hey folks — here’s a short one for Labor Day. I’ll be back tomorrow with the usual full-length documentation of all the atrocities.
remember when presidents used to let us get some peace and quiet during the weekends? that was pretty awesome, wasn’t it?
yeah, well, no such fucking luck these days. those tranquil Before Times are over.
our psychotic president and his equally psychotic diaper nurse spent all day yesterday spraying the firehose of crazy directly into our faces.
Jesus wept.
if you had looked at Donny’s official schedule for Sunday, you could have been fooled into imagining that Donny spent a quiet day at his New Jersey ex-wife cemetery.
oh, but no — that 8:00 am ‘executive time’ lasted all the way to 9:00 in the evening, with Donny and Natty shitting dozens of posts onto his crappy app — and Harry Sisson has earned hazardous duty pay for documenting just a fraction of the lunacy.
you know, I’ve been writing these posts almost every day for almost four years now — when when you do that, you eventually run out of different ways to convey that Donny is fucking nuts. but he is — he’s fucking nuts. he’s got a screw loose. he’s lost his marbles. he’s crazier than a shithouse rat. he’s stark barking bonkers. he’s mad as a hatter. he’s off his rocker. some village is missing its idiot. he’s out of his mind. he’s nutty as a fruitcake. he’s out where the buses don’t run. he’s got bats in his belfry. he’s wandering in the tall weeds. he’s a basket case. he’s gone off the deep end. he’s not all there. he’s out of his skull. he’s a few french fries short of a happy meal. he’s mad as a March hare. he’s foaming at the mouth. he’s a brick or two shy a full load. his elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. he’s not playing with a full deck. he’s a dim bulb. he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. he’s not playing with a full deck.
the light are on, but no one’s home.
I mean, who does this?
what even the fuck? what did New Mexico do to deserve this? were they very very mean to Dear Leader, so unfair, so unfair, and so now they get the Lake America treatment — or is Donny just going to rename everything that’s got a foreign place name, without rhyme or reason?
is Rome, New York now America, New York? is Paris, Texas now America, Texas? is Athens, Georgia now America, Georgia?
is French toast now American toast?
tell me, if the Moon is now ours,
are we renaming it the Night Sky Ball of America?
wait, I have a much more important question: why are our astronauts now dressing up like Nazis?
who designed this shit? was it Stephen Miller? it was, wasn’t it? I mean, look at this. it’s straight up Nazi cosplay. they’re not even pretending any more.
is the Space Force now the fucking baddies?
so many of these posts just make no sense whatsoever.
who are the ‘they’ that will never sleep again, as Donny and his robot army roam the midnight streets of our nation’s Capitol? is it the Dumocrats?
Donny’s obsession with ‘dumocrats’ fascinates me — because you know that when he prattles on about how ‘most people don’t know that dumb ends with a b,’ he’s accusing-confessing that he’s the illiterate moron who had no clue how ‘dumb’ is spelled.
think about that: somebody had to actually explain to Donny how to spell ‘dumb’ — and this fucking imbecile is in charge of a nuclear arsenal. awesome.
so much of this stuff doesn’t have a point, or even makes sense. it’s just Natalie finding some dumbfuck image online and showing it to Donny, who cackles, ‘hurr hurr hurr, post it.’
there’s no other explanation for stuff like this.
Hulk Hogan was a human cartoon character. why would anyone want to imitate that?
is it the Hulkster’s racism?
In a video made public by The National Enquirer, Hogan said: “I guess we’re all a little racist” and used the n-word while referring to his daughter’s love life.
great role model.
what even is the point of this?
why Donny in a garbage truck? of what possible significance is posting an image from a failed campaign stunt from 2024? does Dear Leader not remember that his stroked-out leg collapsed under him as he tried to climb into the truck?
why would he want to relive that moment? oh, wait — it’s because he had no memory of it. Donny’s so demented, he can’t even remember what he had for breakfast this morning, much less tell you what happened on the campaign trail two years ago.
the posting spree finally ended around 9pm, with some AI slop of Donny as the Green Lantern.
which is actually kind of perfect, because the Green Lantern is a d-list superhero, and Donny is a z-list president.
does Diaper Nurse Natty not understand how completely cray-cray this shit-blizzard of posting makes Dear Leader look?
spoiler alert: no, she doesn’t — because she’s every bit as fucking nuts as Donny is. maybe even more so.
it goes without saying that if Joe Biden had ever even once spent an entire day vomiting out preening-peacock bullshit all over social media, the press would have had a field day, writing countless think pieces about how Joe’s finally lost his mind, and how he has to resign immediately, for the good of the country.
yet, Donny does this pretty much every weekend now, and the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled media can’t even be motivated to say one word about Commander Crazypants.
now here’s a fun, true story. when Donny’s tyrant Klansman father Fred was completely lost to Alzheimer’s, his family built him a fake office where he would go every day to sign fake papers and have fake phone conversations with his secretary. having a familiar place to go every day kept old Fred happy and out of trouble.
can we just do that with Donny? can we build him a fake Oval Bordello down at his shitty Florida golf motel, and let him sit there all day long, posting dumbfuck memes onto his crappy app, playing Hide the Brain Cells with his diaper nurse, signing fake executive orders and holding fake press conferences? we could even put a fake Big Red Button on his fake Resolute Desk, so he could fake-nuke Iran.
come on. Donny’s brain has left the station. 25th Amendment now. as I never tire of saying, I’ll take my chances with the couch fucker.
before I go, I have one more thing to rant about, because we really need to clear the air about a disgusting lie that Donny has been telling for over two decades.
Trump claims that after 9/11, “I went down, I was building a building in New York, and I went down there very shortly thereafter — the following day, you couldn’t go down the same day — and we worked long and hard.”
fact check: fuck you forever, you fucking fuck.
of all the things that have never happened, Donny showing up after 9/11 to help clear rubble is the thing that has absolutely never happened the most.
janky, six-fingered plagiarism robot, can you please set the record straight?
First responders and recovery officials have questioned these statements. As noted by NPR, Richard Alles, battalion chief of the New York Fire Department at the time of the attacks, spent several months in the smoking, choking ruins at ground zero. He told PolitiFact this summer, “I was there for several months — I have no knowledge of his being down there.” Officials also noted there was no record of Trump sending a large group of his workers to aid in the official recovery efforts. [1]
it’s pretty weird how there’s no record of the hugest attention-trollop in the universe at Ground Zero. not one photograph, not one anecdote from anyone who would have seen him there, had he actually shown up.
of all the lies this fucking liar has told in his fucking lie-strewn life, this one is the the most shameful, because it spits in the face of the actual heroes — the first responders and civilian volunteers who actually went down to Ground Zero and sorted through the rubble — many of whom ended up with life-shortening medical issues as a result.
fuck you, Donny.
no, wait — I have one more observation to make and then we’re out of here, I promise.
is Trey Gowdy — the failed-Congressman-turned-Fox-News-hack who is interviewing Donny in that clip — not the kid from Deliverance all grown up?
and now you can’t unsee it. you’re welcome, America.
well, it’s 1,745 words and three-and-a-half hours since I sat down at the laptop and typed out ‘hey folks — here’s a short one for Labor Day.’
I really did try to crank out a quick one, but it look like I suck at short.
it seems that failing to write a short one for Labor day is becoming a tradition around here.
okay, we’ve finally reached the bottom of this post. let’s reward ourselves with some Daily Claudia.
here’s a Ms Spouse triptych from one of our favorite haunts, the Matunuck Oyster Bar in South Kingston, Rhode Island, on September 21. 2022. those scallops look good, don’t they?
have a great Labor Day, everyone.
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.
I really did delude myself into thinking I could write a short one. after all, I rationalized, it's a bunch of memes and one video clip? how much is there to say about that?
happy Labor Day, everyone!
You forgot to mention that the fat-fuck fryer-grease monkey is quite a few fries 🍟 shy of a happy meal