peak batshit: Preznit Klepto stole the Club World Cup Trophy
because fuck the actual winners, am I right?
I wasn’t even going to write about Mad King Donny attending the Club World Cup Final on Sunday, because it was just the umpteenth example of an attention-hungry idiot being an attention-hungry idiot — and Donny hogging the spotlight happens so frequently that it’s generally a big bowl of Not Much to See Here.
but of course, as with All Things Donny, the story went from ho-hum to Five-Alarm What The Fuck in a hot second — because of course it did.
here’s the shit that went down. basically, Donny was supposed to present the championship trophy to the winning team, Chelsea, and then get the fuck off the stage and let the athletes enjoy their moment. easy-peasy, right?
wrong, because nothing in Donnyworld is ever easy or peasy. after handing off the trophy, President Peacock stood there like a demented lump, basking in Chelsea’s glory — despite FIFA President Gianni Infantino literally trying to push Donny out of the picture.
seriously. check this out.
look at Infantino, repeatedly beckoning to Donny to get off the stage, you dumbfuck — and eventually giving up and manhandling him into the background.
let’s gif that shit for posterity.
come on, grandpa, let’s get you back to the home.
but here’s where the story careens from Of Course That Happened to Five-Alarm What The Fuck: that “trophy” you see being held aloft by the joyous winning team is a cheap fake. it’s as phony as a three-dollar bill — because Donny stole the actual trophy. right now, it’s in the Oval Office.
It later emerged that the trophy held aloft by Chelsea captain Reece James was actually a replica. The original award, designed with Tiffany & Co. and valued at roughly $230,000, now sits in the Oval Office after FIFA’s president allowed Trump to display it there. The trophy is adorned with a central disc and three rotating outer rings, all plated in 24-carat gold, per reports.
it seems that back in March, FIFA President Infantino brought the championship trophy to the Oval Office for a photo op.
that was the FIFA president’s first mistake, for when the photo op was over, and Infantino scooped up the trophy and prepared to leave, President Mob Boss was all yeah, no, this is mine now — and Infantino was all yeah, this is yours now, because what else are you going to say to a colicky infant in command of a nuclear arsenal?
“no, you can’t have the candy”? I don’t think so.
but what about the athletes who actually won that trophy, worth a quarter of a million dollars? well, the Chelsea club is cordially invited to go fuck themselves, and be happy with their fake piece of tin — because, on top of everything else, Donny is apparently a Very Special Boy Who Gets to Steal Whatever Shit He Wants.
and now, the Oval Office — increasingly looking more and more like a Las Vegas bordello than a president’s inner chamber — has one more piece of golden tat crammed into it.
speaking of golden tat in the Oval, Donny had another World Leader Playdate yesterday. he hosted Mark Rutte, Secretary General of NATO — but really, it was just another opportunity for appalling shit to seep out of Dear Leader’s rancid anus-mouth.
“the strip. the Gaza strip. I call it the Gaza strip. one of the worst real estate deals ever made [chuckles to himself]. they gave up oceanfront property.”
oh my god, shut the fuck up.
according to Donny, one of the worst human rights crises of our time is just a bad real estate deal, heh heh. what a fucking psycho. inside his worm-infested brain, this whole bit of unpleasantness could have been avoided if only they hadn’t given the Palestinians all that prime property.
remember Donny’s harebrained scheme to ethnically cleanse Gaza and turn it into a tacky Trump resort? that plan hasn’t gone away.
oh, and by the way, Donny “calls it the Gaza strip” because that’s been it’s fucking name since 1949. why Donny is pretending he invented the moniker is a fact known only to his brainworms.
also, I’m still waiting.
after Mark Rutte packed up and went home, it was time for Donny to attend the White House Faith Office Luncheon, where he charmed the assembled guests with a heartwarming tale of another thing that never happened the most.
“numerous times, I’d get home, I’d say, ‘First Lady, I had the most wonderful talk with Vladimir. I think we’re finished.’ and then I’ll turn on the television, or she’ll say to me one time, ‘wow, that’s strange, because he just bombed a nursing home.’ [laughter] I said ‘what?’ [more laughter] so—”
that’s so much what the fuck in such a short clip. first of all, what the fuck are the assembled ‘faith leaders’ laughing at? Donny’s side-splitting retelling of Putin bombing a nursing home? yeah, hilarious.
secondly, we don’t even have to ask if the ‘first lady’ is in the room with us right now — she’s not. she hates Donny’s guts and is nowhere to be found.
look at these two love-birds. Donny is not ‘going home’ (how do you ‘go home’ when you live and work in the same building?) and having dinner-table conversation with his ‘first lady,’ because Melania is far the fuck away. Donny made the whole thing up. it’s the opposite of a ‘sir’ story — in this case, instead of some grateful, teary-eyed supplicant coming up to Donny and calling him ‘sir,’ he’s addressing his own estranged wife as ‘first lady.’
does anyone actually believe that Donny addresses his wife as ‘first lady’? “hey first lady, is my tie on straight?” if he does, it’s only because he’s too demented to remember her name — or if she’s actually present or not.
Donny’s laugh-a-minute recounting of his despot bestie Vlad’s nursing home bombing brings us, at long last, to the thing I thought I would be writing about today, but didn’t, because all that other crazypants shit got in the way.
long story short: Donny is hella mad at Vladdy right now, because Donny keeps whining about come on already, when are you going to end your war, and Vlad just keeps rolling his eyes and miming jerk-off motions. so Donny has come up with a cunning plan. he’s given Putin fifty days to end his war with Ukraine, or Donny’s going to slap a 50% tariff on all Russian goods.
yeah, that’ll work. look at these honchos.
does it look like Putin gives a shit about anything Donny has to say?
and now I’ve written myself into a corner and don’t have a proper ending to this post. if this were a Monty Python sketch, I could just end it with a big foot coming down and crushing everything.
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.
778 / 867
Watching Donald's brain rot reminds me of a science fair project I did in 8th grade - documenting the stages of mold growth on a bowl of cottage cheese.
AND yet… he STILL is trying to quash the FILES.