shh! don’t wake the elderly golfer. funerals make him sleepy.

way to honor your friend Lindsey, dumb-ass

folks, I just got off the phone with Mitch McConnell. we had a nice twenty-minute chat about Preznit Fuckwit’s behavior at Lindsey Graham’s funeral.

‘who the fuck acts like that,’ he wanted to know.

“virtually everyone, Republican or Democrat, liked— LINDSEY. well, not everybody. but it sounds good. not everybody. HEH HEH. I have to be honest. I have to veer from this for a second.”

I had to agree with Mitch — who acts like that?

are you telling me that after a lifetime of lying about every fucking thing, this is the moment that Donny chooses to be honest, and point out that not everyone liked Lindsey — at his funeral?

and what’s with the inappropriate laugh?

Lindsey Graham pretty much sold his soul to become Dear Leader’s bestie. he humiliated himself, and burrowed straight up Donny’s ass — and in return, Donny can’t even be bothered to put any effort at all into delivering a heartfelt and respectful eulogy.

dude, this is not the time for veering into brutal honesty. just read the words that someone wrote for you.

on second thought, maybe not every word.

“…with a gleam in his eye after being lectured on the excruciating details of PATENT LAW by a fellow— SENATOR during— a FLIGHT, Lindsey declared that he had discovered a new form of— enhanced interrogation and torture for the— Guantanamo Bay area, he said, ‘this is really bad stuff and BORING’”

who wrote this shit for Donny? who thought it was appropriate to tell a Gitmo torture joke at a funeral? comedy gold!

here’s the real torture: listening to Donny — with his weird halting cadences and his second-grade-level reading comprehension — struggle to make his way through the words he was too lazy to review ahead of time.

and then, when he was finished delivering his eulogy, Donny knocked on Lindsey’s coffin. hello, hello — is anyone home?

is that a thing? who does that?

what do you think Donny was saying, as he was rappy-tappy-tapping? ‘hey, Lindsey, did you know that Stephen Miller sleeps in one of these?’

but wait — it gets dumbfuckier.

after Donny sat back down, he pulled a packet of Tic Tacs out of his pocket and showed them to Couchfuck McGee.

Donny then tried, failed, and finally succeeded in putting a Tic Tac into his mouth.

now, we all know why Donny always has breath mints at the ready. remember what Sexual Assault Jesus so wisely counseled us in his Sermon on the Access Hollywood Tape:

I better use some Tic Tacs just in case I start kissing her. You know I’m automatically attracted to beautiful—I just start kissing them. It's like a magnet. Just kiss. I don't even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab ’em by the pussy. You can do anything.

so, who inside the church was Donny so super-horny to kiss that he needed pull out the Tic Tacs, pronto? was it his stalker-slash-diaper-nurse? eww.

speaking of which, isn’t it great that the presidential diaper bag and the nuclear football travel side by side? you know, just in case Donny has his own little thermonuclear event in his pants.

I’ve never been more proud to be an American. we’re number one!

but I know there’s one thing you’ve been dying to ask me this whole time: ‘Uncle Jeff! Uncle Jeff! did everyone’s favorite narcoleptic old fart factory close his weary eyes and fill the church with the pungent aroma of ass music?’

you fucking well better believe he did! the Nodfather was out like a light.

and the poor homey sitting right behind Don Snoreleone can’t believe he just got presidentially crop dusted.

can we get this guy a Purple Heart or something?

so, for those of you keeping score at home, Donny is now two-for-two in Falling The Fuck Asleep At Funerals. he’s batting a thousand, after having sawn logs at Pope Francis’ funeral a little over a year ago.

at least yesterday, Donny managed to keep his mouth closed and not drool all over himself.

but the crowning moment of What In The Actual Fuck didn’t even belong to Donny, because Fox News’ Plankhead of the Airwaves, Sean Hannity, out-what-the-fucked Dear Leader by a country mile.

“Lindsey, Mr. President, I would argue in my mind, probably has a heavenly version of Mar-a-Lago. it may even be a little bigger. he may have a little more gold in the Oval Office in his mansion in Heaven. and I wouldn’t be surprised if he added one big beautiful ballroom and an arch somewhere on the property. because he would want to obviously duplicate his dearest friend in life. you, Mr. President.”

oh sure. who among us wouldn’t want our own vermin-infested ethereal golf motel when we pass, complete with an Epstein Dance Hall and an Oval Bordello?

welcome to the sad state of America in this year of our lord 2026, where every event — be it a cabinet meeting or a state funeral — must inevitably devolve into an ass-kissing session in honor of a thin-skinned colicky piss-baby who will throw a five-alarm shit-fit if he isn’t lavished with over-the-top praise every minute of his soft, pampered life.

oops, there he goes again. where’s the diaper nurse?

it’s all so eternally fucking embarrassing.

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but at least we can still throw our heads back in laughter at the plight of ahem alleged rapist and sex trafficker Andrew Tate, who is still whining about how much prison totally fucking sucks.

here’s a pro tip for Andrew, and all the MAGAs who are currently blubbering about how ‘unfairly’ he claims he’s being treated:

if you high-fived and giggled with glee when innocent immigrants were kidnapped off the streets of our cities, shackled, herded into airplanes, and disappeared into some Salvadoran slave-labor gulag, then you don’t get to say one word about the ACTUAL DUE PROCESS that Andrew Tate is receiving.

mm-kay?

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let’s have us our Daily Claudia.

Ms Spouse’s bff Kathy texted me two more photos yesterday. here she is with Ms Spouse, on January 10, 2025.

and here are Kathy, Ms Spouse, yours truly and Scott at Half Moon in Dobbs Ferry on December 2, 2023.

have a great Wednesday, everyone.

oh, and if you want to read my eulogy for Ms. Spouse, it’s right here. I think I did a much better job than Donny.

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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.