‘things can happen’ — Preznit Fuckwit once again fails to meet the moment

Donny is incapable of a human response to tragedy

here’s what we know so far:

on Saturday afternoon, some fuckface obtained a weapon of mass death, just as our founders intended. he took that weapon into Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, and opened fire, just as our founders intended, indiscriminately spraying bullets, just as our founders intended, and sending nine people to the hospital and two to the morgue, just as our founders intended.

the unknown shooter then ran off and, as of this writing, is still at large, just as our founders intended.

terrified students spent the entire night barricaded in their classrooms, just as our founders intended.

it was the 465th mass shooting in America this year, just as our founders intended.

just another fucked-up day in the United States of Guntopia.

before we get to Donny Convict’s disgracefully callous response to this tragedy, here’s how a real president mourns.

Joe Biden: “Students should have the freedom to learn in school without having to fear for their lives. Period. We must never accept senseless violence that leaves families and communities shattered. It pierces the very soul of our nation. We can and must do more to prevent gun violence and save lives. Jill and I are grieving the lives lost and those wounded at Brown University, and we are keeping the victims, their loved ones, and all of Providence in our prayers.”

thank you. I miss this guy every day.

now let’s compare that with the reaction of the diaper-shittingest sociopath ever to befoul the Oval Bordello.

“and, uh. Brown University. great school. great— great, really one of the greatest schools anywhere in the world. things can happen.”

first of all, excellent job on the makeup, Mister President. my compliments to your embalmer.

uh, this fucking guy. not one single shred of humanity. just a dispassionate, monotone ‘things can happen.’ Donny puts more emotion into talking about Arnold Palmer’s dick.

we got the same fucked-up response last month, as Donny sat next to the Crown Prince of Bone Saw Arabia and rationalized away the murder of Jamal Khashoggi: ‘things happen.’

this isn’t how a president talks. this is how a mob boss talks.

the shit Donny says makes so much more sense if you imagine it coming out of the mouth of Tony Soprano. ‘so, some kids got shot up? some journalist got bone-sawed? hey, things happen. now leave me alone, can’t you see I’m busy?’

but at least Donny switches it up every now and then. when schoolchildren were gunned down in their classrooms in Perry, Iowa, he didn’t tell us that ‘things happen.’ instead it was ‘we have to get over it.’

thank you for your wise counsel, asshole.

Preznit Fuckwit could give a shit about what happens to other people. he’s too broken-inside to even fake a proper reaction. grief? empathy? what the fuck are those things? he’s incapable of a human response to tragedy.

Donny’s handlers have completely given up trying to house-train him.

back in 2018, when Donny met with survivors of the Parkland school shooting, they handed him a cheat-sheet of things to say, so he could at least pretend to give a shit.

they don’t even bother trying to civilize Donny any more. they just shove him in front of the camera and let the chips fall where they may.

so now, all we get is ‘shit happens’ — and then it’s onto the topic on Donny’s list.

unless it’s misshapen garden gnome Charlie Kirk. then we get flags at half staff and an Oval Bordello address.

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updated: 11:02am — look what this piece of shit just said about the tragic death of Rob Reiner.

shut the fuck up, you heartless shithead.

ugh. I need to lie down in a dark room before my head explodes.

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fuck this fucking fuck.

let’s do a palate cleanse — because this is the perfect moment to watch Secretary of Defense Flippy McCrushnuts do to his thing.

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now let’s mock the shit out the rest of yesterday’s press event. here’s a super-fun thing that happened. President No Filters got distracted by a blonde woman standing among the assembled reporters.

“this is the most interesting story. [pointing] boy, do you look like Ivanka. has anyone ever told you that? look at— I’m saying ‘is that Iva—.’ could you just turn around for the camera? does she look— does she look like Ivanka? it’s the most unbelievable thing. I— it’s— I wouldn’t— I didn’t wanna take a chance. I say, ‘is that Ivanka?’ you look just like Ivanka, which is a great compliment.”

ugh. fuck off, you creep.

I’m pretty sure if I were a woman, the last thing I’d want to hear seeping out of Donny’s geriatric anus-mouth would be ‘you remind me of the daughter I want to quote-unquote ‘date.’’

for those of you keeping score at home: if you’re a black woman, it’s ‘shut up, piggy’ — but if you’re a white woman with long blonde hair, it’s ‘come here and let me grope you.’

ugh.

oh, and in case you’re wondering, a loss of sexual inhibition is absolutely one sign of dementia.

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oh look, Donny’s Slovenian rent-a-wife was standing next to him the whole time — and boy, does she ever look happy to be there. I’ll bet she’s thrilled whenever her husband starts drooling uncontrollably over every woman who looks like his daughter.

anyway, Donny’s very proud of his plans to shit out an endless series of vulgar monuments, all over Washington DC.

“we have a policy thing that’s gonna— be unbelievable, happening. should I announce it, or should I keep quiet? I put Vince in charge of the Triumphal Arc. we’re building an arc like the Arc de Triomphe… it is something that is so special. it will be like the one in— in Paris but it to be honest with you, it blows it away.”

oh, lovely. Donny’s building an endless series of gaudy totems to himself while We the People struggle to feed our families.

you get two government-approved dolls and five pencils, while Donny gets a fugly arch, a tacky dance hall where the East Wing used to be, three more golf courses, and god knows what else he’s got up his sleeve.

you know who else wanted a ginormous fucking arch to commemorate his glorious Thousand-Year Reich, don’t you? of course you do.

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and, finally, what. the. fuck. is. this.

“you heard— did you hear this story? and so, he’s, uh, he’s being read his rites and his— this is— they thought he was dead three times. three different times. they carried him out, feeding him the anti-venom, and over a period of months he was unconscious for a long time, many— weeks. and— he made it. I asked him, ‘how ya doin’ today?’ he said, ‘is it perfect?’ look how quiet everybody is. you know— you know, it’s funny. when you talk about snakes and— things like that. that uhhhhh, people find it interesting. would anybody like to go and— go to Peru and walk around the forest with the— he says ‘no thank you, I’ll say no thank you’— but uh, this was a real— did they ever find the snake, by the way?”

what a charming tale to tell at a White House Christmas reception.

this whole rambling anecdote about snakes is one more five-alarm reminder that President Pudding Cup’s brain has gone fuckity-bye. he can no longer fart out a coherent sentence. and the worthless scribblers of the corporate-controlled press — the very same reporters who turned every one of Joe Biden’s verbal slips into a weeks-long scandal — just stand there like useless lumps.

hey, Jake Tapper — you could probably get three books’ worth of material just from this minute-long clip alone. any interest in following up?

I thought so.

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before I let you go, I want to ask: what the fuck is wrong with Greg Bovino?

Obergruppenführer Bovino, you’ll recall, is the psychopath who’s currently ‘commander at large’ for the Border Patrol. I think his official title is Fuckface Who Hurls Tear Gas Canisters At Children And Lies About It To A Judge.

Greggers sure loves him some Nazi cosplay. dude has an entire Third Reich living in his head. I shit you not.

look at how Greg tarted himself up when he showed up on Newsmax yesterday.

so, my question to you is: who wore it better?

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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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