Hide Your Sofas & Loveseats, It's JD Vance! (Ferret)

When last we met, we were in disarray, and I think we can all agree…it fucking sucks there. Traffic’s lousy, you can’t get decent pizza, and the less said about the water, the better. On second thought, let’s not go there. ‘Tis a silly place.

(As always, links n’ such await those bold enough to click here: https://showercapblog.com/hide-your-sofas-loveseats-its-jd-vance/)

Plus, we were able to sublet our Airbnb to the Trump/Vance campaign, and at a substantial markup, too. “You mean we have to make a positive case for our candidate now? B-but he’s a rapist and a felon with the worst economic record since Hoover! He can’t even operate a fucking umbrella for pity’s sake! It’s not faiiiiiiiiiiir!”

Shoot, even a bonafide assassination attempt barely propelled the Dotard to a post-convention bounce as tiny and ineffectual as his stunted baby hands. Perhaps Hulk Hogan is less effective than his pro wrestling win-loss record would indicate.

Shit, it took Kamala Harris all of ten minutes to send Donnie One-Term scampering off to hide, like some Missouri Senator fleeing a mob of cosplaying incels. I suppose if my greatest intellectual achievement was passing a cognitive test, I wouldn’t want to debate a prosecutor, either.

Some Republican leaders begged their rank and file white resentment cultists to refrain from launching racist and/or sexist attacks on the Vice President, while others advocated more realistic approaches, like boiling the ocean, getting a bunch of toothpaste back inside the tube, or training an all-feline synchronized swim team.

Good luck with that. We’re talking about people whose token Black friend is a Holocaust denier. When they shriek “DEI HIRE,” they expect to be lauded for not using the word they really wanted to. When they bellow “SPIRIT OF JEZEBEL,” they…hell, I have no fucking clue what that means, these people don’t live in the same zip code as sanity.

Anyway, I guess Laura Loomer didn’t get the memo. (Laura seems to be aiming for some sort of Guinness indecency record this week, so don’t click any of these links if you’ve eaten recently.)

Compounding Cult45’s troubles, their newly minted vice presidential nominee has somehow already managed to define himself to the electorate as not just a regressive misogynist weirdo, but one who fucks couches.

I guess nobody on the vetting committee bothered to look at footage of JD (or whatever he’s calling himself these days) speaking before he lurched onstage with his excuse-me-sir-are-you-legally-permitted-to-be-this-close-to-a-playground beard to trigger the nation’s gag reflex, because his historically shitty first impression approval ratings are hardly surprising to anyone who has.

Honestly, the sheer volume of sickening drivel that’s tumbled out of that sofa-humping freak’s mouth over the course of his yearslong quest to pander his way into the highest echelons of the death cult priesthood amounts to an embarrassment of opposition research riches. Have fun defending it, losers.

See, the smug “childless cat ladies” line earns that initial rage click, opening the door to a whole, wide world of genuinely repellant deviancy from the theocrat crackpot who got expelled from the He-Man Woman Haters Club for skeeving the other fellas out*. Menstrual surveillance. Higher taxes for non-breeders. Federal intervention preventing red state women from traveling to obtain their fundamental bodily autonomy rights. Legitimately creepy shit.

To say nothing of the unlawful carnal knowledge of unsuspecting furniture. I can’t believe I have to say this in 2024, but couches can’t consent. Obviously. And I know we’re all having fun with our memes, but the national security implications here are no laughing matter. What happens when Lavrov offers a comely Slavic sectional to “decorate” the new VP’s office? I fear JD would spill our nation’s most highly guarded secrets, in addition to his…y’know what, let’s not finish that sentence.   

For a dork so festooned with political anchors, Vance has somehow convinced himself that what the Left will attack him for is…drinking Diet Mountain Dew, because there’s no reason each and every aisle in the grocery store can’t become a new front in the culture war, if you’re only willing to bludgeon your own brain to atoms.

Now, word on the street is Off-Brand Orbán has come down with a severe case of Hillbilly Buyer’s Remorse, since he almost certainly had the MRA vote sewn up already, “with the rapes, right?” as the polls tighten and the narrative slips through the abovementioned baby fingers.

Still, even though the momentum has shifted, I’m worried we’re doing our own veepstakes wrong.  C’mon you guys, nobody’s even dressing like the candidate, (and I think Tim Walz in particular would absolutely rock a Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit) let alone comparing her to Hitler!

We could ask Aaron Sorkin’s opinion on who should round out the ticket, but I believe he’s still in timeout. (“Timeout” meaning “locked inside a pet carrier, strapped to the roof of some forgotten automobile, in the furthest corner of the car elevator.”)

Anyway, the New Softness Unity Tour keeps on unifyin’ folks, give or take the odd opening act threatening civil war. I imagine disabled Americans’re feeling extra unified, knowing the GOP candidate believes they “should just die.” And once they’re finished unifying with the notoriously swingy People Who Think Hannibal Lecter is Real demographic, look out.

Generally, I’m feeling rejuvenated and optimistic, but what if all we’ve done this week is waltz right into Andy Ogles’ carefully prepared trap? The Appliance Wars veteran was standing by with articles of impeachment, backed by an absolutely airtight case, linking Vice President Harris to pizzagate, frazzledrip, and Hunter Biden’s laptop, plus…um…she laughs, which I guess is bad for whatever reason? SPIRIT OF JEZEBEL, y’all!

Was Tangerine Idi Amin struck by a would-be assassin’s bullet, or shrapnel? The truth may be hidden from the nation forever, behind an ear diaper and the performative outrage of Doctor-no-more Ronny Jackson, likely because some presumptuous nurse wrote the sloppy old fop’s real weight down on the intake form. Well, if you can’t trust the Candyman, who can ya trust?

Vertebra-deficient former governor Nikki Haley futilely ordered the group Haley Voters for Harris to cease and desist behaving as though she meant any of those objectively true things she said about her felonious opponent on the primary campaign trail, when she referred to him as, among other things, “unhinged,” “not qualified,” and “a turd that can talk (but just barely).”

A new CBO score indicates carpetbagging sex pest Lauren Boebert’s proposed amendment, to reduce the salary of any federal employee who mocks carpetbagging sex pest Lauren Boebert to one dollar would balance the federal budget, with enough left over for Beetlejuice tickets, but it was nevertheless rejected by a bipartisan majority unwilling to undermine such a beloved national pastime.

Mike Lee fell for yet another obviously satiric internet hoax, this time about former President Carter dying, (Jimmy’s still got houses to build, folks) but don’t worry, it’s not like he’s responsible for writing laws the rest of us have to follow or anything.

Whatever the Lügenpresse may’ve reported, I think it’s clear what Elon meant was that he’d be donating $45 million…worth of boosts to Catturd’s tweets every month. Apologies for any confusion.

Okay, I’m gonna spend the rest of my weekend toasting Joseph Robinette Biden Jr., which will surely take every drop of beer in the Greater Chicago Area. If you’ve got PayPal, Cash App or Venmo, your donation can finance this drunken internet loudmouth’s gratitude bender, and perhaps even any superhero bathrobe dry cleaning fees that may result. Or, follow @john_luzar and sign up on the email list at showercapblog.com for free!

Even the beer goes down smoother when you’re back in array, have you noticed that? Stay safe out there, my friend…

*Plus those stains on the chaise lounge in the treehouse were never explained.