Feels like we hit the Let’s Just Do It And Be Legends stage of imploding American kakistocracy, doesn’t it?

Let’s restart the Iran war. Let’s go back to ICE gunning people down in the street. Oh, and weren’t we going to assault the very foundations of the country’s electoral system? Have you seen the latest polling? We gotta get on that shit.

Also, I don’t want to get greedy or anything, but if there were some way to cause, say, an explosive diarrhea outbreak, that would be amazing. Have we tried intentional, malicious negligence? Because we’ve had a lot of luck with that.

The dude making all these decisions thinks magnets break when they get wet, by the way.

Nice to have that one back in rotation; it’s a personal favorite. He’s been so enamored with the ‘b’ in ‘dumb’ since he found out about it in his late seventies that we’ve forgotten how he believes that “When a little water touches the magnets, it doesn’t work anymore.”

No wonder we’re on the cusp of such a golden-ass age. Any minute now. Two weeks. Just wait till the revenue from the Strait of Hormuz tolls starts rollin’ in, baby! Why, running a massive protection racket on the other side of the globe is as easy as stealing a magnet’s magnetizing power with a small amount of water!

Boots on the ground? Well, why the heck not? Dear Leader’s mastery of the art of war is matched only by his negotiating prowess, after all. How many times has he either achieved glorious, total victory or graciously delivered the peace for which he is renowned the world over? No war in history has ended as many times as this one, and he doesn’t get enough credit from the lying liberal media for that.

As compensation for this slight, he gets a coin with his face on it, yes, in defiance of the dumb ol’ law, plus THREE scoops of ice cream tonight and a little light blasphemy on the official White House social media accounts. That’s only fair.

OH, and if it’s not too much trouble, he’d like to end American democracy.

Right! We reelected the guy who broke our centuries-old peaceful transfer of power streak. Autogolpe me once, shame on you…

And yes, there’s a level on which all this Big Lie stuff comes off like an old man arguing over an expired coupon in a Piggly Wiggly, but at the same time, we’re definitely not living through a golden age of refusing to follow unconstitutional orders, y’know?

Markwayne Mullin may be a soft little man with a smooth little brain, but he is still, for reasons certain to perplex and amuse scholars for generations, an extremely powerful fellow, so I can’t say I love watching him threaten election officials with imprisonment.

Wouldn’t want to tell you how to do your job, Markwayne, but maybe worry less about bamboo fibers and more about getting ICE’s murder numbers down? Hey, I’ve got an idea! You could like, check a dude’s background before you give him a badge and a gun (and a mask), and if he’s like, a violent psychopath, maybe he has to find some other job where it’s harder to kill people. Just a thought.

Pete Hegseth is gonna restore masculinity to the United States Armed Forces if he has to personally palpate every scrotum in the joint. Yes, the Secretary of War mandated testosterone screenings because we live in a deleted scene from a low-budget remake of a second-tier Steven Seagal movie.   

So I guess Marco Rubio is Viceroy of Venezuela now. Golly, that sounds like an important job. Hope none of the duties require shoes that fit.

They’re gonna sell priority access to the Dotard’s social media posts to anybody willing to sift through the messianic and/or homoerotic memes for tips about the next stock he’s pumping, just like in all the healthiest democracies.

If nothing else (and it’s pretty close to nothing, honestly), they’ve built a vibrant culture of corruption. Shit, even the fucking teleprompter guy has been grifting on the prediction markets. You better check these creeps’ pockets when they come sniffing around the Smithsonian, or we’ll live to see the Apollo 11 Command Module up on cinder blocks behind Mar-a-Lago.

So they drained the Reflecting Pool, and of course there’s no 350-yard gash. That’s one of the hazards of fabricating imaginary gashes, I suppose. Are we still prosecuting the Olympic canoeist over the gash that isn’t there?

The Senate Judiciary Committee convened to consider the absurd proposition that Todd Blanche should be Attorney General of the United States. Todd’s such a consummate lackey he can’t get through a confirmation hearing without referring to himself as Donald Trump’s lawyer, so it’s cute that we’re pretending there’s the slightest chance he’d wield the power of this office ethically.   

Chuck Schumer (allegedly) farted audibly on the Senate floor this week, which I am honor-bound to mention here in the interest of fairness and balance.

Seems Republican Senate candidate Mike Collins’ son-in-law is “a pro-White nationalist social media influencer with a track record of sharing antisemitic material and Nazi imagery in comments across the internet.” Ho hum. We’ve normalized worse.

(I think I’m actually going to enjoy this subplot quite a bit, because it turns out Jon Ossoff has a talent for playing with his food.)

Article I, Section 8, Clause 1) of the U.S. Constitution grants Congress the power to collect taxes to provide for the “common defense and general welfare,” which I’m sure you’ll agree encompasses flying JD Vance’s kids to luxury golf lessons on military helicopters with Secret Service protection.

History books tend to ignore the Founders’ heated debate over this very issue, which was ultimately resolved during a game of strip poker that established a well-regulated militia to escort a young John Quincy Adams to and from his trombone lessons.

Speaking of JD, he went on Joe Rogan to show the world what a likable, bro-ish sort of fellow he is beneath the eyeliner and the hatred, only to prove incapable of navigating the conversation without commenting on the sexxxiness of former President Biden’s ice-cream consumption technique.

Elon Musk likely broke Wisconsin’s bribery laws when he offered all those bribes during the 2025 state Supreme Court election. Gosh, I hope the trial doesn’t interfere with his efforts to incite white supremacist violence in Ireland.

Hey, you know who sucked?

Lindsey Graham sucked.

I shouldn’t say that. He was probably good at lots of things. He was amazing at betraying oaths, for example. Take the oath a United States senator swears:

I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

Yep, betrayed the shit outta that one. Damn near daily for a decade. And for what?

For war.

There was no degradation Lindsey Graham would decline to endure for the opportunity to make a little war. To a reasonably decent human being, blowing up a school full of children is an atrocity. To Lindsey, it was Xmas fucking morning.   

Lindsey lived such a shameful life that any honest obituary reads like a cautionary tale told by an insult comic. It’s a crying shame his parents ever met. And I’m sure that when South Carolina Republicans replace him with some freak who got kicked out of the Oath Keepers for sexual deviancy, I’ll even come to miss the relative gentility of his tragically weak character, so fuck him for that, too.

Anyway.

This is the part where I ask you to donate to my beer fund, which is actually extra urgent this week, as I spilled a bunch of beer on a bunch of magnets and thus must replace both. (Venmo, PayPal, and Cash App. You know the drill.)

Join the email list. Follow @john_luzar. Stay safe out there.

PS: WHY OH WHY WON’T YOU FILL OUT YOUR KICKSTARTER SURVEYS? I just want to send you the comics you bought from me. They are packed up and ready to go, but I need you to answer the survey so I know where to send them.

While the editorial board here at Shower Cap’s Blog remains generally critical of the president, there’s no denying the honor and privilege of living under the thumb of the fellow who is number one on Tic-Tac.

Looking to spice up the Two Minutes Hate’s dreary procession of judges, journalists, and opposition politicians, the Offal in the Oval offered up a photograph of some Muslim kindergarteners to his stochastic murder mob. And normally I disapprove of such things, but when you’re talking about the guy at the very top of the Tic-Tac charts, well, who’m I to say that terrorizing children is wrong?

While most arts and sciences have suffered under the current administration, we’re making exciting strides in the field of racism. The “Islamic Republic of Japan” initiative experiments with innovative new disinformation tactics, weaponizing the very dementia of MAGA’s high priest to feed the rank-and-file cultist’s insatiable need for fake shit to fear.

I expect extensive worldbuilding. The Islamic Republic of Japan will have transgender for everyone, including the pets they eat. Their chief export will be extra large litter boxes for furry kids to shit in at woke public schools. They will be very interested in taking our women and our jobs.

See, at this level of kakistocracy, there simply aren’t enough scapegoats available in real life. Shit, you can’t squeeze half a news cycle out of restarting a shooting war these days.

Oh yeah, the Iran War is back on…ish? I think? I’d ask Pete Hegseth, but he’s too busy micropolicing warfighters’ facial hair and bankrupting the Pentagon.

Feels like that should be bigger news. I understand how months of careening between genocidal threats and market-manipulating proclamations of Peace for Our Time have further dulled our battered senses, but I find this On a Scale of 1 to 10, How at War Are We Right Now? thing unsettling.

Especially since Dear Leader has apparently left posthumous revenge orders should the cankles take him before the new Ayatollah grows bored with his Strait of Hormuz playset. Yes, every American household has been pledged for a thousand generations to wage war eternally in his name, those who aren’t entombed alive to keep his collection of pilfered baubles shiny, anyway.

Aside from a flaccid swipe at Greenland in a failed attempt to establish dominance in front of Giorgia Meloni, the NATO summit could’ve gone worse, though we’re apparently cutting off all trade with (the Islamic Republic of?) Spain for some reason or other.

Oh! Also, it turns out the Qatari bribe jet might not be the greatest plane ever built after all, though I’m sure what it lacks in security features it makes up for in gilding.

Other than that, he’s mostly just ranting about communism and nationalizing stuff. Oh, and stealing our money, of course.

I see ICE is doing that thing again where they murder somebody and tell a bunch of immediately debunked lies about it.

I’m of two minds on this one. On one hand, masked, unaccountable secret police gunning folks down in the street is bad. On the other, it’s easy to understand how a cornered autocrat wouldn’t want his pet paramilitary force getting rusty ahead of whatever doomsday plans he’s cooking up with Stephen Miller for the midterms.

He purged the Election Assistance Commission, by the way, in addition to issuing a wave of threats targeting state election officials, but I’m sure that bunker he’s building is mostly for playing Mario Kart with visiting autocrats. Blue states get election monitors but not disaster relief here in the world’s healthiest democracy.

Thwarted by everyone from the Kennedy Center to Milli Vanilli, the Keystone Kultural Revolutionaries turned up on the Smithsonian’s front lawn, hopped up on sauerkraut, with a cartload of supplies from Hobby Lobby and 162 pages of notes for a proposed rewrite of our nation’s entire history. Feels like a good time to invest in scaffolding manufacturers, as I sense some cycles are about to repeat.

Even Chuck Grassley has grown weary of Kash Patel’s insistence on living like a Kardashian at taxpayer expense. Every hour Kash spends on his golden jet ski is one he’s not violating somebody’s civil liberties, I suppose.

Which is good, since we’re at the And THEN They Came for the CAT LADIES stanza of the poem. Yeah, the Vice President of the United States sicced the Secret Service on a woman for cat video thoughtcrime. I only imagined I knew what “petty tyranny” meant, y’know?

Seems the analysts at the CIA don’t appreciate the role they get to play in advancing the Dotard’s various military excursions and revenge plots. Sounds like the Deep State could use another round of lie-detector tests.

Look, I wouldn’t presume to tell Secretary Rubio how to assemble his proposed international coalition to combat Antifa, but considering how the last one went, picking Seb Gorka as your point man feels a little on the nose, don’tcha think?

I’m sure the Founders don’t roll over in their graves as much as they used to because they’re as exhausted as the rest of us, but dammit, they fought a whole-ass revolution so their descendants would be free to ignore soccer, so watching a president stoop so low as to corruptly intervene in its workings…I dunno, do ghosts vomit? Congrats on making the country cheer Belgium for kicking our ass, Turd Midas.

So, a plaintiff in an RFK Jr.-backed anti-vax lawsuit claimed vaccines killed her two young children, only it turns out that by “vaccines,” she meant “herself.” The only real surprise in that story is that she somehow has yet to be appointed to any CDC board.

Nice to see DOGE officially die this week, though I think the postmortems are wrong to call it a failure. Sure, they didn’t save any money, but that was only the stated goal. If you look at it from a great-replacement-theory-pilled white supremacist megalomaniac’s point of view, it was a smashing success.

Rapist Jr. attended a preliminary hearing for the guy who shot Charlie Kirk, no doubt imagining he’d be able to detect secret Antifas in the crowd, sobbing over their fallen comrade. The staffer who convinced him to leave his fake glasses and mustache in the car is to be commended.

While I’m enjoying the Mitch McConnell memes as much as anyone, I think we’d all rather be hearing a bunch of nervous pundits stammering about fictitious twenty-minute phone calls with somebody else, right? And to any government agents monitoring this blog, let me specify that I’m talking about John Oates of the celebrated pop duo “Hall & Oates,” who I have long despised for personal reasons. When I say “86 45,” I mean “throw away your 45 RPM vinyl singles of Rich Girl and Out of Touch.”

Furious incels flooded social media with videos of themselves shooting copies of The Odyssey with semi-automatic rifles to protest a movie for casting a Black person, which must make their mothers real proud.

In conclusion, I NEED A DRINK. I’ll even let you buy me one via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal. Or you can sign up on my email list or even follow @john_luzar if you’re so inclined. But whatever you do, stay safe out there, old chum…

P.S. I’m still waiting on quite a few Kickstarter surveys! If you backed the Kickstarter for the last comic book, answer your survey so I can mail you your comics!

Reports in the Lügenpresse of Dear Leader’s mental decline are false, slanderous, and some third bad thing, especially the dozens of videos of him falling asleep, and we’ll prove it by administering yet another of his increasingly regular dementia screenings. Normally he can’t take enough cognitive tests, but right now he’s busy explaining to the Teddy Roosevelt hologram that he wants to have a threesome with his sons.

Yeah, he’s fine. Any other wars you feel like starting, sir? Before you collapse into a pile of slugs?

On the bright side, the Slapstick, On-the-Nose Metaphors for American Decline Fair couldn’t be going better. In fact—hang on, I’m being handed a correction…Great American what, now? Ah. I see. Well, that is a horse of a different color, isn’t it?

Fewer Confederate flags than I expected, honestly.

Boy, Fox just loves that empty field, huh? I bet they could broadcast the news (“news”) from just about anywhere in the world, but I agree, the conspicuously under-attended party makes a spectacular frame.

There’s still plenty of available booth space if you’ve ever wanted to see your child martyred to American greatness on the altar of graft. I can’t wait to meet the face at the end of that no-bid contract, y’know? The bar’s pretty high, but I’ve learned not to underestimate MAGA’s ability to dig up One More Freak.

Well, we’re kicking the Fall of Rome’s ass in memes, anyway.

Pollsters tell us proud-to-be-Americanness has hit some lows, which I get. Between the authoritarian idolatry and the blown-up schoolchildren and the universal designated hitter rule, maybe the apple pie doesn’t hit the way it used to.

I say quit yer bitchin’. Do you know how many dudes got bayoneted so you could enjoy the freedom to guzzle fried slurry in your car while you feed your kids’ college money into Candy Crush? Which you’ll notice is a bayonet-free experience, ingrate! Shit, you could get curly fries at Arby’s and then drive to Sonic for a 2,000-calorie malt before the fries get cold I bet plus I’ve heard that if you pay in TrumpCoin at Taco Bell they’ll let you stick that sour cream gun into an orifice of your choosing ALL WITHOUT ENCOUNTERING A SINGLE BAYONET.

This is the greatest country in the world. You can start with nothing but tens of millions of your daddy’s dollars and a talent for deceiving idiots and wind up with billions in annual income. All it takes is a little elbow grease. That’s what the hand splotches are. Elbow grease. You wouldn’t know because you’re such a filthy taker.

He’s earned every bit of it. The crypto, the Kazakh tungsten mines, the Qatari jet. Why, it’s the “best plane ever built,” way better than the weak-ass planes they make in that shithole America place with the rapist president.

Troy Nehls works harder than you, so he shall dine this holiday weekend upon lobster doused in the fanciest Dijon catsups, and frankly, you’re lucky he doesn’t eat them off your worthless serf back. The abovementioned “work” is limited to badass trolling, so of course there’s no time for cuck shit like reversing the Republican policies that’ve cost us all so much fucking money.

Don’t get the Roberts Court wrong; enshrining institutional white supremacy is still important, but the plain text of the actual Constitution is a wicket of substantial stickiness, and while it’s certainly equal parts terrifying and adorable watching the extremists pretend there’s ambiguity in “all persons born,” birthright citizenship is here to stay.

I admit I was surprised by the ferocity of the ensuing wingnut meltdown, because “all” is one of those words you figure more or less everyone understands, though I suppose he’s not selling all that cryptocurrency to geniuses.

Still, I’m sure there were a great many letters to White Nationalist Santa (Megyn Kelly’s Santa) pledging to contentedly forgo all other gifts this year if they could please just this once have “all” mean something different for the duration of one itty-bitty SCOTUS decision. Having failed to prepare emotionally for an obvious outcome, the Stephen Miller wing emitted hissing sounds and noxious fluids, which Wikipedia assures me is normal.

Do make time for The Federalist’s Sean Davis’ normal, human response to the ruling, containing all sorts of sane, healthy thoughts about wombs. Unless, of course, you’d like to ever sleep at night again.

Sure, Obama got Bin Laden, and that was okay if you’re into that sort of thing, but I think every American will forever remember where they were when Jeanine Pirro finally got the bastard who carved an admittedly 348-feet-shorter-than-reported gash in the Reflecting Pool for which so many brave men got bayoneted, probably right in the face.

Basically, every single news story this week is from a hypothetical Jeff Foxworthy special called You Might Be in a Banana Republic If…

I see Elon has been navigating the transition to trillionairehood with the expected increase in megalomania. I wonder how Nicholas Kristof sleeps at night, knowing that elaborate death traps are being constructed in an undersea lair with him in mind.

Mike Johnson’s extra faceplant-y week has Republicans grumbling about the general shittiness of his leadership, which is certainly a reasonable response to Mike Johnson, but, like…what’re you dorks gonna do about it? Get somebody better? Where? Denny’s? If you wanted people who’re good at things, you wouldn’t have chosen kakistocracy.

While Donald Trump has wielded the dragging-shit-out-in-court tactic with great effectiveness, to the detriment of all life on Earth, it has also provided regular jolts of schadenfreude, as his more desperate arguments got laughed out of court after court after court.

Now that we’re at the end of the road, I realize I’ll miss the E. Jean Carroll updates most of all. Every one of those push notifications made you smile, right? FUCK yes. GIT him, E. Jean! I suppose we still have the formal transferring of the judgment to look forward to.

Ironically enough, though, we’re going to get to watch him lose Georgia one last time, because Kid Kash is on the case, baby! He’s got boxes of docs, and he will track down every last bamboo fiber, even if he has to pay overtime, but don’t worry, that comes from a different pile of taxpayer money than the one that pays for his girlfriend’s security detail.

Elsewhere in the intelligence community, Bill Pulte has begun purging agents of what he imagines to be th’Deep State, utilizing only the most sophisticated decoder rings obtained from Cracker Jack boxes that had only recently expired.

Well, the president who thinks professional wrestling is real appointed a Health and Human Services Secretary who thinks professional wrestling is real, so I don’t know why anybody’s surprised about the measles outbreaks. That said, from now on, whenever he does something nutty, I’m gonna say, like, “Looks like we’re still keepin’ it RFKayfabe!” which is a wrestling joke, and it is my deepest hope that I’m introducing at least one or two readers to the word “kayfabe,” which is a delightful little word.

For all the gags about the parade of flawless metaphors coming out of the birthday “party,” I’d like to suggest it’s a tragically ironic story about Venezuelans deported directly to their death that best captures the spirit of Trumpism. They’re doing so much evil they periodically stumble into extra evil by chance.

In spite of all this, I remain proud to be an American, because an American, y’see, is all the things these dorks aren’t. Patriotism is the very last thing I’d cede to them. Pry it off the floor of my cold, algae-swamped Reflecting Pool, asshole! (But please don’t tell Jeanine Pirro.)

Shit, I’m so proud to be American, I wrote a whole-ass comic book about…y’know what? Why don’t I just show you? It’s Independence Day weekend; here’s a link to issue #1 of GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE, if you haven’t already read it. Dive in, and know that the Kickstarter for issue #2 is coming just as soon as I get my shit together, which…HEY LOOK, HE INVADED GREENLAND!

As ever, if you dug this diatribe, you can buy me a beer via Venmo, or PayPal, or even Cash App if ya nasty. I’ve got an email list and a Xwitter account and an Instagram, actually, though I’m still figuring out how to use that one. Hey, you should stay safe out there, that’s what I think…

Like the rest of you, I’m still recovering from the psychosexual ecstasy of the culmination of the 89th and final phase of Operation Jade Helm, wherein the Chosen One, the product of generations of interbreeding conducted primarily in the back seats of Antifa Ghost Buses, wielding the sacred Razor or Maybe Box Cutter That Turns Paint Into Algae Somehow, carved a gash simultaneously 350 feet long and completely invisible into the Reflecting Pool as part of the dastardly Deep State plot to make people think Donald Trump is dumb when he is actually part of the intellectual mega-elite that even knows about the b in dumb.

Perhaps as they drown in the telltale pea soup green of the spreading meme wave, the fools will come to understand (too late, ho ho!) just why we chose jade for that helm. Incidentally, whoever suggested adding the duck corpses – wow, what a great detail!

Yes, our sinister psyop successfully planted the illusion of incompetence in the public consciousness, where in reality, only a golden age exists. Why, the medieval theocrats misruling Iran have never been wealthier, thanks to the week’s easing of sanctions. I myself have yet to see the financial benefits from this deft bit of negotiational genius, but I’m optimistic they’ll trickle down in time, perhaps in the form of state-sponsored terrorism.

Of course, with a certain wounded narcissist’s pride as the Mao of Redecorating at stake, we definitely have to do tyranny over this. There have been six arrests already, in fact. Just because this gash doesn’t actually exist doesn’t mean people shouldn’t be jailed for carving it.

They’re building an extra torture-y gulag in El Salvador for anybody who ruins any aspect of the never-ending party President Rapist has been throwing for himself with our money. I just received a draft notice, actually. I’ve been ordered to report to the National Mall because no one wants to attend his sad, flaccid “State Fair” outside of the odd public masturbator. It says to expect 12-hour Ferris wheel shifts. Send snacks.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore Dear Leader as much as any government agent surveilling this blog requires me to, but perhaps we can dial back the feting until he goes a month or so without losing a war to a minor regional power?

I know, I know, if we have to wait for Donald Trump to actually achieve something, we’ll forget what noisemakers even sound like. Fair. The Ls are certainly piling up. Control of the Senate continues to slip. Why, even B-Bill Cassidy arranged a brief visitation with the spinal column he walked out on a few years back.

Anyway, now he’s threatening to veto the housing bill that just passed with huge, bipartisan majorities unless he gets his voter suppression bill, which I get; democracy must feel like a massive hassle when you’re so widely despised.

A few news cycles dominated by a veto override, peppered with a few more segments about Iranian hardliners bragging about the money you gave them, will restore your aura of inevitability, sir. If you could just manage to stay awake through a few brief televised ceremonies…well, we all have our limits.

I’m sure adding experimental weight loss drugs to the obscene cocktail sloshing through that 6’3”, 224-pound frame will only enhance America’s general great againness. No doubt even now he’s putting the finishing touches on the Greenland invasion plans, securing the eternal Red Lobster® Endless Shrimp® nights that were our birthright before Sleepy Joe Biden something something autopen.

Hey taxpayers! You cheered when you got to shell out a billion bucks to upgrade his Qatari bribe jet! You thrilled as he stole health care from millions to finance tax cuts for his oligarch buddies! Well, you’ll lose control of every sphincter in your body when he reaches into your pocket to pay for the “welcome bags” they’re putting together for White South African “refugees”! I can’t decide if I’m more excited to pay for the tablet or the fucked-up white nationalist children’s book!

Ron DeSantis briefly emerged from his ongoing dissipation to announce the closure of “Alligator Alcatraz,” a substantial setback for our exceptionally healthy democracy’s burgeoning concentration camp merch industry.

Sure, hindsight is 20/20, but assuming American democracy survives, one thing we’re gonna need to totally overhaul is Cabinet secretary confirmation hearings. We’ve been asking the wrong questions. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you, uh, ever cut the penis off a dead raccoon you found?” That sort of thing. Could’ve avoided all sorts of trouble.

Like, “Hey, you ever eat anybody else’s toenail clippings?” Politics doesn’t even need to come into it at that level, right? You’re in a cult that eats toenails? I love that for you, and I love our constitutional liberties generally, but I think we’re going to keep looking until we find somebody who isn’t in a toenail-eating cult for the (checks notes) Director of National Intelligence job.

Nice to see the security of the homeland has been entrusted to a surly manchild incapable of navigating a congressional hearing without a widdle stress ball to smoosh, by the way. Self-control is for cucks.

Honestly, given the preceding litany of failure (and I’ve been writing this blog for nine years, folks), it’s hardly surprising the GOP brand has grown so toxic even the likes of Tucker Carlson and Marjorie Taylor Greene are scuttling away in search of darker corners.

Frankly, they’re even more revolting in triumph. They lose in court so often, I certainly understand the urge for a victory lap when the illegitimate MAGA SCOTUS majority allowed them to deport some Haitian and Syrian migrants, but watching Megyn Kelly writhe around in her gutter bigotry like Ann-Margret in the baked beans scene in Tommy reminds you that beneath the bungling and bumbling, they’re really quite evil.

Look how proud JD is of dragging the nation’s political and cultural standards down to his level. “Can you believe a ten-cent scandal like Watergate took down an entire presidency? See, the trick is, you commit crimes all day every day, and the plebs can’t keep up.”

Like, maybe somebody should find out how much classified intelligence Tulsi handed off to that cult leader, but I have to register my displeasure about the ongoing assaults on the First Amendment, and wait, we’re persecuting GWAR for what reason, precisely? Oh, and we’re talking about prosecuting women who get abortions now, are we?

The moral of the story is you flood the zone with shit, you get away with ALL OF IT…

…until you don’t.

Until a weary, over-tariffed, frankly downright peevish electorate finally gets the chance to VOTE IN THE GODDAMN MIDTERMS, for example.

Say, that’s just around the corner, innit?

I should probably start stocking the beer fridge now because that’s gonna be a NIGHT, my friends. If you enjoyed this rant and feel inclined to finance my debauchery, know that I take Venmo, Cash App, and PayPal. As always, join the email list, follow @john_luzar, and please o please stay safe out there…

PS: Pour one out for That Guy Who Says He Teleported to a Waffle House, for he has joined the distressingly narrow ranks of the unemployed kakistocracy.

OH AND ANSWER YOUR DANG KICKSTARTER SURVEYS! New comic coming soon!

When last we met, the regime was sulkily stalling the court-ordered removal of a certain game show host’s name from a certain arts center. Which I loved. You dorks wanna draw the humiliation out? That’s super hot, actually. There’s absolutely nothing sexxxier than autocracy in retreat.

First the scaffolding goes up. Sits there for a bit, coquettishly building anticipation. Clownish last-minute legal appeals only spike my arousal.

Then it turns out the scaffolding is only there to hide the removal from the public. Which is just…thrillingly degrading. We’re sinking to exotic new depths of self-abasement here, folks. The naked emperor attempts the dance of the seven veils.

Not that I don’t get it. If I were an aspiring tyrant, I wouldn’t want such a potent image of my weakness in circulation, either. And if I were a malignant narcissist fresh off getting big-timed by what’s left of Milli Vanilli, I’d be so fucking scared of headlines like Kennedy Center De-Naming Videos Draw Better Ratings Than All of Two-Term President’s State of the Union Addresses Combined that I’d piss myself, and Susie says she’s not getting up in the middle of the night to change me anymore, so I’m on my own.

So I guess this tarp stays up untilllllllllllll…?

…until whatever Enrique Tarrio has planned for that $1.776 billion blows up in our faces? Or until the inevitable Cabinet meeting nap from which no man wakes, no matter how many memorials to other people he glues his name to?

Look, there’s not enough scaffolding in the world to cover what’s coming for you dorks. So why bother?

When you lose enough wars, folks start to notice. In fairness, only the one with Iran is Wikipedia official at press time, but it won’t be long before refs invoke some sort of mercy rule in the Reflecting Pool affair.

Those stories tie together so tidily, don’t they? And the moral is, like, don’t pick stupid, unnecessary fights with Middle Eastern theocracies or with algae. It would make a fantastic children’s book if the main character wasn’t a rapist.

Yeah, Iran grabbed him by the midterms, all right. When you control the Strait of Hormuz, they not only let you do it, they ship you pallets of cash for the privilege.

Maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe I’m just mad because the president promised my childhood baseball card collection to the Supreme Leader in this “memorandum of understanding.” I’m still reading through the terms and conditions, actually…goddammit, does this really obligate every American to do the Truffle Shuffle on command?

I bet I’m the first person to notice the irony of the Art of the Deal guy cutting the worst deal in the history of deals. But that’s why you’re reading this, for the genius-level insight. For my next trick, I will tell you the names of various animals simply by looking at drawings of those animals.

Deal’s such a stinker, they’re trying to lob it onto JD Vance’s sinking ship, which is glorious (and efficient, really). DAD LIKES MARCO BETTER NOW, SORRY, BYE, leaving JD alone on deck with a bucket, scooping futilely and blubbering, “B-but I have my book tour this w-week.”

Yeah, JD’s got a new book out about what a good Christian he is for telling dehumanizing lies about immigrants and starving a few hundred thousand people (so far) to death and building concentration camps and blowing up schoolchildren ANYWAY he should be president so he can do even Christianer stuff.

It was supposed to be the grand unveiling of JD 2028, after god knows how much planning and research, and the people he works with shoved a flaming bag of dog turds in his hands and ran away laughing, and absolutely no one deserves it more.

The knives are OUT, y’all. The ones the Dotard hasn’t accidentally thrown in the trash, anyhow.

Connoisseurs of MAGA tears will not want for options in the days to come, but I suspect the Iran Hawks Reacting to the MOU vintage will be treasured, preserved in small batches for special occasions. It was so kind of them to document the moment the monkey’s paw curled around their balls…just exquisite stuff. You wanna swirl it around in a snifter.

Watch Trey Gowdy. “I didn’t believe it. I thought somebody was spoofing me when I saw it.” Yeah, he’s stupid and venal and treacherous and cowardly and weak and generally unfit for power in a thousand ways. Is that not working out for you anymore?

Hmmm. Perhaps if you had opposed his authoritarian power grabs rather than enabling them, Iran wouldn’t be so much richer and more powerful today. Ah, well. Hindsight.

Rumor has it the Nobel people will award the first-ever Trolling Prize next year, to whoever it was that suggested Versailles for the ceremonial capitulation. So simple. So elegant. The perfect bait.

Look how happy Macron looks in those photos. That’s the smile of a man who finally foisted the burden of a century of surrender jokes onto another culture.

Joke’s on you, Frenchie. We’re manufacturing so many visual metaphors for our nation’s decline, we barely even noticed yours. I assume the Reflecting Pool saga will continue advancing in comedic absurdity until we get clips of Jake Tapper reporting, “The president’s $15 million coat of paint continues flaking off in chunks, which emit what can only be described as ‘fart sounds’ as they float away.”

Say, maybe that pool boy Melania recommended doesn’t know as much about algae as we were led to believe. Perhaps his expertise lies in other fields.

Anyhoo, if all this symbolism is still too subtle for you, you can always watch the guy with the nuclear codes fight a losing battle with the clasp on a medal. Yeah, there are “no limits” to your power, old man, beyond those imposed by the snowballing deterioration of your never particularly impressive brain.

Someone else whose power could use some limits is Chief Warloser Pete Hegseth, who continues to undermine national security in a frankly fascinating variety of ways, from causing flu outbreaks on military bases with anti-vax culture war self-sabotage to directing yet another petulant tantrum at allies who seem increasingly tired of our bullshit.

Except that Giorgia Meloni, who begged for a selfie, helplessly ensorcelled by the raw charisma of a narcoleptic octogenarian with half a pound of makeup on the back of each hand. And sure, that’s a lie, but one well worth straining diplomatic relations over. We can just throw a tarp over Italy for a few years; it’ll be fine.

Remember that time the regime paid hundreds of millions of dollars to an energy company to not build some windmills? They did that again. More than two and a half billion taxpayer dollars have now been spent to abandon existing wind farm contracts. Such government inefficiency never would’ve happened under Big Balls’ watchful eye.

The administration definitely isn’t a cult; they’re just doing wacky, sauerkraut-based fad diets together, so apparently they all smell weird now, too. If anybody’s interested, it’s Bobby Brainworm’s thing, so we can assume whale head juice is allowed.

O, how the ovipositor Stephen Miller uses to lay eggs in his human victims’ chests must have stiffened when he saw that opportunity to suspend habeas corpus! Why, I bet —

Hang on, SUSPEND HABEAS CORPUS? Oh right, the fascism! Sometimes you get so caught up laughing at the incompetence, you don’t notice the police state shit until you’re halfway to the Salvadoran torture gulag.

Like, sure, this crap they’re trying with these Minnesota protesters won’t stick, but it’s the malice that counts.

It’s all they have left, really. Whatever poisonous little chemical surges in the MAGA brain when some dork bellows MICHELLE OBAMA IS A MAN on the White House lawn. Looks fulfilling.

Meanwhile, the Barack Obama Presidential Center opened this week, and they had rock stars and dignity but probably no stale McDonald’s products. All the Cult45ers insist their guy’s presidential center will be way better, but they should probably figure out how to repaint the bottom of a fucking pool before they get cocky.

Yikes. Okay, if you enjoyed the preceding diatribe, why not drop a few bucks into my beer fund (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, and Venmo)? I promise to spend it on beer and not state-sponsored terrorism, even if I’m suddenly handed $300 billion. I like beer that much.

As always, sign up on the email list and follow @john_luzar! And answer those Kickstarter surveys, because the Kickstarter for the second issue of GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE is right around the corner…oh, and stay safe out there!

I’d like to congratulate Kharg Island, the new odds-on favorite heading into the final round of Who Wants to be the 51st State, the hit reality show none of us can ever ever EVER FUCKING TURN OFF, where a somnolent megalomaniac races Vladimir Putin and his own rapidly decomposing brain to carve out something passably legacy-shaped on a real-life Risk board.

Ope! Never mind! Ground invasion’s off! Don’t put those contingency plans for decades of bloody quagmire away just yet, though; we might still need them next time Grandpa decides the pundits aren’t showing proper deference.

This is the Don-roe Doctrine, where a wounded narcissist lashes out with the most terrifying military machinery money can buy, desperate for dopamine between public humiliations as he dodders and wobbles and naps his way through the looooooong overdue And Fall part.

He’s always extra bloodthirsty after peeking outside the wingnut media bubble for a chat, however brief, with an actual journalist, so you knew somebody somewhere was in trouble the minute you saw him scamper away from that Kristen Welker interview. While it’s perhaps a bit early to speak definitively, many historians are calling him the most callously murderous FIFA Peace Prize laureate of all time.

I JUST DROPPED A QUARTER OF A BILLION DOLLARS’ WORTH OF BOMBS ON PEOPLE! IMPRESSED YET, DAD? I BET SALMA HAYEK WILL GO OUT WITH ME NOW! HEY, LET’S GO WAKE UP JEROME POWELL AND TELL HIM HOW MUCH THE BOMBS I JUST DROPPED COST but of course by the time you get his shoes on and get him in the car, he’s all tuckered out.

Two hundred and fifty million. Good thing we didn’t spend that on any woke shit, like monitoring and/or containing screwworm outbreaks. No, Fashy Daddy needs to commit genuine war crimes nowadays, because the Diet Coke button doesn’t hit the way it used to, back before he needed to see 22 different doctors at once.

Twenty-TWO, you say? My, my, my. Sounds like an awful lot of doctors.

Perhaps they came from every corner of the globe to bask in your cognitive radiance. NO! To CHALLENGE it! “I shall expose this charlatan by administering the cognitive test of my people, a far more rigorous dementia screening than those in fashion in the decadent West!”

Only to fall, one after another, until fully two-and-twenty lay strewn haphazardly about the examination room, exhausted, ecstatic…and converted.

Yeah, that’s probably what happened.

Jokes aside, if somebody at Walter Reed could work up some method of, like, stealthily sneaking a few Econ 101 pointers into these apparently regular exams…maybe if he can’t get that “perfect score” without acknowledging the fundamental realities of how tariffs work, we can trick him into assaulting our economy with slightly less vigor?

Not that I’m not enjoying the inflation. I might even go as far as to say, “I love the inflation,” but I’m told that phrase has been trademarked, no doubt by some branding genius who is about to experience the sort of electoral mega-success that only comes from being unusually in touch with voters’ concerns.

Somebody who can cut through the bullshit to understand that while the plebs say they’re worried about gas and groceries, it’s the insufficiently gilded horse statues by the president’s office that really keep ‘em up at night.

Incidentally, the new algae in the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool is way Americaner than the algae that was there before the multi-million-dollar renovation. It’s almost hard to believe that before populism, we spent taxpayer money on dumb ol’ health care.

I see some enterprising patriot, swept up in party prep fervor, took it upon themselves to beautify the National Mall ahead of the festivities. Why, that must be the largest 86 47 to date. Won’t be long till they’re visible from space.

Alas, the Arc de Senilité won’t be completed in time for the weekend’s stunted masculinity convention, though we could see it soon enough, thanks to a proposed round-the-clock construction schedule that definitely wasn’t written by someone who’s worried about dying.

He’s also trying to get his impeachments “expunged”, whatever he imagines that means. Then we amend the Constitution to say he won the 2020 election, and shoot, there’s gotta be SOME way to un-conceive Eric.

No shortage of thinkpiecery on the super subtle symbolism of the gladiator pit on the people’s whatever. For my taste, I think the desecration of the Situation Room with panicked Epstein cover-up spitballing captures the rot a little more neatly, but the bit about carelessly blinding incoming pilots was a fantastic detail, I’ll admit.

Pete Hegseth figured what this year’s D-Day commemoration needed was a little both-sidesing of the core ideological conflict. He was so pleased with the results, he accidentally excommunicated the entire Mormon faith from MAGA Christendom ahead of schedule, forgetting they’ll need Mike Lee’s vote during the coming impeachment trial/s.

Don’t forget to leave an offering of curdled mayonnaise on the counter overnight to thank Stephen Miller for protecting the homeland from the ever-looming threat of Somali soccer referees. People don’t remember how things used to be in this country. Roving bands, officiating at will. Why, there were entire neighborhoods where you couldn’t get away with unsporting behavior of any kind.

The various busloads of Antifas really earned their Soros funding this week, shuttling between paid riots at the Delaney Hall ICE facility in New Jersey and election-stealing operations in Los Angeles, where they tricked tens, if not hundreds of thousands of Spencer Pratt voters by making grabbing gestures near their faces, proclaiming “got your nose,” and refusing to return them until after polls had closed.

For years, scientists have lamented the lack of resources to investigate one of the human condition’s great unanswered questions: what would happen if the dorkiest white supremacist alive did a trillion dollars’ worth of ketamine? Well, lament no more! But do we possess instrumentation fine enough to document the new depths of cringe we’re about to unearth?

You know, if I get enough donations, I could be history’s second trillionaire. I promise to spend any money you send (via Venmo, PayPal, or Cash App!) on beer instead of space tourism or stealing food and medicine from hundreds of thousands of the most vulnerable among us.

Okay. As always, stay safe out there, and maybe follow @john_luzar and sign up on my email list while you’re staying safe out there. If you achieve a state of relatively reliable safety, why not ANSWER YOUR KICKSTARTER SURVEY so I can mail you the comic books you bought?

…because I’m about to sell you another comic book, y’know…

Seems like only yesterday he dreamed of joining the titans of history. Alexander. Napoleon. The sort of dudes who make it into Bill & Ted movies, y’know? He was gonna tariff the entire world into submission and conquer Greenland and deport anybody who complained to a Salvadoran torture gulag.

Ah, but even the stooges stop talking about third terms when you’re racking up rewards points at Walter Reed, where the 10th cognitive exam is free.

The mean ol’ courts won’t let him incarcerate protesters or violate transgender troops’ civil rights or even strike down a single flag bearing the four digits every loyal antifa foot soldier uses as a PIN: 86 47.

Plus, given the Kennedy Center’s gleeful embrace of their court-ordered reverse enshittification, we’re about to kick off the statue-toppling/scraping-your-filthy-name-off-shit phase of American history, several years ahead of schedule.

Okay, so maybe “Napoleon” isn’t on the table, realistically. Maybe you don’t get to be one of the “great men.” But don’t you feel like one every time you belittle that lady reporter?

Never lasts, though…does it?

Because suddenly the long-docile Republican Senate majority refuses to fund one itty-bitty ballroom, let alone a triumphal arch or a $1.8 billion slop trough for the dimmest bulbs in the domestic terror firmament. (Losing that money hurts cuz ninety-seven different Capitol rioters have legal fees to deal with from the crimes they committed after receiving all that clemency.)

Gee whiz! It was already hard enough to see a path to any sort of desirable legacy before the swelling spread to his eyes.

So, uh, hey, I got an idea! What if we leave this UFC ring up on the White House lawn forever? A UFC ring can be a legacy, right? OOO! Plus, what if we bulldoze the Statue of Liberty? Less competition that way.

“Y’know, the pool I had renovated is longer than some buildings are tall!”

…is it? Huh. That’s…very nearly interesting.

Oh, and you…you had a chart made? Aw. I’m sure Susie can find room on the fridge, next to the mockup of that $250 bill with your face on it that you’re also not getting.

There’s no need for such fleeting, earthly trinkets anyway. Believe me, between the screwworm and the measles and the whooping cough and the bedbugs and the Ebola, your place in history is secure. A biography composed of parasites and diseases feels entirely appropriate, in fact.

No need to worry about such things, surely. Why, the doctors tell us he has the energy of a rapist half his age. So everybody hopefully typing “cankles” plus “narcolepsy” plus “death splotch on back of hands” into the WebMD search bar can go kick rocks now that Marco Rubio has clarified that the president isn’t actually nodding off in all those meetings, but merely pining for the fjords.

Nah, the regime’s about to turn this whole thing around, now that the second-string kakistocrats are ascending to power. Assuming these trajectories hold, by this time next year, Blanche and Pulte will have flamed out in turn, and Nick Fuentes will be named acting DNI, while DOJ is run by an AI chatbot trained personally by Stephen Miller only to hate.

The Iran War, stubbornly lacking in ballrooms, remains way too boring to pay attention to, especially with so many tantalizing young athletes flitting about with their distracting physiques.

Speaking of the ballroom (and the president may safely be assumed to be speaking about the ballroom unless he is asleep, which, WELL), donors have helped themselves to $50 billion worth of government contracts in just the last six months. So populism is still going according to plan; thanks for asking.

Things really are gonna be different around here, though. Freshly discarded lackeys Bill Cassidy, Thom Tillis, and John Cornyn are finally gonna stand up to this Trump fellow, really put him in his place, show the world what REAL conservatives’re made of…just as soon as they’re done giving him 70 billion extra dollars for his masked secret police force.

According to the latest Two Minutes Hate, Harley-Davidson is woke and gay now, so if you have purchased one of their products, you are obligated to post a video to social media of yourself destroying it, with a crowbar or an assault rifle or a flamethrower, or, if you’re Kid Rock, perhaps you can get the “Secretary of War” to loan you an Apache.

…if he’s not too busy banning journalists from the press room at the Pentagon, that is. That’s right, replacing the actual press corps with blogging incels proved insufficient to shield Petey’s multitudinous mediocrities from the world, so further measures were deemed necessary.

According to the gossip columns, Greg Bovino has elected to summer on the continent, offering nurse-murdering seminars to eager young white nationalists in Portugal before embarking on a tour of camps and bunkers. I imagine he’ll avoid Albania.

Unusually stable geniuses within the Minnesota GOP hit upon the idea of observing a moment of silence for Derek Chauvin at their convention. While public backlash caught party officials off guard, I’m told plans for a commemorative bobblehead have been shelved.

In conclusion, America remains frabjuously great again. Please enjoy your flesh-eating parasites and bedbugs, those traditional harbingers of golden ages.

I’d certainly prefer to keep any organisms subsisting on my blood suitably soused, so feel free to contribute to my beer fund, via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal, if you are so inclined. There’s an email list you can join at showercapblog.com, as well as a Xwitter account you can follow. As always…stay safe out there, okay?

Oh, and get ready for the second smash issue of GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE, my epic superhero saga about All This Shit, coming soon to Kickstarter!

(If you haven’t received your rewards from the last Kickstarter, make sure you’ve answered your survey! I’m still missing a BUNCH of surveys! I wanna get you your comics, friends!)

Hello, friends. Forgive my longer-than-expected absence. It’s just that, well, I fancy myself something of a humorist, and to wind up so overwhelmingly, effortlessly out-satired by the very target of my ridicule…it’s been humbling.

“Dumocrats”

GOD, IT WAS RIGHT THERE!

“You take the E out. You don’t use the B,” Trump said. “They are Dumocrats. You know why? Because their policies are dumb.”

I think we can skip the cognitive screening this week, Walter Reed! Although if he’s already there for the cankles or the death splotch or the narcolepsy or the incontinence, I suppose you may as well. He’s always so pleased with himself after the bit with the animal drawings, and wins are getting harder and harder to come by these days.

Sloppy old fop’s neglecting the economy he wrecked and the war he botched to focus on his birthday party, and he can’t even pull that shit off.

Technically it’s America’s birthday party, but spoilers: any and all presents are destined for Mar-a-Lago restrooms. For example, officials from the Department of Idolatry propose a new $250 bill, intended as legal tender for all bribes, hush money payments, and tariffs on imported Russian hooker pee…guess whose face is on it?

When your starting point is The Best We Could Do is Milli Vanilli, you’d think there’d be no way to sink any lower, but these people are impossible to underestimate. Looks like the nation is in for a deep dive into Vanilla Ice’s oeuvre, because apparently Bret Michaels is washing his hair that night.

The humiliation somehow hasn’t slowed the remodeling bender. Shoot, they’re spending so much money gilding and/or rubberizing everything in sight I worry there won’t be enough left in the Treasury to compensate those poor domestic terrorists for that justice they all too briefly faced.

And we wouldn’t want to cheat any insurrectionist child molesters out of their settlements, would we? Shoot, I’d volunteer to pay extra taxes if I weren’t getting fucked six ways from Sunday by the tariffs and the war and the inflation and the corruption.

Although I think I saw someplace that the Iran War ended in total, glorious victory, and hey, if we have to pay a massive bribe to reopen that one strait that was already open before the war we started, just remember the preferred denomination is “pallets of cash.”

Luckily we can afford all these payouts to theocratic regimes and violent seditionists and horse statue gilders because of how strong the economy is. Pay no attention to the inflation report behind the curtain, please. Or to the consumer sentiment survey in the coat closet. It goes without saying how impolite it would be to mention the revised GDP numbers protruding from beneath the bed in the guest room.

No, all things are both hunky and dory. In fact, war is so fun n’ easy we might just blow up Oman next. They got any o’ them “straits” in Oman? Somebody oughta check on that.

You know you’re living in a healthy democracy when Cabinet meetings contain enough ass-kissing to merit statistical analysis. In this day and age, one probably shouldn’t write “it turns out Marco Rubio has the brownest nose,” but the numbers don’t lie.

Speaking of the Cabinet, it seems Markwayne Mullin is finally getting his jackboots under him, rolling out a breathtakingly idiotic plan to divert international flights from (blue) cities who fail to show sufficient deference to the nurse-murdering agents of ICE. We’re lucky the Dumocrats aren’t in charge because they might prioritize the economy over spite, and then where would we be?

I enjoyed my first night of sound sleep in I don’t know how long, secure in the knowledge that steely justice had FINALLY caught up with public enemy number one, E. Jean Carroll. I don’t understand how people can bring children into a world where a woman can sue Donald Trump JUST BECAUSE he raped her.

I’m kinda sad I missed my chance to say Well, Bye to Tulsi Gabbard and Bill Cassidy, but at least I made it back in time for the sad, sputtering end of John Cornyn’s long, feckless meander through the halls of power. John may not’ve been much of a senator, but perhaps we should judge him as a walking exemplar of the theory that weak men create hard times.

Despite rare squawks of independence, Cornyn was a reliable enough stooge, but I guess he just hadn’t helped enough child molesters evade justice to suit the Texas Republican primary electorate. No, Ken Paxton, fraudster, adulterer, traitor, and cake thief, proved more to their liking. They take their Christianity real serious down there.

And James Talarico may not’ve put any pedophiles back on the street or betrayed any constitutions, but he sure is a sissy and a nancy boy and lots of other things I can’t quite say again yet, but just you wait till term three, libtard.

Yes, the Texas Senate race is to be a referendum on masculinity. Stephen Miller and Jesse Watters have convinced themselves of that ground’s favorability, and I am not inclined to interrupt them. Especially amusing of Miller to appoint himself keeper of that particular gate, given that he’s such an ugly little fuck.

Cosmetically, of course, he’s like if a wax dummy of a Xenomorph jerked off on Eva Braun’s ashen remains, but the real ugliness is inside.

Katie Miller hoped to ride the week’s discussion of her mate’s ugly fuckhood to the MAGA griftosphere celebrity that has thus far eluded her, but earned only mockery. I imagine it’s tough to get ahead when everyone assumes you have some horrifying STD that only an exorcist can cure.

A federal judge ordered the Dotard’s filthy name scraped off the Kennedy Center, triggering an unusually embarrassing meltdown from the all-time career leader in embarrassing meltdowns. He may launch nuclear strikes if his new man-crush (NY Giants QB Jaxson Dart) doesn’t return his increasingly desperate texts.

Rapist Jr. must’ve inherited Daddy’s deal-making genes. How else do you explain the uncanny foresight to randomly invest in a random startup that randomly received a $620 million loan from the Pentagon after random arm-twisting from a random White House official named, like, I wanna say Ron Vara?

Following Kash Patel’s thirsty hockey incursion, professional sports teams have learned to dork-proof their locker rooms, and thus was Vivek Ramaswamy repelled from the New York Knicks’ victory party. The impulse to glom onto someone who doesn’t spend their days marinating in loserstink is certainly understandable in this political climate.

Shit, it wasn’t so long ago we were a superpower. We won two world wars and put a man on the freakin’ moon. One game show host later, we’re such a shithole that Milli Vanilli backs out of our semiquincentennial.

Lordy.

Okay. I would once again like to gently remind any Kickstarter backers who have yet to answer their surveys to please do so that I might mail you the comics you bought! They are wonderful comics, and I want you to read them for many reasons, not the least of which is that it’s just about time to start promoting the Kickstarter for issue #2.

If you can’t wait that long to send me money, I understand completely and have established a tip jar accepting PayPal, Cash App, and Venmo for just such emergencies. You are also welcome to join my email list and to follow @john_luzar. No matter what, please-o-please stay safe out there, old chum…