Strange Bedfellows and Useful Idiots. And Some Third Thing, Probably (Ferret/Shower Cap)

So, this blog site went live exactly seven years ago today, aiming to chronicle the kookiness of the kakistocracy-curious creeps who’d infested my beloved country’s government. And after each and every post, my most fervent wish has been to run out of material, to turn y’all away with a mournful “Outside of a brief, largely courteous Wyden/Romney spat over public land use, nothing of note occurred this week, sorry.”

…well, maybe next time. (And as always, get links n’ such here: https://showercapblog.com/strange-bedfellows-and-useful-idiots-and-some-third-thing-probably/)

A lot has changed in those seven years. For instance, though it feels like ancient history nowadays, once upon a time, our political press believed an aging politician’s merest slip of the tongue merited days of breathless commentary; now, a visibly decomposing septuagenarian can yammer incoherently on the leading issues of the day, indeed, can belch up gibberish that’s barely discernible as English, with nary a mention in the morning paper.

Shoot, he can even forget who he’s running against, and not one single column demanding his immediate withdrawal from the race will appear! Silly rabbit, standards are for Democrats!

And sure, he took no questions at the latest “press conference” he duped the media into attending, opting instead to utilize their proffered platform to further defame and harass several of the women he’s sexually assaulted, but on the other hand, ethically and substantially equal in every way to the previously mentioned rapey hand, Kamala Harris appears to have flip-flopped on the issue of paper straws.

At said “press conference,” the preferred candidate of American evangelicals dismissed one of his many accusers, by saying, “She would not have been the chosen one.”

“The chosen one.”

(This space left blank to give the reader time to wipe the vomit off their keyboard/screen)

He won’t rape just anybody, y’know. You have to look more than a little like his daughter, (the hot one, not Tiffany) for a start. Then, you gotta pass a cognitive test. Yes, all of it, even the really tough bits, with the drawings of farm animals.

As this adjudicated rapist, this felon 34 times over, schleps and whines and sleep-farts his way from trial to trial, (congrats on the sentencing delay, by the way) it’s worth noting that one cop-killer whose sentence he commuted has already been convicted again, this time of assaulting his wife. Of course, you wouldn’t see shenanigans like that in a second Trump term, not under Attorney General Enrique Tarrio.

“Sometimes you need a strongman,” proclaimed the weakest man alive, retreating into his favorite fantasy, the one where Viktor Orbán swaddles him in a blanket, and whisks him away to his magical castle in Hungary, where dictators get the most ice cream scoops no matter what, and absolutely no prosecutors, special or otherwise, are allowed, enforced by a dragon.

Republican thoughts and prayers once again failed to prevent the latest school shooting, further evidence that they are idiots, despised by God.

It’s hard to blame Him. To JD Vance, all this eminently preventable carnage is merely a “fact of life,” so I guess the rest of the developed world is populated by some superior life form, one less willing to see its children butchered, if perhaps a trifle incapable of accurately evaluating the worth of Oasis tickets.

“Sure as the tide rolls in, kids who’ve already been investigated by the FBI for threatening a school shooting will receive semi-automatic rifles as Xmas gifts,” hectored JD, “Are we supposed to ban Santa Claus?”

Vance’s proposed solution? You guessed it, MORE GUNS in schools, only with ivermectin-laced bullets now, so the slaughtered children won’t have to worry about Covid, or worms. Because being death cult clergy means never having to say a single word that makes a lick of fucking sense.

The estate of Isaac Hayes joined the ever-lengthening list of entities to defeat the Dotard in court, though I suppose if you can’t even overturn one measly presidential election, what chance would you possibly have against Black Moses? And look, ABBA and Céline Dion wait in the wings, for their own turn with the paddle of copyright law.

Without the benefit of intellectual property protections, we may have to fall back upon constitutional provisions against cruel and unusual punishment to safeguard the public from Tom Petty-defiling RNC Chair Lara Trump’s latest single. On the other hand, maybe if we feed it into these newfangled AI thingamajigs, it’ll short ‘em out from within. On the other other hand, that might be precisely the sort of thing that would lead a machine intelligence to determine humanity is a menace in immediate need of total eradication.

Melania’s got a memoir coming out, too. I was able to obtain an advance copy, and I think it might surprise you. The chapter where she discusses her husband’s brush with Covid-19 was particularly moving. All those long, lonely nights, listlessly perusing the prenup…riveting stuff.

Nick Fuentes doesn’t understand where it all went so wrong. His Turd Emperor told him they stole the 2020 election from him, and would a rapist who stole from charity and cheated on multiple wives and stiffed contractors and defrauded banks and insurers lie? I mean sure, he lied about crowd size and colluding with Russia and September 11th and the path of a hurricane, but would he lie about the integrity of our federal elections?

One wonders if falling for such a blatant con might lead young Nickward to question his belief in his own racial supremacy. Barring that, one wonders how to get in touch with him regarding the opportunities for profit Amway offers.

Furious indignation reverberated throughout the right-wing disinformation ecosystem, in the wake of revelations that many of MAGA media’s leading dipshits have been “unwittingly” operating as useful idiots for Vlad Putin’s murderous regime.

“WHERE’S MY CUT?” demanded Tulsi Gabbard. “I spread way more Kremlin propaganda,” whinged Candace Owens, “Besides, Tim Pool’s just gonna spend those rubles on beanies and waifu pillows!”“Tell Mr. Putin it would probably be easiest if he wrote the check directly to the Sandy Hook families I terrorized,” bleated Alex Jones.

Of course, it’s Pool, and Benny Johnson, and their ilk, who’re the Real Victims Here™️, according to a bunch of Republicans who’re definitely not sweating over the idea of DoJ looking into their own revenue streams. Sorry, Senator Rubio, “preexisting political opinions” aren’t covered under the Foreign Agents Registration Act.

Golly, It’s getting so’s an enterprising young wingnut grifter can’t even engorge himself at the trough of a hostile foreign power. Why, mean ol’ Merrick even indicted Dimitri Simes, longtime advisor to Senator Rand Paul, and Individual One himself.

Tucker Carlson, having all but dissipated into irrelevancy, sat seething on the sofa, watching Jesse Watters diddle away his diligently indoctrinated prime time Fox audience on garden-variety MRA piffle about the inherent girlymanness of drinking a “vanilla ice cream shake” through a straw*, and knew he’d need a big, fat, dumb stunt to win back the attention of the rubes he lost in his acrimonious divorce from the Murdochs.

Enter Holocaust revisionist Darryl Cooper. Revisionist, rather than outright denialist, in that he believes the Holocaust happened, but that it was Churchill’s fault, for being such a meanie to Hitler, who only wanted everyone to have bunnies and cupcakes and hugs. (Much nicer than fuddy-duddy Winston’s blood, toil, tears, and sweat, I'm sure you’ll agree.)

Which is horseshit, of course, but if there’s one thing white supremacists love, it’s being lied to, (see Fuentes, Nick) especially about their loser movement’s loser history. And if you don’t believe me, I’ve got seven years’ worth of blog archives to prove it.

Anyway, Tucker definitely got the attention he wanted, so much so that JD Vance said, “Me next!” because he wanted to sit in the Hitler apologist’s chair while it was still warm. Also probably to sniff it, but I imagine they’ll edit that part out.

Terrible news, comrades! That damnable Ron Johnson uncovered the truth about our dastardly Deep State proto-Jade Helm known as the “Great Depression.” Ah, we were fools to believe we could ever slip anything past a genius of such caliber, particularly after he single-handedly unmasked our elaborate “pandemic” hoax.

An armed standoff between McDonald’s Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris never worked at McDonald’s) and Accent Truthers (who believe Kamala Harris uses a fake southern accent) thankfully ended without bloodshed, when the leaders of the two factions met face to face, and realized they were the Bundy brothers.   

Seems North Carolina Republican gubernatorial candidate Mark Robinson may have a few skeletons in his closet, though they are believed to be safely hidden behind the mountains of pornographic videocassettes, and the stolen Girl Scout cookies.

With Liz and Dick Cheney endorsing Vice President Harris, Team Rapist unveiled some defectors of their own: a few distant cousins of Tim Walz, take that, libtards! They may not be able to pass fifth grade English, but at least they got to meet Hulk Hogan. (UPDATE: it’s been brought to my attention that they did not actually get to meet Hulk Hogan. In my defense, I made that up.)

A fistfight broke out at a Saline County, Arkansas Republican Committee meeting, because these lil’ guys get crabby if you don’t let ‘em run around in the yard, maybe violently disrupt a government proceeding now and then. You’re lucky they didn’t shit on the floor.

Okay, I’m off to celebrate my seventh blogiversary, by binge drinking until I can wrap my head around how I wound up in a coalition with Dick Freakin’ Cheney.

As always, you can contribute to my degeneracy via my tip jar (now accepting Cash App, PayPal, AND Venmo), or by sharing this post on social media, signing up on the email list at showercapblog.com, (seven years old today!) or following @john_luzar over on Elon’s hopelessly busted, post-decency playground, where I am doomed to spend all eternity.

*REAL men dip their balls in their milkshake, absorbing it through scrotal osmosis.