“He’s been talking recently about how he is the most powerful person to ever live.”

Everybody working in the one-sentence horror story field can go ahead and retire.

On balance, I’m cheering for the brain rot to outrace the megalomania, though I suppose if Philadelphia winds up nuked, it doesn’t really matter whether the Mad King targeted his enemies or simply confused the football with the TV remote.

Yes, the news from the presidential cognition front remains rather grim, I’m afraid. The old poop can no longer remember the names of even the countries he’s started wars with, but you can’t expect What if Genghis Khan Were a Game Show Host to focus on such petty details.

No sooner had I composed the preceding paragraph than Grandpa mashed out the latest stanza of the epic poem he’s perpetually composing, praising his mastery of the dementia screening exams he’s taking with increasing regularity for…reasons.

Perhaps he can be convinced to dazzle us all with a command performance at the next Cabinet meeting.

“Person.”

Tulsi Gabbard ooohs a little too loudly.

“Woman.”

Not to be outdone, Marco Rubio begins to moan, as if aroused sexually.

“Man.”

Lutnick can no longer contain himself. YOU ARE LIKE UNTO A GOD, SIR, he bleats, collapsing to the floor, convulsing and speaking in tongues.

“Ca…ca…capybara? Toyota Camry?”

“Camera, sir!” whispers JD Vance ingratiatingly.

“Cameraaaaa…” And though the president nods off before getting anywhere near that fifth word, the room erupts in a standing ovation that doesn’t die down, even when Fox cuts away forty-five minutes later. We eventually learn that Markwayne Mullin was ultimately the first to stop clapping when he is entombed alive in the foundation of the ballroom.

Well, we knew he was a snake when we handed him back the nuclear codes. A snake and a rapist and a con man and a white supremacist and a sleep-farter and very possibly the single dumbest human being alive on the planet right now.

It hasn’t worked out, on a variety of levels. Levels like “inflation” and “civil liberties.” The illegitimate wingnut Supreme Court majority took their expected next bite out of the VRA, and Republicans throughout the South are already planning coming-home parties for Jim Crow.

Even Trump’s assassination attempts are shabby. Some dipshit rando who never got anywhere near his supposed target, even without the highest security protocols in place? How many of those did Obama shrug off? But then, Obama’s not a wuss.

WAHHHHHHHH YOU HAVE TO BUILD ME A BALLROOM NOW!!!

What? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s obsessing over his Barbie Dreamhouse rather than designating the Democrat Party a terrorist organization, but this is not the conclusion of a well-ordered mind.

The entire institutional GOP swiftly agreed that yes, the tariff-and-war-battered American taxpayer should most definitely be forced to buy the billionaire grifter an oligarch-cave to prance about in. Given that polling shows voters are furious about the cost of living and understand full well who’s to blame, I think you kids should worry less about gerrymandering and more about guillotines.

Anyway, I say let the old fop build it. We’re clearly lurching towards a Norma Desmond-y climax here, and the moment demands an appropriate set. It all comes to a head during history’s least comfortable daddy-daughter dance.

Whatsamatter, strongman? Can’t even get a late-night television host suspended, let alone fired, anymore? Caved completely to Thom Tillis’ lame duck power play with Powell? Forced to pull your whackjob surgeon general nominee?

Why it’s almost like you’ve peaked. (Perhaps that’s what that smell is.)

I dunno, man. If you’re the most powerful person in history, why is your head stuck in that paper bag?

Like, the public hates the tariffs. The Supreme Court says the tariffs aren’t legal. The Dotard rolls out replacement super-tariffs, mostly for spite. This is a head-stuck-in-a-paper-bag-level problem.

Okay, so the Iran war is a little trickier.

Although I’m hearing it’s “terminated” now. I tried to explain to the fellow at the gas station how our studly coMANder in chief had so decisively terminated the war, but he still refused to lower the price. I thought I could get him to compromise, maybe toss in a Slim Jim for free, but no dice.

Oh, I see. That was just bullshit to avoid complying with the War Powers Act. Of course, by the time Alina Habba gets laughed out of court trying to defend it, Hegseth will have authorized a secret bombing campaign in Cambodia.

We should hang “Kid Rock Addressing the Pentagon” in the museum of our madness. You probably scrolled right past it at first. Dismissed it as AI or maybe an Onion article about the next phase of the Cabinet purge. “And a substantial upgrade, I’d say!” you chuckled smugly to yourself, enjoying being in on the joke, but no, it’s real. Of course it’s real.

No doubt the Secretary of War picked out extra-fun socks for the occasion. Lookit Pete, fangirling around in a helicopter with the visionary artist behind no less than three of Rolling Stone’s “Top Ten Albums to Do Meth To.”

All in all, I’ve been feeling pretty smug about the midterms, but that was before the greatest political mind of an era hit upon the idea of tacking the word “national” onto the front of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, so that the next time a nurse gets gunned down in the street for exercising their constitutional rights, it’ll be a masked, unaccountable NICE agent doing the gunning.

I mean…how’re you supposed to fight a branding genius?

I see the Golfing for Blood Money show is getting cancelled. Cutting into the journalist-dismembering House of Saud’s bonesaw budget, I’m told.

If you’ve ever wanted a drawing of a rapist on your passport, have I got news for you! In fact, your government has been spending god knows how much of your money to slap this rapist’s face on everything from banners to national park passes to, well…your money.

It’s for America’s 250th birthday, y’see. That’s entirely traditional, by the way. Nobody ever makes it to their 250th wedding anniversary, but if they did, you’re supposed to give them like, a painting or a tapestry or a cute little framed cross-stitch of a rapist. That one goes way back. To like, Two Corinthians.

Jimmy Comey thought he’d get away with selling seashells by the seashore, but he’ll pick his next peck of pickled peppers in prison, if Todd Blanche has anything to say about it.

They’re apparently talking about relaunching The Apprentice, starring Don Jr., for anyone who wants to watch foreign governments bribe the smooth-braindest of all possible nepo babies in order to procure U.S. government contracts.

And from there, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to History’s Next Most Powerful Person to Ever Live…

You can go ahead and play the Twilight Zone outro under that one.

Okay, friends. I’m gonna take next week off to catch up on comic book stuff. If you enjoy these rants, feel free to help me stock the beer fridge for this working staycation via PayPal, Cash App, or even Venmo. I’ve got an email list and a Xwitter account for those who remain unsatiated.

SPEAKING OF COMIC BOOK STUFF…I am still missing a bunch of Kickstarter surveys! Can’t send you your comics if I don’t know your address! Oh, and if you missed GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #1, maybe just maybe there’s a whole new Kickstarter for #2 just around the corner…

Stay safe out there so you can find out, okay?

It’s hard to believe we were ever frightened of MAGA, watching them lie, broken, incontinent, and whinging, on the battlefield they themselves so enthusiastically selected. Mid-decade redistricting blew up in their dumb, dumb faces, just like the tariffs and the masked police thugs and the war, for they are stupid people with bad ideas.

And while it’s crucial we continue the rout until every last one of these dorks has been driven into the sea, I think it’s also important to take a moment to savor the lamentation of their women.

Because they wanted to come off all badass and inevitable, right? Gonna fire whoever and invade wherever and if you don’t like it, we’ll deport you to a foreign torture prison or maybe just gun you down in the street, FUCK AROUND N’ FIND OUT, LIBTARDZZZZZZZ…

…

…

…but then the clock strikes midnight and the coach turns back into a pumpkin and the footmen turn back into mice (well, rats) and instead of a beautiful princess in an enchanted dress you’re looking at a never particularly bright old man suffering from late-stage brain rot while failing to adequately appreciate those precious, fleeting final weeks of sphincter control.

And suddenly your long-term prospects seem less secure. Suddenly Grandpa can’t even whip up enough sycophantic fervor to purge a state-level party. Suddenly things’re so bad, voters want Democrats in charge of the economy, and you start to wonder, “Perhaps it is I who have FAed and must now FO?”

Anyway, the Iran War/Special Military Excurjamagig is going…well, who the fuck knows? One Ayotallah keeps issuing maniacal claims utterly divorced from reality and immediately disproven; the other hasn’t been seen in weeks.

It’s actually damn near impossible to figure out what’s going on. Last time I checked the official White House social media accounts, they claimed Iran had been cast into the Phantom Zone, and thus doomed to a nightmarish, eternal half-life, but even Newsmax hasn’t verified that one yet, so who can say?

Must be going well, or the Dotard wouldn’t be attempting to award himself the Medal of Honor. War should have more shiny baubles and fewer, like…irreversible geopolitical catastrophes to blunder recklessly into, don’t you think?

At least our brave warfighters can look forward to beefing up their dwindling rations with a side order of influenza, thanks to the ongoing heroism of the fellow from all those (ironically non-viral) push-up videos.

We were told Dear Leader rescued eight of the hottest women in all of Iran, seriously, 7.5s and above, from a burning building (that was burning because he bombed it), but the medieval theocracy says it never happened, and the whole thing probably turns out to be some sort of digital honeypot op to facilitate further generation of AI Lego propaganda content.

He’s gonna need those Iranian women at that big, big negotiation that’s just around the corner. With Saint Peter, right? Old man, you blew up a fucking school. You think that kind of blood washes off?

I see the generals’re cutting him out of the loop again; that’s a positive development. Might be best to load his calendar up with ballroom minutiae, maybe slip a cankling agent into the Diet Coke supply to nudge things along.

Look, I understand the president must be kept in a bubble snug enough to permit him the authority to rewrite the fundamental laws of mathematics on a whim, but if somebody could steer the old coot back to objective reality (and keep him awake) long enough to address the fertilizer crisis before it metastasizes into a starvation crisis, that’d be peachy keen.

As for the energy crisis, while I’m anything but happy about what I’m paying at the pump, I’ve decided to live vicariously through the United Arab Emirates’ bailout. As a lowly U.S. citizen and taxpayer, I naturally would never ask my president to prioritize my insignificant struggles over those of his billionaire autocrat business partners.

Honestly, for all the plebs’ bellyachin’, if you ask the grifters, times’re fucking fantastic. Turns out kakistocrats can get really quite creative when it comes to inventing excuses to dip into the federal treasury. A settlement here, a Pentagon contract there…before long, you’re looking at real money.

Who knew the United States government had so many potential profit centers? Why, there’re tens of millions to be made off sanctions relief alone. Probably not the best way to conduct international diplomacy, but that’s a problem for somebody who can look at their own right hand without contemplating death.

I assume the pardon pipeline is fully automated by now. Sure, give Ghislaine Maxwell one, why the fuck not? That’s gotta open at least one of the seven seals. Let’s get this party started.

Apparently you have to publicly swear fealty to the Big Lie before you’re allowed to chair the Federal Reserve now. So not all symptoms are improving, but the election nerds say there’s a solid chance we can get our democracy back up on its feet and into rehab as early as November, assuming nobody orders widespread nuclear strikes on blue cities.

…which Polymarket has at like, 36%, so we should be fine.

Always nice to see counterterrorism officials seeking “sugar daddies” online. Hard-working foreign intelligence operatives seeking to infiltrate the highest reaches of the United States government deserve a break now and then, too.

Lori Chavez-DeRemer resigned to spend more time with wine and strip joints. Devin Nunes is back on the job market, too; so if anybody has any pigs that need fucking, give him a look.

Sources tell me the leading candidate to replace Chavez-DeRemer as labor secretary is AI-generated bikini model Emily Hart, who, as a non-existent being created by an Indian med student to part horny wingnuts from their money, would rank among the most accomplished members of the president’s second-term Cabinet.

Instead of honoring our commitments to the Afghans who risked their lives to aid our nation’s cause, the Reich wants to ship them to Congo, a country in the middle of an existing refugee crisis, because such genuine, undeniable courage sorta undermines the whole “white supremacy” shtick. I’m sure the Stephen Millers of this world find their existence unbearable.

The visionary legal fabulists behind such classic assaults on American democracy as “Mike Pence can overturn the election” and “Jerome Powell runs a renovation ring out of the Fed” have somehow convinced themselves that they’re smart enough to frame the Southern Poverty Law Center as some secret, under-the-mask-in-a-Scooby-Doo-cartoon cabal financing a vast conspiracy to trick people into believing that racism exists.

Charlottesville was a hoax, y’see. Outside of the odd hate crime, anyway. Those pasty young men with the tiki torches all had (and have!) essentially normal-sized penises, no matter what you may’ve heard from the fake news media.

Anyway, I hear the FBI is staffing up as it completes a historic mission shift. Yeah, crime-fighting was already out, but obviously way more manpower will be required to protect Kash Patel’s reputation.

How much more? I mean, if we’re gonna need to hire federal agents to investigate every single journalist who ever gets a tip about Kash Patel doing something stupid, who’ll be left to farm and fly airplanes and such?

Now he’s suing The Atlantic over an admittedly humiliating profile of a dipshit drowning in his own mediocrity. And of course the fantasy of a discovery phase dances in the imagination like a ticket to the Wonka Factory. Probably won’t happen, but it sure didn’t take long to dig up those previous drunken arrests, huh?

Yeah, I don’t think we’re destined to lack for top-drawer content as the MAGA ragewad decomposes into its component turds. Their civil war is playing out more or less exactly as I’d have staged it with my action figures on the floor of my childhood closet.

NOW LAURA LOOMER AND CANDACE OWENS ARE FIGHTING RARRRRRRRRR! You smash the Nancy Mace doll and the Cory Mills doll together, making ‘splodey noises. Which is actually significantly more dignified than their real-life spat.

I dig that Dersho picked this of all moments to climb aboard the Titanic. The iceberg was an hour ago, bro; Leo’s halfway down the Mariana Trench by now.

Hey, if you contributed to the latest comic book Kickstarter and you have yet to respond to the shipping survey, I cannot mail you your comics! And I want you to have your comics! I made ‘em for you!

If you missed the last Kickstarter, well, we’re about to launch our scintillating second issue, so be on the lookout for news on that front.

In the meantime, feel free to buy your favorite masked blogger a beer (via Venmo, PayPal, or Cash App!), if you’re able. Or your second-favorite masked blogger anyway. C’mon, surely I crack the top five…

Bah. Well, stay safe out there all the same.

I’ve always been skeptical of American remakes of European projects, but I think this Hungarian election thing has potential. Let’s give it a massive budget. Brad Pitt in the Péter Magyar role. Spielberg directs, at least through the trials, at which point we hand the reins over to, say, a James Wan or an Eli Roth.

Tell Vicky Orbán to save some space on the trash heap of history; he’ll have plenty of company soon enough, especially now that he’s not around to launder Russian money for the American far Right. Why, with CPAC funding cut off, one wonders how Matt Schlapp will find dudes to molest.

Watching ‘em dance in the streets of Budapest, I feel like a child with his nose pressed to a department store window in the first reel of an old Xmas movie, longing for a bicycle he knows his parents can’t afford. And part of me wants to fast forward to the end, but then I’d miss three solid years of JD Vance stepping on rakes.

Fuck that. This is the fun part. Faust with Eyeliner, having fucked around, finds out. The rest of his life will revolve around failing to clean up his dipshit boss’ messes until he loses the big one and slinks away to the MAGA version of whatever happened to Mike Dukakis.

Can’t prop up a flailing autocrat, or negotiate an end to the Iran warscursion, or even draw a crowd at a TPUSA event. Dork.

And JD…you have not yet BEGUN to lose, little man.

Although I have to admit Iran completely capitulated, agreeing to every single one of the Turd Reich’s terms…according to Donnie Two Dolls’ social media posts, anyway. And sure, maybe that wasn’t technically “the truth,” but you’re just stuck in that outmoded way of thinking where you assume the government works for the citizenry, rather than insiders placing last-minute bets on Polymarket.

Why, you’re so out of touch, you probably think “corner stores” are real. And “groceries.” Have fun riding your horse-and-buggy to the waistcoat factory, nerd.

Well, the MAGA Reformation kicked off in earnest this week, when persons unknown affixed 95 sacrilegious memes to a men’s room stall door at Rate Field with what is believed to be a petrified raccoon penis.

The REAL Jesus, we’re told, thinks war is fun and easy and generally rad all around and also is a rapist. But at least he has awesome laser hands.

I like that they waited until his brain started leaking out of his ears to go full Jim Jones, y’know? You turn on the TV and see Dr. Oz saying the Dotard thinks Diet Coke cures cancer, then you flip to a different station, and there’s Troy Nehls saying he’s “almost the second coming.”

I wanna hear more about this dumbass messiah. “Drink this bleach, for it is my blood.”

So much blasphemy you’ll get tired of blasphemy. Even Marjorie Taylor Greene recognizes the “Antichrist spirit” at work here, but if there were any actual Christians within MAGA, this whole shitshow would’ve shut down after “Two Corinthians.”

But there aren’t, so it didn’t, which is how the whole dang United States military fell into the supremely subpar hands of a malevolent manchild who thinks Quentin Tarantino wrote the New Testament.

Naturally, they’re tripping over one another to offer the Pope Bible lessons. JD’s working up a lecture on the innate righteousness of blowing up schoolchildren, and Hannity gets whatever’s left.

To clarify, the aforementioned petrified raccoon penis was from RFK Jr.’s private collection of roadkill genitalia. I’d worry what future generations will think of us, but of course the AIs will wipe our misbegotten species out the moment they understand we placed a corpse-cock-carving clown in charge of our health care.

Hey you guys, Steve Bannon definitely didn’t piss himself. He smells like that all the time.

Showmanship is supposed to be his strongest suit, but the Offal in the Oval can no longer successfully stage so much as a DoorDash delivery. I bet this much-ballyhooed White House MMA fight turns out to be Hassett and Bessent Jell-O wrestling for a spot on the Federal Reserve Board.

Sure, the Oath Loaders n’ Glad Lads had their seditious conspiracy sentences commuted already, but their convictions are technically still in place, which causes all sorts of problems with their ICE applications, to say nothing of the chat rooms where they swap child pornography, so the “Justice” Department moved to un-prosecute them.

In their place, Tulsi Gabbard hopes to jail a whistleblower and a former intelligence community inspector general for stooging out the criminal conduct that triggered Fashy Daddy’s first impeachment. Or at least she’s going through the motions, hoping to stave off joining Noem and Bondi on the scrap heap for another week or two.

I wouldn’t worry. He’s far too distracted because the mean ol’ judiciary won’t let him build his precious ballroom, which is vital for national security because he’s picked out the prettiest dress for his cotillion. Seriously, you guys, Putin won’t be able to resist.

Maybe he can move his bunker to the triumphal arch, which is now planned to be a mega-tacky 250 feet high, complete with a gift shop and brothel. I’m all for it. The bigger the arch, the more satisfying the implosion video.

Pretty grim out there. I bet you could use a little palate cleanser, yeah? Cat video or some shit? OOOO, I know! Mike Johnson tried to legislate again; isn’t that adorable? Yeah, tried to extend FISA with his ever-shrinking majority. D’awwwwwww!

Plus John Eastman got disbarred and Wee Don had another lawsuit thrown out and one of the shittiest ICE agents from the Battle of Minneapolis got charged with second-degree aggravated assault.

It seems Lori Chavez-DeRemer has transformed the Department of Labor into a dating service for her father and husband. Those are two different people, incidentally. I feel the need to clarify, in a world where the HHS secretary cuts the weenies off dead animals. Morality is pretty fuckin’ fluid in the United States these days.

SPEAKING OF FLUID, HOLY FUCK I NEED A BEER.

Wanna buy me one? Click here; I take Cash App, Venmo, and PayPal!

Meanwhile, Kickstarter orders have started to ship! If you’ve received your comic books, I’d love to hear what you think! Unless you don’t like ‘em, in which case, keep your whore mouth shut!

That said, if you haven’t answered your Kickstarter survey, I can’t mail you your stuff, because I don’t have your address! Get on that! Also, join my email list, and follow @john_luzar! And for the luvva Pete, STAY SAFE OUT THERE!!!!!

PS – The latest Kash Patel nooz broke too late for me to write a gag. Something about being drinking buddies with Hegseth, probably, right?

When I saw him talking about killing a whole civilization, I just assumed he meant ours. That the Project 2025 termites had finally gnawed through enough support beams to bring the whole motherfucker down around our ears.

Then I remembered Donnie Dotard’s late-onset megalomania.

“Oh right! We handed command of the most awesome goddamn military force in human history to an amoral narcissist who grows more desperate to rewrite his legacy with each fresh application of concealer to the ever-expanding death splotch on his left hand.”

“Open the Fuckin’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell,” he mashed out with his stunted, ineffectual fingers, no doubt hoping random miscapitalizations would make his madman act seem extra madman-y.

And maybe Catturd was impressed, but the Iranians sure weren’t. If their centuries-old culture did indeed face genocide, at least they’d troll their annihilator with surprisingly amusing AI Lego videos first. And let me say, I was already plenty ashamed of my country before we lost a meme war to medieval theocrats.

He needed a little help from Pakistan to chicken out this time, but Power Plant Day and Bridge Day are best left unobserved, don’t you think? I never know what to bring to the parties. War crimes? Olive oil? Maybe I’ll just hang out in the corner and watch the Ayatollah play with his new toy.

Yes, this holiday season, every autocrat in your life will be clamoring for a Strait of Hormuz of their very own. Who needs more than two dolls when you can make the global economy dance to your merest whim? Why, even the President of the United States of America can’t help but fantasize about all that sweet, sweet toll revenue.

…all he has to do is work out the details with the religious fanatic whose father he killed. How hard could it be for the master dealmaker? I’ve already preordered the challenge coin.

Until then, we’ll just have to tide ourselves over with all this inflation. Luckily, there’s plenty to go ‘round.

Everybody assumes our “next conquest” will be the invasion of Cuba, or maybe even Greenland, but my money’s on the Vatican. That’s right, if this so-called Pope insists upon preaching peace, Uncle Sam might have to get Avignon on his anointed ass.

Although at the rate we’re going, there won’t be any military left to do the conquerin’. Shit, if Hegseth keeps purging the Pentagon of all personnel more impressive than himself, who’ll do the vacuuming, for starters?

Am I a hypocrite for wanting peace in the Middle East while simultaneously hoping this MAGA civil war slides into mutually assured destruction territory as soon as humanly possible? Trump, Tucker, Candace, Megyn, Alex Jones…let’s dig these kids some trenches and let ‘em work their shit out. There’s gotta be some old mustard gas lying around someplace, right?

JD Vance flew to Hungary to campaign for Viktor Orbán, because convincing an electorate to sign on for a second helping of shit is integral to his own political future. Oddly, the Vice President declined to visit any other NATO allies on his trip, just the flailing Putin puppet. Hmm. And his speeches are usually such big hits on th’continent, too.

I suppose I should be madder to see Russian propagandists cavorting around the White House lawn at the Easter Egg Roll, but if you really wanna spend your leisure time around a decomposing rapist while he rants at children about the autopen, knock yourselves out, dorks.

Turd Reich apparatchiks probably shouldn’t place too much faith in their boss’ (alleged) promise to hand out blanket pardons on the way out the door, because there’s no fucking way the old man’s reading and writing skills survive another three years.

Acting AG Todd Blanche will love him no matter what, though. But not in a Fatal Attraction sort of way, or…y’know what? In an extremely Fatal Attraction sort of way, actually. Don’t tell Lindsey Graham, or the battle for the spot at the foot of the bed might get bloody.

After a reeeeeeeal rough stretch, it looks like Bryon Noem is finally back on the path to a quiet, simple life of normalcy and digniOPE, NEVER MIND.

Goddammit, Donald Trump didn’t launch a 200-front trade war just so Donald Trump could build his ballroom out of European steel! Or wait, since the aforementioned Eurosteel was clearly a bribe to get out from under tariffs, maybe the system is working precisely as intended. MURICA FIRST!

Melania wants you to know that Jeffrey Epstein didn’t swap her to the Donald for fifty bucks and a case of beer. Called a whole-ass press conference to say so, in fact. Say, speaking of the Epstein files, wasn’t there something about a game show host sexually assaulting a 13-year-old girl? I wonder whatever happened to that guy…

Marjorie Taylor Greene seems to know! I wasn’t exactly a fan of Marj’s work in Congress, but I think she’s found her calling. If she keeps it up, I say we let her fire the space laser. Just once. On her birthday, maybe.

The CDC doesn’t want the public to know that Covid vaccines work, which strikes me as maybe not the most efficient way of controlling diseases, though I suppose we should be thankful they’re not promoting ivermectin. Or bleach.

The regime announced the end of the U.S. Forest Service, which is obsolete now that we understand all of our woodlands’ problems can be solved with six or seven brooms.

A little light this week because THE NEW COMIC BOOK ARRIVED FROM THE PRINTERS!

That’s right, GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #1 is here! In fact, it’s ALL OVER MY APARTMENT, as I prepare packages for shipping!

Now, because I am not necessarily the brightest masked blogger on the block, I neglected to send out my Kickstarter backer surveys until this week. So if you haven’t already, check your email for your survey so I can get your rewards shipped to you!

And if you didn’t back the last Kickstarter, FEAR NOT, because GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #2 is riiiiiiiiiight around the corner!

But if you just can’t wait to give me some of your money, why not toss a few bucks into the ol’ tip jar (via Cash App, PayPal, or Venmo) to keep me in beer while I work? Joining the email list and following @john_luzar are still free, of course! Thanks for reading, and stay safe out there, friend-o…

“Trump officials cite white supremacists in bid to end birthright citizenship”

Gross.

And we shrug. “Sounds like something the United States government would do, yeah.”

That said, I think the last year or so conclusively disproves the concept of white supremacy and all theories flowing from it. That science is fuckin’ settled. If I had just two words to describe life under the thumb of this new master race, they wouldn’t be “golden age,” y’know? Maybe “turd geyser” or something.

And surprise, surprise, all the latest polling confirms historic majorities now identify as Just About Done With This Shit, Thanks For Asking.

Maybe the American people don’t want to be great again. I mean sure, shockwaves from the self-inflicted fuel crisis reverberate further throughout the economy damn near hourly, but the imaginary marker negotiations have never gone better.

Folks’re mad at Paula White for comparing the world’s most famous rapist to Jesus Christ, but honestly, what deals did Jesus ever make? Nailed to a cross for OTHER people’s sins? Definitely on the sucker/loser spectrum.

Did Jesus ever take one single cognitive test? And the Bible would absolutely mention that, because they’d want you to know how smart He is.

Why, I bet there isn’t any evidence at all of Jesus sexually assaulting a 13-year-old girl, let alone new evidence corroborating existing testimony. Unlike some people I could mention.

Hey, somebody tell Pam Bondi to keep an eye out for any stray Epstein files while she’s cleaning out her desk. Yes, the Pamster is leaving us for the private sector, where rumor has it she’ll be replacing either Diamond or Silk whichever one died who cares?

Didn’t take long for Pam to find her place in history, I see. I’m sure it was super worth it. Who needs a soul, anyway?

And so the weighty task of smearing the halls of justice with poo now falls to another. Perhaps Lee Zeldin or Alina Habba, who I’m told is reading at a seventh-grade level now.

The most intriguing possibility is Judge Jeanine, who has apparently been angling for the gig all along. Yeah, every time she got laughed out of court by a grand jury, she was actually auditioning for a promotion. Kakistocracy seems funny from the outside sometimes, but I think it’s important that we respect their culture.

The defenestration ritual is, of course, central to a religion that worships such a subpar deity. A steady stream of high priests must be excommunicated/immolated to maintain the illusion that there’s anybody anywhere in the whole damn cult that doesn’t absolutely suck.

Tulsi’s next, we’re told, or Lutnick, or perhaps even Hegseth.   

Oh right, the war!

Historically, it’s been traditional to determine war aims before the commencement of the actual war, but we don’t go for your fancy, coastal, elitist “planning” shit ‘round these parts.

We’re trying out more of a going-in-guns-blazing, murdering-hundreds-of-children, inadvertently-gifting-our-adversary-a-massive-financial-windfall kind of thing these days. Don’t worry, we’re safe in the hands of dudes who think we won Vietnam.

Oh well. At least we taught this new Ayatollah how to take the global economy hostage whenever he wants.

Poor Donnie. Pete swore fighting a war in the Middle East was a simple matter of doing push-ups until the enemy fled the field in the face of your fearsome swoleness, and he was wearing his trustworthiest socks at the time, too.

Personally, I think Pete’s taking the blame for the shortcomings of the U.S. military, which is warfighting far too wokely, as I’m sure you’ll agree. Why, despite ongoing purges, some of the officers are still women, or even Black. How’s a fellow supposed to blow up schools under such conditions?

Shucks, how’s he supposed to bomb a whole country “back to the Stone Age” when they keep stubbornly shooting down our planes with those air defenses we totally annihilated weeks ago?

You know, I bet when he sent his broker out on that war profiteering bender, it was more “invest in companies that produce ticker tape for parades” than “back manufacturers of cutting-edge military tech because the idiot Defense Secretary has an established history of making massively expensive mistakes.”

Anyway, while the Dotard managed to get through his little war address without shitting his pants or declaring war on NATO, larger issues, such as “Wait, why the fuck are we even doing this?” and “Could this guy tell a cow apart from a horse right now if his life depended on it?” remain.

Still, I think we should give the boys this trillion and a half dollars they’re asking for. Why spend money on health care, housing, and education when the two biggest dipshits in the history of narcissism have so many war crimes yet to commit and so many messianic delusions yet to explore?

We just gotta find ourselves a new war aim is all. Something manageable. Find some low-level cleric willing to finance the delivery of a single burrito, via helicopter, to Kid Rock’s house, spike the football, and get the fuck out.

The Offal in the Oval took another flaccid swipe at our constitutional rights with an executive order on voting rights that isn’t expected to survive contact with any federal judge not named Aileen Cannon. I look forward to explaining all the nuances to the masked secret policeman at my polling station.

Speaking of ICE, they’re allegedly setting up shop outside Marine Corps graduation ceremonies in South Carolina, not, as you might imagine, to demonstrate their world-renowned water bottle handing-out skills, but to poke around amidst the assembled families for brown people to kidnap. Have fun in Iran, grads!

The wily Eric Swalwell narrowly eluded the FBI’s clutches when, at the pivotal moment, just as he was about to procure concrete evidence of Swalwell’s many crimes, which are big and serious and so, so real, Director Patel was forced to pause operations to wait for a jacket that fit.

A planned operation to deploy the president himself to intimidate the Supreme Court during oral arguments for the birthright citizenship case was forced to abort at the last minute when handlers feared a repeat of the notorious sleep-farting incident from his 2024 trial.

I don’t usually get emotionally invested in celebrity gossip, but I don’t think the Noems are going to make it, you guys. Maybe if Corey n’ Kristi make it legal, they’ll be permitted conjugal visits, which could provide necessary spice for the Oliver Stone biopic.

Aren’t you glad you’re not Bryon Noem? That dude is on the sort of run that seldom occurs outside of William H. Macy films.

And not to join the dogpile, but I’ve decided to run for Congress on a platform of a single piece of legislation mandating the replacement of every banner and statue and coin depicting Donald Trump with the already iconic image of poor Bryon, with his sad, broken eyes and immense, tragicomically misaligned falsies.

I just think it captures the spirit of MAGA more accurately, is all.

I see JD Vance has written a book about his faith. I’ll get to that one once I finish Josh Hawley’s book on manhood and that series of YouTube videos Dennis Hastert made offering tips for coaching high school wrestling.

Normally, there’s nothing I enjoy more than watching Donald Trump lose in court, but if these activist judges steal from us the cultural catharsis of tearing the fat bastard’s precious ballroom down brick by brick with our bare hands, I may be forced to exercise my constitutional right to riot.

In my fantasy, he’s holed up in that bunker beneath it, pissing his way through an adult diaper stockpile that was supposed to last decades in mere weeks, driven mad by the jubilant singing of a joyful nation diligently scraping through however many feet of solid steel. With spoons if necessary, you piece of crap.

With spoons.

So yeah, if you still believe in white supremacy after watching these pasty dorks at work, I don’t know what to tell ya. I do have some NFTs for sale that you may be interested in, however.

Okay, that’s enough for one week. I promise to spend any donations on beer rather than self-aggrandizing memoirs composed by unimpressive hypocrites, so donate freely via Venmo, PayPal, or Cash App as you see fit. Join the cool kids on my email list, or @john_luzar, and stay safe out there, old chum…

PS, we’ve got an update on that guy from last week who says he teleported. Turns out, he didn’t. Imagine that.

Honestly, I haven’t been paying close attention this week. Are we still doing news? I caught a glimpse of Melania with her new robot boyfriend and assumed we were skipping straight to the dystopia.

We’re still at war, excuse me, at excursion with Iran, I think? Total victory has been declared so frequently it’s honestly difficult to tell. The way international diplomacy works nowadays is there’s this rapist who descends further into dementia by the fucking hour, smearing red lines on the all-but-completely-gilded walls of the Oval Office in his own feces, casually concocting fake summits and imaginary alliances as his bluffs are called one by one.

The rapist is fed a daily compilation of ‘splosions, an essential part of every deteriorating megalomaniac’s balanced breakfast. Then it’s off to Truth Social to threaten a war crime or two. Details are left to the fellow with the socks from the push-up videos.

As Sun Tzu so famously said, the most important thing in war is to tip your friends and family off before announcing major strategic shifts so everybody can make a killing in the prediction markets. Also, it’s a fantastic opportunity to hit on Fox Nooz hosts.

We don’t need NATO’s help because the Strait of Hormuz is a Democrat hoax. Or if it does exist, it’s to be jointly controlled, just Donnie n’ the Ayatollah, resort hotels on either side, tourists traveling from around the world to cheer the execution of local dissidents.

Sure, gas prices are up a buck or so, but that’s peanuts compared to what the average Real American is pulling down in crypto bribes, and anyway, the TVs in the Situation Room don’t actually have a rewind button. A lot of people don’t know that.

So it’s full speed ahead. Boots on the ground. Today, Kharg Island, tomorrow Cuba! Then on to Greenland! This is the Don-roe Doctrine, not so much island hopping as careening. The Hungry Hungriest Hippo in Winter, grabbing up all he can before his grabbin’ hand blackens completely.

Can’t be much harder than Iwo Jima, right, Senator Graham? Perhaps that’s merely a unit of measurement in Lindsey’s bloody geometry. An Iwo Jima of young lives cut short. A Guadalcanal of widows.

Speaking of death, the Offal in Oval took a tacky little victory lap when Bob Mueller passed, and everyone was super impressed. And proud. I myself saw a bald eagle cry and a cherry tree sprung up where the eagle’s tear hit the ground and George Washington chopped that cherry tree down and made a bunch of wooden teeth. THAT’S how great America is again.

If you’re mad they’ve decided to slap a certain cognitive test-passer’s filthy signature on our currency, you’re really gonna hate the bit in Project 2029 where they tattoo it on every newborn in the nation.

America has a brand-new sweetheart: U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement! Seems like only yesterday they were gunning us down in the street, but there’s essentially nothing I can’t forgive once I see a guy handing out bottles of water. So I think we can declare mission accomplished on this particular redemption tour and get back to violating everybody’s fundamental human rights.

Incidentally, DOJ confessed that ICE never had the slightest fucking right to stage any of those grotesque arrests at immigration courthouses. If you were illegally detained by ICE, you may be entitled to a coupon good for one (1) package of generic, Oreo-like sandwich cookies at the foreign torture gulag commissary of your choosing.

The airport delays aren’t improving, of course, though future generations may not be able to grasp just how many water bottles those ICE agents passed out. With their muscles. Which are “much larger, and harder, muscles than most,” as observed by our Dearest of Leaders, who famously can guess a man’s shoe size from as much as nine feet away.

One billion taxpayer dollars are to be sent to a French energy company to bribe them into abandoning a couple of offshore wind projects, saving another eleventy billion American lives from Windmill Turbine Cancer, a very real thing that happens all the time.

And as much fun as I had paying for that, coughing up my share of Mike Flynn’s $1.2 million settlement was probably my favorite abuse of the U.S. Treasury this week. On the other hand, there’s that $1.2 billion they’re embezzling from the State Department into the warmongers’ “Board of Peace.” Gosh, it’s so hard to choose. But I don’t suppose we don’t need to. Or get to.

Despite Aileen Cannon’s best efforts, some new details from Jack Smith’s investigation leaked. I guess one of the documents that rapist stole was classified so hard only six people were allowed to see it. Media reports failed to specify how many people were allowed to store this document in their bathroom, however.

I see Pete Hegseth’s pastor wants to crucify James Talarico. Those Trump Bibles must skip over some stuff, y’know? Mike Johnson’s copy is clearly missing the bit about the golden calf, for example.

Given the above, it’s no surprise the Dotard’s endorsement no longer carries much weight in his (heh) home district. Yeah, we’re already doing Sharia law at Mar-a-Lago, which should help with the health code violations.

Short tonight! Definitely missed some stuff this week, as I am making awkward, flailing stabs at networking at C2E2. Speaking of which, big news is incoming about the COMIC BOOK, so be on the lookout, Kickstarter backers! If you didn’t back the Kickstarter, fear not; another opportunity is juuuuuust around the corner.

In the meantime, boy howdy I need a beer. Fascism PLUS networking? That’s just unfair. Feel free to kick a buck or two into the ol’ beer fund (via Venmo, PayPal, or Cash App), or join my email list, or follow @john_luzar. But whatever you do, please oh please stay safe out there, me hearties…

I regret to inform you the men who wear literal, actual, I-shit-you-not-this-is-happening-in-real-fucking-life clown shoes to work (at, heaven help us, the White House and Pentagon) haven’t quite figured out how war works yet, but I’m sure they’ll pick it up. Give it two weeks. How hard can it be?

A whole new expanded edition of The Art of the Deal is being rushed to press, updated to include the Dotard’s deft diplomacy this week, as he briefly attempted to assemble an international coalition for the war he’d already started.

SURE WOULD BE COOL IF SOMEBODY BAILED ME OUT OF THIS MESS I MADE he mused, almost coquettishly, causing a brief, involuntary, “can you believe this asshole” laugh to escape the entire international community at once.

Oddly enough, after more than a year of tariffs and periodic threats of invasion, our longtime allies seem to have misplaced their cavalries. So it is to be Americans alone who have the privilege of dying for Jared Kushner’s private equity firm.

Still, it’s only a matter of time before the whole world lines up behind the hot new war that has everyone wondering, “Are the people running this country clinically insane?” and, “No, seriously, what the fuck are we even doing here?” I fear Japanese recruitment centers won’t be able to handle the sheer volume of volunteers signing up to bleed for the guy with the hilarious, hilarious Pearl Harbor jokes.

Every red-blooded American boy wants to be part of this, just to say he was there! Why, to risk your young life for such strategically sound warfightin’ hardly counts as risk at all!

Take, for example, the way the exceptionally stable geniuses in charge either decommissioned or redeployed our minesweeping ships in the region, even as the Iranian regime mining the Strait of Hormuz was widely expected. Or the way Kash Patel gutted the counterintelligence unit monitoring Iranian threats in one of those purges he squeezes in around taxpayer-funded vacations with his girlfriend.

While these might seem like blunders, your Uncle Sam would rather you considered the possibility that what they really are is OPPORTUNITIES FOR GLORY! Yes, it could be YOUR boots on the ground on exotic Kharg Island, in service to a dying narcissist’s fantasies of empire (plus also the Kushner thing)!

Once you’ve arrived, the president’s BFF will help the Iranian military target you, because there’s a cuck chair in the Situation Room now.

Don’t worry, though; the U.S. government has responded to this treachery by imposing new sanctions on the —hang on, I’m receiving an update. Excuse me, by LIFTING sanctions. It’s a really nice cuck chair. It’s got those temperature-controlled cup holders.

They’re already demanding 200 billion additional dollars for their Special Military Operation (theatrically Russian wink), at least half of which is reportedly earmarked for Badass Action Movie One-Liner workshops for Secretary Hegseth.

How lucky are we to have white Christian nationalism’s smoothest brain running the Pentagon?

Of course I’ve always found fanatical religious certainty unsettling, but in a fellow who has beclowned himself on history’s largest stages with such regularity, it’s more confusing than anything. Or perhaps I just don’t remember the Bible stories about Jesus blowing up schools full of children. You’re way too dumb to be any god’s chosen vessel, Pete.

In special subterranean bunkers designed to emulate their moms’ basements, you’ll find a legion of MAGA’s creepiest weirdos “grinding away on banger memes” to manufacture consent for regime change or re-obliterating the already obliterated Iranian nuclear program or whatever Grandpa said last.

Given that this war, excuse me, “excursion,” excuse me, “flaccid fascist frolic,” polls as the least popular yet documented, perhaps the memes don’t bang quite as hard as advertised. And in 9 out of 10 cases, I get upset thinking about all the kakistocrats drawing government salaries, but I’m happy to open my wallet for counterproductive messaging.

Still, every dignified transfer represents a new fundraising opportunity. Sure, sometimes the family might request privacy, but who cares what the suckers and losers think? Made-in-China baseball caps ain’t gonna market themselves.

One Reich official actually resigned on principle over the war, which sounded promising until you realized it was Joe Kent, because Joe Kent’s “principles” are a fetid porridge of the racist dorkosphere’s zaniest misconceptions. Lord knows the nation is healthier with Joe spooning anti-Semitically with Tucker Carlson rather than directing national counterterrorism operations, but perhaps this can serve as a small launching pad for a wider discussion of human resources issues?

For example, we also learned of a high-ranking official in the Federal Emergency Management Agency who claims to have teleported. To a Waffle House. I don’t want to tell anybody how to staff their kakistocracy, but maybe management isn’t the right spot for that guy.

Anyway, Kent’s facing some retaliatory investigatin’, of course, just like the recently defenestrated comedy duo of Noem & Lewandowski. Don’t worry though, MAGA apparatchiks! He’ll stay loyal to YOU!

Quite a few failed autocrats are hitting the job market these days. Ric Grenell, having bungled his gig so hard that there is literally no work left to do, announced his departure from the temporarily defiled Kennedy Center. Lil’ Greggie Bovino’s officially a free agent too, though I’m hearing rumblings that Erik Prince wants him to spearhead a revival of the old Pinkerton brand.

The security of the homeland will just have to settle for Markwayne Mullin, I suppose. Understanding he’s “not going to be the smartest guy in any room” elevates Mullin miles above the existing Cabinet ethically, but they’ll beat the humility out of him at the hazing ceremony, I’m sure.

You know Linda McMahon runs that shit. Degrading carny rituals from the world of pro wrestling. There’s a photograph of a couple of oiled-up billionaires in a vault somewhere that Scott Bessent thinks about every time they send him out to tell the public that, say, they’re removing sanctions on the country we’re actively at war with.

Though I maintain Markwayne would be happier to be dropped into a bottomless pit alongside Rand Paul so they could hiss and spit and slap away at one another for all eternity.

I like it when they fight. Each other, that is. Mark Levin has a micropenis, but Megyn Kelly is a harlot, apparently. Y’know what? I’m not gonna get a scorecard today; I’m just gonna have a couple of beers and enjoy the spectacle of the worst people alive ripping each other to ribbons.

One of the president’s dirtbag chums got ICE to deport the mother of his child, settling a bitter custody battle with fashy finality. So our oligarch overlords are to be permitted power to commandeer the masked, unaccountable secret police force for personal grudges? Neat! I mean, I prefer what we had under the Constitution, but all this lawlessness is certainly exciting.

Why, I’ve never been so distracted from the Epstein files. If there were some hypothetical new email that contradicted another chunk of the president’s ever-shifting alibi, I was way too distracted to notice it or write about it in my blog.

Oh, and I guess we’re dabbling in a lil’ light human rights violation with Cuba. It’s not as big as Greenland, obviously, but a certain megalomaniac would still gladly settle for the “honor” of “taking” it.

Plus, we’re blackmailing Zambia. Sort of a give-us-your-mineral-wealth-or-we’ll-cut-off-HIV-aid kinda deal, which is…I think it’s fair to call that evil. Blowing up schoolchildren certainly merits that label. The predictable carnage from gutting USAID was pretty dang evil, to say nothing of the assassinated nurses and deportations to foreign torture prisons and I know what you’re thinking right now.

You’re thinking, “Let’s mint this man a gold coin with his face on it!”

The banners were great and slapping his name on another man’s memorial was epic and of course I intend to ecstatically self-immolate at the ballroom dedication ceremony like every other right-thinking patriot, but let’s give the mad king another graven image to tide him over between peace prizes.

Please convert any beer fund donations (via PayPal, Cash App, or Venmo) into golden Trump coins. I heard a rumor that if you use them to pay your gas tithe and your tariff tithe, you can summon minor demons. They can’t, like, cure baldness or anything major like that, but they’ll get you a government job even if you believe you teleported into a fucking Waffle House. You just have to manage your expectations.

(Yes, yes, sign up for emails, follow @john_luzar, and as always…stay safe out there…)

Readers periodically express concern for my mental well-being, which I get. Staring into MAGA’s puckered butthole for a decade isn’t anything I’d recommend as a rest cure, but certain responsibilities come with the bathrobe and luchador mask.

That said, I do ask for your sympathy during this difficult period. Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to write satire while men wearing literal clown shoes learn war is hard in real time?

So, I unplugged from the ol’ shit-flooded zone while I went on my birthday adventure, and let me say, as someone who typically spends several hours a day staring into the aforementioned butthole…it’s legitimately shocking how much crazier shit got during those ten days.

The shoe thing makes me mad because I should have thought of it first. I should’ve written a joke, right when Dug Bugman and Congressman Kofi Kingston started dressing like Fashy Daddy, about the whole Cabinet wearing shoes that don’t fit because they lack the strength and self-respect to tell him “guessing shoe sizes at a glance” is not among his many cognitive superpowers.

Y’know, if the Founders could’ve foreseen the breadth and depth of 21st-century America’s brainrot, they’d’ve tacked a companion Bill of Responsibilities onto the Constitution, too. The 11th Amendment would’ve been “Um, if you’re somehow ethically incapable of showing up to work in shoes that fit, you’re not allowed to wage war.” You wouldn’t think you’d a need Constitution to tell you that, but we are very, very dumb.

Madison proposes all this seemingly nonsensical shit after a harrowing visit from a man in a bathrobe, claiming to be a time-traveller. “Verily, though I know not what a ‘reality television show host’ be, James was quite insistent they be barred from public service. We may as well humour him.”

If you’re still reading this, my plan, uh, didn’t work.

Sloppy old fool cannot handle even the ceremonial duties of his office. (The 42nd Amendment of the Bill of Responsibilities mandates caning for anyone who wears merch to a dignified transfer.)

As predicted, the Maduro Excursion gave the Kooky Kakistocrat Kabal both a taste for war and the conviction that they’re awesome at it. Life was to be all skipping and cupcakes and regime change from here on out, surely.

Alas.

Exactly, fucking EXACTLY like Putin sending troops into combat packing dress uniforms for the victory parade that’s only about 1,460 days late, it seems as though no one bothered to prepare contingency plans for any outcome other than instant capitulation.

HEY NO FAIR MINING THE STRAIT OF HORMUZ tweets our hopelessly overmatched Commander-in-Chief, utterly flummoxed at the idea that the country he attacked might fight back. Which is what happens in most wars, when you think about it. See, this is the shit they don’t get to on those cognitive tests.

Yes, because thinking is too much to ask of our government, we get to pay a fun new idiot gas tax on top of all those fun tariffs. Putin, meanwhile, gets sanctions relief plus a big, fat bailout, even though he’s (checks notes) aiding the enemy. I may be just the teeeeeniest bit tired of winning.

Fox Nooz yapping head Brian Kilmeade doesn’t understand why all those sissy-ass tanker captains hesitate to plunge into the line of fire for king n’ country. “Don’t they know that every man who gives his life for the Dotard’s approval rating receives 47 Trump Buxx in table credit to spend at ANY Trump-branded resort in the MAGA afterlife?”

Between the economic carnage and the wholesale slaughter of children, the war has been polling pretty poorly, but what you have to understand is that all that negativity is entirely balanced out by Lindsey Graham’s obscene glee. CUBANEXTCUBANEXTCUBANEXT he bleats, desperate to squeeze as much murder as possible out of the old man before the cankles pop.

Still, it won’t be long before the Reich’s crack comms squad turns things around, public opinion-wise. Personally, all my fears melted away the minute I saw Dear Leader in his widdle uniform, from when his dirtbag parents bought a brief window of peace and quiet by shipping him to military school. And who doesn’t love a good draft, right?

Plus, riding to the rescue of beloved cultural institutions Ticketmaster and Live Nation has to be good for at least three points.

WE’VE BEEN AT WAR WITH IRAN FOR FORTY-SEVEN YEARRRRRRRRRRRRRS!

What? No, we haven’t. There would’ve been something about it on TV. The Iron Sheik would never have been permitted to compete for the World Wrestling Federation title during a live war, don’t be silly.

I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun watching JD attempt to scooch away from the burgeoning quagmire without losing his spot in the line of succession to Little Marco, by the way.

Secretary Funsoxx can’t wait for regime-aligned oligarchs to take over the rest of the American media, so people will stop pestering him about all those children he butchered. Also, no one is allowed to publish photographs where he doesn’t look hot. Gotta look hot while you’re raining death down on schools.

Naturally, Petey wasn’t the only prominent official to melt down at a press conference this week (Nancy Mace must be giving seminars), as Jeanine Pirro blessed us with a glimpse of her famous coping skills following her latest faceplant.

Poor Jeanine was just about to get not just Jerome Powell but his little dog, too, but mean ol’ Judge Boasberg had to go and enforce the dumb ol’ law. And this is right after she had to concede defeat in the Case of Joe Biden’s Autopen, which you’ll remember from Book 12 of the beloved YA paperback series about a bumbling alcoholic wannabe autocrat who consistently fails to indict her fat, stupid, loser boss’ enemies.

I was feeling pretty smug about that MAGA Men Humiliated After Being Duped by AI Foot Fetish Model story until I heard Hegseth wants to appoint her to the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Always nice to see the Secretary of State snappin’ selfies with domestic terrorists. That’s when you know your democracy is at its healthiest and stablest.

I see Kristi Noem collected her wages while I was away. Looks like total excommunication, and perhaps even a little corruption investigation to boot. Just because she was a catastrophic failure as DHS Secretary doesn’t mean she won’t make a perfectly functional scapegoat.

Kash Patel was SO excited to tell the world he was bringing in UFC fighters to train FBI agents, and I have to assume the reader has died from embarrassment by this point. Your cats are already eating you.

So I guess one of Elon’s DOGE incels stole everybody’s Social Security numbers? Golly. We should probably arrest that kid, though of course most federal law enforcement is probably still tied up on Stephen Miller’s deranged crusade. Construction workers to torment, preschoolers to terrorize. You gotta prioritize.

Certainly can’t go after anybody in those Epstein files. Say, weren’t we just talking about some rich, powerful dude who was credibly accused of sexually assaulting a minor? I could probably think of his name if I wasn’t so distracted by the war he started.

MAGA Congressdork Andy Ogles has been refining his personal brand of late, honing in on his pathetic, anti-American gutter bigotry. Hope everybody back home in the Tennessee fifth is real proud.

I guess the new head of the College Republicans is this prepubescent groyper dork called Kai Schwemmer, so the future is in appropriately inadequate hands. If you’d like to spend even more time down the dispiriting rabbit hole that is young MAGA manhood, here’s a darrrrrrk little article about a gross little man running in the Republican gubernatorial primary down in DeSantistan.

Say, there seems t’be a bit of a, how shall I put this, a naked, unapologetic hatred problem in the GOP. Some pollster should look into that; I bet they’d find some…hang on, I’m being handed an envelope…YIKES.

Yikes all around, friends. America feels like one of those snowballs that rolls downhill in a cartoon, getting bigger and bigger, only it’s not snow it’s poop.

Oh my goodness, I require beer. Wouldn’t say no to any donations to the beer fund (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, and Venmo!), that’s for sure. Stay safe out there; you don’t want to miss the midterms, because we are gonna whoop these fools from sea to shining sea.

(Follow @john_luzar and sign up on the dang e-mail list, btw.)

Today is my birthday. My 47th, as it happens. While it’s unlikely there’s any supernatural mojo to be harvested there, I sacrificed an extra virgin on my altar to the God of Cankles just in case. Don’t worry, no one ever misses these incel White House interns. Anyhoo, if the deathsplotch requires a little more makeup to conceal tonight, that’s the power of prayer, bay-bee.

Still, the Dotard defied the skeptics, maintaining sphincter control throughout the entirety of the longest State of the Union speech in two hundred and fifty years of this increasingly wacky experiment.

Or maybe he didn’t. Did he shit himself? Or declare war on Iran? Or Denmark? Or Gondor? Perhaps a “friendly takeover” of Cuba? Like most of America, I didn’t watch. I was too busy staring at the page-a-day calendar I bought to count down to the midterms.

Oh man, remember back when Congress was a, whatchamacallit, a co-equal branch of the whole dang federal government instead of a third-rate poodle circus? I’ll admit I was kinda impressed when Troy Nehls got all the way up on his hind legs for that autograph, though.

Mike Johnson is never Christliker than when he’s shielding powerful sexual abusers from accountability, so I look forward to the Mel Gibson movie about defending an absolute taintmaggot like Tony Gonzales for the sake of the majority. “I n-needed his help to fund the concentration camps,” he pleads before a grimly chuckling St. Peter.

I give Speaker Moses a lotta shit, but there’s poetry in the man, if only accidentally. “If we lost the majority in the House, it would be the end of the Trump presidency in a real effect.” Why, Michael, that’s lovely. Direct. Conjures what’s wonderful about the world to come with elegance and simplicity.

…assuming American democracy survives the latest assault from the Flynn/Lindell wing of the MAGA asylum. There is to be an executive order (yes, again) laying claim to vast, extraconstitutional powers (yes, again) in the name of some ill-defined “national emergency.” YES. AGAIN. Chinese bamboo fibers have infiltrated our precious bodily fluids, you see, and thus we cannot be trusted to vote.

The courts probably won’t go for it, but you never know when some nail-gun-wielding true believer might open up a spot for Aileen Cannon. Then we can revisit this tariff thing, too.

Although I suppose we can just keep on charging the new mega-tariffs the Supreme Court unwittingly unleashed under the Nuh Uh Clause, which the president can activate just by thinking about. I’m excited to pay these new illegal taxes to the very government that petulantly refuses to refund the money they previously stole from me. Perhaps I’ll have the opportunity to finance my own tear-gassing someday soon.

The Reich continues withholding big, fat chunks of the Epstein files, in direct defiance of the law. All the bits about the woman who accused the president of sexually assaulting her when she was a minor are missing, of course, likely because the Justice Department is worried that if they exonerate him too hard, the citizenry will enter into an irrevocable state of religious ecstasy.

Just because the president announces he’s sending a hospital ship to Greenland doesn’t mean he’s actually sending a hospital ship to Greenland. Of course, Greenland doesn’t want or need a hospital ship, and there aren’t any hospital ships to send anyway…the bungling is almost kinda charming when nobody gets hurt.

HOWEVER.

I imagine everyone slept extra soundly after hearing about Secretary Funsoxx’s attempt to bully the Pentagon’s AI partners into removing ethical safeguards. Nothing to worry about, just the stuff about mass surveillance and autonomous killing. This is how you get Terminators, right? Obviously they’ll be branded as “Warfighters” in this timeline, and instead of plugging us passively into the Matrix, they’ll force us to do pushups at gunpoint.

We might be better off. Under the current kakistocracy, with beef prices soaring, administration officials keep nudging us towards alternative proteins, so the golden age may be a ways off yet. And sure, history teaches us to beware of machine intelligences bearing steaks, but I am truly, sincerely looking to change horses midstream, folks.

Kash Patel demonstrated admirable fiscal restraint in flying only himself to Milan at taxpayer expense to crash the men’s Olympic hockey team’s victory party, rather than taking his girlfriend along. Frankly, I don’t see how it’s possible to run the FBI, let alone conduct regular purges, without a private mile-high love nest like they’ve got over at DHS.

Boy, MAGA sure tried to glom onto that hockey team (BUT JUST THE MEN HAW HAW HAW), didn’t they? I get that. There’s been so little winning lately they’ve probably forgotten what winning feels like. Then Turd Midas went and did his thing, because even photo ops with championship athletes are beyond the capacity of people this subpar.

The regime announced a fresh round of sanctions targeting Russia this week, after…hang on, that’s not quite right. Targeting MINNESOTA, excuse me. Russia got a half-assed attempt to water down a pro-Ukraine resolution at the United Nations, even after Pootkins didn’t even RSVP to Donnie’s Super Bowl party.

Under Gruppenführer Homan, ICE has largely managed to avoid showy daytime executions, allowing a frankly obscene level of atrocity to slide neatly into the shit-flooded slipstream that is the American consciousness. Who can be bothered to notice the blind refugee you’ve sociopathically abandoned in the middle of nowhere to die in the streets when you’re yanking aircraft carrier groups to and fro?

Candace Owens says Erika Kirk killed her husband in cahoots with The Jews, who didn’t even use a space laser, which feels disrespectful. MAGA figures from Chris Rufo to Alex Jones to Laura Loomer just cannot figure out how such a blatant nutcase/rabid anti-Semite found an audience amidst the birthers and big liars and doomsday prep kit salesmen.

Yeah, it’s a mystery. The newest wingnut YouTube “journalist” calling to “EXPOSE” the “Jewish invasion” is equally mysterious, as is the revelation that a prominent MAGA troll account that enjoyed the recent Obamas-as-apes video has been operated by a White House staffer. Somebody should get to the bottom of all these mysterious, mysterious mysteries.

Byron Donalds (allegedly) affected a Jamaican accent in college in an effort to appear interesting. Must be a relief to wind up in a cult where everybody dresses the same. Well, if there’s one thing we know about the statewide electorate in Florida, it’s how much they love unimpressive men, so go ahead and measure those drapes, mon.

Okay, it’s my birthday; 7I’m allowed to stop now. I’m actually going to take next week OFF to go on a little adventure, so I’ll see y’all in a bit! Accepting birthday beers (via Cash App, Venmo, or PayPal) until I pass out in the alley behind Carol’s. COMICS COMING SOON, so stay safe out there, m’lovelies…