.
Nothing is more sacred to right-wing Christian conservatives than their guns.
What? Forty thousand Brazilian fashionistas are keen to move to Connecticut, and Republicans want to stop them? Why? That’s the best news I’ve heard in months! Where, exactly, are they crossing? I’d like to meet them. Maybe they can help me get into some of the A-list clubs I’d normally have no chance of setting foot in because I smell like Kirkland jeans and Prell and have a head the size of an Igloo cooler.
When Donald Trump inevitably chokes to death while trying to swallow an entire Costco rotisserie chicken, you can pretty much guarantee he’ll still be clinging to his nonsensical claims about the 2020 election. His belief that he was robbed last November is simply impervious to facts. Meanwhile, any meager morsel of evidence that supports his febrile stolen-election fantasies, no matter how bonkers, immediately gets stovepiped into his creaky, ramshackle husk of a brain.
The War on Christmas comes earlier every year. Sadly, I fear it’s become far too commercialized and has totally lost the spirit of the first War on Christmas, which was all about wholesome, time-tested traditions, like driving a vicious wedge between Americans based on religious belief and preference. You know, as God intended.
These are seriously the whiniest, snow-flakiest insurrectionists ever. In 1776, as he faced the gallows, American patriot Nathan Hale famously said, “I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country.” He didn’t say, “Oh, this ankle bracelet is too tight, and it embarrasses me during Friday night ale-quaffings at the publick house.” Then again, reality shows and Hot Pockets had yet to be invented, so he obviously had a lot less to live for.
The best thing you can say about John Cornyn is that he’s the least—or rather less—revolting U.S. senator from Texas. That’s not saying much, of course. After all, even if the senior senator from the Lone Star State were an intestinal fluke who emerged fortnightly to sing Captain & Tennille B-sides during official state dinners, he still wouldn’t be as revolting as Ted “Probably Not the Zodiac Killer” Cruz.
Donald Trump isn’t worth his weight in off-brand ramen noodles, but Forbes magazine still thinks he’s “worth” around $2.5 billion. I’m not sure what the current exchange rate is between enchanted sparkly unicorn farts and the U.S. dollar, but Forbes seems to think Trump still has more of the latter than the former.
Republican Sen. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee appeared “exclusively” on Fox Business’ Sunday Morning Futures with Maria Bartiromo this week to weigh in on Joe Biden’s $3.5 trillion Build Back Better human infrastructure plan.
There’s a meme commonly shared on social media that goes something like this: “If you drank from a garden hose, stayed outside till dark, rode in the back of a pickup truck, ate dirt, licked random amphibians, taunted apex predators, and slapped yourself repeatedly in the face just to feel something in the midst of your cosseted, banal, utterly meaningless existence, then SHARE.” I may be paraphrasing, but the meaning is plain enough.
So remember when multibillionaire e-tailer Jeff Bezos got shot into space and acted like it was something brand new that a monkey hadn’t done seven decades ago? And how he thanked his long-beleaguered Amazon employees for paying for his ride, and did it all while wearing a cowboy hat that made him look like a 6-year-old posing for sepia-toned GlamourShots at a half-occupied mall outside of Boise, Idaho?
Yeah, you remember.
Dave Rubin is a political commentator and talk show host who appears on YouTube and BlazeTV, a conservative network that also hosts famed Algonquin Diaper-Changing Station members Glenn Beck, Mark Levin, and, erm, one of those Duck Dynasty dudes. You know, the one with the shitty beard. No, not the shitty Rip Van Winkle beard. The other one. The one that looks like a rent-by-the-hour motel for boisterously horny sea otters. You know, that guy.
While Texas having an official state book may seem a little like Wisconsin naming an official nonalcoholic beer and vegan goat cheese, at least the state is trying to encourage reading. Officials should probably ease into it, though. Maybe start with an official “back of a Cocoa Pebbles box” or an official misspelled, ungrammatical neck tattoo?
That’s not to say everyone in Texas is less than well-read, of course.
When it comes to killing people with coronavirus, Wall Street apparently prefers the deliberate, methodical approach of Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis to the chaotic, poo-flinging paroxysms of super-duper-spreader Donald John Trump.
The hirsute-lipped brain effluent known as Mike Lindell is at it again. And by “it,” I mean giving his brutally overworked absinthe fairies another go at convincing the world—through this bellowing bringer of absurdities and unduly upbeat pillow ads—that Donald Trump really and for true won the 2020 presidential election.
To prove his thesis, Lindell has crawled down hundreds of rabbit holes bristling with brain-damaged rabbits.
If you already thought the Trump administration’s COVID-19 response resembled two drunk howler monkeys punching each other in the groin on a Tilt-A-Whirl, you’ll be horrified—though certainly not surprised—to discover it was actually worse than previously thought.
We all have that one relative whose brain is nothing but spackle, expired haggis, and unnecessarily circuitous termite tunnels, and presidents are no different. Jimmy Carter had his brother Billy. Bill Clinton had his half-brother Roger. And George W. Bush famously disgorged from the same womb as … wait. Never mind. He is the embarrassing, cookie dough-brained black sheep of that family.
For a brief period, Michael Flynn was the actual national security adviser to an actual U.S. presidential administration. He left in disgrace (i.e., was fired) after lying to Vice President Mike Pence about his conversations with Russian Ambassador to the U.S. Sergey Kislyak. Ultimately, he was fired by Donald Trump. For being a liar.
Let that sink in for a moment. Trump fired a guy for telling one lie.
The blizzard of snowflakes that stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 is rapidly melting under the klieg lights of consequences. It’s hard not to laugh sometimes, and of course, the funniest part is that these salty traitor tots’ putsch not only failed to keep their wayward wad of amoral protoplasm in the White House, it also inconvenienced them so egregiously you’d think they were involved in serious lawbreaking or something.
Well, you know, 300 Spartans held off Xerxes’ forces at Thermopylae in 480 B.C., so maybe these goobers can make a stand with their meager phalanx of befuddled cheese bread receptacles.
Then again, if you’re expecting 10,000 enthused MAGA mites and only 300 show up, maybe it’s finally time to fold the denim tent you’ve kept propped up for the day of Donald Trump’s triumphant return.