Preznit Fuckwit shits the bed at his Emotional Support Convention

and abuses another woman reporter, too

it’s a well-known fact that Little Donny Fuckface is a quadrice-indicted twice-impeached once-convicted popular-vote-losing adderall-huffing dead-pedo-bestie-schmoozing East-Wing-destroying insurrection-leading ear-diapering testimony-ducking judge-threatening lawyer-ignoring debate-avoiding witness-tampering crypto-scamming disabled-veteran-dishonoring inheritance-squandering rube-fleecing clown-makeup-smearing language-mangling sneaker-hawking serial-sexual-predating draft-dodging casino-bankrupting butler-bullying daughter-perving hush-money-paying real-estate-swindling bone-spur-faking ketchup-hurling justice-obstructing classified-war-plan-thieving golf-cheating stock-manipulating weather-map-defacing war-criminal-pardoning horse-paste-promoting paper-towel-flinging race-baiting tax-evading evidence-destroying charity-defrauding money-laundering diaper-filling 34-count 80-year-old fluorescent-tangerine narcoleptic fart factory. we know this.

but do you know what else Donny is? a sweaty, festering pest-hole of megalomaniacal shit, that’s what.

“please raise your right hand. ‘I pledge to the greatest president in the history of the United States, that loves us so much he can’t even breathe. that I will go out with my family, my friends, I’ll do it any way, I don’t care if I’m registered or not. I’m going to try and cheat like hell like they do. they never— there’s never been bigger cheaters, they don’t care.’”

fuck off, bro. this is America. I’m not pledging anything to some malevolent burst trash-bag of personality defects.

seriously, who the fuck does this fucking fuck think he is?

easy question, easy answer: Donny thinks he’s God’s gift to the world. he’s that fucked in the head.

let’s be crystal clear about one thing: Donny is not God’s gift to anything. he’s a very naughty boy. now go away.

but do you know who else thinks they’re the center of the universe? infants. they have no conception of the world all around them. they care about one thing only: that there’s a tit in their face to feed on, when they need one. doesn’t that sound exactly like Dear Leader?

Donny functions on the same level as a week-old baby whose brain is still half pudding. he’s never evolved past the me-centric worldview of a diaper-shitting newborn.

and why should he evolve? he’s got an entire political party willing to shove their tit in his face. did you hear them in that video clip above, dutifully repeating his ferkakta pledge to cheat in the midterms? what in the actual fuck?

now feast your incredulous eyes on this. here’s an actual video that got played on the Jumbotron, just before Donny’s speech last night.

“on June 14th, 1946, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, ‘I need a caretaker,’ so God gave us Trump.”

holy shit, they literally cast Dear Leader as God’s gift to the universe.

they’re not being sarcastic. they actually believe this twaddle. remember, the whole purpose of this ‘Republican midterm convention’ wasn’t to promote Republican candidates. they gave the briefest lip service to the dipshits who are actually running in races this year. this ‘midterm convention’ was just an Emotional Support Tit, shoved into Dear Leader’s face so he could spend two days feeding off uncritical adoration.

that’s because the GOP is no longer a functioning political party. it’s now just some fucked-up cult whose prime directive is to make a colicky piss-baby feel good about himself.

I mean, at this point they’re not even pretending to be anything other than a cult.

CBS News reporter Ed O’Keefe: “is Vance your guy in 2028?”

MAGA: “my guy is who Donald Trump endorses.”

O’Keefe: “so it’s up to him to tell you?”

MAGA: “that’s exactly right…. people call us a cult. I don’t care.”

the entire Republican Party has lost its way — and I haven’t a clue how it finds a way back. they’re just too far gone at this point.

Preznit Fuckwit has run the GOP straight into the ground, just like he ran six casinos straight into the ground.

everything Donny touches, dies.

---

you would think that two days of maximum adoration would have put Dear Leader in a good mood — but you’d be wrong. Donny is too broken-inside to ever actually be happy. there’s not enough money, power, or attention the in world to satisfy him.

so of course this thin-skinned, eternally-unsatisfied shithead had to take it out on his favorite target — the nearest woman reporter.

reporter: “on the checks, we have $40 trillion in debt. if your economic policies are working, why do you need an incentive for people to turn out to vote?”

Donny: “I’m doing it as a reward for people having to put up for five years and four years of a horrible situation caused by Biden.”

reporter: “you also offered tariff refund checks—”

Donny: “not you.”

reporter: “you also—”

Donny: “NOT YOU! hey— NOT YOU.”

reporter: “—”

Donny: “your network and you, you’re the worst.”

Jesus H. Fuck, did you see the way this abusive sack of shit lunges at the reporter, and gets right in her face? who does that?

once again, Donny abuses a woman reporter. notice that he never pulls this shit on a man. he’s too cowardly. but if it’s a woman asking him a tough question? she’s a pig. she’s a bitch. she’s dumb. ‘NOT YOU!’

this is probably as a good place as any to note that my What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™ is now in its 2,355th day.

---

everything totally fucking sucks right now, but at least we can enjoy all the technical glitches that prevented United States Vice President Couchfuck McGee from speaking at the one-year anniversary of the death of misshapen garden gnome Charlie Kirk.

“…an amazing testament to the kind of man— ah— gha— mzzzzzzzbzt—[screen goes black]”

oh noes! United States First Failson Cokey McSniffle’s touching tribute to the misshapen garden gnome got all glitched to shit, too. so sad!

“he could go from fundraising, you know, making calls to zzZZZZckkkkk bububububillionaire to glrrRRRRRrr—”

try not to laugh.

oh, fuck it — laugh all you want. never stop mocking the shit out of these incompetent ass-clowns who couldn’t find their own dick with both hands and a flashlight.

---

folks, the date has been set for the fourth No Kings Day of Action: October 17, 2026.

Donny fucking hates No Kings. it ruins his day to be reminded that hundreds of millions of people all across the world hate his guts.

let’s ruin Donny’s day. let’s make No Kings Four the largest one yet. go here to find or host an event.

Wonkette’s Rebecca Schoenkopf, can you step in here for a moment, and show us how it’s done?

fuck you, you fucking fuck — now that’s a message we can all get behind.

---

well, it’s Friday — and we made it through another week in one piece. let’s reward ourselves with some Daily Claudia and get out of here.

here are two of Ms Spouse on the patio, on September 15, 2022.

and here are the two of us, enjoying the terrace bar at the Poughkeepsie, NY restaurant Shadows on the Hudson, on May 13, 2024.

have a great Friday, everyone. remember, if Popeye Doyle asks you if you’re still picking your feet in Poughkeepsie, the answer is no.

---

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.