a war, but with morons
how the fuck do you miscount missiles?
‘what if the dumbest fucking people on the planet decided to do a war’ is a question no one asked, yet here we are.
seriously, not one person said, ‘suppose some shit-for-brains diaperload blundered into an unwinnable conflict in the Middle East — and what if he were aided and abetted by a piss-drunk psychopath who was so high on his own supply that he imagined it would be over in an afternoon?’
no one asked these questions, because it’s all so obviously insane. who would even try such a thing?
yet, here the fuck we are.
you’ve heard the latest, right? apparently, at last week’s Camp David cabinet meeting, Preznit Fuckwit took Piss-Drunk Pete Kegstand aside, and was all, ‘hey, fucknut, how could you let us run out of missiles?’
The encounter took place on the sidelines of his Cabinet meeting at Camp David on Friday where Trump vented at Hegseth that he thought the munitions issue “had been fixed,” according to both people familiar with the conversation, who, like others, spoke on the condition of anonymity due to fear of retaliation.
now, I hate to take Donny’s side on anything, but you have to admit he had a fair point.
it’s counting. you know, one-two-three-four. how do you fuck that up?
so, did Piss-Drunk Pete own that shit? was he all, ‘sorry, Dear Leader, I’ll try harder next time’?
no, of course not. that’s not how warfighting warfighters roll. what Pete did was to grab hold of the nearest underling, and toss that poor schmuck straight under the bus.
Hegseth defended himself and blamed his deputy, Stephen Feinberg, for the shortages and for not ensuring Trump was fully apprised of the issue, both people familiar said.
what an asshole.
now, when we talk about Pete Kegstand, we usually talk about what a crackpot he is — his obsession with makeup and having perfect hair. his constant blathering about warfighting. his christofascist tattoos. his adolescent fixation on stupid shit like testosterone levels.
and then there’s a his racism, his misogyny, and his transphobia.
but here’s the thing often that gets overlooked when we talk about Pete: he is the least-qualified doofus ever to hold the job of Secretary of Whatever The Fuck He’s Calling It Today.
he has no fucking clue what he’s doing — and it shows.
look, Secretary of Defense is not an entry-level position. it’s a role that’s traditionally been held by lifelong military professionals — for a good reason: the Department of Defense is a ginormous bureaucracy, with millions of employees and a trillion-dollar budget.
Piss-Drunk Pete Kegstand has zero qualifications to be running any of that shit. the only thing he’s ever run in his life is his fool mouth.
he’s a weekend chat-show host. he’s the guy Fox News called when they needed a buffoon to pull goofy stunts, like getting drunk on New Year’s Eve, or flipping a skateboard up into his own nuts.
this silly dipshit was barely one step up from a birthday party clown, and now he’s running the entire military? that’s fucking insane.
so no one should be surprised that ‘hey, let’s not run out of missiles’ wasn’t on his to-do list. counting isn’t in Pete’s skill set.
and Donny has no one to blame but himself. he’s the one who made all these dumbfuck hiring decisions. he’s the one who saw Pete flattering him on Fox News and said ‘yeah, here’s my guy, straight outta Central Casting.’
that’s how we ended up with a piss-drunk incompetent in charge of the military. it’s how we got a reality-show never-was in charge of making sure planes don’t fall out of the sky. it’s why the State Department is now run by a neutered coward who is too terrified to point out that his shoes don’t fit. it’s why we have a woman who organized rigged wrestling matches now in charge of education policy. it’s why a sleazy fake-diet-pill-selling scam artist is running Medicare and Medicaid.
and don’t even get me started on Whalehead McChainsaw. he’s probably snorting coke off a toilet seat even as I sit here typing this.
not one of these ass-clowns has any idea how to do the important jobs they were handed. they’re all making it up as they’re going along. it would be hilarious if it weren’t totally fucking terrifying.
so, what’s Donny and Petey’s brilliant plan to solve their weapons shortage? they’re going to yell at defence contractors until they magically shit out more bombs.
Deputy Defense Secretary Steve Feinberg wrote to industry leaders on Wednesday, saying they had no more than 21 days to submit plans to “drive significantly faster, more aggressive delivery schedules and/or increased production for critical capabilities,” according to the memo, which is previously unreported.
“Years-long development cycles are not acceptable,” Feinberg wrote. “We must dramatically accelerate our program schedules and expand our production capacity now.”
oh yeah, sure. I’m loving this idea. ‘hurry the fuck up and cut corners’ is exactly the kind of work ethic you want to bring to the development and assembly of explosives. what could possibly go wrong?
but that’s the Donnyverse for you. everything is shoddily planned and hastily thrown together at the last minute by nitwits and nincompoops who have no idea what they’re doing.
it’s how we ended up with incoherent tariffs and a nonexistent foreign policy.
it’s how we ended up with the botched prosecutions of innocent people for the imaginary crimes of Grant Theft Paint Chips and Assault With A Deadly Sandwich.
it’s how we ened up with a cyclospora outbreak that turned ordinary Americans into human shit-geysers.
it’s how we ended up with a Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool that’s now been ‘fixed’ three times and still looks like crap.
ir’s how we ened up with a 250th birthday celebration that was such a rinky-dink piece of shit that even MAGA stayed away in droves.
it’s how we ended up with a White House that currently look like this.
and it’s now how we ended up with the dumbest fucking war, ever.
it’s been a minute, so let’s check in with United States Vice President Couchfuck McGee.
oh look, JD Vance has written another book — because apparently, when your job description is pretty much, ‘just sit here and try not to break anything. we’ll call you if the president kicks the bucket,’ you have ample time to devote to scribbling.
so, Couchfuck, what’s your book about?
“I talk about this moment that I had at a conference, where a friend and I were talking about Christianity and talking about Catholicism. there was this moment where a glass fell off the wall at the point of our conversation, where, you know, I think an atheist would dismiss that as, ‘oh, who cares? a glass fell off the wall.’ but at that moment, it felt like God was trying to send me a message.”
he’s so fucking smug and tiresome, isn’t he? ‘a glass fell. checkmate, atheists.’
but that’s the cool thing about being a god-bothering dipshit: everything is a sign from the Big Guy in the Sky, if you want it to be.
okay, JD Vance, if that even is your real name, two can play this game. yes, that glass falling was definitely a message — it was a message from God to stop sticking your dick in furniture.
but the question still nagged, ‘was I right?’ — so in the name of Responsible Journalism and Everything™, I turned to the only expert in theology who was qualified to answer such a question. I asked Google’s janky six-fingered plagiarism robot, ‘is a glass falling off a wall a message from God to stop fucking furniture,’ and this is what it told me.
No, a glass falling off a wall is not a sign from God. It is just physics, like gravity or a loose shelf. It does not mean you need to stop having sex with furniture.
fine. whatever.
I guess you can keep on sexing that sectional, JD.
here’s your hero of the day: it’s Abdul El-Sayed, the Michigan Democrat running for Senator.
Abdul El-Sayed has Republicans shitting their breeches these days, pretty much because his name is Abdul El-Sayed — which according to the GOP, automatically makes you some kind of islamocommunoterrorist.
fuck that racist shit and fuck it hard. let’s just listen to what El-Sayed has to say.
Sky News reporter: “[Trump] says you’re full of shit.”
Abdul El-Sayed: “at least I don’t let mine go in the middle of the Oval Office.”
oh my god, I think I just fell in love.
and now it’s time for our Daily Claudia.
these first two are from September 2000 in Hyannisport, Massachusetts.
this last one has ‘September 1993’ written on the back of it. I’m not 100% certain of the location, but I think it’s Watch Hill, Rhode Island.
have a great Sunday, everyone. if your shoes don’t fit, take care of that shit.
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's an interesting thing I discovered about the plagiarism robot: it never gives you the exact same answer twice. I reloaded the 'is it a message from God to stop fucking furniture' question six times, and only the first iteration answer included the line "it does not mean you need to stop having sex with furniture."
lucky me.
Now, if the glass had shattered and a fragment had flown across the room and lodged itself in couchfuck's carotid artery, maybe I'd be a believer as well.