Between the inflation and the wars and the rapes and what have you, I’ve been pretty hard on ol’ Donald Trump over the years, but that was before I heard Denzel Washington describe him as “a great friend and an even better president.” Plus, I was impressed at the way he tamed that man-eating tiger. If Iran is using tigers to control the Strait of Hormuz, they’re totally fucked. I bet they’re using guns and stuff, though.

Look, the so-called Constitution served well enough for our first 250 years, but we’re on another level now. When a tiger-taming alpha male wants to build a golf course, he doesn’t go crawling to some sissy court to beg permission to cut down some pansy-ass trees. And if Judge Ana C. Reyes doesn’t like it, she’s welcome to tame her own tiger and we can have trial by combat.

Being Republican rules! I’m giving out my credit card number left and right, so I’ll attain Great MAGA King status in no time! They’re gonna seat me right next to Kid Rock at the execution; just you wait!

…what’s that you say? Whaddya mean the livestream is off? What am I supposed to do with the firing-squad-shaped cake I ordered? Gee willikers, sometimes it feels like we go weeks at a time without beating the shit out of a woman at a political rally! Is this even a death cult anymore?

Shoot, my favorite horse paste flavor got recalled, too. That’s it, I’m out. Hopefully these NFTs held their value. I reserve the right to hop back aboard the crazy train should the Hail Mary effort to transform the midterms into a referendum on Jon Husted’s ass succeed.

Given the inflation and the corruption…it’d have to be some ass. Maybe they’re planting post-hypnotic suggestions in these mesmerizing AI videos of Marsha Blackburn line-dancing with Kane. Gotta spend those Musk millions on something as you retreat from districts you gerrymandered mere weeks ago.

Yes, Elon has decided to meddle in the midterms after all, seemingly concocting a plot worthy of the Shasta Bond villain that pops up in the mirror whenever the ketamine wears off. “We throttle Starlink, see? That’ll teach that uppity Zelensky to criticize you for financing the invasion of his country!”

The Dotard agreed this was a fine plan indeed, so that’s what they did, and a bunch of Ukrainian civilians had the honor of paying for that decision with their lives.

And as much as I appreciate the spectacle of 21st-century America’s two scummiest scumbags desperately trying to pin the blame for this atrocity on one another, we should probably slow down before we wind up joining any Axes of Evil, right? I worry that on the day they finally make him take that tarp down at the Kennedy Center, Putin faxes over some Molotov-Ribbentrop 2.0 conspicuously granting him the divine right to invade Greenland…

…I mean, conquering Europe can’t be much harder than hiring a press secretary, right? Weird that the administration didn’t think to screen their potential spokesperson for basic literacy, but I’m sure their hiring practices are generally sound. Outside of the odd sex-trafficking Attorney General pick, of course.

Still, Katie Zacharia feels like a warning shot. Like, go ahead and impeach Petey Push-ups; thanks to kakistocracy’s perverse geometry, we will find someone worse if we have to scrounge through every meth den and puppy mill in this great nation.

The next ambassador to Greece sure has some big shoes to fill. An ordinary political movement would struggle to out-grotesque Kimberly Guilfoyle’s sloppily sordid crime spree, but I’m confident the GOP’s rising crop of opioid prescription falsifiers, vaccine card forgers, and convicted stranglers has what it takes to lead America into that next great ditch. And the next and the next and the next.

Can you imagine the Rube Goldberg legal slapstick behind this clumsy stab at deporting Ilhan Omar? It seems unlikely to make it to any sort of trial, which is a shame, because that strikes me as a situation Todd Blanche couldn’t escape without taking at least one pie to the face.

Then there’s the crack squad of damaged Jacob Wohl clones who hoped to derail James Talarico’s campaign with the shocking revelation that he’d been committed to an Ohio asylum for experimental de-freakening treatments. There turned out to be loads of evidence proving none of that happened, which would be more of a setback in a media culture that didn’t spin the ravings of a self-identified “cactus artist” into the whole dang Big Lie.

The simple truth is that Talarico needed a couple of days to grieve his lack of invitations to cool-ass New Year’s parties in Dubai with fugitives charged with federal fraud. Alas, you have to be a high-ranking law enforcement official like Ken Paxton to get on those lists.

Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent was seen sporting a sling this week, apparently the recipient of an unsustainable quantity of “high fives” following the epic troll letter he sent to Elizabeth Warren and also posted all over the internet. There was an Indigenous Peoples’ Day gag and everything. “Yes, Senator Warren certainly is misinformed about economic issues!” agreed the men who brought us six-dollar diesel, before spending the rest of their week begging billionaires to bail out red state Senate campaigns.

“I already gave. To the ballroom fund. And the meme coin. You’d only spend it on ads for Susan Collins in Oregon anyway.”

Say, if anybody’s tired of throwing good money after bad, why not contribute to my latest comic book Kickstarter instead? GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE asks if it’s even possible to defend truth, justice, and the American way in an America gone mad!

We’ll be launching soon, so SIGN UP ON THAT PRELAUNCH PAGE! Until then, feel free to toss a buck or two (via PayPal, Venmo, or even Cash App!) into the ol’ beer fund, and follow @john_luzar! Stay safe out there, friend-o! I don’t think you’ll want to miss these midterms…

Shoot, I was gonna pick up something for Secretary Hegseth on the way home, but I forgot. That first public execution is a big moment in a young fascist’s blossoming. You don’t want to be the only guy who forgets to send a card, for reasons I imagine are obvious.

My sources at the Pentagon tell me Pete has personally designed a device for the event: a custom guillotine rigged with a blade that retracts each time the condemned successfully completes a push-up until he is judged for not only his crimes but also his sissiness.

He has also commissioned a special pair of socks, intended to stand the test of time as history’s funnest, sewn from patches of flags purloined from various wings of the Smithsonian. He will be the prettiest Secretary of War at the ball they throw to commemorate their latest desecration of the American experiment.

Well, it’s election season under kakisto-fascism, so bloodthirsty dipshittery was to be expected. The potential for fashy shenanigans pulses hypnotically with every squeeze of that stress ball Markwayne Mullin apparently needs to get through a press conference without strangling a reporter.

Federal law enforcement officials struggle to contain their rage at public accountability for fatal shootings in all the healthiest democracies, I assure you. The ones with banners and coins and military parades and live-streamed executions.

Oh! Speaking of which:

(Trumpet fanfare)

Hear ye, hear ye! The White House considers anyone that uses the term, “Artificial Intelligence,” as opposed to the highly accepted new and more accurate term, “Super Intelligence,” THE ENEMY!

What a clever twist! Yes, AI leads to humanity’s downfall, not because bug robots shove us into the Matrix to harvest our bioelectricity, but because a petulant madman declares war on billions of ingrates for rejecting his pathetic, 11th-hour efforts to achieve legacy through rebranding.

HOW ABOUT ANNIE TRANNIE, HUH? Oh! That’s certainly, um…hateful, but CAN I NICKNAME ‘EM OR WHAT? Well… DON’T YOU JUST HATE SOMALIS? Not particularly, no. OKAY, BUT HOW ABOUT THAT FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS? Oh. Yeah. Great. I’M GOOD FOR IT. Of course you are! I’m spending mine on flubber. WOULDN’T IT BE COOL IF IRAN BLEW UP LOS ANGELES?

Life is one long narcissistic wound now. Well, more of a 350-foot narcissistic gash carved by an Olympic canoeist, but you get the picture. They can keep shuffling him between these sad little “rallies” far from any of the dozens of newly competitive congressional districts, but even his pet House Speaker has started musing about that next chapter, running Mike Johnson’s Total Landscaping back home.

Suddenly, selecting for “blind fealty to a game show host” doesn’t seem like such a sound political strategy. Harder to get away with fielding a team of abusers, sex pests, and misogynist trolls once the electorate spends a year or two watching you make everything more expensive on purpose.

To put it more concisely, you don’t want to bring a Mike Collins to a Jon Ossoff fight.

There’s really not much an incumbent party can do in an economy like this. Why, it’s so bad out there, even our ambassadors are struggling to find donors to pay off their $100,000 credit card bills in exchange for access to Kid Rock.

Goddamn, this inflation shit is out of control, and I’m sick of it! It shouldn’t cost a hundred grand to get Kid Rock to look at the song you wrote for him! When a man goes to all the effort to compose a whole-ass song for Kid Rock to sing, that man should be euthanized in an economically efficient manner. Humanely if possible, but don’t put yourself out.

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly feel any prouder to be American, the Rapist announces he’s decided to fund his pal Vlad’s war on (checks notes) our faithful longtime allies in Ukraine. Sure, it won’t make a dent in the fuel crisis, but what it lacks in practicality it more than makes up for in shame. A bullshit bailout paid in better men and women’s blood? Exactly the sort of offer the Offal in the Oval can’t refuse.

No wonder top White House advisors like Chris LaCivita and James Blair have prioritized helping pro-Putin parties in the Balkans over the domestic advertising effort they’re allegedly leading. It’s called long-term strategy, libtard! You want to maximize your options before you head into exile. That’s the first thing they teach you in apparatchik school.

Plus I guess Kash Patel has got a big Russian vacation planned for next week, though nobody in the FBI seems to know why. I wouldn’t worry, guys, somebody probably told him vodka has a higher alcohol content when it’s fresh.

Kash also offered the UFC a one-year contract to train FBI agents in hand-to-hand combat, but only after a monthslong effort finally convinced him John Wick isn’t real.

The Cartoon Ogre Penis Exemption to the First Amendment has always been my favorite of the Constitution’s little quirks, so I suppose I can make an exception to my “government officials shouldn’t have critical bloggers arrested” rule just this once. James Madison himself wrote the first draft of Shrek, and indeed historians theorize his family participated for generations in an elaborate breeding scheme to produce Mike Myers as a sort of benign Kwisatz Haderach figure.

MAGA Masculinity Czar Andrew Tate must’ve been role modeling extra Christianly when he made all that kiddie porn and horse porn and…eel porn? Apparently? Everybody’s acting like that’s weird, but I had him pegged for an eelfucker ever since he did that interview with Tucker Carlson. I think we can reasonably infer everyone Tucker Carlson interviews fucks eels. That’s just good science.

I see Karoline Leavitt somehow managed to pull herself up by her bootstraps to land a job slinging shit on Fox Nooz. A shame Capra isn’t around anymore.

If you can spare it, I would really appreciate any donations (via Cash App, PayPal, or Venmo!) this week, as I not only have to buy beer but bribe Kimberly Guilfoyle to seat me next to Kid Rock at the execution.

More than that, I could use your support in my forthcoming Kickstarter campaign for GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #2! Seriously, I’d feel better with a few more sign-ups on the ol’ pre-launch page. The book is turning out beautifully, and you’re gonna love it. And you can check out our first issue here if you don’t believe me.

Stay safe out there!

While I never actually sat down to read Project 2025 cover to cover, I assume the plan was to do away with democracy altogether before implementing full-on kakistocracy. And sure, hindsight is 20/20, but this feels like a First Pants, THEN Your Shoes-level problem.

No wonder they’re floundering so impotently on the campaign trail. “I suppose it does sound a little silly, standing for reelection. You have to understand, I was planning on delivering this closing argument at gunpoint.”

Speaking as an American, albeit a libtarded one, who filled up his gas tank this week…you’re gonna need a bigger masked, unaccountable secret police force, dorks. I wouldn’t want a referendum on my governance either, but it could always be worse. It could come down to a standing contest.

It can’t be easy to hold a cult of personality together while the news is a 24/7 tour of the personality’s descent into dementia. Turns out you lose the capacity to stay awake during meetings slightly before the ability to spell the name of the country you’re fucking president of deserts you. That’s going to be on the test, by the way. You’ve been warned.

The essay portion will cover the Time Magazine interview. If you can identify a coherent through line, I’ll know you used AI.

What I worry about is the fragile equilibrium between the corner of his evaporating brain that dreams of peace through annihilation and the clearly dominant portion that resents all of humanity for failing to properly celebrate his Caesarian feats of redecoration.

All I’m saying is I hope Natalie has a really specific plan for when he asks for the nuclear football because a nation that fails to appreciate the splendor of a truly great helipad doesn’t deserve to outlive him.

JD says Rome wasn’t built in a day. And that’s true; it wasn’t. Bet they would’ve worked this Reflecting Pool shit out by now, though. 

That said, now that Antifa super-soldier David Hearn has officially eluded justice, he is free to continue his one-man jihad against the physical manifestations of American greatness. Let’s see some dicks drawn on some of these banners, people!

It actually would’ve been nice to have a statue or two to topple, now that I’m thinking about it. I’m not complaining. I’ll happily settle for pulling down a few of these smug apparatchiks who never dreamed they’d face a competitive general election.

I want to believe in the new Senate map. The new Senate map keeps giving me the eye from across the bar, sure, but the new Senate map is way out of my league. Shifting spending from North Carolina and Georgia to Kansas is one thing, but you move Iowa into the toss-up column, I assume I’m being secretly filmed. You start talking about Nebraska and South Carolina, I assume the night ends with me in an ice-filled hotel bathtub, lighter by a couple of kidneys.

…but the new Senate map is a damn fine Senate map. The new Senate map’s butt looks great in those jeans. I’m willing to indulge the fantasy for another month. Who needs kidneys anyway?

Nobody’s more nervous than Ken Paxton. He was already on thin ice for being such an uggo, but impugning Dear Leader’s party-throwing prowess strikes me as a good way to wind up in the dungeon under the ballroom.

I was trying to figure out why my feed was full of ads for a Martin Short-starring musical based on Patton, but it turned out to just be Petey Push-ups giving one of his incel TED talks. He has a big, impressive list of all the types of people who aren’t allowed to serve in his military, including beardos, weirdos, people who had heard of the Strait of Hormuz before Pete Hegseth started a war with Iranos, and people who understand that sailors need to eatos.

Now, before we embark on our journey through Eric Schmitt’s magnificently botched cotillion, I’d like to offer a tiny prayer of thanks that Amy Klobuchar was not around to witness the most embarrassing moment of my life, let alone read it into the official Congressional Record. That is an unusually bad break, Eric.

…though an entirely appropriate one, karmically speaking. In hindsight, taking such a hubristic swing with all those Greek gods still fuming over getting cut from that Odyssey movie was probably a mistake.

September 30, 2026, was supposed to be the first day of Eric’s new life. His real life. Eric Schmitt was about to force himself onto history’s stage, and he intended to stay a long, long time.

He was about to bag the big one, see? The white whale. Why, it’s only natural that Eric had landed a spot on JD Vance’s running mate shortlist! Was it not he and he alone who finally delivered Jack Smith’s head on a platter? Surely the Christmas Adventurers would have no choice but to accept his application now.

Yeah, planting that shortlist thing with Axios was a stroke of genius. The hearing itself was mere formality. Great MAGA King Status was within his grasp.

Then O! How effortlessly did Eric spring his perjury trap! Why, this Smith fellow wasn’t very smart at all! Surprising he hadn’t been dealt with ages ago. But then, he never reckoned with…Eric Schmitt! Future Vice President of the United States of America!

“…and you know what happens to Vice Presidents sometimes?” he allowed himself to muse as his prey flailed ineffectually in his grasp. Perhaps he’d retain this Smith as a serving boy, or a butler, or —

“I apologize; I must’ve been daydreaming. What’s that you were saying about Caitlin Clark?” And he’s thinking Katie Britt sure looks sick. Maybe she had some bad fish for lunch. Or some blueberries. Or lettuce, or cinnamon, or —

“Ah. I see.” And then every playground taunt from his childhood flashes before his eyes, because he understands he’ll be seeing them all over the media for the rest of his life. Schmitt for brains. Schmitthead. Schmitt show. Schmitt the bed, obviously.

And that’s your life now. You’re the dumbest guy in the history of the Senate. When you die, the obituary will be Oh Man, Remember This Dumbass? and millions will chuckle at your expense.

Said obituary won’t mention anything about being Vice President, obviously.

I love election season, though. Sweater weather. Pumpkin spice everything. The inevitable return of the wingnut media bubble’s favorite holiday boogeyman: the (spooky voice and/or flashlight effect) MIIIIIIGRAAAANT CARAAAAVAAAAAAAAAN. Such reliable IP. They’re coming to your town to eat the pets or trans your kids or steal your precious bodily fluids.

…okay, but do they know how tariffs work? Because we could probably spare some pets.

I see “Ambassador” Kimberly Guilfoyle has gone ever so slightly mad with power, demanding expensive champagnes, outsourcing diplomacy to lobbyists, and even threatening regime change when the mood strikes. I actually had that one on my bingo card. Word for word.

Even a decade of faithful stoogery may not be enough to spare Sarah Slanders from excommunication for the sin of implying any overlap in the Venn diagram of the master race and the Filthy Taker Class.  Understand, the “welfare queen” is a key figure in Republican mythology, every bit as vital to their culture as imbibing livestock dewormer.

Golly, I really thought the Noems were gonna make it. Or that God would condemn them to spend eternity in each other’s company, Kristi forever damned to facilitate Bryon’s sexxy/fashy prison photo shoots, requiring regular pit stops to refill his enormous falsies with puppy blood.

Apparently, John Roberts’ complicity in American fascism’s ascent has impacted his social life negatively. So, yeah…cause and effect is still a thing. Well, there’s always euchre night at the Dershowitzes.

Me, I think I’ll stay in and drink beer and read comic books. If you’d like to join me, you can buy me a beer via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal, or, better still, sign up on the prelaunch page for my next comic book Kickstarter! GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #2 ups the stakes, and you are gonna freakin’ love it.

Until then, join the email list, follow @john_luzar, and stay ever so safe out there, my friend…

My Dearest Martha,

I am blogging to you for what I fear may be the final time, as I bleed out next to the Reflecting Pool. I had hoped to reapply the invisible 350-yard gash and thus administer a small, algae-tinted imperfection to an otherwise flawless utopia, but of course the snipers on top of the triumphal arch put an end to my nefarious scheme. The midterms are surely lost. I hereby renounce Antifa and its lies; please inform Clay Higgins of the location of the hidden underground lair where we park the ghost buses.

I skipped the chapter on megalomania in Psych 101; is it good or bad when they start invoking “national security” in assaults on our fundamental rights? Or when they propose triumphal arches with snipers on top, for that matter?

How about when they swipe, however flaccidly, at the free press? Although, of course, there are legitimate questions as to whether or not the Founders intended the First Amendment to extend to lady reporters who don’t smile enough.

I suppose I’m being dramatic. He really only attempted to violently overturn that one election. I mean, okay, his fashier supporters are urging him to declare martial law, but I’m sure the Cabinet that periodically assembles for public supplication rituals can be trusted to rein him in.

Nobody in that crew is dreading the post-blue wave return of accountability, right? No doubt our perpetually push-upping Secretary of War will happily accept responsibility for the eight suicide attempts among that aircraft carrier crew he forgot to feed. You can’t expect a man to make time for both supply line logistics and workout videos.

Panicked Republicans would like America to know they were only kidding about that decade of blind fealty to the warmongering dipshit who made everything more expensive, as polling reveals an electorate curiously unimpressed with the administration’s ongoing efforts to rename theatre buildings after said dipshit.

Why, it’s gotten so bad out there that Byron Donalds of all stooges has scrubbed the Dotard’s name from his campaign site. Probably woulda been more convincing before you swapped out your entire wardrobe for a closet full of ill-fitting blue suits and too-long red neckties, kid.

You know you’re losing your grip on your death cult when your son can’t even throw a Kremlin-funded wedding without mid-level apparatchiks hemming and/or hawing about investigations.

But like the old saying goes, when the going gets tough, the tough isolate themselves in elaborate fantasy worlds enabled by human printers and throw themselves parties.

We must remember the parties. Donnie’s little twirl on the world stage this week was one small stumble for a doddering narcissist, one giant leap backwards for a global power.

Everyone was super impressed with his big, tuff speech at the U.N., avenging our national humiliation one year ago at the Battle of the Escalator and Later the Teleprompter. PERHAPS ME ANNIHILATE IRAN he mused cognitively ME HAVE PLENTY OF AMMUNITION NO MATTER WHAT DUMB FAKE NEWS SAY.

And while “to the victor belong the spoils” is unlikely to top the Family Feud board under Things the American President Should Say at the U.N., I certainly look forward to applying the principle after the midterms.

Embarrassing as all that was, he saved the really degrading stuff for Xi Jinping. See, when a foreign autocrat helps Iran target American servicemen, the penalty is that you get images of uniformed American troops literally on their knees rolling out a literal red carpet for you.

Hell, Donnie’ll let you insult the whole dang country right to his face. Go ahead; how the fuck would he know what the Thucydides Trap is? He just wants to show you his helipad and his autopen picture. We have to build the ballroom because the ballroom will have the biggest, most beautiful cuck chair in the whole wide world.

I’d like nothing more than to disparage the summit as a failure, but even I must grudgingly acknowledge the international coalition he’s building to call it “super intelligence” rather than “artificial intelligence.” I have no idea how branding works in a Thucydides Trap, but I imagine there’s a manual.

I do find “super intelligence” appropriately deferential in his case, however. Like WHOA, that robot can look at a picture of a cow and tell you it’s a cow right away! It doesn’t have to ask the doctor for a hint or anything!

I can’t figure out how the FBI got hacked on Kash Patel’s watch. I suppose when you get swept up in the minutiae of composing bestiality loopholes for the HR department, petty shit like information security can slip through the cracks.

Senator Tuberville’s investigative genius likely saved the nation from Furry 9/11, but does anybody even say thank you? Don’t be surprised when he rechristens the Alabama Governor’s Mansion as Tommy’s Furry Detective Agency, announced by a cardboard sign out front, promising to take on cases for 25 cents a day.

I’m super bummed about Freedom Fest getting cancelled. As the proud holder of one of just six VIP tickets sold, I was looking forward to the promised experience, including access to a private concession area with exotic, lead-free cinnamon.

I was about to praise Dear Leader for securing enough precious Belarusian potash to extract us from ‘neath the thumb of the filthy Canuck, but then it turned out that Belarus doesn’t have enough potash to sell us and couldn’t sell it to us if they did.

Is that what we’ve come to at long last? I can handle a riot now and then, but WHO LIES ABOUT POTASH? Some things are sacred, dammit.

Better not be spending my taxpayer money on any creepy cringey culty campaign ads while you’re lying to me about potash. That’s where I draw the line.

I thought it was sweet of the regime to drop that investigation into Susan Collins’ corrupt relationship with that one defense contractor as a little treat for her invaluable assistance rolling back women’s rights. Sure would be a shame if that scandal blew up a month or so before a wave election.

I certainly can’t blame anyone who never trusts a poll again, but for now, I’m choosing to trust Republican fear. They tend to get antsy when the internals show them losing in districts they just gerrymandered this summer.

That Roger Marshall doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind. Never dreamed he’d have to run an actual campaign. I grew up in Kansas; it’s pretty red…might not be Sic the Cops on Young Mothers Over Fifty Bucks red, though. At least Daddy’s helping out with some last-minute ICE thuggery.

Okay, I need to drink extra hard this weekend because of the potash situation as well as my lost opportunity to meet Kid Rock. If you enjoyed this diatribe, you may express your appreciation by buying me a beer, via PayPal, Cash App, or even Venmo.

I also have an email list you can join and a Xwitter account you follow. And, come to think of it, a comic book Kickstarter you can back!

Issue #2 of General Washington and the Liberty Tree is coming together so well, and I’m almost ready to sell it to – er, share it with you guys! Here’s a peek at our cover:

Screenshot

Nifty, huh? Our artist, Jason Muhr, is pretty special. And if you don’t believe me, feel free to read issue #1! I’m still looking to sweep up the last few stragglers from the last Kickstarter campaign. If you haven’t answered your survey, I can’t ship your comics!

Ok, stay safe out there!

I know everybody’s scared to jinx it, but you have to admit it’s getting downright vibe-shifty in here. I suppose it’s possible the pollsters are under-sampling likely voters who hate affordable gas, but until they figure out how to tariff hopium, I intend to indulge.

And don’t forget, all the approvals and generic congressionals and head-to-heads you’re seeing this week are before the record diesel spike trickles down to every American grocery store. In hindsight, perhaps outsourcing oil pricing to the Death to America crowd was a strategic error.

Whoever dreamed up that wacky “affordability” word sure knew what they were doing. Probably the funnest thing about having a mad king is paying more for stuff. Sometimes it’s because he’s dumb and starts trade wars, and sometimes it’s because he’s dumb and starts regular wars, but you can count on the dumbness and the paying more.

Plenty of room to get even dumber and more expensive, too. Maybe he’ll cut off all trade with Europe. Maybe he’ll ban fishing. Maybe he’ll order the army to go house to house confiscating all the shoes so we have to buy new ones because that way he could tell everybody he saved the shoe industry.

We’ll miss him when he’s gone, though. The hurricanes will come back, for starters. Then it’s locusts. Caravans. Transgender for everyone. Fast food packaging that differs from that of my childhood. Plus, if this AI stuff turns Terminator after all, we’ll need a high-IQ president, and I can’t think of anybody who’s taken more cognitive exams.

But hey, maybe the plot twist is that Natalie saves us all by printing out so much ballroom/Kennedy Center content that he falls asleep before he can get to Stephen Miller’s no doubt detailed memos urging ICE deployment to “urban” polling stations.

For all his shortcomings, when he wants to see his name on a better man’s memorial, he can be really quite persistent. Either Temu Ahab gets his white whale or it’s surprise demolition time again, huh? Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if all this ended with a Disney villain plummet off that scaffolding because he snuck out in the middle of the night to scrawl DONULD in crayon.

We could handle JD for a couple years. Whimpering for another chance is probably about as good as it gets for MAGA’s rotting remnants.

Because even Mike Johnson can no longer keep the floor of the House open without impeaching Pete Hegseth. Isn’t that refreshingly rational? The only people who actually want Hegseth in that job are autocrats opposed to American democracy; it’s unfortunate that one happens to be president.

Almost everything I know about global shipping routes I’ve learned by watching them fall to Middle Eastern extremists on Petey Push-ups’ watch. They’re having a ball over there because they know he doesn’t have enough ammunition left to do anything about it, but don’t worry, the important thing is that the “no fatties” rule will be enforced at his big speech.

Somehow, it’s just easier to lie about casualties to thin people, y’know? Anyway, if a man’s socks are fun enough, who really cares how many bases he loses? Court-martial the warfighters who leaked those photos, by the way. They can bunk with those sailors who got so mouthy about their so-called “food shortages.”

Also, is there room in the stocks for an AI chatbot? Because apparently we’ve got one that damn near led us into a shooting war with China. Jeepers creepers, if we don’t impeach this dweeb, we’re gonna wind up sacked by Visigoths.   

Two fun things Russia has been doing at the same time are A) helping Iran target our bases and B) paying for Don Jr.’s wedding. Yeah, drop seventy grand on fireworks, and the president lets you blow up American troops. That probably seems low to you, but you don’t understand how much Junior likes his sparklies.

We have “pardon brokers” now, in our exceptionally healthy democracy. Didn’t see that one comin’, didja, Madison? I bet pardon brokers can afford gas. I bet they get to shop at fancy stores where the popsicles have hardly any glass at all.

They’re recalling soap now. SOAP. Hand soap has been recalled in fifteen states “over bacterial contamination fears,” which is something that can happen to soap, apparently. I never imagined. You know you’re in a golden age when you can get sick from washing your hands.

Conventional wisdom says a midterm election is a referendum on the party in power, and I can see how that idea might not appeal to people who made blueberries and soap unsafe, but they can always campaign at these measles funerals.

Or you could…y’know…break with Trump. Quietly delete his name from your campaign site. Shit, Maria Elvira Salazar cut a whole-ass ad, and she hasn’t been visited by a single nail gun- or even hammer-wielding psychopath.

Why, the Dotard has finally grown unpopular enough for Erick Erickson to notice some of the naughtiness within his coalition! Racist naughtiness! FASCIST naughtiness, even! How Erick failed to notice this naughtiness at any point during the decade before the Senate map expanded so dramatically is a question best left to those who study the science of noticing things.

Because yes, would-be Texas Railroad Commissioner Bo French is an odious little bigot, but don’t act like he’s an outlier. You’re running one of the Charlottesville dorks for the state House in Florida. Greg Bovino’s been on a tour of European ultranationalist hazing rituals since losing his job to slightly quieter racists. And while I don’t want to impugn anyone unfairly, I suspect that Stephen Miller fellow may have a blind spot or two.

On the bright side, the demon Baal will not be permitted to enter this world through a golden bull statue in Serbia, thanks to the watchful eye of Deputy Secretary of State Chris Landau. We’re so lucky to have our diplomacy conducted by people who know so much more about Baal than, say, the Iranian regime’s ability to control the Strait of Hormuz.

Anyway, the Offal in the Oval banned CNN, MSNow, and Politico from the White House, which, okay, feels sorta tyrannical, but to be honest, I don’t like people watching me while I sleep, either.

Took a few decades, but Mitch McConnell finally found his best self. I like him quite a bit better without agency. Harder to steal a Supreme Court seat this way, y’know?

If you’re ever worried you’re too proud of being American, picture your government conducting a raid to smuggle an accused pedophile out of the British embassy in order to avoid charges. I wonder if they gave him puppies on the flight home. Ghislaine Maxwell got puppies.

Even as we continue to demand further transparency regarding the Epstein files, I think it’s equally important that we forever bury every detail of whatever the fuck prompted Kash Patel to waive the automatic bestiality disqualifier at the FBI.

You want it to be funny, but it won’t be. It’ll be the saddest fucking thing in the fucking world. Like Bongino keeping a “comfort cassowary” locked up in the basement to deal with the stress of having a real job, until Kash walks in on them. “I’ll expect your resignation on my desk in the morning. Of course the bird will have to be euthanized.”

“Of course.”

…but not till after a wild, taxpayer-funded weekend at the Boondoggle Ranch!

Okay, maybe it’s a little funny.

The wee ideological warning signs they’re putting up around the Smithsonian are funny, too. Cory Mills’ grenade factory blowing up is pretty funny. Not as funny as the old man’s meltdown when the Supreme Court stopped his little post office scheme…but funny.

Oh, and glorious victory has been achieved on the Greenlandic front! I’m told America gained as many as 10,000 free hours of AOL in this historic settlement!

I only hope there’s enough beer in the world to celebrate this triumph. I’ll buy as much as I can, assuming grateful readers donate to my beer fund, which you may have heard accepts Venmo, Cash App, AND PayPal.

ON THE OTHER HAND…

Yeah, it’s that time again. It’s COMIC BOOK TIME.

Y’all made the first issue of GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE such a smashing success that I just had to make a second. Teasers and trailers are on the way, but for now, why not sign up on our KICKSTARTER PRE-LAUNCH PAGE?

Okay, stay safe out there! Follow @john_luzar! Join the email list! MORE COMIC STUFF SOON!

What’re you gonna buy with your 5,000 Trump Buxx? I figure I’ll have to spend mine on buckets to contain my liberal tears. Curse his flawless political instincts! Checkmated again! Well, I suppose that’s what makes us libtards.

Temporarily unburned heretics within the lamestream media claim we can’t afford this $1.3 trillion bribe, but all we have to do is use the money we never sent out for those $5,000 “DOGE Dividends.” Lemon squeezy. Shit, when you factor in the $2,000 tariff rebate that also didn’t happen, we’re way ahead.

Don’t worry, we’ll find the money on the tariff shelf. The trillions in foreign investment that have never existed outside his decomposing mind. Toll revenue from the Strait of Trump. Perhaps he’ll let us in on one of the family crypto scams, though I can’t imagine we’ll be taxing any of our kleptocrat overlords’ newfound billions.

One way or another, I think you’re gonna need a bigger bribe, kid. Five grand doesn’t buy what it used to. Might get me to and from the grocery store once or twice, provided I’m willing to settle for the Argentine mystery meat. Full disclosure: I’m budgeting for at least one medical emergency, like licking a popsicle with glass in it, because that’s just what life’s like in America now.

He was so proud of himself. Just like that time he cured Covid. “Solved the midterms, you’re welcome. Say, somebody should probably work up an agenda to wield all the power we’ll have. Anyway, get Natalie; I’m full again.”

The party unveiled this master stroke at something called a “Midterm Convention,” one of a series of pre-balls designed to keep President Princess satiated before he is officially proclaimed Fairest of Them All for Life and descends into his ballroom bunker for a Saddam Hussein-like last stand.

He needed extra satiating this week because they wouldn’t let him defile the 9/11 anniversary ceremony with self-aggrandizing lies about his conduct at the time. I think that’s a shame, because I bet most of the survivors and families and first responders don’t know about the “b” in dumb, and they would profit from hearing about it.

Many have raised doubts about the veracity of the Dotard’s story about being hauled away from Ground Zero by firefighters, but it totally makes sense that he’d get caught looting.

Anyway, yeah, Midterm Convention. I didn’t watch because I don’t hate myself, but at a glance, it looked mostly like the idolatrous binding of a handful of dead-enders to a political anchor, punctuated by moments designed, for whatever reason, to raise awareness of Ken Paxton’s physical unattractiveness.

“Pretend I’m on the ballot.”

Heh. Only too happy to, sir.

The vulnerable Republican candidates desperately scraping your name off their campaign sites might not appreciate being yoked to the fellow who made diesel fuel cost six bucks a gallon for the first time ever, but well, fuck them.

Polling’s getting pretty sexxy, innit?

Why, Kansas has turned such a tantalizing shade of purple that somebody finally decided to do a little opposition research on “Doctor” Roger Marshall. Turns out that prior to his current gig as a power-mad half-wit’s rubber stamp, Roger was something of a Dickens villain, sending 81 of his filthy taker patients to debtor’s prison.

May I interest you in the campaign of his opponent, Adam Hamilton, who is significantly less likely to be visited by three ghosts at Xmastime?

Plus the Missouri gerrymander officially imploded, though I did enjoy that day or so when everybody got all feisty and secessionist. It was both rootin’ and tootin’, you guys. Everyone was really impressed.

Enemies of the state James Talarico and Jimmy Kimmel won’t be pooling their free speech rights any time soon, not on Brendan Carr’s watch. Blocked from airing their interview on television, this Axis of Disloyal Jims settled for YouTube, where they attracted significantly more viewers than a certain super-showman’s latest celebration of self.

Iran-backed Houthi rebels seized key Red Sea ports and islands in Yemen, catching the Secretary of Warfighting and Push-Ups completely fucking flat-footed just like the last time a hostile enemy force seized control of a critical Middle Eastern shipping route. On the bright side, there can’t be many of those left.

Pete has far too many polygraph tests to administer to pay attention to the war he’s losing. See, everybody at the Pentagon keeps leaking to the press about all the things he’s fucked up. Which is…a lot of things. I probably wouldn’t want people to know about the ammunition shortage I caused or the sailors I forgot to feed or the schoolchildren I blew up or the bit about needing my wife around to stay sober or the bases we may permanently lose either. The leaks may not be the issue here.

Big week for menacing lunging, from the gubernatorial campaign trail in Ohio to the exotic airport tarmacs of Dallas, TX. Could this be the next big craze sweeping a death cult in decline, or are they okay sticking with measles?

Speaking of MAGA trends, have you noticed how they can’t seem to stop hiring white supremacists? Sure, Nate Hochman got kicked off Ron DeSantis’ doomed ship for posting Nazi imagery, but look at him now: Marco Rubio’s chief speechwriter!

And then there is the case of young Stephen Woytek, campaign staffer to Ohio Senator Jon Husted, who not only “once used a photo of Nazi soldiers as his Facebook profile photo” but also “recently added to a playlist of songs celebrating Rhodesia, a defunct White-minority-ruled nation often venerated by white supremacists.”

Stephen is also a Panzer LARPer, who ”follows several suppliers of SS military uniforms on Facebook,” whereas your run-of-the-mill American follows zero, having little interest in being supplied with SS military uniforms. But I suppose one has to wear something while rocking out to songs about Racist Brigadoon.

Natalie Harp received a $45,000 cash bonus for printing out screencaps of tweets so worshipfully, which seems like a lot until you realize the very last thing a deteriorating strongman wants is to under-tip the diaper steward.

Joseph diGenova resigned from his post as Jack Smith But Dumb, alleging ethical breaches by a Department of Justice that was still trying to persecute Olympian David Hearn for a contractor’s mistakes last time I checked.

I always find it amusing when one of these bottom-feeders discovers their limit. Remember Betsy DeVos resigning two days after the Capitol Riot? Still makes me chuckle. How brave. You’ll all slither back like Michael Cohen if the money’s right.

If you want to hear something adorable, apparently Corey Lewandowski thought he was smart enough to pull off high-stakes international political corruption. The Wall Street Journal reports he attempted to cut side deals with Qatar and the UAE, who were mostly just confused as to why the Homeland Security Secretary’s sex pet was speaking.   

Congratulations to this month’s recipient of the Jesse Watters Manhood Prize for Manly Achievements in the Masculine Arts: Markwayne Mullin, who ordered a costly redesign of the DHS seal so that the eagle on the seal faces the (badass) talon clutching some arrows, rather than the (cuck) talon holding the (sissy) palm leaf.

The prize itself is a milkshake with a straw, to be displayed undrunk on the winner’s desk as a symbol of his steely resistance to the sinful mouth suction acts consumption would ask of him.

Markwayne narrowly edged out Vivek Ramaswamy, whose steamy batting cage photo shoot redefined erotica for our dystopian post-shame shithole society.

Y’know what? Watching such a prominent MAGA figure retreat in humiliation puts me in a mood to rout their fucking forces.

Makes you wanna VOTE IN THE GODDAMN MIDTERMS, doesn’t it? You don’t have enough ICE agents to keep us away from the polls, dorks.

There’s still a lingering flash of that Vivek footage in my memory, but I’m confident my old friend alcohol can be of service there. If these ravings drew a smirk, feel free to buy your humble blogger a beer via Cash App, PayPal, or Venmo, sign up on the email list, and/or follow @john_luzar.

And stay safe out there, okay?

It’s said a fish rots from the head. I have no idea if that’s actually true; I only know I’m trapped in a country that’s giving the theory a rigorous round of testing. And this particular head really wasn’t much of a head to begin with, y’know?

I think the low baseline has helped mask the deterioration. You never imagined you’d have to differentiate the stages of a below-average game show host’s mental decline, but now that you mention it, I suppose bragging about discovering the “b” in “dumb” represents a substantial step down from the endless preening about “acing” cognitive screenings…

…or does it? He was already the dumbest motherfucker alive. What, philosophically speaking, constitutes “worse”? It would almost be fun to contemplate, were he employed in a field more suited to his talents. Something like…well, propping a door open. Maybe. Assuming he’s properly supervised.

Don’t get me wrong, I prefer this feebly redecorating phase to last year’s Project 2025 Blitzkrieg, but history has shown this specific wannabe autocrat will entertain some positively zany proposals when faced with an electoral spanking like the one he’s got coming.

I guess I just worry about what guardrails might be left if Natalie accidentally prints out the real polls while he’s immersed in one of his AI slop fantasies about raining death down upon Iran, and he turns to Hegseth and says, “Do that, but to Atlanta,” ten minutes after Pete finally finishes rerouting the chain of command around the last sane voice in the Pentagon.

The president ordered us to unleash the ducks!

The ducks?

From the video. Of the geese with machine guns. They’re marching, and they all have his hair, and we’re supposed to unleash them on urban d—

I thought they were ducks.

They’re geese. Though I suppose they’re ducks now, aren’t they?

…and it’s geriatric wingnut “military influencers” and creeps who got kicked out of TPUSA for kiddie porn making these these calls, because everyone else is fired.

So no, I don’t think ICE needs a national voter database. I think you should have to go at least five years without murdering a nurse before you’re allowed to even ask about a national voter database.

Another suggestion I plan to offer if I ever get this time machine up and running is a law that explicitly prohibits the president from weaponizing the U.S. Postal Service to meddle in an election within one (1) calendar year of being ordered by the Supreme Court to pay a multi-million-dollar settlement for sexual abuse and defamation. That’d be a nice little Bill & Ted adventure, right?

Meet the Press moderator Kristen Welker has been reported to the FCC for “rebuke or punishment” for impugning the virility of Dear Leader’s mighty endorsement, in the strongest sign of strength yet from our strong, strong, strongman. I hope all those candidates he endorsed that lost enjoy their thrilling new lives in Siberia, by the way.

So apparently Fox Nooz fired Maria Bartiromo after she stooged the company out to the White House when management issued guidance directing employees to kindly refrain from pushing the $787 Million Dollar Settlement button.

MAGA mythology is nothing if not rich in tales of dirtbag Icaruses, but since no one in the movement is capable of learning, we get to watch it happen over and over.

Elite Trump University businessologists reverse-engineered the bleeding-edge innovations behind those Dotard-affiliated “Freedom Fuel” stations that’ve been selling gas at below-market prices, and it turns out the secret is stealing. See, they take a bunch of gas from a supplier, and instead of paying for it, they just…don’t.

On the bright side, the issue of energy has been permanently solved thanks to an artful, if somewhat less than legal, deal with the unelected puppet government of Venezuela, wherein Venezuelan mineral wealth will profit the United States instead of Venezuela. The Venezuelan public will surely tolerate this arrangement forever and indeed compose poems and songs in its praise.

One less thing to worry about, which is nice in a world where half your grocery cart gets recalled before you make it through the checkout line. Even the pet food is unsafe now, but at least we’re finally free of those uppity food inspectors, always mouthin’ off about what is and isn’t poison.

The Iran warscursion is still technically happening, I suppose, but that’s “small potatoes,” particularly to the families of the 18 service members who’ve been killed. The regime will submit to the president’s relentless meme campaign any day now, so tell that one widow lady to knock it off with the complaining, wouldja?

The real action is the BALLROOM, bay-bee! That dreary ol’ Army Secretary kept droning on about boring shit like ammunition shortages and sailors driven to suicidal madness by tortuously long deployments when we could’ve been discussing the chariot I’m taking to the ball, which will be made from an enchanted pumpkin, and then at midnight we lock the doors so everyone has to serve me eternally in the afterlife.

And while it is not technically legal to begin construction on the Arch, Dug Bugman doesn’t want to end up on the scrap heap with Kristi Noem and Tulsi Gabbard, so he’ll dig that foundation with his fucking incisors if he has to. With a smile on his face. Wearing shoes that don’t fit.

Rough week for Missouri Republicans, who don’t get to gerrymander their congressional map on behalf of a rapist after all. Not only that, but state House candidate Thomas Christopher Ross got arrested for scheming to plant cocaine on his primary opponent, with what turned out to be the last of the good coke, so that’s a real drag.

Can’t figure out why the Dutch don’t want us looking after their gold anymore. They’re probably worried we’ll get so much American Greatness on it that it will increase in value until it destabilizes their sissy Euro-cuck economy.

Hey, if you ever wished for a racist version of Tetris…congratulations, I guess. I bet a bunch of mega-cool dudes are playing Racist Tetris at Greg Bovino’s place right now. If you brought pizza rolls, I bet they’d let you come over.

What I desperately need is to drink until I forget that Racist Tetris is a thing that exists because my government used my taxes to create it, so all donations to my beer fund, via Cash App, PayPal, or even Venmo, will be profoundly appreciated. As always, I encourage you to sign up on my email list, follow my Xwitter account, and stay safe out there if you’re able…

I almost didn’t blog tonight, as the readership no doubt spent the evening smashing windows in their own individual hometowns’ “Little Canada” neighborhood. Then I figured it’d be nice to have something to read in the enlistment line. You’ll probably be there all day, because after the week’s triumphs, what red-blooded American can withstand the urge to spill the filthy Canuck’s maple-sweet blood?

I’m afraid there may not be much of the foe left to rout, alas. Why, the mere opening salvo of the branding blitzkrieg left them helplessly trembling as their precious “Lake Ontario” was reduced to a smoking crater, upon which gleaming LAKE MURICA sprang up overnight. We used only the best contractors for that, by the way. Any algae is Antifa’s fault.

You can find me on the front freakin’ lines, next to all the MAGA tough guys like Sean Duffy and Jesse Watters. There are no straws in American foxholes, by gum. We ask those of you on the home front to restrict your care packages to manly goods such as beard oils and popsicles with glass in them.   

Actually, we’ve arrived at the stage of American greatness where feeding our armed forces with products recalled over safety concerns would not only provide plentiful options, but constitute a concrete step in a positive direction, as the crew of the USS Abraham Lincoln will tell you.

After a record 250+ days at sea, those poor bastards are finally set for some long overdue R&R in…wait, in Thailand? Gracious me. I predict this shore leave will result in 8-12 great American novels. Sexual misadventures of every genre.

Have a good time, kids, but maybe stay away from the guac. Probably the goldenest thing about this golden age is checking the news before you go grocery shopping to see which everyday foodstuffs have turned lethal.

Yeah, here in the indispensable nation we’re pretty much…well, I guess you’d have to call it rotting, right?

We have decided to die from measles again, for example. Well, if horse dewormer doesn’t cure it, the good lord didn’t intend us to survive it, I suppose.

Okay, so we’ve un-eradicated a few diseases, and half the grocery store is trying to kill us; nothing Senator Darline Graham can’t handle, surely, with her nigh-Klobucharian grasp of the issues. Darline’s Work Sick, Die Young health care plan lands right on the intersection of her party’s “fiscal conservative” and “death cult” wings.

We’re told Pete Hegseth is building a Pentagon troll army to flood the information superhighway with dank memes celebrating all the missions he’s accomplished. These efforts have earned Secretary Funsoxx the lowest approval ratings in a despised kakistocracy, which tracks with what we already knew about his mad leadership skillz. At least they haven’t blown up any schools yet*.

Amazingly, Pete seems to have convinced himself that voters will leap at the opportunity to promote him even higher up the chain of command. “They’ll forget all about the war I lost and the inflation it caused, to say nothing of my buffoonish intelligence blunders and petulant racism, once they understand just how many push-ups I can do.”

…yeah, that’s a Pete Hegseth plan alright.

The Department of Education posted a video comparing Trump to Hitler (favorably, of course), because Linda McMahon is still using the calendar from the first edition of Project 2025, back before they had to make a bunch of adjustments when everyone turned out to be so fucking dumb. She’s gonna show up at the next state dinner in the uniform they were supposed to have rolled out by now, with the boots and the armband; just you wait.

The regime proposes handing a chunk of Yosemite National Park to private real estate developers to build a private road on, because while our natural heritage technically belongs to everybody, surely it belongs to the rich a little more. That’s just basic populism.

Country superstar Jelly Roll was revealed as the mastermind behind the Butler shooting, 9/11, and a fat joke about a svelte, 6’3”, 239 lb Adonis. He is to be deported to CECOT, where he will share a cell with Milo Yiannopoulos, who has been detained by an ICE agent who ran out of children to terrorize.

Look, JFK was great, but you’ll agree the demolition of his memorial is necessary, as no patriot could argue it’s reasonable to ask Dear Leader to endure the repeating narcissistic injury of its continued existence. Also, they’re gonna install this big-ass TV at the Lincoln Memorial to make it look like Honest Abe decided to spend eternity rocking out to Trump rallies and Apprentice reruns, and if you libtards don’t like it, we’ll just blow it up, assuming there’s any ammunition left.

MAGA congressman and Senate hopeful Mike Collins pledged to shepherd legislation mandating that greeting card companies offer Oops, I Hired Another White Nationalist cards for sale at all retail outlets, because that is a normal thing that happens to normal people all the time.

Obviously, no roundup of the week’s news could call itself complete without a brief discussion of Ted Cruz’s tiny dick. While the tininess of even such a uniquely dislikable senator’s dick may strike you as less than newsworthy, it was Senator Cruz himself who lent his hard-won platform to this issue, and I think it’s important that we honor his wishes by letting the whole world know about Ted Cruz’s tiny dick.

Anyway, I just stumbled across a story about the FBI lowering their hiring standards around bestiality, so I think it’s time to log off for the weekend.

If you’d like to buy me one last beer before I set forth for the primordial wilderness of Canadia to cover myself in glory, know that I accept Cash App, Venmo, and even PayPal. You may join my email list or follow @john_luzar if you are so inclined. But stay safe out there either way, chum…

*…that we know about…

I’ve been a Democrat my whole dang life, but now that Jon Ossoff has single-handedly unleashed the Pandora’s Box of INCIVILITY upon our unsoiled political discourse…I just don’t know. I’m still fairly certain fascism is bad, but surely we can fight it without casting aspersions on President Rapist’s creepy stepford handmaid.

He just wants to travel with Natalie, you guys.

I myself almost never leave home without my psychotically devoted disciple who will travel in the trunk of a car to be near me. I mean, how’re you supposed to get through your day without your higher purpose bride?

Holy crap, this story. I think Natalie accidentally won naming rights to the Streisand Effect.

You’re idly doomscrolling. Oh, is it Ossof’s turn in the Two Minutes Hate? Good for him. Gosh, it sounds like he really stepped outside the bounds of polite society, no easy task in a nation governed by a fellow who periodically depicts himself dumping thousands of tons of shit on the public.

Hang on, they’re really circling the wagons around this person. Natalie, Natalie…why does that sound so familiar?

Oh, the human printer? Wait, why is every Scott Jennings-level telestooge indignantly defending the honor of the human freaking printer all of a sudden?

Because she’s a deteriorating narcissist’s final fraying tether to reality, you say? Wait, not the deteriorating narcissist with the nuclear codes, surely?

…well, drat. Y’know what? Let’s hear a little more about Natalie, actually.

Apparently foreign leaders text her when they can’t reach the Dotard directly. What an interesting fact.

‘Allo Natalie! Zis is Macron again! Remind ze big guy what we agreed about not invading ze Greenland! Merci!

Wait…is Natalie one of the most important people in the world? And she refused to submit to a background check for more than a year, you say? Another interesting fact! Plus her brother is a Sandinista? This isn’t news; this is Mad Libs.

We should be fine so long as she hasn’t subsumed her entire sense of self into serving a personal messiah. Well, we better take a look at these letters, just in case…

…I see. That is unfortunate.

In other news, we’re switching sides in the Korean War. Still technically ongoing, y’know. His life is 95% redecorating, peppered with sporadic assaults on the global order.

Normally you hate to see the Supreme Court give any ground to the regime, but allowing the ballroom to proceed feels like sound strategy. Harm reduction, y’know? I think we want to maximize the amount of time he spends looking at swatches.

Find him some sandbox to mash about in, gurgling I’M VERY GOOD AT FLAGPOLES! I doubt it, but I bet you’re less bad at flagpoles than you are at war or economics or running casinos or closing umbrellas or…look, let’s focus on flagpoles is all I’m saying.

Because we’ve arrived at the “blueberries may kill you” phase of American greatness. I really thought we had that one licked. Sure, we managed to un-eradicate measles, but I just assumed the wily blueberry had been definitively domesticated at some point in our agrarian past.

Oh, also, there might be a teeeeeeensy bit of glass in your popsicles now. Turns out you can dismantle a substantial chunk of a nation’s food safety apparatus if you’re dumb and crazy enough. Remember, what’s left of RFK Jr.’s brain are the bits the cranial parasite didn’t want.

Yes, under our decomposing kakistocracy, we’re hurtling backwards as if fired by an obsolete steam catapult installed at the behest of a mad king. Perhaps that Odyssey movie was such a big hit because we subconsciously understood we’ll need to remember how to make bronze soon.

Turns out the ol’ approval rating takes a hit when the blueberries turn deadly. Suddenly even Republican primary voters are rejecting his skeevier henchmen. Gosh, I imagine Cory Mills’ long-term plans relied heavily on the impunity of office.

Secretary of Pushups and Warfighting Pete Hegseth lacks the self-control to travel without a chaperone, which is an awfully comforting thought. So if his wife gets caught up in a hot streak on Candy Crush and Pete wanders off to crack open a bottle of cotton candy vodka in the middle of a Walmart, he might do even dumber shit than Signalgate and the Iran war? What, was Lindsay Lohan unavailable for this gig?

You watch, though; Byron Donalds and Dug Bugman are gonna get emotional support blondes of their own, just like when they all started wearing too-long red neckties.

WHERE’S THE BEEF…FROM? Your government won’t tell you, but that other story about slaughtering wild horses is probably a coincidence. Yes, to the chagrin of American ranchers, tariffs have been suspended on Cow From Someplace. It’s probably fine, at least by the reigning “blueberries may be fatal” standards.

As expected, shiny new Attorney General Todd Blanche pointedly refused to pledge independence from his autocratically inclined boss, but I suppose it’s healthy that we’re still askin’.  He’s already going after Kilmar Abrego Garcia again. The human smuggling charges were obviously bullshit, but apparently there’s video of him carving a 350-yard gash in the Reflecting Pool.

Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy released a long-delayed YouTube show starring Sean Duffy, which probably isn’t the sort of thing government officials devote time and resources to in countries where you can eat the fucking blueberries.

DeSantistan Republican Mike Caruso appears to have wandered perilously close to a life story arc worthy of an EC horror comic. On page one, a zealous state congressman with a dark secret votes to enact a law allowing the death penalty for the unforgivable crime he commits on page three. Even the Crypt Keeper looks away in disgust.

Ok, that’s enough for now. Please enjoy the weekend’s festivities, which apparently include a bumper car race between the president and Jeffrey Epstein. Remember, if you encounter any blueberries, DO NOT APPROACH; contact the nearest ICE agent and tell them the blueberry is a nurse exercising their First Amendment rights.

You’ll agree it’s unreasonable to ask me to face this sober, so here’s the part where I invite you to toss a buck or two into my beer fund via Cash App, Venmo, or even PayPal. Of course, seeing new sign-ups on my email list and new followers @john_luzar releases equally pleasing chemicals in my battered brain, so that’s another option. NEW COMIC COMING SOON! ANSWER YOUR SURVEYS! STAY SAFE OUT THERE!

PS: That is so how French people text.

If I had to choose just one favorite part of life under a strongman, it would definitely be the strength. I can’t wait till they clear all that woke shit out of the Smithsonian so there’s room for this catering cart. It should be an interactive exhibit where you crawl inside and cower and pick which members of your family have to go on the decoy plane.

Sorry, Dad. Shouldn’ta made me eat my peas.

In the interest of fairness and balance, I think it’s important to highlight the moments, however rare, when the regime gets something right. And Mr. President, leaving Stephen Miller on the decoy plane was inspired. I say this with tears in my eyes, sir: Stephen Miller might be the greatest decoy anybody has ever seen.

I’m not a general or anything (heaven knows I couldn’t handle the pushups!), but I bet when you’re bogged down in a Middle Eastern quagmire, all sorts of situations must come up where it would be super handy to have something (or someone!) to draw the enemy’s fire, and I just want to make sure we’re maximizing your talent for human resources. Sir.

I think even the brownshirtiest masked secret policeman would admit ICE has a few problems to sort out, but surely nothing that $20 million worth of electro-shock gloves can’t fix.

Reminds me of an old joke: How many taser-fisted thugs does it take to disrupt a midterm election? Sounds far-fetched, sure, but “stranger things have happened” than a cornered autocrat declaring a national security emergency to stave off an electoral butt-whoopin’, right?

Fortunately, we needn’t worry about the fiscal consequences of outfitting Off-Brand Orbán’s personal army with supervillain tech, because we’re saving a bunch of money by not feeding the crew of the USS Abraham Lincoln.

We’re so lucky to have a Secretary of War who understands that if you pump ‘em full of enough testosterone, warfighters don’t need food at all. You can lock ‘em up on a boat in the middle of the ocean and forget about ‘em. For nine months. Sure, every now and then a guy’s gonna snap and try to fling himself into the sea, but ya gotta cull the sissies.

Personally, I find it shameful that the lamestream media mocked Hegseth for helpfully modeling grooming techniques deployed sailors can apply utilizing only their own self-manufactured bodily fluids.

Why, it’s only a matter of time before the Strait of Hormuz is declared a territory of the United States! Achieving this new war goal will be at least as easy as obliterating Iran’s nuclear program and changing the regime, so you may want to think about investing in a new pair of victory parade boots.

And sure, our stockpiles (not just missiles but drones now) have fallen to the point where I half expect the Bundy ranch to attempt secession, but that actually fits rather snugly with the president’s new “de-modernization” policy, wherein we abandon the cutting-edge for the obsolete.

“Trump orders Navy to use ‘outdated’ steam catapult”

Of course he did. No doubt Junior or Eric lost a few rounds of Uno to a steam catapult magnate in some riverboat casino.

Although it could just be spite. You see stuff like “Trump cancels Biden-era bid to speed power line construction” and “Treasury Scales Back Scrutiny of U.S. Shell Companies”; at a certain point it starts to feel like revenge on the world for outliving him.

Because it’s getting harder and harder to stay awake through all those boring-ass meetings, and it looks like his body is rejecting the hair transplant from Lindsay Graham’s corpse. Ah well. How dangerous can a dying narcissist be, really?

While funding cuts have undermined progress in many sciences, American teams still achieve thrilling breakthroughs in the field of stoogery with some regularity. One crack squadron of invertebrates actually dreamed up some bullshit workaround to keep their rapist dork boss’ name on the side of the fucking Kennedy Center, for example.

Breathtaking. I didn’t know my species was capable of such obsequiousness. Like the moon landing of self-degradation. Voting to add “Restored and Renovated by President Donald J. Trump” to that building is so subhumanizingly embarrassing I assume one instantly devolves upon the casting.

“Say, didn’t you have opposable thumbs the last time I saw you?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a funny story…”

Karoline Leavitt will depart the administration at the end of the month, presumably to open a chain of puppy mills. A reality show competition to crown the Next Mouth of American Fascism will launch right after the federal government gets a handle on that whole Reflecting Pool thing, so I wouldn’t hold my breath.

They’re still trying to pin it on that Hearn fella, of course. That poor guy stumbled right into a Hitchcock movie, didn’t he? You wake up one day and the whole goddamn government is trying to throw you in jail so the president doesn’t have to admit he actually sucks at the only fucking thing he’s supposed to do well. And it might be worth it if Eva Marie Saint showed up, but otherwise, it looks like a pain in the ass.

I see Max Miller decided to not only stick around, but bring colleagues in competitive races down with him, which I enthusiastically support. New York Congressman Mike Lawler acquitted himself so poorly in an interview discussing his refusal to return Miller’s campaign donations that he triggered a fresh new wave of interest in his creepy, cringey obsession with Michael Jackson.

Yeah, I think the midterms’ll turn out pretty well, barring the violent intervention of an unaccountable paramilitary force with taser hands. People’re upset. About the gas prices and the foodborne illnesses and the illicit cattle roaming to and fro.

Normally there’s nothing I enjoy more than watching the dastardly Deep State steal an election from a real American patriot, but I sincerely believe the spectacle of one single Klobuchar/Lindell debate could’ve healed the world.

Until that blessed day, at least we have the Pen Ad to tide us over. I know Ken Paxton is a slug who leaves a trail of opposition research behind him wherever he goes, but how is it possible that there’s actual security footage of him stealing some dude’s pen?

Okay, I’m gonna go pour one out for that lost debate. Why, if you enjoyed this post, you could buy me that very beer via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal! Otherwise, join my email list and follow my Xwitter account, because it’s almost time for another COMIC BOOK KICKSTARTER!

Stay safe out there, old chum…