Losing Just Hurts More From Behind a Comically Small

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Losing Just Hurts More From Behind a Comically Small Desk

Tuesday, December 1st, 2020

by Shower Cap | American Madness Journal | 0 comments

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The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has decided to cancel the Best Production Design category this year, to spare the nominees the shame of comparison to the genius who set up that wee Fisher-Price table for Gameshow Göring’s Thanksgiving conniption.


Well, I trust everyone enjoyed their long holiday weekend, and gave thanks for the extremely amusing ongoing downfall of one Donald John Trump, until recently the President of the United States, now merely an aesthetically displeasing perpetual motion losing machine.

I confess I didn’t follow every single election certification or humiliating court defeat, but the Seriously How Can One Man Lose This Much Show was a constant background presence, like the cheerily bland sitcom you keep on while you fold laundry or fiddle with your fantasy water polo team.

Critics say it’s repetitive, but sometimes you just want fan service and comfort food, and what can I say, I like watching fascists step on rakes. Plus, whoever it is that’s playing Rudy Giuliani is phenomenal; doin’ some real Nic-Cage-meets-Lon-Chaney shit.

And you gotta love how Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops gets his hopes up every time Sidney Powell claims a talking salamander told her the voting machines in Pennsylvania were possessed by Vince Foster’s ghost or whatever.

He truly expects this gibbering lunacy to hold up in court. His walnut brain can’t comprehend what’s happening to him; “I spend my father’s money until I get what I want” has been the universal truth of his entire skidmark life, y’see.

And so he kicks and screams and shits himself, and, because this is Hell, this doddering old bigot’s barely-coherent meltdowns are received as if from on high by his assclown acolytes, replacing reality with rage, consequences for American democracy be damned.

Hell, he even found a handful of Pennsylvania state legislators willing to assist him in his attempted coup, which is kinda disappointing; ideally you’d like that number to be zero, I think.

There’s still plenty of last-minute fuckery to be perpetrated by the Turd Reich before Dad gets home, including a plan to Make Executions Medieval Again, because of course there’s some drooling wannabe supervillain in this buffet of assholes that wants to bring firing squads back. You sort of expect Stephen Miller to try to steal the physical Bill of Rights on the way out the door, just in case that works.

Well, Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot did indeed pardon Mike “The Turkish Delight” Flynn, because honestly, is betraying your country really a crime if you hate Barack Obama a whole bunch?

Now Rudy wants one, too (might need a couple; one for treason, one for Borat), so I hope you brought enough for everyone, Dotard.

The new Amy Coney Barrett-infused wingnut SCOTUS majority wasted little time flexing their meathead muscle, ruling that the death cult they serve has the right to spread plague in the name of religious liberty, which is insane in no small way.

You read Gorsuch’s smug harangue, and you realize that A) the man lacks even a layman’s understanding of how the coronavirus spreads, and he feels not the slightest obligation to educate himself before wielding the awesome power of his office, and thus, Neil n’ Friendz merrily ruled in favor of the goddamn disease, against the American public, without a second thought. Not bangarang.

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has decided to cancel the Best Production Design category this year, to spare the nominees the shame of comparison to the genius who set up that wee Fisher-Price table for Gameshow Göring’s Thanksgiving conniption.

And of course, the Georgia Senate runoffs are still ground zero for Death Stage Trumpism’s malignant mutation, with the Manchurian Manchild’s fascist shitfit hampering the state GOP’s GOTV efforts, because why pry yourself away from the soothing ragedrone of the All-New, All-Batshit Newsmax/OANN media bubble long to cast a vote in an election that’s already been rigged by Dead Hugo Chavez’s Deep State Cabal and Jug Band?

We’ve got a bunch of stories about Republicans in Georgia to get through tonight, and it’s basically A Child’s Treasury of Folks Who’ve Refused to Learn the Lessons of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein Even Though It’s Readily Commercially Available For Real There Are Even Several Movies.

Take for example, Ronna Can-I-Be-a-Romney-Again-Now-That-We’re-Fired McDaniel, frantically attempting to herd the hallucinating horde back towards the real world and the election that’s about to take place there, even as they petulantly demand a fresh pitcher of griffin piss to gargle. You’re not in control here, Ronna. You never were.

It must be said, even after a particularly nasty primary, no one can accuse Twitching Hatemarmot Doug Collins of being a poor team player, though in fairness, he seems delighted simply to have a platform to smear Martin Luther King Jr.’s church as “the bed of Hell.”

Of course, any party member refusing to screech as enthusiastically as Collins during the Two Minutes Hate is likely to become the next target of it. Just ask Georgia Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger, who has received numerous death threats, with bonus threats of sexual violence targeting his wife, from this profoundly “Christian” movement, simply for doing his job and upholding the law.

Or ask Brian Kemp, who went to all the trouble of stealing the state’s governorship on behalf of his party, only to be brutally excommunicated for refusing to reach beyond the powers of his office to make the results of the election magically vanish like a mistress’ pregnancy.

Shit, by the end of the day, you had Republican Georgia election officials begging the President of the United States to stop inciting violence against them and their families. Devotees of the Frankenstein genre will note that the monster is generally disinclined, at this stage of his rampage, to heed either reason or calls for mercy.

Meanwhile, the more we learn about David Perdue and Kelly Loeffler, the more they look like such broad caricatures of the “corrupt politician” that they’d come off campy in Doris freakin’ Day movie, and it’s frankly sorta nuts that either one would get a single vote.

Joe diGenova, the attorney for the Turdmaggot Campaign who handles the tasks that don’t involve self-immolating in front of dildo shops, casually suggested the only just reward for Christopher Krebs’ treacherous adherence to objective reality is, naturally, a grisly, Inquisition-style public execution.

While I understand kakistocracy is the hip new craze sweeping through MAGA nation quicker than Diet Cherry Meth, may I suggest we resist normalizing the political violence fantasies of the shittiest among us?

Speaking of the shittiest among us, boy, Scotty Atlas really jumped ahead in the rankings for this year’s White Privilege Cup, didn’t he? After a brief but gruesomely “successful” tenure as Fat Q*bert’s herd immunity whisperer, he now departs the Shart House for greener pastures, empty head held high over a body count that’s the envy of every hostile force that ever took up arms against the United States.

Dude’s career going forward should be just two quick steps: from here to the catapult and from the catapult straight into the fucking sun.

I see the Hairplug That Ate Decency somehow squeezed another $170 million out of the Legion of Dumb, just since the election, because while he’s catastrophically awful at things like managing economies and responding to pandemics, he’s Michelangelo wrapped in Michael Jordan when it comes to monetizing the resentment of the white and subpar.

And now even Bilious Bill Barr admits he lacks the power to redact reality enough to grant his Turd Emperor a second term. You don’t need me to tell you that it took all of nine minutes for the mob to turn, in full fury, on Barr, far and away Trump’s most dangerously effective servant before today, and seriously, any of y’all could’ve picked up a paperback copy of Frankenstein for like, five bucks, any time you wanted to.

Couldn’t give us one goddamn weekend for turkey and football, even in defeat, couldja, ya unbelievable fucks? I see while I was writing tonight, Pardonamania ran truly wild, and I’ll get to that next time; for now, I need to visit the fridge for a round of leftover holiday beer. Stay safe out there, friends.