take a look at the photo at the top of this post. what do you see? a bunch of world leaders, that’s what, all warmly greeting each other at the G7 meeting in Evian-les-Baines, France. they’re genuinely happy to see each other.

now tell me, what don’t you see? anyone talking to Dear Leader, that’s what you don’t see. nobody’s talking to Donny — because why would you, if you had the option of chatting instead with someone who’s not a fuckbrained malignant toad?

and so Donny just stands there, alone and confused, with the posture of a toddler who’s just done a fresh boom-boom in his pants — which, knowing what we know about Donny, he probably has.

he’s such a fucking embarrassment.

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Donny’s minders should have never let him out of his hidey hole and flown him all the way to France. he’s too decrepit, and he just can’t hack the rigors of international travel any more. they should have come up with some excuse — we’re terribly sorry, the president is busy pointing at a drawing of a camel — and sent the furniture molester in his place.

oh sure, having Couchfuck McGee at the G7 would have added nothing to the international discourse, but at least he would have stayed awake.

check out this clip. in it, French President Macron asks the assembled G7 leaders to turn around in their chairs so that a group photo can be taken. everyone does — everyone except Donny, that is. he doesn’t move an inch, because everyone’s favorite narcoleptic fart factory is too busy sleeping

no one even tries to wake Donny up. once again, everyone in the room just ignores him, because he’s not worth the trouble. ugh. so embarrassing.

frankly, the Nodfather should have stayed asleep, because at least that kept his rancid anus-mouth shut. once he opened it, nothing but incoherent bullshit seeped out. get ready for the most fucked-up geography lesson you’ll ever hear in your life.

“working with Qatar and the people of Qatar was— really a pleasure. they— you’re— they were tough, they were strong, you know, they are the closest to Iran physically, so— with other countries I noticed they had to travel about 45 minutes to get there. with you, you could walk right across the border.”

fact check: what the fuck?

now, because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™, I asked Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot, ‘can you walk across the border from Qatar to Iran,’ and this is what it answered:

No, you cannot walk across the border from Qatar to Iran because they do not share a land border; they are separated by over 100 miles of the Persian Gulf. Travel between the two countries requires either a flight (approximately two hours) or a lengthy drive through Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Iraq.

Qatar is on the other side of the Persian Gulf from Iran. nobody’s walking between those two countries. if anyone from Qatar needs to go to Iran, they have to take one of their vulgar flying bordellos, like the one they gave to Donny to bribe him into doing their bidding.

and what other counties did Donny ‘notice had to travel about 45 minutes to get there’? what is he talking about? are any of those countries in the room with us right now? where is Donny getting his information? from the unceasing shrieking noises inside his fat head?

notice that everyone just sits there and lets Donny blither away. even Liddle Marco Big-Shoes, sitting right there to Dear Leader’s left, keeps his obedient mouth shut. because why even bother correcting him? Donny’s unteachable. he knows more about geography than all the geographers, and nothing is ever going to change that. he’s just going to blurt out whatever nonsense pops into liquefying pudding-brain.

because he’s a fucking embarrassment.

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hey, remember Donny’s rationale for starting his unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran? of course you do. it’s right there on the White House website.

Donny never shut the fuck up about how Iran was only about twenty-seven seconds away from developing a big nuke that they couldn’t wait to drop on us, and no way was Donny going let that happen.

he was going to force Iran to hand over all of its enriched uranium, because if they didn’t, he was going to obliterate them so hard they wouldn’t know what obliterated them.

remember that? of course you do.

know who doesn’t seem to remember? this sundowning sack of shit.

“you could make the case, ‘why even bother?’ because it’s not really valuable.”

you know what he’s referring to? Iran’s enriched uranium. suddenly, the whole thing he went to war over is ‘not really valuable.’ what the fuck?

to be fair, Donny’s blithering about the financial value of the enriched uranium, not its strategic value, but keep in mind that we still don’t know what’s in Donny top-secret framework of a concept of a sketch of a peace deal. don’t be surprised if that deal lets Iran keep all that shit — and don’t be surprised if Donny starts flapping his yap about how ‘what’s the big deal, it was never really all that valuable.’

how fucking embarrassing will that be?

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keep Donny’s don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran in your mind, because here’s former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton — speaking on Monday at the 92nd Street Y in Manhattan — to confirm what John Kerry told us a couple of months ago: that Bibi Netanyahu expended a considerable amount of effort trying to goad every American president into attacking Iran.

Hillary Clinton says when she was Secretary of State there was “constant” and “relentless” pressure by Prime Minister Netanyahu and then-Defense Minister Ehud Barak to secure U.S. backing for a military strike against Iran.

Clinton recalled hours-long phone calls where Israeli officials used leverage tactics, frequently telling her their “planes are on the tarmac” to imply an imminent, unilateral strike.

Clinton says she would respond to pressure like that with: “Well, good luck.”

awesome. Netanyahu and his flunkies never stopped pestering the Obama foreign policy team to do him a solid and bomb the shit out of Iran. the Email Lady was smart enough to be all ‘eat an entire bowl of fuck, pal’ — because she knew that an attack on Iran would end up being an expensive, unwinnable disaster. Netanyahu pulled this shit on every president and SecState, and they all told him to fuck straight off into the Suez Canal.

only Donny was dumb enough to go ‘yeah Bibi, that sounds fucking awesome. let me get Liddle Marco on the phone, he’s too chickenshit not to go along with whatever I want. have you seen those gigantic shoes I bought him? what an idiot.’

and so here we are, four months later, with Donny on the losing end of an expensive, unwinnable disaster — just as the Email Lady foresaw — and now he’s so desperate to make it all go fuckity-bye that he’s going to give Iran everything they want — and then he’s going to pretend it’s some kind of glorious victory for Dear Leader and the United States. yeah, let’s all call him a liberator and throw fucking flowers.

congratulations, MAGA, you voted for this shit.

what a fucking embarrassment.

oh, is it Daily Claudia time already?

this is one of my favorites photos of Ms Spouse, here with her bff Kathy outside the Ossining restaurant 3 Westerly on July 29, 2021. it’s been the desktop image on my laptop since the day I took it.

and just to prove that I’m not an asshole who spends all of his time looking at his phone [as documented in yesterday’s Daily Claudia], here’s another shot of us at Shadows on the Hudson on July 28, 2024.

have a great Wednesday, everyone. try not to walk from Qatar to Iran. you’ll fucking drown.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

Preznit Fuckwit is in France right now.

immediately following the conclusion of Sunday’s vulgar Epstein Cage Match™ on what used to be the White House South Lawn, his handlers bundled him into Fuckface Force One and flew him all the way across the ocean to a G7 meeting in Evian-les-Baines.

now let’s allow Donny to teach a master class in why taking an 80-year-old dotard in advanced physical and mental decline and shipping him halfway across the globe in the dead of night is basically a form of elder abuse.

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“so I want to congratulate the president. last night, Ciryl Gane won the— fight. against a great fighter. supposed to be unbeatable, and uhh— that was a— Ciryl is from— France.”

listen to this hoarse, raspy, barely-conscious dipshit drone on about his beloved slap-fight as he struggles to complete a coherent sentence.

shut the fuck up, Donny. you’re out of your element. not everyone is as creepily obsessed with oiled-up, sweaty men in fluorescent thongs whaling the crap out of each other as you are.

by the way, because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™, I googled the spelling of ‘Ciryl Gane,’ because who wants to screw that up? you’re welcome.

look at Emmanuel Macron, cool, collected, one hand casually in his pocket. Macron is pretty much the James Bond of world leaders. I mean, you can easily imagine him going ‘un martini. secoué, pas remué.’

meanwhile, Donny fails to achieve his trademark asinine alpha-fucknut handshake. instead, he basically grips Macron’s hand for dear life so he doesn’t topple over. and the dozy bastard can barely keep his eyes open.

how the fuck do you fall asleep while shaking someone’s hand? it’s so embarrassing.

look at this weak-ass shit.

oh god, that’s so sad. that’s such a far cry from that dumbfuck handshake Donny used to inflict on people when he was in his prime — the one where he grabs the other person’s arm and roughly yanks it, because fuck you, that’s why.

in fact, Donny’s such an asshole about handshakes that there’s a whole wikipedia page about it.

anyway, looks like things are going swimmingly for Sundowning Grandpa Befuddlepants at the G7 today. here’s a photo that was released just a few minutes ago, as I’m writing this post at 9 o’clock in the morning, New York time.

HELLO, YOU DEMENTED OLD FUCK. DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO I AM?

what the fuck is going on with Dear Leader’s hair? it’s fucking transparent. you can see his bald head under it. Jesus wept.

get ready for a whole week of this shit. Donny is a shell of his former self, and — aside from the brain-dead cultists who will be standing in front of his coffin and telling you how lively and energetic his corpse looks — the whole world knows it.

we’re never going to get a repeat of one of my favorite Donny-on-the-world-stage moments, that 2017 NATO photo-op where he rudely shoved the Prime Minister of Montenegro out of the way.

that’s a one-and-done — because if Donny tried that shit today, the frail old coot would probably shatter every bone in his arm.

and then fall asleep.

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meanwhile, the other big story of the day is that America has finally signed a peace deal with Iran. yay, Donny, the greatest dealmaker of all time!

no, hang on — [taps earpiece] I’m being told that what we signed is not an actual peace deal. it’s more of a ‘memorandum of understanding’ for the concept of a sketch of a framework of a peace deal.

no, sorry, that’s not right, either. [taps earpiece again] what’s been agreed to is a 60-day ceasefire so that Donny’s ace team of slumlords-turned-negotiators can work out a framework for a sketch of a concept.

so, not a peace deal at all, then? then why the fuck are all the worthless scribblers lauding Dear Leader for being the greatest peace-dealer of all time? oh right, silly me — it’s because they’re worthless scribblers.

well, can we at least be told what’s in this deal that’s not actually a deal? go fuck yourself for even asking. as usual, Donny and his minders aren’t divulging shit about what they’ve agreed to. what they are saying is ‘trust us, it’s going to be amazing’ — which is your first clue that this whole thing is going to be a ginormous, steamy turd.

David J. Urban: “I agree, if it was good news, it would have been leaked. we’d all know about it. Donald Trump would stay around to sign it, and pass out pens. but the fact that he is getting out of town does not bode well. anyone with any shred of political sense knows that politicians and cameras go hand in glove, right? so if this was something good, and of global significance, Donald Trump would be there. I think that this is to be viewed very skeptically.”

in his bio on Elon’s Nazi Bar and Child Porn Emporium, David J. Urban describes himself a a ‘GOP operative.’ ace job, Donny, you’ve even lost the confidence of your own party.

Urban frames it exactly right, though, and we all know it. Donny is the biggest attention hog in the world — and if there were anything positive in this whatever-it-is he’s agreed to, he’d have held a whole Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show about it. he would have sat behind the Resolute Desk and scrawled his weird klan-hood signature across the thing and then held it up for all to see, while his toadies stood behind him and clapped their hands in unison like trained seals and praised him to high heaven.

and then the narcoleptic old fart factory would have fallen asleep.

that none of that shit went down — that Donny’s handlers bundled him onto that plane, and that he’s now in France, playing hide-the-fist with Emmanuel Macron — is a huge tell that Iran played Donny like the world’s cheapest fiddle, and Donny knows it.

even Senate Republicans are backing away from this piece of shit non-agreement agreement.

the reality is that Donny’s fucked this shit up so badly that The New York Times’ Editorial Board was forced into committing an honesty.

The preliminary deal ending President Trump’s four-month war with Iran is welcome but brings with it hard truths. Mr. Trump made a terrible mistake starting this war. He prosecuted it recklessly and in open defiance of the law. The United States is emerging weaker — militarily, diplomatically and economically — and will pay strategic costs for years to come.

The details of the deal are unclear, but the announced framework suggests that Mr. Trump has won few of the terms he insisted that he would. It is a humiliating comedown for him and the nation he leads.

awesome job, Donny. you clownfucked yourself into an unwinnable war on Iran, killed US service members and innocent Iranians, flushed billions of dollars straight down the shitter, disrupted international shipping routes, destabilized the entire Middle East, raised the price of everything, depleted our weapons stockpile, and sent the entire world teetering on the precipice of a recession — and, in the end, agreed to some sort of ‘peace deal’ that’s apparently so bad that you won’t tell us what it says.

and now that you’ve shit the bed royally and rolled around in it, now you’re going to hold out your rotting hand and demand an endless supply of cookies for being such a good boy.

fuck you.

no way, José. you don’t get a fucking cookie, is that clear?

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lastly, let’s talk about Donny’s renovation of the historic Epstein Reflecting Pool.

after Donny spent weeks ragging on Obama and Biden because they couldn’t win a cage match against algae, and held umpteen press conferences to brag about how his totally rebuilt pool would be able to leap over skyscrapers in a single bound, the repainted and refilled pool finally opened to the public a couple of days ago.

and it only took about twenty minutes for the fucking thing to turn bright green from an algae infestation — the very problem the $14 million dollar refurb was supposed to fix.

The Trump administration has hit out at former President Obama after the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool water turned green, despite a much-touted $14 million renovation.

Work on the pool was completed last week, after President Donald Trump vowed to paint the space an “American flag blue.”​ However, the familiar green algae often spotted in the pool returned just days later.

Donny’s an incompetent moron who fucks up everything he touches, but somehow this is Obama’s fault.

imagine being a racist game show host, so jealous of a black man’s accomplishments that you’re still assigning blame to him for all your own failings, ten years after he left office. that’s some industrial-strength racism right there.

here’s what these incompetent shit-kazoos are doing this morning to try to mitigate the problem — they’re dumping hydrogen peroxide into the pool.

now, because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™, you’ll no doubt be able to guess what I did next. that’s right, I asked Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot, ‘can hydrogen peroxide fix the Lincoln Reflecting Pool’ — and the answer was basically, ‘are you fucking kidding me? of course not.’

The reflecting pool holds roughly 4 million gallons of water. Using hydrogen peroxide to treat such a massive volume requires immense quantities of highly concentrated chemicals, making manual pouring of consumer-grade jugs inefficient.

it’s all so fucking stupid.

can we somehow get Emmanuel Macron in here to fix this? I mean, the guy is so fucking cool. I’ll bet he could turn that pool blue just by looking at it, and then we could all knock off for some les martinis, secoués, pas remués.

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let’s have us our Daily Claudia.

here are two photos from the 2020s that our Brooklyn bffs, Deborah and Larry, sent to me. in the first, Ms. Spouse holds court on our patio.

in the second, we’re at the Poughkeepsie restaurant Shadows on the Hudson. Claudia listens intently, while I’m too big an asshole to look up from my phone.

have a great Tuesday, everyone. don’t be too big an asshole to look up from your phone.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

remember the 2006 movie Idiocracy? its premise was ‘what if everyone in America was a fucking moron — and what if the biggest fucking moron of all was the president?’

within the world of the movie, it took hundreds of years for the United States to devolve into a state of permanent, unending stupidity.

it real life, it only took ten.

lucky us.

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take a look at the heaping slice of dumbfuckery that happened on Saturday, the day before Donny’s beloved cage fight: motorcycles were zipping through the air above the White House fountain.

let me just gif that shit, because you won’t believe it unless you see it. does this not look like a deleted scene from Idiocracy?

it was a crass display of toxic hypermachismo, just as our founders intended.

seriously, I’ll bet if old Ben Franklin could have seen this, he would have been all “I said ‘it’s a republic, if you can keep it.’ I didn’t say anything about a pedo president shitting his vulgar aesthetic all over the People’s House. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

look, if watching dipshits do somersaults on motorcycles floats your boat, go for it. we’re not here to police anyone’s idea of entertainment. but keep that shit off the grounds of the White House. it’s loutish and undignified.

when Idiocracy was released in 2006, the idea of a nation of morons ruled over by a oafish fool seemed like something that could only be mocked in a movie — yet here we are. that’s because stupid timelines don’t get stupid all by themselves. they need idiots like Preznit Fuckwit to make them stupid.

hey, remember in Idiocracy how President Camacho made his State of the Union entrance, firing an assault weapon?

I guarantee that Donny Convict would love to make an entrance like this, but he’s too old and feeble — and, above all, Preznit Five Deferments is much too chickenshit to ever pull an actual trigger. so he does the next best thing: he arranges for muscle-bound numbskulls to beat the shit out of each other for his own personal entertainment.

Roman Empire much?

that’s really what this is all about: Donny’s infantile winners-and-losers worldview. I would love nothing more than to explain this to you, but Robert Reich has beaten me to it.

Trump and his regime are seeking to project an America that’s like the winner of a cage match.

Trump sees everything and everyone in terms of dominance or submission, and he’s hellbent on dominance. “You’ll never take back our country with weakness, you have to show strength and you have to be strong,” he told his supporters on January 6, 2021, before urging them to go the Capitol.

He views America as locked in a zero-sum match with the rest of the world, and there’s no limit to our violence.

well-adjusted people don’t think like this. well-adjusted people understand that we’re all trapped on this planet together, and the best possible outcome requires all of us to peacefully coexist and get along with each other.

but just try explaining any of that to the Oval Bordello diaper-shitter whose entire life has been one long mission to prove to the world that he’s not the whiny loser that his tyrant Klansman father always told him he was.

here’s one problem with seeing every fucking thing as a battle to be won: you end up beefing with the weather.

this was all so fucking pointless and stupid. it’s an objective fact that the Sunday weather forecast in DC was abysmal, and it’s also fact that the cagefuck event had to be delayed for hours because of the abysmal weather.

but because the White House is run by children who shit their pants over every fucking thing, they had to insult the poor schmuck whose job it was to accurately report the weather, calling them a ‘friendless loser.’

it’s all so fucking dumb.

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wait, did I say that this cage-fight thing was all about Donny’s dominance-and-submission worldview? I was wrong. it was also about making a profit, and making sure Dear Leader gets a cut of the action.

it turns out that the whole goddamned thing was a money-making venture, from start to finish. this gaudy cagefuck was held on the lawn of the People’s House, but if We the People wanted to see it, we had to pony up first.

as for the event itself, it was just one shameless commercial after another, projected onto screens right in front of the White House.

here’s Brendan Ballou, founder of the Public Integrity Project, to lay out just why this is so fucked up.

MS Now: “right now let’s take a look at some of the ads appearing on the White House lawn. there is beer, crypto, nicotine pouch ads, and they’re all inside the claw there. and you took issue at the branding at the event and UFC’s broadcast partner Paramount Skydance, so what are your concerns about the branding?”

Brendan Ballou: “ultimately, we have any number of laws that are trying to prevent our national parks and national monuments being used for for-profit, corrupt endeavors, which is exactly what’s going on here. the UFC, which is very closely allied to Donald Trump, stands to make a lot of money from it’s branding, not to mention the 1.5 million dollar individual sponsorship packages that it’s selling. Donald Trump stands to make a lot of money through the stock that he has invested in the UFC’s Paramount company… this is a literalization of the corruption we’re experiencing in America right now, where you literally have sponsorships that the president and his friends are going to benefit from at our national monuments.”

corporate logos slapped all over our government, that shit’s literally out of Idiocracy.

and now, we really need to hear from Josh Hokit, who had this heartfelt message of peace and unity after successfully beating the shit out of his opponent.

“Michelle Obama is a man!”

what a charmer.

why even go there? it is too really much to ask that these fuckstains check their hate and bigotry at the door, and not vomit it into all of our faces? if this nitwit had kept his hateful mouth shut, we could have only assumed he was a piece of shit. now that he’s opened it, we all know it for sure.

this is what happens when you give the worst people in the world free rein to be the worst people in the world: the truth always outs.

instead of having Josh Hokit whale the tar out of dinguses, can we not arrange for him to try to get the round peg in the round hole? because that’s what really would be entertaining to me.

the ultimate joke’s on this asshole, however, because he’s getting paid in fake money.

The Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) announced on Friday that it will pay bonuses to fighters in a form of cryptocurrency issued by Trump family business World Liberty Financial at the heavily publicized White House mixed martial arts event on Sunday.

The development connects the Trump family’s financial interests to the high-profile UFC competition being promoted on government property. The competition on the south White House lawn is scheduled for 14 June, Donald Trump’s birthday.

oh how great. not only are these violent dipshits getting imaginary money whose only use is paying for crimes, it’s being done so in a way that personally profits Dear Leader — because of course it does.

everything is a grift with this gonif.

it’s cheap, it’s crass, and it’s downright un-American.

in the 1970s, Jimmy Carter had to sell his peanut farm just so there wouldn’t be any appearance of impropriety. fifty years later, all that shit’s out the window. we’ve normalized greed and corruption. Donny turns everything into one more opportunity to enrich himself off the powers of his office, and the cowards in Congress and the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press just stand around like the useless lumps they are.

Idiocracy. it’s what’s for breakfast.

but I know there’s just one question that remains to be answered: did Preznit Fuckwit fall asleep during his big beloved birthday present to himself? did the narcoleptic old fart factory close his weary eyes and begin crop-dusting the surrounding environs with the piquant aroma of ass music?

of fucking course he did.

what a fucking idiot. even President Camacho would have found a way to stay awake.

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now let’s cleanse the palate with some good old Daily Claudia.

here’s Ms. Spouse enjoying the view of the Hudson River from the Ossining restaurant 3 Westerly, on September 25, 2025.

and here she is, on our patio, making a necklace for herself, in an undated photo from the 2020s.

have a great Monday, everyone. try not to get mad at the weather.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

folks, yesterday I held a memorial service for the late Claudia Long, who was my wife for 41 years — and the love of my life for 46 — before passing away unexpectedly last February. today, instead of blathering on about politics and about how everything totally fucking sucks, I’d like to post the eulogy I wrote for her and delivered yesterday.

— jeff t.

* * *

thank you all for being here with me today.

one day in late February, 1980, I was sitting in my office at High Times magazine. a co-worker walked through my door and said ‘this is Claudia Long. she works here now, and I’m bringing her around to meet everyone.’

and I turned to look at this Claudia person, and my heart leapt — because standing there was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in my life. I fell in love on the spot. and it was the luckiest day of my life, because — miracle of miracles — Claudia felt the same way about me.

we instantly became an item, spending all of our free time together.

within the year, we were living together. three years after that, we were married. and in 1990, ten years after Claudia first walked through my office door, we took a long vacation, spending three weeks traveling through England, Wales and Scotland.

nine months after that vacation, our daughter Katie was born.

* * *

those, of course, are my favorite moments — but let’s back up the narrative a bit. Claudia Edith Long was born on February 7, 1950, in Los Angeles, California.

as a little girl, she always dreamed of growing up to be a writer. she would often tell me about how she would draw pictures of how she imagined herself in her grown-up future, living in New York City, wearing a little black dress and holding a martini glass.

after graduating high school and spending some time in college, she took on entry-level work in Hollywood. script girl, continuity, that sort of thing.

by the mid 1970s, finding those jobs unfulfilling, she packed up her car and drove across the country, determined to realize her lifelong dream of being a full-time writer — settling first in the Catskill Mountains near Woodstock, and then, a couple of years later, finally making that move to New York City, where she found work — first in local community newspapers, and then national magazines. and that’s how she came to walk through my office door on that momentous day in 1980.

* * *

I fell in love with Claudia because of her looks. yeah, I know — that’s very shallow. but I stayed in love with Claudia for 46 years because she was unlike anyone else I’d ever met.

she was smart, and she was funny. she was inquisitive and perceptive. she was interested in everything. she was adventurous and fearless. I was a kid from a small town in New Jersey, and she was sophisticated and worldly. she pushed me out of my comfort zone. sushi. she got me to try sushi. back then, nobody knew from raw fish. but Claudia did.

she was just so capable. she was always the first to know what was cool, and what was hip. among our social circle, it was always Claudia who found the great new restaurant to try. it was Claudia who found the fabulous, out-of-the-way places we vacationed. those of you who have been to our house know what an unique eye she had for antiques and decorating.

* * *

oh, and that writing career Claudia had wanted, ever since she was a little girl? she got that. she wrote for local newspapers, she was on staff at the Village Voice, and she freelanced for a number of magazines. she then moved from publishing to advertising, becoming an award-winning copywriter and creative director.

all that other stuff that the little girl in Los Angeles dreamed about — New York City, the cocktail dresses, the martinis — she got that, too.

how many of us can say that our childhood dreams came true?

* * *

Claudia was successful in the business world because she put in the hours — and when our daughter Katie was born in 1991, she brought that work ethic to motherhood, becoming, for the first two years of Katie’s life, a full-time mom. she found us a house in the Westchester suburbs, in an excellent school district. she found for Katie the best pediatrician, and the best preschool.

and when Claudia returned to work, she still put being a mother first. she accompanied Katie on girl scout trips, and she made sure we all went to museums and concerts as often as possible, ensuring Katie would get a cultural education as well as an academic one.

in the 2010s, with Katie married and off pursuing her own career, it was just the two of us again. Claudia retired from corporate life, but she never stopped writing. going though her desk drawers, after she passed, I found notebooks full of poems, outlines, journal entries, short stories, and notes for novels. her brain never stopped.

she also became an accomplished photographer.

all through her golden years, Claudia never lost her passion for new experiences. she spent the day before her passing researching small seaside villages in Mexico, where we might vacation this summer. there was so much she still wanted to achieve.

* * *

at the end of the day, what more needs to be said about two people who got to spend 46 years together? I loved Claudia and Claudia loved me. that’s pretty good, and I will continue to love Claudia every day for the rest of my life. I’d like to think that little girl back in Los Angeles, dreaming of cocktail dresses and martini glasses, would have approved.

look, I know I’ve painted a picture of the two of us having a perfect storybook marriage. of course, we didn’t. we were both very opinionated, and very stubborn people — and we could have the stupidest, most pointless petty arguments over the most superficial, unimportant things imaginable.

but I will tell you in all honesty: I would give anything — anything — to be able to have one of those stupid, pointless arguments with Claudia right now.

thank you all for being here with me today.

and thank you, really, to whoever it was who brought Claudia through my office door on that fateful day in 1980. you have no idea what you started.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.

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monday: verily, I doth type into an AI prompt unto you

let’s all gaze in awe as the Department of Homeland Security teaches a master class in why you never let the janky six-fingered plagiarism robot produce your unconstitutional Christofascist propaganda.

no, I don’t know what the fuck ‘the consecration of the United States to the sacred heart of Jesus’ means, either. but because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™ — and you’re not — I googled it, and this is what I learned:

To consecrate the United States to the Sacred Heart of Jesus is a solemn religious act where Catholic leaders and faithful entrust the nation’s present and future to the unconditional love, protection, and guidance of Jesus Christ.

now, I know what you’re going to say: ‘but Uncle Jeff, doesn’t having the federal government promote this twaddle fly in the face of that whole ‘shall establish no religion’ thing in the First Amendment?’

to which I say, ‘shut the fuck up, infidel.’

you’re just showing your ignorance. the First Amendment is only in the Old Testament Bill of Rights, and we don’t use that any more. the New Testament Bill of Rights tightens that shit up, and starts with the Second Amendment.

anyway, I just got off the phone with Jesus — and let me tell you, he is pissed. do you know what he doth verily said unto me? he said ‘I dig the ripped torso of the angel, but what the fuck is going on with her Popeye forearms and farkakta blocky hands?’

I tried to explain about plagiarism robots, but the Lamb of God cut me off.

as you know, the J-Man speaks every language on Earth — but even he couldn’t make sense of the wording on the banner, and he wanted to know if I could figure it out.

I started to say something about how my plagiarism-robot-to-english dictionary was on the fritz, but he suddenly blurted ‘oh shit, I’m late for my second coming’ and hung up the phone.

oh, you don’t like that punchline? I don’t like it either, because it’s hacky as fuck — and that’s why you never let Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot write your jokes for you, either.

tuesday: wait, what if we put the laser beams on the dog’s head

here’s another thing you never want to do with the janky six-fingered plagiarism robot: put it in the hands of drooling morons.

Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins on solving the screwworm problem: “you put AI on the drones.”

oh, goody — what could possibly go wrong?

Donny’s sewer clowns created the screwworm problem when they let the Space Nazi’s merry band of pimply DOGE incels cut funding to the programs that prevented infestations in the first place — and now they’re attempting to solve the problem they created by [checks notes] shoving random buzzwords together and hoping for the best.

this is such a waste of taxpayer money — because, quite frankly, we already have the technology in place to fuck every screwworm’s shit. I’m talking, of course, about the sharks with the frickin’ laser beams attached to their heads.

and if that doesn’t work, we have an excellent Plan B: the dogs with the bees in their mouths.

and if that doesn’t work, there are still plenty of outside-the-box solutions. how about putting the bees in the sharks’ mouths?

now, of course, there’s an obvious, inside-the-box solution to the screwworm problem that was staring Donny in the face the whole time: how about not appointing incompetent shit-goblins to vital government posts in the first place?

oh, silly me for even suggesting it. competence is a bridge too far for the fuckwit who put a whale-head-chainsawing maniac in charge of healthcare, and named a piss-drunk weekend chat show host to be his Secretary of Gleefully Dropping Bombs On Iranian Schoolgirls.

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wednesday: one of these things is not like the other

speaking of competence being a bridge too far, is anyone in the Donnyverse more neutered than Liddle Marco Big-Shoes? at this point, I’m pretty sure that America’s Psycho-Bully-in-Chief forces Marco stand in front of the cameras and fart out stupid shit because he knows that Florsheim Boy is too chickenshit to say no.

“President Kennedy announced that we were going to put a man on the moon. we did it. we are a nation founded on doing what no one else dared to do. and at some level, that’s what this whole company, what UFC has been.”

hang on, did Liddle Marco just compare America’s space program to the Ultimate Fighting Championship, the fucksticks responsible for that low-rent cage match that’s being held on the lawn of the White House? what in the actual fuck?

does Marco have some kind of a humiliation kink?

okay, look — before you scoff, please bear in mind what President Kennedy said at his historic inauguration in 1961.

‘ask not what your country can do for you — ask what grown men in tights, pretending to slap the shit out of each other, can do for Dear Leader.’

for that matter, who can forget Neil Armstrong, standing at the base of his Lunar Module, intoning those famous words, ‘that’s one small step for a man, one giant leap for roided-up goons in fluorescent thongs prancing about in order to stroke the bottomless ego of some fucked-up rat-brained pedo dictator wanna-be.’

thursday: it hurts so good

hang on, Fox News found object Jesse Watters wants to weigh in on the matter of Preznit Fuckwit’s fiftieth declaration that a peace deal with Iran is imminent.

“Trump is such a tease, and I fall for it every time.”

can Dear Leader please just take his belt off already and give Jesse the vigorous spanking he’s been fantasizing about for years?

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friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™

on Friday, for the third day in a row, some fucking idiot’s handlers kept him hidden away — presumably so he wouldn’t shit himself silly in front of the press. but once again, his minders forgot to hide his phone.

well, that was fast. the fucking idiot went from ‘a peace deal is IMMINENT’ to ‘I’ll obliterate your dishonorable face off’ in less than twenty-four hours.

the fucking idiot then posted photos of some horsies he was having painted gold.

that’s right — while you and I struggle to pay for basic goods and services, and to keep our gas tanks full, the gold-obsessed fucking idiot is wasting FIVE MILLION DOLLARS on yet another gaudy vanity project.

speaking of gaudy vanity projects, the freshly-painted Epstein Reflecting Pool already has an algae problem — the very thing that the fucking idiot claimed his shitty paint job was going to fix.

but the real story of the day was the Kennedy Center, because Friday was the court-ordered deadline for the fucking idiot’s name pried off the building.

a shitload of media, along with a crowd that numbered in the thousands, gathered to watch the fucking idiot’s name come down.

they ended up waiting for hours, because the fucking idiot’s ace team of parking garage lawyers went crying to the judge for one last time, to be allowed to pretty please let us keep the fucking idiot’s name up there for one more day, and then we’ll take it down, we pinky-swear promise.

the judge told the fucking idiot’s lawyers to go fuck themselves blue in the face.

the delay, however, gave the fucking idiot time to have a tarp put up that completely hid the name-removal process from public view.

but despite the fucking idiot’s treachery, Bluesky user Musicology Duck managed to get some footage of what looks like the D being pried off — and I’m going to gif that shit for posterity’s sake.

but because the fucking idiot had spent the entire day in his hidey-hole, and never showed his stroked-out face in public, not one reporter had any opportunity to stand up and ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’

how fucking idiotic is that?

saturday: ?

hey, it’s still morning as I sit here writing this — but give it time, I guarantee you that some dipshit wingnut is going to do something stupid before the day is over. you can set your watch to it.

it’s time for some Daily Claudia, isn’t it?

here’s Ms Spouse, searching for the perfect subject on September 19, 2019.

and here’s an old-school selfie, taken on November 2, 2016. it’s out of focus, but I don’t care. I just fucking love it.

have a non-stupid Saturday, everyone.

do you have a nomination for This Week in Stupid? email me at jefftiedrich@gmail.com. thanks!

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

let’s just cut to the chase here. Preznit Fuckwit’s big, dumb pumpkin head is where facts and reality go to die. whatever fever-swamp hallucination manages to seep out of his rancid anus-mouth at any given moment is invariably a thing that never happened the most.

you know this, and I know this — but if you need one more data point, check out Dear Leader phoning into Romper Room For Racists yesterday morning, and committing a five-alarm bugfuck.

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“behind the scenes … I must tell you. [Iran] can’t believe the press they get. they can’t even believe it. and they told me. they said ‘it’s amazing how well we’re doing in the papers. we’re not doing so well—’ they’re negotiating with us to make a deal.”

hey, let’s do a quick fact check.

come on, Donny — if you’re going to spin some bullshit ‘sir’ story about how big, strong Iranians, tears in their eyes, got you on the phone so they could shoot the shit about how amazing they’re doing in the press, could you at least remember to claim they called you ‘sir’?

Dear Leader, of course, is accusing-confessing again.

it’s Donny who’s completely obsessed with how whatever he’s up to is playing in the press. it’s Donny who spends hours a day watching himself on TV. it’s Donny who used to to call up the New York newspapers, pretending to be his own press agent, to brag about how much supermodel snatch he was scoring.

I absolutely guarantee you there are no Iranian mullahs calling up the Tehran Times and going ‘let me tell you who I shagged last night.’

now, this was Fox News that Donny was phoning in to, so of course we can’t expect them to go ‘excuse me, Mr President, is this a piece of your brain?

but how about the rest of the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press? now, because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™, I checked out Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot to see if anyone in the mainstream press was talking about Donny’s bizarre claim, and the answer was exactly one — the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.

that’s it? just one? where’s the New York Times? where’s the WaPo? these are the papers that would shit a massive brick every time Joe Biden stammered over someone’s name. shouldn’t it be newsworthy that Dear Leader has completely broken with reality, and is hallucinating phone calls?

when is Preznit Bugfuck going to be bugfuck enough to sound the alarm? because this shit is unsustainable.

let’s get real. Donny is massively stupid, mentally unstable, and increasingly demented. any one of those things should disqualify him from holding office, and — lucky us — we’ve won the trifecta. he’s only going to get worse — and the mainstream press, who hounded Biden daily to resign, are now just standing around like useless lumps and going ‘yeah, well, what are you gonna do? it’s just Donny being Donny.’

it’s fucking maddening.

Donny is clearly unfit for office — so why do we even have a 25th Amendment if we’re never going to use it? if Donny were the CEO of a publicly-held company, the board of directors would have voted to remove him ages ago. so where is America’s board of directors — Donny’s cabinet? come on, let’s go — I’ll take my chances with the couchfucker.

oh right, I forgot. these cowards won’t even tell Dear Leader that their shoes don’t fit.

oh, and I’ve got a pro tip for Donny: if you’re trying to find a way out of the unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war that you started, it helps if you’re not batshit fucking insane.

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speaking of Iran, Donny was all the fuck over the map yesterday.

he started the day by threatening to totally obliterate the already-obliterated Iran for the skilliondieth time. it was going to be an obliteration like few thought possible — possibly the obliteratiest obliteration of all time.

oh, and Donny’s not just going to fuck Iran’s shit, but good — he’s now super-horny to glom Iran’s oil facilities on Kharg Island, which, by the way, is a thing that would require a massive amount of ground troops.

hey, remember how Donny wormed his way out of respecting the War Powers Act by claiming that his don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran was already over? I wonder whatever happened to that. how does that square with threatening a ground invasion of Iran? does anyone want to ask Holy Mike Johnson about that?

anyhoo, Donny’s big threat was posted at 8:22 in the morning. five hours later, as always inevitably happens whenever Donny starts running his fool mouth, he did a complete one-eighty, and played a vigorous round of ‘you say obliteration, and I say obliterahtion, let’s call the whole thing off.’

so, for literally the 50th time, Donny claims to have reached a sketch of an outline of a framework for an agreement for a peace deal.

Iran, right on schedule, was all ‘I’m sorry, we agreed to what?’

Tehran said it hadn’t decided.

“Iran hasn’t reached a final conclusion about the agreement,” Foreign Ministry spokesman Esmail Baghaei said, according to state media. “We will announce it when we reach a conclusion.”

and the markets, because they will forever be the guy from Memento, committed a predictable and skyrocketed.

because remember, this is all Kabuki, and those markets aren’t going to manipulate themselves.

how many times are we doing to do this?

update, 11;04am EDT: oh look, it’s only 22 hours since Donny claimed to have reached a deal, and he’s already flipped the script back to TOTAL OBLITTEREEENIEESS! that was fast.

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but let’s get back to the Festival of Crazypants going on inside Dear Leader’s rat-infested skull — because here’s an actual thing he said yesterday afternoon.

“and again, in Maine. I opened it up. you know who’s fishing there? Canada. Canada. Japan. who’s fishing there? Maine lobster. you couldn’t get a Maine lobster. you had to go to Japan to get a Maine lobster.”

Jesus wept. let’s do another fact check.

excuse me while I go running once again to Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot.

You do not—and never did—need to travel to Japan to get a Maine lobster. In fact, Maine's domestic lobster fishery is highly productive, harvesting between 75 million and 130 million pounds annually and supplying local markets and seafood shacks directly.

now let’s watch as Donny smoothly pivots from perpetrating a dumbfuck to committing a racism.

“guys like me, they built the country. these ingrates are always complaining, complaining. they didn’t build anything. they couldn’t build anything. look what’s happened in Minnesota. Somalia.”

white supremacist much?

‘guys like me.’ Donny’s talking about white people, of course. imagine being this proud of being this racist.

let me tell you, Donny didn’t build shit. he took the $413 million he inherited from his tyrant Klansman father and turned it onto a 1.3 BILLION dollar loss. every single one of his business ventures has failed miserably.

the only thing Dear Leader has ever been successful at is conning his brain-dead cultists.

Donny literally couldn’t sell water in the middle of the desert. he’s the last person on the planet who should be bragging about building anything.

oh, and the last I looked, the entire economy of America’s south was for two centuries dependent on the unpaid labor of black people forced into enslavement.

but do tell me once again about how it’s only white people who built anything, you racist fucking asshole. it’s such a cool story.

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let’s go out on a positive note, and check the weather forecast for Donny’s vulgar cage fight on Sunday.

oh good. still an excellent chance of rain.

and now let’s get out of here with some Daily Claudia.

here are a couple of pics of Katie and her mom. these photos are undated but they’re obviously from the early 1990s.

have a great Friday, everyone. don’t go looking for Maine lobsters in Japan.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

yesterday, during another one of his vulgar Oval Bordello dog-and-pony shows, Lord Shitticus took time off from his busy schedule of praising himself for his imaginary accomplishments, whining about every petty grudge and grievance, and power-loading an endless series of diapers to cordially invite We the People — those of us struggling to make ends meet as inflation hits a three-year high — to go fuck ourselves.

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reporter: “are you concerned about the latest inflation numbers that came out this morning?”

Donny: “no, I love it. the numbers were great. you know what I really love? I love the inflation. you know why?”

oh, isn’t that adorable? the out-of-touch billionaire who never has to worry about the cost of anything — because he lives in a pampered comfort-bubble where all of his needs are provided for — loves him the shit out of the high prices that you have to pay.

this is some serious Marie-Antoinette-level let-them-eat-inflation bullshit.

I’m beginning to think that it might have been a mistake to hand supreme executive power to a sociopath who cares for no one but himself.

once again, Donny accidentally commits an honesty, while at the same time slapping the rest of us in the face. remember that incident from May 12, when Dear Leader was asked if he was concerned about how his illegal don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran had brought extreme financial hardship to the average American? this was the callous shit’s answer.

not even a little bit … I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation, I don’t think about anybody.

Donny is so cognitively collapsed that he can no longer even remember that he’s supposed to pretend to care.

so, getting back to the clip above, where Donny says, ‘I love the inflation. you know why?’ — well, he never gets around to actually explaining why, because the family of rabies-infected raccoons that live inside his pumpkin head chose that moment to chew through the wrong wires, and this is what seeped out of his rancid anus-mouth instead:

“I can say it now. something you didn’t know. did you know we’ve been taking out— MILLIONS of barrels of oil. nobody knows it. you know who doesn’t know about it? IRAN. until right now.”

and everyone was all ‘wait, he did what?’ what is this demented fuck gibbering about? he ‘took out’ a hundred million of barrels of oil? from who? from Iran? is he saying he stole their oil, right from under their noses, and they didn’t know? what is he, the Hamburglar? the Oilburglar?

don’t you wish we had a president whose mind wasn’t pickled from years of being a shitty game show host? every stupid thing has to be turned into drama. every presser turns into another tiresome episode of Try To Guess What I’m Talking About — tune in tomorrow to find out.

well, lucky us — because this time we didn’t have to tune in tomorrow. two hours after his Oval Bordello event, he posted an explanation to his crappy app.

Last month, I directed our Great U.S. Military to execute a secret mission to support Oil Tankers and other Commercial Ships through the Strait of Hormuz. Today, I am pleased to announce that this effort has resulted in more than 100 MILLION Barrels of Oil making its way through the Strait, and into the Open Market. More than 200 Commercial Ships have safely traveled through the Strait. This wildly successful effort is because the UNITED STATES of AMERICA CONTROLS the Strait of Hormuz — NOT Iran. Their military is defeated, and their economy is lost. It’s over for Iran! Thank you for your attention to this matter. President DONALD J. TRUMP

wait, that’s it? that’s the big secret, that the US was escorting ships through the Strait? that was never a secret. this compulsive blabbermouth doesn’t know how to keep a secret. he announced these operations a month ago.

so now Donny wants a cookie. he thinks he’s earned a cookie, because two hundred ships (he claims) have made it through the Strait.

Heather Cox Richardson, can you step in here for a moment and explain to this underwhelming dipshit why he doesn’t get a cookie.

So far, the journalists report, the U.S has guided more than 200 ships through in a little more than a month. Before the war, about 3,000 ships a month traveled through the strait. The reporters say they could not confirm Trump’s claim that the effort had enabled more than 100 million barrels of oil to reach the market.

yeah, the last time I looked, 200 was a much smaller number than 3,000.

so, Donny’s taken a fully-functional Middle East supply route on which the entire world depends, clownfucked it until it was completely broken, then shabbily duct-taped it back together so it’s a barely-functioning shadow of its former self — and he thinks that’s earned him a cookie?

fuck straight off, Donny. cookies are for closers only.

maybe the cultists are dimwitted enough to fall for this ‘I fixed the Strait’ nonsense, but We the People see what’s going on.

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meanwhile, it looks like we’re in a shooting war with Iran again — and do you know who’s the happiest person in the world right now? Plastered Pete Kegstand, our gin-soaked, butt-dialing Secretary of Death. he really gets off on this shit.

“if we need to negotiate with bombs, we’ll negotiate with bombs. and we’re very good at it. nobody better in the world.”

who the fuck talks like this?

maybe Piss-Drunk Pete’s parents should have hugged him more, and told him they loved him. I don’t know.

all I know is that it’s morally wrong to put America’s fearsome military might into the hands of someone this eager to use it.

war is not a video game. it’s serious, last-resort business. war inevitably leads to destruction, and the mass deaths of innocent people. it should be avoided at all costs. and the sober task of fighting a war should be handled by people who understand and respect that — and not carelessly handed to some emotionally-stunted frat boy who giggles over the thought of committing war crimes.

‘we’ll negotiate with bombs’ — what a screwed up thing to say. Piss-Drunk Pete isn’t just high on his own supply right now, he’s overdosed on it.

Pete’s starring in a very fucked-up an action movie that exists only inside his own vodka-saturated head. he imagines he’s Bruce Willis, coming in guns blazing and asking ‘does anyone else want to negotiate?’

Piss-Drunk Pete shouldn’t be in the Pentagon right now. he should be in The Hague, explaining to a judge why he thinks crimes against humanity are so fucking hilarious.

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here’s a photo that ended up in my bluesky feed yesterday.

look at what this vulgar warthog has done to the People’s House. it’s an unholy abomination. it’s so wrong. it’s so hideously tasteless. it’s just so tacky and low-rent.

now let’s zoom way in, because—

wait a minute, is that an ad for Monster Energy Drinks? is this asshole selling ad space on the White House? what the fuck?

welcome to Donny’s millionth violation of the public trust. it’s just one more situation where you go, shouldn’t this be against the law?

look, the Weather Gods have an opportunity to do the funniest thing ever right now, because the current forecast for Washington DC on Sunday night is (wait for it) — thunderstorms.

keep your fingers crossed, because Dear Leader is terrified of rain. he hates what it does to that weird tangle of piss-colored bullshit he hot-glues to the top of his fat head.

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let’s cleanse the palate with some Daily Claudia.

I found a couple more photos from the Short Hair Years while rummaging through some files yesterday. this one simply has ‘1987’ scrawled on the back of it.

and this one’s from July 4, 1986.

now let’s fast-forward to Sept 19, 2023, at the Matunuck Oyster Bar in East Matunuck, RI.

have a great Thursday, everyone. remember to pray for rain on Sunday.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

once again, everything in the news is so unbelievably idiotic that I don’t even know where to begin. so today, I’m just going to drag out the Big Wheel of Moron™, give it a spin, and see where it lands. ready? here we go.

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holy shit, the Itsy-Bitsy Fascist is back in the news. remember Obergruppenführer Greg Bovino? he was the diminutive dude in charge of ICE, when they were fucking shit up on the streets of Minneapolis.

Bovino’s thing was that he really leaned into this whole business of being a Nazi, complete with the stormtrooper trench coat and the Third Reich haircut.

Obergruppenführer Greg Bovino was such a public embarrassment as the Literal Face of Fascism that his boss Tom Homan finally had no choice but to send him to a big farm upstate, where he’d have lots of room to run around and teargas children.

so, why is Bovino back in the news? because he’s running for president. no, really, he is. stop snickering — this isn’t a joke.

I fucking shit you not, this is the image that greets you when you go to the Bovino 2028 home page.

oh my god, Greg, are kidding us? homey, I’ve got the ghost of Heinrich Himmler on the phone right now. he says to tone it the fuck down, you’ve gone way too over the top with that subliminal skull imagery.

the Pocket Nazi’s platform is a big ball of well of course it is.

Confirming that he was considering a presidential run on Monday, Bovino wrote on social media: “My one and only priority is deporting the 106 million illegals who are here. That’s it.”

what a minute, don’t we already have that now? how is Nosferatu McGoebbels not suing Greg for copyright infringement?

Drop-Kick Greg hopes to hump the leg of the American electorate — but he’s forgetting one important thing: he hasn’t a snowball’s chance of winning. everyone hate his fucking guts, because he’s gone Full Nazi. pro tip: never go Full Nazi. decent people reject that shit.

need proof? let’s revisit what happened back in January, when Bite-Size Bovino tried to take a piss in a Minneapolis Target store — he was immediately dogpiled and screamed at by shoppers.

“you’re a fucking bum, you. you’re a bitch. and if your wife’s got a problem, fuck her, too. you guys are all bitches. you can’t do shit to me. you can’t do a thing. get the fuck out of here. get the fuck out. nobody wants you here. right. get the fuck out. walk the fuck you, you stupid bitches. get the fuck out of here. the fuck out of here. coward. you’re a fucking coward, bitch. you’re a fucking bitch. fuck you. hold on, babe, I’m on the phone with these bitch-ass niggas. get the fuck out of here. get the fuck out of here, you stupid bitches. you’re a fucking coward piece of shit. fuck you. and if you didn’t have a gun or a vest, I would beat the shit out of you. take that fucking badge off, and that fucking gun, and see what happens to you. you shut the fuck up, you’re not fucking tough. you’re a bitch and get the fuck out, you fucking pussy. you fucking bitch-ass white boys. I’ll fucking spit on you. fucking get out of here. get the fuck out. shut the fuck up. get the fuck out of here. get the fuck out of here.”

oh, my virgin ears. mercy me.

yeah, I don’t that guy in Target store is going to be voting for Greg.

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well, that was fun. let’s give that Big Wheel of Moron™ another spin. here we go.

CNN’s Manu Raju: “but what evidence is there to prove the California election is rigged?”

Holy Mike Johson: “look, some of these efforts are so diabolical and so far upstream it’s impossible to prove. but I think everybody knows instinctively that something is wrong here.”

oh, please do fuck all the way off, Holy Mike.

Republicans have worked themselves into an enormous hissy right now, because their candidates are losing bigly in California. it’s inconceivable to them that their hand-picked MAGA-soaked dipshits can’t manage a win in America’s most-liberal state — and so all these piss-soaked diaper-babies are screaming their heads off about how everything is rigged.

the cultists cannot wrap their warped little minds around the fact that their pretty-boy reality-show never-was Spencer Pratt lost to progressive Democrat Nithya Raman in the primary for Mayor of Los Angeles — one of the most liberal cities in the entire damned country.

it’s inconceivable!

of course there’s no proof that California’s elections were rigged, because — spoiler alert — there was no rigging. Republican candidates lost because they fucking sucked. but try explaining that to the MAGAverse. they don’t need any stinking proof of rigging, because they have something better than proof: they have vibes. listen to Holy Mike prattle on about how the skulduggery is ‘diabolical and so far upstream it’s impossible to prove,’ but he knows that ‘instinctively that something is wrong.’

yeah, right. dry your eyes, you sore loser.

you know what I know instinctively? that Holy Mike is a limp-dicked handful of dung. I mean, I can’t prove it, but, y’know, instincts matter.

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okay, let’s give that Moron Wheel a third spin.

Lindsey Graham, in his victory speech, compares President Trump to God and says, “Mr. President, you’re not far behind God.”

“Mr. President, you're not far behind God.”

South Carolina has been electing Lindsey Graham since 2003.

obsequious much, Lindsey?

I think I’ve figured out the diabolical reason why Dear Leader is always sitting with that weird, leaning-forward posture. I think it’s because Old Lindz’s entire body is lodged up his large intestine.

looks about right, doesn’t it? once again, I can’t prove it, but, y’know, instincts matter.

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ok, one final spin of the Big Wheel—

as the noted British philosopher David St. Hubbins so wisely counseled us, ‘it’s such a fine line between stupid and clever.’

with that in mind, check out the dumbfuckery perpetrated by Republican Rep Rob Wittman. when confronted by a Meidas Touch reporter and asked ‘what is Mike Johnson’s secret plan to cut Social Security,’ he takes out his phone and, for 90 clownishly ludicrous seconds, pretends to take a call.

I mean, come on. it’s so diabolically obvious that Wittman is speaking to absolutely no one at all — the display of his phone changes every time his cheek makes contact with the screen.

let’s gif the fuck out of that shit.

ten out of ten. chef’s kiss. no notes.

so, is Wittman being stupid or clever? in this instance, I’m going to cut the bro some slack — because why can’t it be both?

let’s get out of here with some Daily Claudia.

here’s Ms Spouse, back at Stonecrop Garden in Cold Spring, NY, on October 27, 2017.

and here she is on the Hudson River on July 15, 2017.

have a great Wednesday, everyone. try not to be the reason Dear Leader sits like he’s got a full load in his drawers.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

nobody wanted this.

just as nobody wanted a heavily militarized Epstein Dance Hall, or an unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, or masked and armed ICE thugs teargassing children, or unaffordable gas, or incoherent tariffs, or off-the-charts corruption, or any one of the million shithole crimes and indignities Preznit Fuckwit has inflicted on We the People, nobody wanted a broken-inside egomaniac shutting down one of midtown Manhattan’s busiest districts for a day and a night, just so he could fall asleep during a championship basketball game.

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so, if nobody wanted this, then why did it happen?

it happened for the same reason that Donny used to barge in on half-naked teenagers in the dressing room of the Miss Teen USA pageant — because he can, and because he’s a malignant toad who gets off on being the hugest asshole imaginable.

well, guess what: New Yorkers are not okay with any of that shit at all, and they reacted to Donny’s unwanted presence in the most New York way ever — they cordially invited Dear Leader to fuck himself sideways. big, strong New Yorkers, biceps rippling in the midday sun, tears streaming down their cheeks, booed Donny mercilessly. they booed him like few thought possible — maybe even the greatest boos of all time.

they booed him on his way to Madison Square Garden.

in fact, let’s gif the shit out of the best part of that clip, because these few seconds are a keeper.

they booed him during the game, the very second his beady-eyed fluorescent tangerine pig-face showed up on the jumbotron.

and they booed him when he slithered the fuck out of there and slunk back to his New Jersey ex-wife cemetery.

welcome to New York, Donny. now get the fuck out.

it cannot be understated how much of a disruption to daily life in Midtown Manhattan Dear Leader’s unnecessary escapade was. look at this headline. no walking allowed in Midtown. how fucked-up is that?

Sorry, Knicks fans: No Madison Square Garden watch party tonight.

You won’t even be able to walk close.

The NYPD and U.S. Secret Service announced another spate of street closures and security measures in anticipation of President Donald Trump’s historic trip to the Knicks’ NBA Finals game.

somebody please explain to me why the exclusion zone needed to stretch all the way from Fifth Avenue to Eighth Avenue. explain it to me like I’m five years old, because I’m just not understanding it.

imagine that Sleepy Joe Biden’s autopen had closed down Midtown Manhattan just so Joe could enjoy himself some sportsball.

the howls of anger from the entire wingnut outrage-industrial complex would have been audible on Mars. Comer Fudd and the shouty, half-dressed degenerate wrestling coach would have introduced articles of impeachment within minutes.

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but Donny, infuriatingly, is granted an endless series of free passes to be a Very Special Boy Who Gets to Fuck Shit Up Any Time He Wants™.

this is just wall-to-wall crazypants. hundreds upon hundreds of NYPD cops were clogging the sidewalks of Midtown, just basically milling about and doing nothing, apart from getting in everyone’s way.

how many taxpayer dollars got flushed down the shitter on this unnecessary exercise in ego-stroking a colicky piss-baby president?

Donny’s minders even shut down the locker rooms so that Dear Leader could fuck up the Knicks’ pregame preparation, too.

90sKnicksFan33
Is it true your locker room access is being restricted so he can go in there? Last thing they need before this game is the distraction of the circus traipsing thru their locker room

Steve Popper
Yes. First time all season no pregame locker room access for media.

on top of that, they treated the athletes like they were criminals.

all this disruption — and for what?

it certainly wasn’t so that Donny could enjoy watching an NBA Finals game, because the narcoleptic fart factory did what he always does in public these days — he closed his weary eyes, and started noisily sawing logs while carpet-bombing his little bulletproof enclosure with the pungent aroma of ass-music.

oh, that’s lovely. Dear Leader ruined everyone’s good time — and then couldn’t even be bothered to pay attention. what a selfish prick.

remember how Donny claimed he was too busy with his stupid illegal war to go to his failson’s wedding? weird how he didn’t have time for that, but apparently has all the free time in the world to fall asleep in Madison Square Garden.

it’s fucking maddening. Lord Shitticus gets to traipse about and waste all the money in the world on unnecessary vanity junkets, while you and I — We the People — struggle to keep the gas tank full, and to pay for basic goods and services. and then the stupid shit falls asleep, right in the middle of a noisy, raucous arena. what the actual fuck?

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so, how did the Knicks do last night? not good. they lost their game to the Spurs, 115-111 — after having previously won their last thirteen games in a row. awesome job, Donny. you fucking jinxed a winning streak with your fetid presence.

now let’s compare and contrast. check out what happens when a legitimate president takes in a sportsball game in his home town.

that’s what popularity looks like. this is why Donny hates Obama so much — because deep down inside, Dear Leader knows that he’ll never be as admired as the black man whose accomplishments he’s trying to hard to destroy.

meanwhile, feast your eyes on this delusional dipshit.

reporter: “what do you think of the reception you got from Knicks fans tonight?”

Donny: “I thought it was great. I mean, uhhhhhh, I thought it was amazing, actually. you mean where the had the camera, on me? I thought it was very good, yeah. it was certainly amazing. I think— mostly cheers. it was loud. and it was very— enthusiastic.”

yeah, sure. you keep telling yourself that. fucking loser.

Game 4 of the NBA Finals is tomorrow night. whether you’re a New York Knicks fan or a San Antonio Spurs fan, I think we can all agree on one thing:

fuck Trump.

but wait — it gets stupider.

while all that dumb-assery was going on up in New York, back at the While House they did a test of the lighting for that infantile wrestling match that Dear Leader is holding for his birthday.

holy shit, it somehow manages to be so much worse than any of us could have imagined.

it’s so fucking tasteless. he’s turned The People’s House into a Las Vegas bordello.

could anything possibly be more undignified? it’s so wrong. our founders would shit their breeches raw if they could see what’s become of their grand experiment in not have a fucking king.

we so badly need a Daily Claudia right about now, so do let’s.

here’s a couple more pics of Ms. Spouse with her bff Kathy.

have a great Tuesday, everyone. don’t be such a malignant piss-baby that you ruin everyone else’s good time.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

let’s watch what happens when a thin-skinned diaperload comes up against a reporter who is absolutely determined to commit a journalism.

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Donny: “the election was rigged. it was a dirty election. it’s happening again, right now in California.’

Meet the Press host Kristen Welker: “you’ve never presented evidence that the 2020 election was rigged.”

Donny: “look at what’s happening now [in California].”

Welkler: “what’s the evidence to that?”

***

Donny: “they’re cheating on the election [in California].”

Welker: “do you have evidence to support that?”

Donny: “all you have to do is look.”

Welker: “that’s not evidence.”

***

Donny: “they’re crooked. just like you’re crooked, your press is crooked and Meet the Press is crooked.”

Welker: “to be fair, sir, I’m not crooked.”

Donny: “really? well, you play right into their hands. you’re either crooked or you’re stupid. you know that these elections are rigged. your network knows that they’re rigged. you know that I won an election in a landslide and I got 94% bad press.”

Welker: “you’ve never presented evidence that it was rigged.”

Donny: “your elections are crooked. and you’re crooked. and Meet the Press is crooked, and so is ABC and CBS and CNN. you’re one-sided, crooked networks. okay, let’s call it quits, because I’ve had enough. thank you, darling.”

and with that, Preznit Fuckwit throws his microphone to the ground, gets up, and waddles away.

‘thank you, darling.’ what a condescending, misogynistic asshole. shut the fuck up, piggy.

all Kristen Welker did was ask Donny for evidence to back up his claims — but apparently, that was a bridge too far for the colicky piss-baby who lives inside a fact-free bubble, and throws a shit-fit any time some peasant dares challenge one of his fever-swamp hallucinations.

you’re going to hear a lot about how Donny ‘stormed’ off the set of Meet the Press, but I’m sorry, there was no ‘storming’ going on. in fact, the deteriorating fool almost fell right down on his beady-eyed pig-face.

here’s a pro tip for Donny: if you’re trying to create an indelible image of defiant anger, don’t step on the mic you dropped, causing your gamey leg to buckle, requiring you to grab Kristen Welker’s shoulder so you don’t topple the fuck over.

that moment’s a keeper, so let’s gif that shit for all eternity’s sake.

and also, I keep saying ‘the set of Meet the Press’ — but that interview quite obviously wasn’t conducted in NBC’s New York studio. they taped it Friday night, at the site of Donny’s look-how-much-I-love-farmers clusterfuck in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

now, I get that the location was used for expediency’s sake, but did they really have to dress the set with wooden crates, hay bales and a tractor?

it’s a legit question, because it’s pretty hard to exude gravitas when it looks like you’re broadcasting from the set of Hee Haw.

it must be nice to be one of Donny’s cultists, and be forever serenely deluded into believing that whatever ass-hattery Dear Leader clownfucks himself into, he always comes away with the upper hand.

oh look, it’s Juanita Broaddrick. now there’s a blast from the past. you’ll be shocked, I’m sure, to learn that Broaddrick’s now a darling of the MAGA set — and that she’s guzzled all the Kool-Aid.

Holy Crap!! President Trump had enough of Welker’s lies and rips off microphone and walks out of interview. BRAVO!!! We have the best President!!

no, Juanita, that’s not what happened. what happened is that Brave Sir Donald bravely ran away, away.

Donny bravely ran away, away because because he’s a liar and a fucking coward who turns tail and flees the second anyone challenges the torrent of bullshit spraying from his rancid anus-mouth.

if Donny had a single shred of evidence to back up any one of his lies, he wouldn’t have to throw a piss-baby tantrum and bravely run away, away.

Donny wants us all to forget that he’s already litigated the hell out of the 2020 election. he brought over sixty lawsuits and lost all of them, except for one that went his way on a technicality and didn’t change the outcome. if there were any evidence, Donny’s ace team of parking garage lawyers would have presented it to the courts, six years ago.

Donny’s only ‘evidence’ is his pig-headed belief that ‘if I didn’t win, it must have been rigged.’ that’s not how adults face unpleasant news, it’s how babies react to hearing shit they don’t like. getting up and bravely running away, away is also a childish reaction.

what a great idea it was, to hand supreme executive power to some overgrown toddler who never matured past the emotional age of four years old.

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now, it was nice to see Kristin Welker actually committing a journalism — which makes it equally disappointing that when it was all over, she did her best to sanewash her own thrashing of Dear Leader.

check out the weak-tea pablum that Welker posted up on Elon’s Nazi Bar and Child Porn Emporium.

My interview with President Trump on Friday afternoon was unfortunately complicated by weather issues. In spite of those challenges, we still had a substantial conversation on issues from the Iran war to the economy to the so-called “anti-weaponization” fund. Tune in for the full interview this morning on @MeetThePress.

seriously? why is Kristen Welker calling Donny’s infantile melt-down a ‘substantial conversation’? it was no such thing. yesterday’s broadcast was 46 minutes of Donny lying about every fucking thing, and then blowing up and bravely running away, away when Welkler refused to take bullshit for an answer.

if it were you getting the best of some lying immature diaperload, wouldn’t you crow about it? wouldn’t you take a victory lap? wouldn’t you tweet out something like ‘tune in this morning to watch me fuck Donny’s shit seven ways from breakfast’?

I would.

Donny’s going to be inflicting himself onto Game 3 of the NBA Finals tonight, and I hope the New York crowd boos him mercilessly — because fuck this fucking fuck all the way to Mars for taking what would normally have been a party atmosphere in and around Madison Square Garden and turning the whole area into a maximum security prison.

A strict no-bag policy will be in effect, and fans should make every effort to limit personal items to an absolute minimum. Fans should expect enhanced security measures when entering Madison Square Garden, including TSA-style screening procedures. Guests are strongly encouraged to arrive at least two hours before tip-off to allow additional time for screening and entry.

oh, that’s lovely. instead of a festive sportsball event, it’s going to be a joyless chore. don’t bring any bags, make sure you show up hours in advance and be prepared to be treated like a criminal suspect by government agents.

oh, and they’re locking down a five-block area around Madison Square Garden, inconveniencing everyone, not just the sportsball enthusiasts.

thanks a lot, Donny.

now seems like a good time to remind everyone that we New Yorkers have hated Donny since before it was cool. hey, can we get Rosie O’Donnell in here for a minute to explain why?

Rosie: “if you grew up in New York, you knew he was an asshole and a liar from day one. and I am sixty-four years old, so I remember when his planes were repossessed off the runways at La Guardia. I remember when he was broke. I remember when he would call up places and pretend to be his own publicist. he is a con man, he is a narcissist, and he is a psychopath.”

reporter: “how do you think he’ll be greeted at MSG tomorrow night?”

Rosie: “with a lot of boos, and I’m happy to hear it.”

where is the lie?

get the fuck back to your fugly Oval Bordello, Donny. nobody wants you here.

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today’s Daily Claudia comes to you courtesy of Daughter Katie, who took these photos during our vacation at the shore in Old Lyme, Connecticut, last July.

look at this house Ms Spouse found for us. its back yard was the fucking ocean.

have a great Monday, everyone. try not to be a big, colicky piss-baby who can’t face bad news — and never, ever, pretend to be your own publicist.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

you can say this about the merry band of crackpots, bigots, kleptocrats, sociopaths, lunatics, degenerates, furniture molesters, podcast bros, reality-show washouts, diet pill scammers, whale-head-chainsawing maniacs and blackout-drunk warmongers who comprise Preznit Fuckwit’s Cabinet of Sewer Clowns: none of them know how to shut the fuck up.

seriously, it is really too much to ask of these shit-kazoos that when they travel outside the US, they park their racism by the door?

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spoiler alert: apparently, it is too much to ask.

yesterday was the 82nd anniversary of D-Day. to mark the occasion, our gin-soaked Secretary of Death, Plastered Pete Kegstand, traveled all the way to Normandy in France — and when he got there, he cranked the racism dial so far past eleven that the damned thing snapped off in his hand.

“it’s past time we remember what they knew. their legacy demands far more than quiet reflection. it requires our active vigilance. sadly, today, different European beaches are stormed by different, dangerous ideologies. beaches in Spain, Italy, Greece and Bulgaria, boats and men arrive. when will European capitals do something about that invasion, or is it too late? I pray not, and I believe not.”

oh my god. listen to Pete prattle on about swarthy hordes invading European shores with their scary ideologies. the horror. the fucking horror. tell me, what is the ideology of some poor refugee from Algeria trying to find a better life?

I know of one guy who came to Europe yesterday to spread his dangerous ideology. can you guess who I’m talking about? here’s a hint: his skeevy torso is festooned with christofascist tattoos. perfectly normal stuff.

read the fucking room, Pete. nobody in Normandy wanted to hear you do a bigotry.

who thought this was an appropriate way to mark a solemn remembrance of war dead, by hectoring Europe about upping their white supremacy game?

can’t these fuckheads leave this shit at home? it’s embarrassing. Donny and his clowns are shitting all over our standing in the world. there was a time when our leaders at least gave lip service to the notion of America being some kind of beacon of hope — a ‘shining city on a hill,’ as Saint Reagan put it. not any more. we’ve become a beacon of hate. Europe is appalled by us now.

I’m sorry, but I don’t want a piss-drunk dunk-tank clown representing my country. do you? he has no idea how to act on the world stage. and what are his qualifications? none, that’s what. before becoming Dear Leader’s Secretary of Death, Pete was a chat show host — and he was so clownfuckingly bad at it that Fox banished him to the weekends. that’s who Donny sends abroad to represent us. a failure.

Pete didn’t have to commit a racism in Normandy. he could have done literally anything else, and it would have been a more dignified way to mark the occasion. he could have done one of his weak-ass pull-ups. he would have immediately won the crowd over. regardez ce charmant américain. il est tellement drôle!

he could have come out and chugged an entire bottle of champagne, and gotten a standing ovation. after all, he was in France, for fuck’s sake.

he could have flipped a skateboard up into his own nuts, and the French would bestowed on him their highest medal, the Legion of Honor, on the spot.

but no, Pete couldn’t do any of that. he had to be the same fascist asshole that he is right here at home.

remember when the couchfucker pulled this same shit last year?

in February 2025, JD Vance went to Germany and basically ordered them to be nicer to their Nazis. wrap your mind around that. Couchfuck McGee, standing in front of a roomful of Germans, telling them that the AfD — Germany’s Nazi-adjacent ultra-far-right political party — are a bunch of swell bros.

you’ll never guess how that went over.

Europe doesn’t want any of that shit. they’ve already dealt with Nazis, first-hand. Nazis fucking suck. we fought a whole war about it, remember? Europe remembers, and the last thing they want is a bunch of fuckheads from America Nazi-splaining about why fascism is cool.

the arrogance of shitweasels like Piss-Drunk Pete and Couchfuck McGee is off the charts. nobody wants the hatred they’re peddling. Europe rejected that shit 82 years ago.

that the ugliest Americans tried to hijack a commemoration of D-Day and turn it into some fucked-up infomercial for xenophobia staggers the mind.

it’s all so eternally embarrassing, and they’ve turned us in a pariah nation.

we’re the goddamned baddies now.

the next Democratic president is going to have to do more than just pry a bunch of gold-spray-painted bullshit off the Oval Bordello walls. they’re going to have to pry Donny’s legacy of hatred off the entire world.

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speaking of prying, let me leave you with these words of wisdom: live your life in such a way that the entire world isn’t waiting to see your accursed name pried off every building.

Scott MacFarlane: “as you can imagine, there are cameras nearby, ready for the moment they literally chisel Trump’s name off that wall.”

how fucking awesome is it that when Donny’s name finally gets taken off the Kennedy Center, dozens of cameras will record the moment for posterity? that’s how much everyone loathes you, jackass.

while we wait, let’s enjoy this two-minute supercut of Donny’s foul name being removed from buildings all over the world.

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and now, some Daily Claudia.

here’s Ms Spouse and Best Cat Tenchi™, abed on August 25, 2019.

and here she is on July 22, 2021. I am wracking my brain trying to remember what restaurant is on a hill overlooking a Metro North train station, and I’m coming up with bupkis. anyone? is it Shadows on the Hudson in Poughkeepsie? is this the view from the outdoor bar area?

have a great Sunday, everyone. try not to bring your dangerous ideologes to any European beaches.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.

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monday: dumbfuck, with a side of beef

here’s a sure sign you’re trapped in the shittiest timeline ever: every single thing has to be dumbed down and cartoonized.

that’s Mike Rogers. he’s some low-wattage Republican yutz running for Senate in Michigan.

Mike’s a big ball of who fucking cares, am I right?

he can’t run in his record as a member of the House, because — like all MAGAfied Republicans — his record sucks. so Mike’s handlers had to figure out some way to make their underwhelming nobody stand out. look at what they did: they used AI to beef him up, and turn him into some garish cartoon version of himself.

how annoying is it that we live in the dumbfuckiest nation on the planet, where Republican shitwits see something like this, and go ‘yeah, absolutely. let’s vote for Mister Beef.’

now, as Jesus H. Christ himself so wisely counseled us in his Sermon on the Mount, ‘blessed are the meme creators, for they shall win the internet’ — so without further ado, I give you today’s winners.

meme creators, a grateful nation thanks you for service.

tuesday: AI yi yi

here are a couple more reasons why you should never let the six-fingered plagiarism robot crank out your bigoted propaganda.

when using the Holy Umbrella of Righteous Hatred to keep your family from being soaked by all the gayness pouring down from the sky, it always helps to have three hands.

that way, you can hold your umbrella, your obedient blonde tradwife, and your obedient little blonde tradwife-in-training, all at the same time.

and yes, I absolutely do believe that if Preznit Fuckwit ever made it to the moon, the very first thing he’d do is take off his helmet.

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wednesday: trans-wut-ic?

ugh, this stupidity again.

welcome to another one of those MAGA lies that won’t die: the accusation that Democrats are using your tax dollars to make mice transgender.

no, no, no, and fuck no. no one is doing this. Democrats aren’t paying the farmer’s wife to cut off little mouse dicks with her carving knife. have you ever seen such a sight in your life?

no, you haven’t — because these mice are trangenic, not transgender. these little fucking rodents are having human genetic material spliced into them, so they can be used in medical research on things like cancer, Alzheimer’s, diabetes, and neurological disorders.

now you, dear reader, are smart enough to grasp the difference between transgenic and transgender. that you’re reading this post right now proves it.

but cynical Republicans keep repeating the lie that ‘mice are being transgendered with your tax dollars,’ because they know that their voting base is too dumb as fuck to understand how words work — and that they’ll fall for this bullshit just as quickly as they’ll fall for some cheesy photoshoppery of a big, beefy Mike Rogers, or Donny breathing the refreshing atmosphere of the moon.

the stupid, it never, ever stops burning.

thursday: inflating her tires, and her shitty record

oh look, America’s Self-Appointed Bathroom Panty Inspector™ has found a brand-new way to call attention to herself.

oh, I see. Nancy Mace is blaming her own personal woes on South Carolina’s shitty roads and highways.

well, here’s a very fun and very cool fact about Nance: when Joe Biden’s infrastructure bill was up for a vote in the House, she denounced it as ‘partisan’ and voted against it.

but wait, the adorable hijinks continue. now that Mace is running to be South Carolina’s Governor, she’s doing that time-honored Republican thing where she takes total credit for the benefits reaped from the bill she voted against.

Nancy Mace is losing in every poll right now. she totally fucking sucks as a candidate, and she should stick to what she’s good at: inspecting genitals.

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friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™

on Friday, some fucking idiot had only one item on his official schedule: an alleged ‘Roundtable on American Agriculture’ in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.

except it wasn’t really any kind of roundtable at all.

it was a rally disguised as a roundtable, because the decrepit fucking idiot no longer has the stamina to stand up for more than ninety seconds in a row. calling it a ‘roundtable’ allowed the fucking idiot to remain seated the whole time, taking the weight off his hideously bloated cankles.

of course, being seated didn’t stop the fucking idiot from whining about every petty grudge and grievance.

“Trump: I don’t need this. I got elected. What the hell do I have to be here for?”

oh sure, what better message to give to America’s farmers than ‘fuck you, I’d rather be anywhere else right now.’

the fucking idiot then celebrated Pride Month by drooling over the physical attributes of the guy seated next to him.

next, the fucking idiot bragged about stealing another gold medal that he didn’t win, and also, for some reason, salivated over the prospect of groping some dude’s leg.

then it was time for the fucking idiot to once again boast about how his Epstein Reflecting Poll was taller than every building in the universe.

except this time, he had his graphic printed on a tiny piece of paper that couldn’t be seen by anyone in the audience. ace job, fucking idiot.

oh look, the fucking idiot is too demented to remember what the Washington Monument is called. he fumfers around, and then refers to it as ‘that beautiful spire.’

someone should ask the fucking idiot, ‘who’s buried in Grant’s Tomb?’ I’d pay good money to watch the fucking idiot try to reason it out.

oh my god, the fucking idiot really is a fucking idiot.

how does the fucking idiot get the fork to his mouth without stabbing himself in the eye?

but the most fucked up thing the fucking idiot said came earlier in the day, aboard Fuckface Force One.

Q: The NBA Finals game you’re going to, the cheapest ticket price is $8,000. Everyday Americans can’t afford these sporting events.

TRUMP: You can watch it on TV. It’s sort of semi-free to watch it on TV. That’s the way life goes.

that’s right, peasant. live sporting events are for the fucking idiot and his oligarch snugglebunnies. you want to watch? turn on your TV, peon. that’s what it’s there for.

‘that’s just the way life goes’? fuck you, you pampered fucking prick.

and, despite all the fucking idiotry going on right in front of their faces, not one reporter stood up to ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’

how fucking idiotic is that?

saturday: ?

hey, it’s still morning as I sit here writing this — but give it time, I guarantee you that some dipshit wingnut is going to do something stupid before the day is over. you can set your watch to it.

it’s time for some Daily Claudia, isn’t it?

here’s Ms. Spouse and Tenchi, in our back yard on June 3, 2020. it must be noted that Tenchi, who lived to the age of 18, was the correct answer to the eternal question, ‘who’s a good boy?’

and two years ago today, on June 6, 2024, we were vacationing in Bodega Bay, California. here’s Katie and her mom, enjoying a wine tasting at the nearby Sonoma-Cutrer Vineyards.

have a non-stupid Saturday, everyone.

do you have a nomination for This Week in Stupid? email me at jefftiedrich@gmail.com. thanks!

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

has anyone in US politics been more unfairly maligned than Hunter Biden?

he’s been harassed. he’s been the target of multiple smear campaigns. he’s been accused of corruption and crimes. he’s been forced to testify. he’s had his personal life put under a microscope — and he’s had photos of his freakishly oversized trouser hog put on display on the floor of the House.

all of this is why it’s super fucking satisfying to see that Hunter Biden is finally hitting back.

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Trump hasn’t made a public appearance in 8 days. This after an unscheduled visit to the hospital- because he “likes getting check ups.” Thank God Jake Tapper (or as I like to call him- the Brick Tamland of his generation) is on the case hunting down clues in a book about my mom’s experience as First Lady four years ago.

I have to confess that No Fucks Left To Give Hunter Biden is my favorite Hunter Biden, and I am so here for it. after letting his social media presence dwindle for years, Hunter’s back with a vengeance.

Hunter Biden’s complaint is the same one we all have: why are the Jake Tappers of the world still sniffing Joe Biden’s pant leg, while right in front of their faces, the current sitting president is a cognitively-collapsed fuckwit who lost control of his bowels years ago?

except, of course, for Hunter Biden this hits much closer to home.

So let me get this straight. Jake Tapper is focused on attacking my Mom. Jared and Ivanka are building a private island paradise on Albanian protected land. Don Jr married the daughter of Epstein’s banker, and a startup his fund backs just got a record $620M Pentagon loan. Eric is taking an Israeli drone company public for $1.5B in the middle of a war with Iran that nobody wanted. And I know: “But what about your paintings, Hunter?” Please.

remember how the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press lost their fucking minds because Hunter Biden sold some paintings for a few thousand dollars? where are their howls of outrage, now that Dear Leader’s awarded multi-hundred-million dollar contracts to companies co-owned by his two felonious failsons?

hey, you know what Hunter Biden can do that MAGA can’t? laugh at himself.

can you imagine Donny being this self-critical?

can you imagine Donny’s failson Cokey McSniffles being this honest?

this is why Hunter Biden was able to turn his life around, while Don Jr. is still walking around with the half the gross national product of Bolivia up his nostrils.

it’s because Hunter was able to face the brutal facts about himself, and get the help he recognized he needed, while Cokey remains the result of a multi-generational exercise in self-delusion and denial.

and it doesn’t hurt Hunter Biden has a caring father who loves him, while Cokey’s own fucked-up dad once slapped him in the face for not wearing a suit to a baseball game.

congratulations, Hunter, on being seven years clean.

mad respect.

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now let’s check in with the other member of that multi-generational exercise in self-delusion and denial, because for the second day in a row — lucky us — Preznit Fuckwit graced us with another Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show.

there he was, surrounded by his Emotional Support Flunkies, as he sat behind the Resolute Desk, closed his weary eyes, slumped over, and began to crop-dust the entire room.

look at this. all of Dear Leader’s neutered toadies have to stand there and pretend that what’s happening isn’t happening. seriously, Jake Tapper, are you getting all this?

oh dear. now that he’s finished assaulting the Reflecting Pool, Lord Shitticus is going to fuck up the Lincoln Memorial next.

“the Lincoln— Memorial, the uh, front was supposed to be the back, the back was supposed to be the front, never got built because they built two roadways behind it. after it was built. and it shut off the uhhhhhh— gateway to the water. that was really gonna be the main entry. and we’re gonna be doing that, we’re gonna— it’s called the promenade. buh duh— the promenade. they wanna call it the Trump promenade. but I dunno if I wanna— it’s gonna be beautiful. it’s a beautiful project and it’s gonna take— the Lincoln Memorial right down to the Potomac.”

wait, who wants to call it ‘the Trump promenade’? are they in the room with us right now? is it the ceaseless shrieking noises inside Donny’s own fat head that are telling him this? sweet Jesus, this is just one more thing that the next president’s Secretary of Unfucking All That Shit is going to have to put back the way it used to be.

what is Donny gibbering about, with the back is the front and the front is the back? he’s just making stuff up on the spot — yet instead of calling in the nurse to jab Donny with a powerful sedative, everybody just stands around as if some fucked-up proposal to molest the Lincoln Memorial because it’s backwards were the most perfectly normal thing they’d ever heard.

now, because I’m a Responsible Journalist and Everything™, I had to make sure I was in command of my facts — so I googled ‘is the front of the Lincoln Memorial supposed to be the back,’ and this is what Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot answered:

The Lincoln Memorial was designed to face east towards the Washington Monument and the U.S. Capitol, not the Potomac River. Its current orientation remains exactly as the original architect, Henry Bacon, intended it to be.

so let me repeat myself: what the fuck is Donny gibbering about? Jake Tapper, do you have any idea? Jake? hello, Jake?

sigh.

but what I really want to know is, can we make the Lincoln Memorial more secure? I mean if the Epstein Dance Hall can have sniper nests and a drone army on top of it, why not the Linc M?

and if we can’t have drones, can we at least have the dogs or the bees, or the dogs with the bees in their mouth, and when they bark, they shoot bees at you?

because that would be fucking awesome.

oh wait, Donny doesn’t want to talk about any of that. he’s too busy committing a racism.

reporter: “the Black unemployment rate is 7.3%. when you ran for president, you courted Black voters and talked about what you described as ‘Black jobs.’ how do you explain why this disparity happened?”

Donny: “well, we’re doing very well with uhhhhh, the Black jobs. African-American jobs.”

racist much, Donny? wouldn’t you love for some reporter to ask Donny what he considers a ‘Black job’? because we all know what the answer would be. janitor. cook. maid. nanny. I just want to hear Donny say it out loud.

oh, wait. in this case, a reporter doesn’t have to ask — because Donny answers the question all on his own, without being prompted. let’s just play the rest of that clip.

“where we’re really gonna do well is when all these plants are open. we’re building many car plants. we’re bringing cars back from Germany. it’s all coming back. it’s amazing. and where your Black worker is going to do really well, is when those factories open.”

ohhhhh, assembly-line worker, that’s a Black job, too. I’m so glad we cleared that up.

is it too much to ask that someday we might have a president who doesn’t scream the quiet part out loud? or maybe one who isn’t a racist fuckhead in the first place?

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and now it’s time to disappoint the gentleman who sent me an all-caps email yesterday that simply read ‘NO MORE DAILY CLAUDIA.’

here’s Katie and her mom, at some ocean-side restaurant in San Diego, CA, on March 30, 2025.

here’s Ms. Spouse in the back yard on April 4, 2020, looking very amused by something she read on her phone.

have a great Friday, everyone. try not to commit any racisms.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

yesterday afternoon, after a week of keeping him hidden from the public, Preznit Fuckwit’s handlers finally let him out of his spider hole so he could hold an Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show.

if the goal of the unscheduled and hastily-called presser was to reassure the public that Mister I Pointed At A Camel was firmly in command of his faculties, it failed miserably.

Donny continues to look weak and tired. he’s listless. his voice is hoarse and ragged. he continues to ramble incoherently, unable to finish a simple sentence. his hands continue to rot away.

oh, and the befuddled old fuck continues to remain fixated on insignificant bullshit that no one else cares about.

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“I just had this done. I’m getting the first glimpse, but— that’s your size, compared— so, those are compared to— those are among the tallest buildings in the world, including the Empire State Building, World Trade Center, Sears Tower, Chicago, so if you lay it on its side, you take two or three of them to fill it in, it’s the width is very— almost two hundred feet wide.”

I remain mystified by Donny’s infantile obsession with the size of the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool. this isn’t the first time he’s dragged that graphic out in the middle of a presser. who fucking cares? is he just overcompensating for the freakishly withered mushroom in his pants?

what exactly are we supposed to be impressed by? Donny didn’t build the thing. it’s not his personal accomplishment. is it that he was able to find enough garish blue paint to get the job done? yay, Donny?

is it just that Donny, with his fucked-up presidency in tatters, has nothing else to brag about? yeah, I’m thinking that’s it — it’s all he’s got. look at my pool. how fucking pathetic.

would you please shut up about your stupid pool. the whole country is falling apart right now. there are more important things you should be focusing on.

thank you, the internet, for pointing out just how ludicrous this comparison with skyscrapers is.

it’s a fucking hole in the ground. who cares that it’s longer than some buildings are high? what does that prove?

Donny wants a cookie for painting a pool. look, pal, you don’t get a cookie for a pool. you want a cookie? fix the shit that matters.

end your illegal don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran. get the Strait of Hormuz opened back up. bring the price of oil back down to where it was before you fucked everything up. and while you’re at it, get your masked and armed ICE goons out of our cities.

you get all that done, and we’ll fucking shower you with cookies.

but of course, Donny’s not going get any of that shit done. he’s too busy insulting woman reporters — this time, CNN’s Kaitlan Collins.

“they’re crooked as hell. uh, CNN’s a very corrupt organization, but uh— with a corrupt reporter standing right there, never smiles. she never s— young, beautiful woman, never smiles. I never see a smile off her face. I see her standing with hatred in her eyes. she has hatred because we have borders.”

free clue for Donny: women aren’t on this planet to provide you with life-affirming smiles, you misogynistic pig. shut the fuck up.

I guess this is a good a place as any to point out that my What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™ is now in its 2,256th day.

come on, you worthless scribblers — don’t just sit there like useless lumps. stand up for your colleagues.

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everything fucking sucks right now, so let’s enjoy Democratic Rep. Sara Jacobs chew-toying the shit out of Secretary of State Liddle Marco Big-Shoes during a hearing yesterday.

Jacobs: “I have one last question for you. Mr. Secretary, who won the 2020 presidential election?”

Rubio: “I’m not here to answer about 2020.”

Jacobs: “okay, great. you can’t answer the question, even though we all know that President Biden won…. it seems like you have an issue admitting facts. you can’t say that the president lost the 2020 election, just like you won’t admit President Trump is losing this war of choice, and just like you couldn't admit the shoes the president bought you were too big. you clearly don’t know what winning means — and not because the facts aren’t clear to you. it’s because telling the truth would cost you your job — and the American people are entitled to a secretary of state who tells them the truth even when the president doesn’t want to hear it.”

Rubio: “he gave me some Florsheim shoes, they’re actually pretty good. they fit fine.”

oh, the shoes Donny gave Liddle Marco fit fine? fact check:

look at those big fucking boats, swallowing Marco’s tiny little feet.

Rep. Jacobs is exactly right about Marco Rubio. he’s so weak, ineffective and neutered that he’s never going to tell Dear Leader the truth about anything. not about the election, not about the war, and certainly not about his buffoonish clown shoes. Rep. Jacobs is also right about the American people being entitled to the truth. Liddle Marco should be ashamed of himself.

wait, did I say that everything fucking sucks right now? well, not everything. yesterday, four Republican reps did a remarkable thing. they crossed the floor and joined Democrats in voting to shitcan Donny’s clusterfuck in Iran.

The House on Wednesday voted to direct President Trump to withdraw U.S. forces from the conflict with Iran or win approval from Congress to continue the war, after four Republicans sided with Democrats in a striking sign of growing opposition to a military campaign now in its fourth month.

look at Donny — he seems to have woken up this morning with a full load in his diaper.

oh, so we’re ‘right in the middle of final negotiations’ again? because the story yesterday was that Donny didn’t care about restarting negotiations because he was bored of this whole war thing. which is it?

Donny sucks at foreign policy. maybe he needs to show us that pool graphic again, because painting holes in the ground is more his speed.

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here’s a video that’s going around social media right now. apparently it’s from 2023. in it, Bill Pulte — our current Acting Director of National Intelligence — receives a trophy featuring the phrase ‘Bill Pulte fucks’ on the front of it, and ‘only the young’ on the back. how nice. what a heartwarming sentiment.

what the fuck?

the vid also features someone getting slapped in the face with a bright green dildo, but that’s besides the point.

what I want to know is, why is everyone in the MAGAsphere so proud to be a degenerate? this is an event that Bill Pulte organized himself, so he could be awarded that gross bauble.

here’s another question: why does Bill Pulte still have a job? it wasn’t too long ago that a video like this coming to light would be the immediate end of that person’s political career.

but that’s not how it works any more, in the year 2026. Pulte’s job is safe, because Donny probably thinks that trophy is hilarious.

ugh.

it’s high time for some Daily Claudia.

here’s Ms Spouse in our little rowboat on July 15, 2019.

and here’s the intrepid horsewoman on July 31, 2010.

have a great Thursday, everyone. don’t accept any fucked-up trophies.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

here we go again.

for the umpteenth time, Preznit Fuckwit goes to Walter Reed, because reasons, is declared to be in the perfectest health ever, and then disappears from view for an entire week — and if We the People ask for an explanation, we’re cordially invited to go fuck ourselves.

and nothing says ‘go fuck yourself’ more than forcing the press to try to get a straight answer from a scam diet pill huckster.

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reporter: “if the president is in such perfect health, why does he keep going back in for checkups?”

Dr. Oz: “I think he likes the results. he does really well. he aces the test every single day.”

oh, Dear Leader aces the brain damage test, the one where you have to point to the camel? what a goddamned delightfully reassuring answer. and Donny loves the experience so much that he volunteers to go back for more? why, does the nice doctor give him a lollipop at the end of the checkup?

but let’s back up, because how is this even real? why is the Shit-blizzard of Oz — so named because everything out of his mouth is a blizzard of shit — hosting the daily White House press briefing?

I’ll tell you why. it’s because fuck you, that’s why.

seriously, it’s a ginormous ‘fuck you’ to the press to trot out Oz as a stand-in for the on-maternity-leave Karoline Leavitt, and make everyone in the room pretend he’s a serious person.

I mean, it isn’t as if there aren’t other qualified Press Office staffers who could take Karoline’s place — but fuck it, says the White House, we don’t even care any more. and the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press just sit there and take it — because Donny’s handlers have normalized unserious buffoonery.

‘where has the president been for the last week’ is a legitimate question, and the press has a right to ask it. but apparently they don’t have the right to get an honest answer. so why even bother putting an actual human being behind the Press Room podium? I’m not joking — instead of the Shit-blizzard, how about a bear riding a unicycle?

why not? how could this be any less informative than Oz? maybe the bear could even balance a banana on its nose as it shits out nonsensical answers about how much Dear Leader is super-horny for going to the doctor.

no wait — even better, how about a mime trapped in an invisible box?

I’m loving this idea. the press can shout out questions and then try to guess what the mime is answering.

how would that be worse than Dr. Oz pontificating about how much Donny adores pointing at that camel?

but do prattle on, Oz, we’re hanging on every word.

“that amount of energy and mental acuity does not exist in a vacuum. you have to have a vessel to carry it, and the president has a unique ability to just keep going at all hours of the day and with remarkable strength.”

holy shit, Oz. say hi to Lindsay Graham while you’re up there in Dear Leader’s ass.

the ‘amount of energy and mental acuity’? let’s do a quick fact check:

no, Dear Leader wasn’t sleeping. he was just resting his eyes for twenty straight minutes, while filling the Oval Bordello with the piquant scent of ass music.

let’s get real. Donny is a mess. he can no longer stay awake during the day. he can’t walk a straight line. both of his hands are rotting away. his bloated cankles resemble moldy eggplants, and his brain went fuckity-bye ages ago.

and now, he hasn’t been seen in public for a week. We the People deserve an answer. oh, wait, what am I saying? this is the Donnyverse we’re talking about. we don’t deserve shit — and if you need us, We the People will be over here, fucking ourselves.

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it’s infuriating how willing the worthless scribblers are to take ‘Donny loves going to the doctor’ as ‘he’s got remarkable strength’ as acceptable answers. imagine that Joe Biden had appeared lost and befuddled in public, and then disappeared from view for days on end. how do you think the press would have reacted? oh wait, you don’t have to imagine. after Joe Biden’s one disastrous debate performance, the press had a fucking field day, demanding Biden resign immediately, for the good of the country.

for fuck’s sake, it’s been two years since the debate, and the press is still sniffing around Joe’s pant leg. look at this. it’s not a screen shot from July 2024. it’s from yesterday.

Jake Tapper can fuck off straight into the sea.

letting Oz cosplay as a press officer makes about as much sense as putting a piss-drunk Fox News weekend chat show host in charge of the military — or, for that matter, putting a slumlord in charge of national intelligence. which brings us quite smoothly to the other atrocity of the day.

reporter: “can you respond to criticism from Republicans on Trump’s decision to tap Bill Pulte, who has no intel experience, as acting DNI?”

Dr Oz: “I trust the president’s judgement. he’s a very sharp and quick study of people, their emotional abilities and their ability to persevere in the face of hardship.”

gather ’round, ladies and gents. it’s time to meet your new Acting Director of National Intelligence, replacing the shitcanned Tulsi Gabbard.

WASHINGTON – President Donald Trump appointed Bill Pulte, director of the Federal Housing Finance Agency, as the new acting director of national intelligence, tapping a trusted ally with no previous experience in an intelligence role to replace Tulsi Gabbard.

Bill Pulte, you’ll be shocked to hear, has absolutely zero experience in the field of intel. what he is, is one of Donny’s real estate cronies from back in the day.

now, I can hear you out there, asking, ‘but Uncle Jeff, isn’t Director of Intel, like, a really important job? shouldn’t it go someone who has at least the slightest passing knowledge of what the job even entails?’

oh you sweet, innocent babes in the woods. none of that ‘Bill Pulte has no fucking clue what he’s doing’ shit matters. what matters is that Pulte is 100% loyal to Dear Leader, and he’ll do whatever he’s told, without question. that’s it. loyalty — that’s the bottom line.

you know and I know that the mime could do a better job as DNI than Bill Pulte.

what’s that you’re saying, Baptiste? Vlad Putin is trapped in an invisible box? is that a metaphor for Ukraine?

but Donny has no guarantee that the mime would be loyal, and that’s why he gave the job to his slumlord bestie instead.

that’s why, instead of a competent administration, we have Donny’s Confederacy of Sewer Clowns, who, from dawn til dusk, fuck shit up.

loyalty is all that matters, and it’s how we ended up with a reality show never-was in charge of making sure airplanes don’t fall out of the sky. it’s how we ended up with the whale-head-chainsawing Marvelous Mister Measles in charge of our nation’s healthcare. it’s how we ended up with a plumber’s apprentice with anger management issues in charge of homeland security. it’s how we ended up with a bourbon-saturated podcast bro as head of the FBI. it’s how we ended up with one of Donny’s personal ambulance chasers as Attorney General.

and, to repeat myself, it’s how we ended up with a Fox News dunk-tank clown as Secretary of Death.

oh, and while we’re on the subject of the dunk-tank clown: does anyone know how good Bill Pulte is at handling a skateboard?

maybe the Shit-blizzard of Oz knows that answer to that.

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fuck all that noise, let’s have us some Daily Claudia.

here are a couple more photos from the Scott and Kathy Collection™.

this one is Ms Spouse and her bff Kathy, in front of the restaurant Harvest on Hudson, July 1, 2021.

now look at these two weirdos, playing dress-up on May 24, 2020. we’re on our way to a covid-era socially-distanced lawn party at Scott and Kathy’s. we clean up good, don’t we?

have a great Wednesday, everyone. try not to get trapped in an invisible box.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

is your president a fucking loser? take this super-fun quiz and find out.

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question one: has your president completely lost the thread and shit the bed on Iran?

remember yesterday, when Preznit Fuckwit posted to his crappy app about how Iran really really really REALLY wanted to make a deal, and how Donny would have absolutely dealt up a super dealtastic deal by now, except for all that infernal ‘chirping’ from the Democrats? chirping like few thought possible, maybe the loudest chirping of all time?

would everyone please stop the chirping so Donny can get some work done?

yeah, well, it seems that Iran just told Dear Leader to stick his chirping where the sun don’t shine.

Breaking news: Iran said it is breaking off talks with the Trump administration to end the war and reopen the Strait of Hormuz following increased U.S. and Israeli strikes in the region.

wait, Iran is breaking off all negotiations, just like that? wow, I’ll bet Donny is hopping mad about Iran giving him the finger. there’s no doubt that he’s going to immediately spring onto action and—

hang on, he’s doing nothing?

EAMON JAVERS
Do you think the negotiations are over now, or is this a bluff?

PRESIDENT TRUMP
I don’t care if they’re over, honestly. I really don’t care. I couldn’t care less. If they’re over, they’re over. If they’re not, you know, I think they took too much time. Frankly, I thought they started to get very boring. They were giving us what we needed, but I think I think they handled the negotiations poorly. It took too long. I thought they were tapping us along that’s all. Yeah, they were.

do I have this right? the laziest shit-kazoo ever to crap a diaper in the Oval Bordello is bored of the clusterfuck he started? on what planet is getting bored of a war an option? is there some chapter of I’m not aware of in Sun Tzu’s The Art Of War where you get a free pass if you get bored of your own war?

what the hell?

this blundering imbecile, acting first and thinking never, started an unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war without have any clear plan of action — and now that shit has gone completely fucking sideways, with the Strait closed down, the price of oil in the stratosphere, and the entire Middle East destabilized, this fool is just going to walk away from it all, leaving the mess to be cleaned up by someone else? because he’s bored? it’s no longer his problem?

what does this moron expect will happen next? is the Magical War Fairy supposed to come down and wave her wand and make it all better? is that his plan B?

welcome to Donny’s entire soft, pampered life. every time he’s fucked up, there’s always been someone willing to clean up after him. his father. bankers. the Russian mob. a cowardly and compliant Congress.

except this time, there’s no one around to clean up the biggest mess of his life — and he can’t be bothered to give one microscopic shit about it, because he’s bored.

wow, what a fucking loser.

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question two: do other world leaders pretty much tell your president to go fuck himself?

Donny had a phone call with his despot bestie Bibi Netanyahu yesterday, and, according to Axios, Dear Leader went on a foul-mouthed tirade.

Summarizing Trump’s remarks to Netanyahu, the U.S. official said: “You’re fucking crazy. You’d be in prison if it weren’t for me. I’m saving your ass. Everybody hates you now. Everybody hates Israel because of this.” A second source briefed on the call said Trump was “pissed” and at one point yelled at Netanyahu: “What the fuck are you doing?”

Donny seems nice. I don’t recall a chapter in the Art of the Deal where it says to completely lose your shit and fume like a colicky asshole when you don’t get your way, but whatever.

Donny then took a victory lap on his crappy app.

I had a conversation with Bibi Netanyahu today, asking him not to go into a major raid of Beirut, Lebanon. He turned his Troops around. Thank you Bibi! I also had a conversation with Representatives of the Leaders of Hezbollah, and they agreed to stop shooting at Israel, and its soldiers. Likewise, Israel agreed to stop shooting at them. Let’s see how long that lasts — Hopefully it will be for ETERNITY! President DONALD J. TRUMP

so, did Bibi really agree to turn his troops around? let’s find out.

Tonight, I spoke with President Trump and told him that if Hezbollah does not cease attacking our cities and citizens—Israel will attack terror targets in Beirut.

This stance of ours remains unchanged.

In parallel, the IDF will continue to operate as planned in southern Lebanon.

nope, sorry, it looks like the genocidal maniac is going to keep genociding his merry way across the Middle East.

but that’s par for the course for Dear Leader. his credibility is shot, and no one listens to him any more. not Iran, and certainly not Israel. he’s just some pants-pissing foul-mouthed buffoon whom everyone laughs at — and he’s too delusionally convinced of his own nonexistent greatness to realize it.

how could Donny have misread the situation so thoroughly? what a fucking loser.

question three: is your president so out of touch that he endorses a candidate who hasn’t shown up for work in three months?

Tom Kean has my Complete and Total Endorsement for Re-Election. Election Day is Tuesday, June 2nd. GET OUT AND VOTE FOR TOM — HE WILL NEVER LET YOU DOWN!

Tom Kean will never let you down? what the fuck are you talking about, Donny? Tom Kean is teaching a master class in letting everyone down. Kean disappeared last March, and no one has any clue where he is.

For almost three months, Rep. Tom Kean Jr.’s whereabouts and condition have been a mystery in his New Jersey congressional district. Now they are becoming a source of growing alarm for his party in Washington, where Republicans fear his prolonged absence could cost them his swing seat — and possibly their House majority.

no one has any idea where Tom Kean is, because he won’t even bother to answer the phone. hey, maybe Tom Kean simply got bored of being a Congressman, and just walked away from it. I hear getting bored is a thing now.

how could Donny not know that a key House Republican has been missing in action for over ninety days, putting his own party’s razor-thin majority in jeopardy?

what a clueless fucking loser.

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question four: did your president’s beloved $1.8 billion slush fund just go fuckity-bye?

it sure looks like it.

The Trump administration has signaled to Republican congressional leaders that it plans to drop the $1.8 billion “anti-weaponization” fund, though it was unclear how firm or permanent that plan is, according to two sources familiar with the matter.

everyone hated this corrupt scheme to enrich the fuckheads who did January 6th — Democrats, Republicans, the public, and the courts.

with the legality of the slush fund tied up in court and congressional Republicans threatening to legislate it straight into the shitter, Donny’s minders back in the White House seem willing to concede that the whole thing is a non-starter.

now comes the part where we throw our heads back in laughter, because this one’s a win for We the People.

but Donny? he sure is a fucking loser.

for those of you keeping score at home, that’s four embarrassing losses in one day for Dear Leader. five, if you include the news that House Democrats plan to introduce legislation to block the ginormous fugly Epstein Victory Arch he wants to put up right next to Arlington National Cemetery. oh, and Donny has now gone six days without being seen in public. why are his handlers keeping him under wraps? will we ever get a true medical report?

but the news wasn’t all bad for Donny. he’s still got Vanilla Ice.

after every other musical act bailed on Donny’s ‘Freedom 250’ vanity birthday party, the only one still standing by him is Vanilla Ice — an irrelevant barely-was who hasn’t charted since 1990.

ooof. how pathetic. how fucking humiliating.

what a loser.

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oh, is it time for some Daily Claudia? spoiler alert: yes, it is.

I had dinner last night with our besties Scott and Kathy, and I asked them if they had any photos of Ms. Spouse that I could post — and boy, did they ever. here’s a few from the trove they sent over.

here we all are, chowing down on some crabs on the 4th of July, 2022.

and here are some pics from the 35th wedding anniversary party they threw for us, back in September 2019.

have a great Tuesday, everyone. don’t be a fucking loser.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

the Usual Gang of Republican Shitweasels fanned out all over the Sunday shows yesterday, to do what they do best: stare right into our faces and lie about every fucking thing. let’s document the atrocities.

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wait, did I say lie? let’s gaze in supreme stupefaction as Texas’s own twentyfourseven scandal generator, Ken Paxton, accidentally commits an honesty.

Maria Bartiromo: “what are you going to do about your own record and your own perception? the Wall Street Journal describes you as ‘scandal plagued.’”

Ken Paxton: “the reality is they could say the same thing about Donald Trump.”

pro tip for Kenny Kleptocrat: bragging about being as clean as the grifting grifter who got convicted of 34 counts of business fraud is not the flex you imagine it is.

everything Preznit Fuckwit does turns out to be some kind of scam. oh look, here’s a brand-new one. you know that ‘Freedom 250’ concert series that every act is canceling on, because no one wants Donny’s indelible foul stench on them?

you might think that ‘Freedom 250’ is part of the US government’s official 250th birthday celebration — in fact, that’s what Donny wants you to think — but it’s not. it’s a private corporation wholly owned by Dear Leader and his cronies — and it’s just another way for him to line his pockets.

Like the White House ballroom project, Trump’s “Freedom 250” is also a pay-to-play scheme. People and companies with financial interests likely affected by Trump are encouraged to make tax-deductible donations to gain access to, and seek favors from, him.

Corporations pay between $500,000 and $10 million to become Freedom 250 “sponsors.” A corporation giving $1 million or more will be invited to a “private Freedom 250 thank you reception” hosted by Trump.

like any mob boss worth their salt, Donny always gets his cut.

no wonder Donny went ballistic and threw a massive shit-fit when he found out that nobody wanted to perform at his Freedom 250 concert — it affected his own bottom line.

and that’s the level of theft that Klepto Ken Paxton wants to shamelessly brag about being the equal to? go for it, bro.

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serious question for the Sunday bookers and producers: why do you keep inviting White House Energy Vampire Colin Robinson Kevin Hasset onto your shows? it’s just the same dog-and-pony show, over and over. Colin Kevin stands on the White House lawn, and can barely keep from bursting out laughing as he explains why whatever economic disaster that’s currently clusterfucking its way through our wallets is actually a good thing.

“people are spending more on gas, but they’re also spending more on everything else — not just groceries, but restaurants and so on. I think that’s a sign you see when people are optimistic about the future.”

now, if you were a Sunday show host, wouldn’t your reaction to Kevin’s babbling be something like ‘shut the fuck up, you giggling hyena. what in the hallowed name of Counterfactual Bullshit Jesus are you trying to pull here?’

fact check: people aren’t spending more because they have shitloads of money. they’re spending more because everything costs an arm and a fucking leg, because of tariffs, and because of Donny’s illegal don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran. people are spending more and getting less, and they can’t opt out of this economic nightmare unless they want to go hungry.'

why do I need to explain this to someone who allegedly has a PhD in economics? is it because you’re a fucking liar, or did you get your degree from Trump University?

but Fox News bobblehead Shannon Bream doesn’t say any of that shit. her actual reply to Kevin is, ‘well, we hope there is reason for optimism.’

thanks a fuckload for your contribution to the discourse, Shan. you’ve really earned your paycheck today.

what does Fox News’s MAGAfied audience think of being lied to so blatantly? aren’t they insulted, or are they too fucking stupid to realize it?

are they actually sitting in front of their TVs, going ‘well, I guess high prices are a good thing’?

no, wait — don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.

now, if you ever needed more proof that none of these fuckheads give a shit about the financial well-being of We the People, Kevin is only too happy to do you a solid.

Shannon Bream: “okay, let’s talk credit card debt. that’s another issue. the Wall Street Journal says that the first quarter of this year, the percentage of credit card balances that were at least 90 days delinquent rose to 13.12%. that’s the highest level in fifteen years. people say they’re using those cards to get through necessities, because they can’t afford what’s going on. so, your message to them?”

Kevin Hassett: “right, well, we talked to the CEOs of the credit card companies all the time, and we do see some increased stress like the numbers that the Journal quotes, but for the most part, there’s not any kind of financial threat to the credit card companies.”

wait a minute, what kind of answer is that, that the CEOs aren’t worried? Shannon Bream didn’t ask about any CEOs. she asked about We the People — us, the ones who are struggling to pay for basic goods and services. but Kevin doesn’t answer the question he’s asked, because he could give a fuck about We the People. we’re not the ones signing his paycheck.

no one should give one crusted shit about the CEOs. they’re doing fine. they always do fine — and they fucking love it when We the People have to live off our credit cards. that’s how they make their money, though the ever-increasing interest and late fees that we have to pay. and if we’re never able to pay our balances down to zero? that’s even better — more money for them! they’re a bunch of Scrooge McDucks, swimming in pools of cash.

keeping the rabble tied down by unsupportable debt is how late-stage capitalism works. and none of this shit is sustainable. so shut the fuck up, Kevin.

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riddle me this: would you rather be lied to by a giggling dipshit, or a haughty smirking plutocrat who thinks you’re a peasant? what if I were to tell you it could be both? did I just blow your mind? because not only does White House Energy Vampire Kevin Hassett keep getting invited back onto the Sunday shows each week, so does Treasury Secretary Soybean Scott Bessent.

Maria Bartiromo: “we are are seeing a spike in inflation.”

Scott Bessent: “it’s a very limited spike.”

yeah, right, it’s limited. it’s temporary. it’s as temporary as Dear Leader’s dementia. but that’s Soybean Scott’s schtik — to claim whatever economic disaster is currently afoot is just a mere blip that will be over in a flash, just as soon as Donny hurls his handful of magic beans into the River Styx.

Bessent keeps telling spinning this fever swamp hallucination of ‘temporary’ inconvenience. meanwhile, Donny’s don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran is now in its fourth month, with no end in sight.

Giggling Kevin, Smirking Scott, Dear Leader — they’re all just sleazy used car salesmen, saying whatever flim-flam nonsense pops into their head, in order to make a sale. no wait, that comparison is unfair to sleazy used car salesmen.

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Preznit Fuckwit has no public appearances on his official schedule for today. that makes four consecutive days that Donny’s minders have kept the guy who just bragged about being required to take the brain damage test for the fourth time away from the microphones and cameras. but sure, tell me again how Donny isn’t in steep decline and doesn’t need to be micromanaged. that’s such a cute story.

it’s too bad they didn’t think to take away Mister I Pointed At A Camel’s phone, however, because Nuts Boy went on a batshit 1:00am posting spree last night.

Has anyone ever seen a happy Dumocrat??? President DJT

oh look, Donny’s accusing-confessing again — because nothing says ‘I’m a happy chappie’ so much as rage-posting in the middle of the night about every grudge and grievance.

now here’s a piping-hot slice of what-the-fuck, pulled fresh from the fetid fever-swamp of Donny’s corroded cortex.

Iran really wants to make a deal, and it will be a good one for the U.S.A. and those that are with us. But don’t the Dumocrats, and various seemingly unpatriotic Republicans, understand that it is MUCH tougher for me to properly do my job and negotiate, when political hacks keep negatively “chirping,” at levels never seen before, over and over again, that I should move faster, or move slower, or go to war, or not go to war, or whatever. Just sit back and relax, it will all work out well in the end - It always does! President DJT

I’m sorry, what? Donny’s premise here is that he would have already negotiated an end to his Iraq debacle, but he can’t, because of all the ‘chirping’ from Democrats. big, strong chirping, chirping with tears in its eyes, at levels never seen before — levels few thought possible. possibly the greatest chirpity chirp chirp chirping of all time.

this whiny piss-baby fuck can’t ever take responsibility for anything. it’s not Donny’s fault he can’t negotiate his way out of a paper bag. no, it’s the chirping. dad-gum it! Dear Leader can’t concentrate with all this confernal noise going on! but don’t you love Donny’s boundless optimism, and the way he ends his post?

“just sit back and relax, it will all work out well in the end.”

why does that sound like something Donny would have said to one of his Motel-a-Lago ‘spa girls’ — the kind that he and his dead pedo bestie used to fight over?

but please, tell me, in Donnyland, does it always work out well in the end?

fact check:

let’s get out of here with some Daily Claudia.

here’s Ms Spouse, somewhere in New England on October 19, 2003.

and here she is the at the Roundhouse in Beacon, NY, on March 30, 2025.

have a great Monday, everyone. today marks the start of the 2026 Atlantic hurricane season. don’t get caught in Hurricane Donny’s shit-blizzard of lies.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

friends,

I’m home today, after spending a wonderful week in a house in Jemez Springs, New Mexico, in the company of daughter Katie and son-in-law Norrin. this was a vacation that Ms. Spouse had booked for the four of us, before her untimely passing.

we all had a great time being together, but we really felt her absence.

after a long day of traveling and not getting to bed until after 1:30am this morning, my brain is fried. forgive me, but there is no way that I can write a full-length post today.

so let me leave you with a few comics that Katie drew during our trip. (fret not, there’s also some donnyranting after the artwork, and, as always, our Daily Claudia.)

— jeff t

(the song is They Might Be Giants’ When Will You Die? — the lyrics, which are awesome, can be found here.)

that said,

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of course, this wouldn’t be a real post if we didn’t talk about Lord Shitticus for at least a moment, so do let’s.

that no one wants to perform at his shitty fascistpalooza has broken Preznit Fuckwit’s brain into a skillionty tiny pieces, and he’s crashing out.

yesterday, he and that creepy stalker of his, Natalie Harp, shit out nearly 50 infantile posts onto his crappy app.

Donny and George Washington. Donny kissing the flag. Donny on Mount Rushmore. perfectly normal stuff, of course — but what in the hallowed name of Delusional Grandiosity Jesus is this batcrappery?

I am thinking about bringing the Number One Attraction anywhere in the World, the man who gets much larger audiences than Elvis in his prime, and he does so without a guitar, the man who loves our Country more than anyone else, and the man who some say is the Greatest President in History (THE GOAT!), DONALD J. TRUMP, to take the place of these highly paid, Third Rate “Artists,” and give a major speech, rallying the Country forward like I have done ever since being President!

who even talks like this? imagine being so broken inside that you’re compelled to puff yourself up to this degree. Donny really has no idea what an embarrassment he is.

so Donny wants to shitcan the music, and instead turn Freedom 250 into a rally. oh sure, what an awesome notion — because what better way to celebrate the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence than by listening to some demented old diaperload praise himself for his imaginary accomplishments.

this was such a phenomenally dumbfuckian idea that even loyal MAGAbot Matt Walsh was all ‘fuck you, you fucking fuck.’

which caused the rotting old pre-corpse to completely lose his shit.

We should have a giant MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN RALLY, for 250, instead of having overpriced singers, who nobody wants to hear, whose music is boring, and yet who do nothing but complain. Cancel it, just like I canceled my involvement with the failing and unsafe to be in Kennedy Center

holy shit, did Donny just cancel his own vanity party?

this is where I’d normally wrap things up with some pithy-as-fuck observation about Sundowning Grandpa Befuddlepants’ steep cognitive decline — but seriously, my brain is too fried from traveling to think straight, so let me just pithily observe, ‘what an asshole.’

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and now, our Daily Claudia.

today is Sunday, so let’s have some brunch on the patio. that pic is from May 14, 2017.

is this not a great photo? kudos to the unknown server who took it. we’re just out having dinner with some friends on January 13, 2024. left to right, that’s Jeanny, Kathy, Scott, Rich and yours truly. and, of course, seated is Ms. Spouse. alas, I can’t dredge up the name of the restaurant right now. brain too fried.

have a great Sunday, everyone. don’t try to write a post on four hour’s sleep.

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.

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monday: biggest. brainworms. ever.

oh shit, it looks like two of Bobby’s brainworms have escaped his head and are trying to get the fuck away.

what a fucking weirdo. who does this?

those, Julie Tsirkin, are two snakes. apparently, Bobby Brainworms and Dr. Oz were hanging out — as one does, because crackpots of a feather flock together — when two of the unluckiest snakes ever happened to slither onto Oz’s patio. Bobby just couldn’t help but wander into the fray, scooping them right up and frolicking with them. this bro can’t leave nature alone.

admit it: you were rooting for the snakes, weren’t you?

if ever shit needed to be giffed for posterity’s sake, it’s the moment the Marvelous Mister Measles gets bitten.

ace job, bro.

folks, I gotta tell you a true story. one summer about 30 years ago, Ms Spouse and I are renting a house in Hyannisport, a short walk down the beach from the Kennedy compound. and one day, Ms Spouse and daughter Katie are walking on that beach, and here come two Kennedy children (they were obviously Kennedys, all Kennedys look alike — those are some strong genes.) anyway, Katie goes running over because these two Kennedy children are carrying a wounded cormorant, and one of the Kennedy kids says — I shit you not — ‘our Uncle Bobby captured this bird. he collects animals.’

‘collects’ is doing a lot heavy lifting in that statement — especially when you apply it to the maniac who keeps a chainsaw in the trunk of his car, in case he runs into any random dead whales that need their heads lopped off.

that’s right, Julie, I said whales. hey, but who are we to judge?

tuesday: how inconvenient

after twenty-four-seven scandal factory Ken Paxton crushed incumbent John Cornyn in the Texas Senate primary, the Republican Party got caught up in a bit of a sticky wicket. they’d been saturating the airwaves with anti-Paxton attack ads — because nobody except Dear Leader wanted Paxton to be the candidate in the first place. he’s too fucking toxic.

so after Donny fucked with their merry little plans, the GOP did the only thing it could: they tried to memory-hole that shit, and quietly deleted their ads.

yeah, well guess what, homies: the internet never forgets. you can’t delete anything in the twenty-first century. here’s one of the ads they tried to shitcan.

“this is the sound of Texas. and this is how it sounds under Ken Paxton. homicides, highest in nearly 30 years under Ken Paxton. rape up 40% under Ken Paxton. aggravated assaults up nearly 30% under Ken Paxton. car thefts nearly doubled under Ken Paxton. 250+ human trafficking cases dismissed under Ken Paxton. AG’s trafficking unit, 40% quit under Ken Paxton. sex traffickers walked free under Ken Paxton. violent crime up across Texas under Ken Paxton. Texas deserves better than the sound of Ken Paxton.”

wow, it sounds like this Ken Paxton guy really fucking sucks. thanks for doing the Democratic Party’s work for them, GOP.

how super fucking hilarious is it that the national GOP now has to waste millions of dollars on ads boosting Paxton — the shit-kazoo who just allowed a confessed child rapist to go free — all because Dear Leader is an unpredictable piss-baby who can’t be relied upon to play along? answer: very fucking hilarious.

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wednesday: the incredible shrinking fascist fest

on Wednesday, Freedom 250 — the MAGA-aligned concert series that Donny cooked up as part of his infantile co-opting of America’s 250th birthday — announced their lineup. it was a grab bag of has-beens, never-weres, and wow-are-they-still-even-alives, with a few legitimate acts mixed in.

after the list went public, a super cool thing happened — one by one, the performers started dropping out — because no one told them they’d be appearing at some MAGAfied piece of shit fascistpalooza, and when they found out, they were all ‘are you fucking kidding me? get me outta here.’

Freedom 250 now looks like this.

and MAGA is melting all the way down.

boo fucking hoo, crybabies. here’s a pro tip: try to be less of a toxic piece of shit, and decent people won’t go running when they find out who you are.

thursday: is it gay to be gay?

you have to say this about the manosphere: they spend a fuck of a lot of time worrying about shit that no one else worries about.

Men are naturally more attractive than women on average, that’s why women need makeup
This isn't me being gay, it’s science
Look at a peacock or a cardinal, male vs female, females get mogged
Greek statues dedicated to the peak aesthetic form? Overwhelmingly men

“this isn’t me being gay, it’s science.”

oh, it’s science, is it? how do you know it’s science? did you get Ivanka to help you crunch the numbers?

fact check: dude, this isn’t science. this is you being super gay. you’re attracted to dudes — and there’s not one fucking thing wrong with that.

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friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™

on Friday, some fucking idiot’s handlers kept him far away from the press — which in retrospect was a wise move, because the fucking idiot had a very bad, very awful, very no good day.

first off, the fucking idiot shat out some incoherent nonsense onto his crappy app about how he was headed to the Situation Room ‘right now,’ to make a ‘final determination’ about whether or not to bomb the shit out of Iran.

I’ll bet you thought that since the fucking idiot thanked us for our attention, that this time he really meant it.

well, I hate to burst your bubble, but the fucking idiot punted again.

after that, the fucking idiot’s day quickly unraveled, with him getting smacked upside the head by a series of judges.

that’s right, the fucking idiot got royally shit on. one judge put a temporary block on that $1.8 billion slush fund that was created to enrich Donny, his cronies, and all the fuckheads who did January 6th.

a second judge reopened the fucking idiot’s so-called ‘settled’ lawsuit against the IRS, and asked the fucking idiot and his two felonious failsons to explain why it wasn’t fraudulent.

to add insult to injury, a third judge told the fucking idiot to pry his stupid name off the Kennedy Center, pronto, and to forget about closing it down for two years.

and that’s the decision that caused the fucking idiot to go ballistic. he crapped himself raw all over his dumbfuck app, posting a 652-word whine-fest.

don’t even bother reading this burst trash bag of grudges and grievances. let’s just sum it up in one succinct gif.

later, Fox News aired a pre-taped interview with the fucking idiot — and again, I have to ask: is it gay to be gay?

but because the fucking idiot — colicky, demented, and too unpredictable to be let off his leash in public — was kept out of sight all day on Friday by his handlers, not one reporter had the opportunity to stand up and ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’

how fucking idiotic is that?

saturday: ?

hey, it’s still morning as I sit here writing this — but give it time, I guarantee you that some dipshit wingnut is going to do something stupid before the day is over. you can set your watch to it.

it’s time for some Daily Claudia, isn’t it?

here’s Ms Spouse having a quiet moment at Stonecrop Garden in Cold Spring, NY, on October 27, 2016.

and this one’s from September 18, 2025, at the restaurant Blu Pointe in Newburgh, NY.

have a non-stupid Saturday, everyone. try not to get bitten by any snakes.

do you have a nomination for This Week in Stupid? email me at jefftiedrich@gmail.com. thanks!

here’s your daily reminder that I can be found on Blue Sky at this link.

this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

imagine you’re the malignant tinpot leader of a nation in decline, hell-bent on clownfucking your tacky me-me-me aesthetic onto all of its hallowed institutions.

you’ve already desecrated the White House. you’ve built your Oval Bordello. you’ve paved over the Rose Garden and replaced it with the Epstein Parking Lot. you’ve bulldozed the East Wing so you can have some gaudy Epstein Dance Hall.

you’ve destroyed the South Lawn in order to throw some low-rent cage-fight. you’ve painted the Reflecting Pool some garishly inappropriate shade of blue. and you’ve put your accursed name all over every building in town.

after all that, what do you do for an encore? you put your stupid, beady-eyed pig-face on money, of course. duh.

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President Trump’s face could soon appear on a $250 bill as part of the Trump administration’s celebration of the 250th anniversary of the country.

dear sweet lord, it’s just one atrocity after another with these tiresome assholes.

this is so fucking wrong. it’s fundamentally un-American. putting Dear Leader’s face on currency is what monarchies and dictatorships do.

did you know some of our founders wanted to put George Washington’s face on money from the git-go? when George caught wind of it, he was all ‘are you kidding me? fuck that shit and fuck it hard. we just fought a whole revolution against that kingly bullshit, remember?’ — and so Washington’s face didn’t appear on the dollar until 1869.

fast-forward 250 years from the Revolution, and apparently we do have a king again — only this time, he’s really fucking dumb.

now, I already know what you’re going to say next. ‘but Uncle Jeff, aren’t there, like, actual laws prohibiting living people from appearing on legal tender?’

no fucking shit, there are laws against it — but do you really think Donny’s minders are going to let some stupid thing like a law get in the way of their glorious exercise in feeding the bottomless ego of a vainglorious piss-baby?

they’re hell-bent on doing this. they’ve already shitcanned Patricia Solimene, the now-former director of the printing department at the The Bureau of Engraving and Printing, who, when told of the plan to make vanity money for Dear Leader, basically said ‘what are you, fucking crazy? I’m not doing this.’

by the way, we need to raise a glass in appreciation of Ms. Solimene, because I totally fucking love what she wrote in her farewell email to her colleagues after getting fired.

“The buck stopped here,” she wrote.

anyway, yes — there are laws that should prevent Dear Leader from creating fucked-up ego money, but Donny and his minders believe they’ve found a work-around. they’re going to go running to Congress.

The law currently states no living president can appear on currency, but the administration is preparing for the possibility that Congress will pass legislation authorizing the special Trump bill.

and if you think Holy Mike Johnson, the limpest dick ever to wield the Speaker’s gavel, is going to refuse to do Dear Leader’s bidding, I’ve got six bankrupt casinos in Atlantic City to sell you.

so get ready for Donnybucks. it’s just one more slice of dumbfuckery being forced on a populace that didn’t ask for any of this.

it’s just one more atrocity to add to the shitpile of injustices. illegal wars. masked federal thugs roaming our cities. tax cuts for the obscenely wealthy. the violation of the White House. and now, fucked-up money.

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but here’s the really stupid part. one of the reasons Patricia Solimene told Team Donny to go jump in the lake is that it takes about six years to produce new currency — and Dear Leader wants his Donnybucks done in time for his ‘America 250’ vanity party that’s five weeks from now.

it turns out that designing paper currency is a highly specialized task that takes a super long time to complete. there are all kinds of complex safety features that have to be woven into the artwork so that, you know, the finished product isn’t easily counterfeited.

but Donny doesn’t give a fuck about any of that shit. he wants this abomination cranked out in five weeks — and you know what that means:

the final product is going to fucking suck.

it’s going to be some rinky-dink amateurish piece of shit. it’s going to be monopoly money. it’s going to be an embarrassment on the level of what Donny’s doing to the Reflecting Pool right now.

imagine all that streaky blue shit, except it’s money.

everything Donny touches dies. including currency.

just look at the accursed proposed design. fucking hell, they’re using his mug shot. every goddamn day it’s some new nightmare.

no fucking thank you. I’m opting out of this bullshit. anyone tries to hand me one of these abominations, I’m going to tell them to get the fuck out of my face.

speaking of pieces of shit, let’s talk about Soybean Scott Bessent, Donny’s Secretary of Who Even Knows What This Dipshit’s Job Is.

he’s just so unctuous — as well as haughty, arrogant and condescending. and on top of all that, he doesn’t even give a shit about how obvious his sloppy lies are.

you know he’s lying. he knows he’s lying. he knows that you know that he knows he’s lying. but he lies anyway, because what the fuck are you going to do about it? he’s plutocrat Scott Bessent, and you’re some smelly peasant.

anyway, for some ungodly reason they let Soybean Scott host yesterday’s White House press briefing, and one of those MAGA-fied ‘reporters’ that now get to attend the pressers asked the question, ‘how close are you to figuring out who’s funding antifa?’

“we’ve made substantial progress. I think in the weeks and months ahead, we’re gonna have a lot to report. we’re going to demand that nonprofits know their grant recipients.”

oh how wonderful. we’re only ‘weeks and months’ away from finding out who the non-existent funders are of an imaginary organization that exists only within the fever-swamp hallucinations of the MAGAverse. I can’t wait.

what a ginormous fucking waste of everyone’s time.

I don’t know about you, but I get my funding from a magical leprechaun who gives me enchanted beans, which I then take to the Park Slope Food Co-op in Brooklyn, where I can trade them in for AntifaBucks™.

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it’s time for our hero of the day. it’s Angie “Pumps” Sullivan, from the ‘I’ve Had It’ podcast she co-hosts with Jennifer Welch.

sit back, settle in, and enjoy Angie’s contribution to the ‘Stephen Miller is an ugly fuck’ discourse.

Jennifer Welch: “you’re a liberal woman. do you have a mental disorder?”

Angie Sullivan: “yes, I do. it’s called ‘Katie Miller shut the fuck up you stupid ——,’ that’s my mental disorder. here’s the thing. I just want to point out what she didn’t address. Katie Miller did not get on the air and go on and on about how handsome Stephen Miller is. how he believes in people. how he wants every human to have rights. she didn’t do any of that. she goes on, on this ‘liberal dah-te-dah.’ Katie, you married the world’s most unfuckable man. you are having your fourth child with him. because the two of your spew hate as an aphrodisiac. so please, do not tell me about ‘liberal women,’ because here’s the deal. I would rather be a barren, never-having-had-sex liberal woman, than fuck Stephen Miller on all the sex drugs Amsterdam can provide. so enough, Katie Miller.”

fuck yeah. that is some Pulitzer-worthy cussing. thank you, Angie Sullivan.

Meryl Streep, get back in here and do us a solid.

hey, we made it through the week in one piece. let’s reward ourselves with some Daily Claudia.

this one’s from September 2022, and I have no idea where we were. I don’t recognize any of this interior.