oh fuck, we forgot to have a War on Christmas

shit, what do we do now?

remember the War on Christmas? remember how much fun it was? Republicans used to cower in their homes as gangs of MS-13 roamed the streets, ready to punch the shit out of anyone who failed to say ‘happy holidays.’

seriously, Fox News really fell down on the job this year. back in the good old days, loofah enthusiast Bill O’Reilly would devote weeks to tirelessly documenting every instance of a public figure failing to pay proper tribute to Jesus Claus by saying Merry Christmas, using instead the Karl Marx-approved, woke greeting Happy Holidays.

look, commies, Bill’s just trying to do you a favor by restoring you to God’s graces. it’s right there in your Bible, heathens, in Zealots 4:20 — “thou shalt only say Merry Christmas, lest I smite ye blaspheming fuckheads.”

listen to your Uncle Bill, infidels, and stop inciting God’s wrath.

after Bill got sent to a big farm upstate where he would have lots of room to run around and sexually harass all the other dogs, it was up to Fox News found objects like Jesse Watters to carry the mantle.

but this year? crickets — and so it was up to rank and file Republicans to pick up the slack.

here’s Exhibit A: America’s dumbest senator, Terminally-Concussed Tommy Tuberville.

“Thankfully, Christmas is BACK under President Trump.”

fun fact check: Christmas never went anywhere.

according to Wikipedia, this year’s is the 1,690th consecutive Christmas — which just happens to be world record for the number of Christmases in a row.

for fuck’s sake, Tommy posts this exact same tweet every Christmas — even on years when Donny isn’t president.

maybe if T-Tubes had worn a helmet during his football-playing days, his capacity to form permanent memories would still be intact.

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now here’s a homey who apparently isn’t clear on the concept of Christmas: Republican Chris Garten.

Chris is the Majority Floor Leader of Indiana’s State Senate — and for some inexplicable reason, he’s tis-the-seasoning by posting AI slop of him beating the shit out of Santa Claus.

“When you find out the North Pole is trying to bring more bureaucratic overreach & unfunded mandates down the chimney disguised as ‘Christmas cheer.’ Not on my watch. We The People run Indiana, not the bureaucrats. Take it back to the North Pole big guy. Merry Christmas, Hoosiers!”

I’m sorry, but what childhood trauma led Chris to believe that Jolly Old Saint Nick and his elves are drafting bureaucratic legislation up there at the North Pole?

it sounds like Chris Garten’s parents were a real bunch of funsters. his childhood must have been amazing. ‘oh look what’s under the tree, honey — it’s a bill that mandates you eat all your broccoli.’

oh, and by the way — if you can’t grasp the obvious intent of Chris’ tweet, he wants to you know that you’re the moron.

Uncle Tim Walz was right. these people are all weirdos.

who looks at beloved old Santa and goes ‘that fucker. I’m going to settle his hash’?

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do you know how Donny spent his Christmas Eve? by terrifying children.

which one of Donny’s handlers thought this would be a good idea? they actually let Donny and his Slovenian rent-a-wife answer calls to a Santa hotline.

pure gold, am I right? there’s no way a stunt like that could have gone south.

Donny: “I am fine. you sound beautiful and cute. how old are you?”

girl: “I am eight.”

wow, eight. that’s right in Dear Leader’s wheelhouse.

did no one on Team Donny think this through? are they not aware of his history?

‘let’s take a demented old perv with no filters and a Dead Pedo Bestie problem, and let him talk to children. we’ll put it on camera and everything.’ awesome stuff. ten out of ten. no notes.

by the way, the above clip cuts it off, but Donny’s next question to his new little pal was ‘do you have a boyfriend?’

Donny’s banter with the kiddies wasn’t all lighthearted flirting. there was also the serious business of making sure Santa wasn’t— wait, what does it say here? [checks notes] infiltrated? what the fuck?

“well, we track Santa all over the world. we want to make sure that Santa is being— good. Santa’s a very good person. we want to make sure that— he’s not infiltrated. that we’re not infiltrating into our country a bad Santa. so we found out that Santa’s good, Santa loves you. Santa loves Oklahoma like I do. you know, Oklahoma was very good to me in the election. so I love Oklahoma. don’t ever leave Oklahoma.”

mommy, can I hang up the phone now? the bad man is scaring me.

it’s sunning how Donny can’t ever have a normal human response to anything. he came this close to telling a child all about how America is being infiltrated by immigrants, and fortunately lost his train of thought. but don’t worry, kid. we investigated Santa and found out that he’s good.

thank fuck for that — you’d hate to have Santa disappeared into a Salvadoran slave-labor gulag.

and then Donny has to make it all about himself — as if that child gave one shit about Donny’s stunning electoral victories in Oklahoma. don’t ever leave that state, kid. thank you for your attention to this matter.

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then it was time for Christmas Eve dinner at Motel-a-Lago.

look at Donny. alone. ignored. unloved. no one cares to talk to him. his Slovenian rent-a-wife (and her father) are sitting as far way from Donny as they can. the stench off that narcoleptic fart factory must be unbearable.

but wait, it gets batshittier. at midnight, Donny excused himself, waddled up to his room, and started rage-posting on his crappy app.

Donald Trump kicked off Christmas Day with more than 100 Truth Social posts, attacking Somali immigrants, praised his economic policies and doubled down on his claim that the 2020 election was stolen.

The president’s social media spree, which includes scores of reposts, came hours after he wished a merry Christmas to “Radical Left Scum.”

seriously, if your phone had Truth Social notifications turned on, it would have looked like this.

he’s so fucking damaged. if you ever needed proof of that old saying about how ‘money can’t buy happiness,’ here it is.

it’s Christmas Eve. there’s a party going on — in the opulent golf motel he owns. Donny could be downstairs right now, having the time of his life — if he had any idea at all how to be happy. but he’s not. he’s alone, in his room, at one o’clock in the morning, focusing all of his rage onto a small slab of glass and metal.

Donny’s life is an endless series of grievances and power-loaded diapers. I simply cannot imagine what it must be like to be that broken inside.

and of course, no Christmas Day would be complete without the Annunciation Of The Batshit Post.

“Merry Christmas to all, including the many Sleazebags who loved Jeffrey Epstein.”

fact check:

“drop him like a dog.”

tell me, has Donny ever been in the same room as a dog? Donny seems to be under the impression that the only thing people do with dogs is mistreat them (or, if you’re an immigrant, eat them). he’s always bragging about how some terrorist ‘died like a dawg,’

and now, Epstein’s friends all ‘dropped him like a dog,’

dude, dogs make people happy. they’re a thing of joy. but look at me, trying to explain happiness to Preznit Fuckwit. it’s like trying to explain colors to a blind person.

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let’s go out in style. let’s see how a real president spreads some joy during the Christmas season.

while Donny was rage-crapping his diaper in his garish golf motel, Barack HUSSEIN Obama was making a surprise visit to a children’s hospital.

look at that. Obama wasn’t creepy. he didn’t ask little girls weird questions. he didn’t brag about how he won every election. he simply brought the Christmas cheer to those who needed it.

thank you, sir.

I miss having an actual president. this mad king shit gets old fast, doesn’t it?

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

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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.

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