this week in stupid: December 27 edition

Erika Kirk sells it, Donny Convict smells it, and so much more...

Dec 27, 2025

as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.

monday: always be grifting

we should check in with Erika Kirk, the widow of misshapen garden gnome Charlie Kirk. she’s been though some shit lately. what’s that, Erika? you’ve got a ‘holiday season message’ for us?

“HOLIDAY MESSAGE: @MrsErikaKirk shares her — and what would have been Charlie’s — holiday season message: ‘Just rest...Love on your babies. Love on your family members. Life is short.’ Find Charlie Kirk’s final work, ‘Stop, in the Name of God,’ at http://45Books.com.”

hang on, did Erika actually end that message with a book plug? oh yes, she fucking well did!

so, apparently, the five stages of MAGA grief are denial, anger, podcasting, publicly making out with JD Vance, and selling merch.

just in case Erika Kirk profiting off her husband’s murder doesn’t creep you out enough, here’s another fun thing the Garden Gnomists™ have done.

yup, they’ve recreated the tent where the misshapen gnome was assassinated — and the cultists are all invited to take selfies in it. how fucktacularly ghoulish is that?

you know where they got this brilliant idea to fetishize tragedy, don’t you? from Dear Leader, who has turned an entire wall at the White House into a shrine to his Miracle Ear Nicking.

who the fuck does that?

tuesday: what an excellent use of your one phone call

here’s what happens when the world’s most patient judge meets the world’s most uncooperative defendant.

dude here has been charged with driving under the influence and grand larceny — and he is having none of it. he refuses to accept the charges, he refuses to sign paperwork, he won’t give out any contact information. he refuses to show up for future court appearances, he won’t stop talking when the judge tells him to, and he refuses to pay bail. but there is one thing our patriotic defendant will do:

“I’ll contact Donald Trump if I have to.”

and again, has he’s led away to jail:

“I guess I’ll be contacting Donald Trump then.”

hey pal, let us know how that works out for you. wait until our MAGA friend here finds out that Dear Leader won’t even pick up the pardon phone for anything less than a cool million.

will be wild.

wednesday: always be hating

imagine being such a piece of shit that you can’t even watch TV with your children without compulsively racisting at a mile a minute. if you’re Nosferatu McGoebbels, you don’t have to imagine. it’s second nature.

“Watched the Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra Family Christmas with my kids. Imagine watching that and thinking America needed infinity migrants from the third world.”

bro, show us on the doll where ‘infinity migrants from the third world’ touched you. it’s Christmas week, for fuck’s sake. give it a rest. who even has the energy for this much hatred? it must be exhausting to be this angry every minute of the day.

make no mistake, if old Frank had been around to read that tweet, he world have not-so-cordially invited Nosferatu to go fuck himself.

Sinatra had no patience for racists. in 1945, in made an award-winning short film called The House I Live In, in which he explains to a bunch of street kids that bigotry is for losers.

This short film, which earned an honorary Academy Award for director Mervyn LeRoy in 1946, exhorts the message of religious tolerance and post-war hopefulness. Frank Sinatra, then the idol of teenage bobby-soxers, takes a break from a recording session and finds a group of children bullying one boy because he's Jewish. Sinatra reminds them that Americans may worship in many different ways but they still remain Americans.

“My dad came from Italy. But I’m American. But should I hate your father because he came from Ireland or France or Russia? Wouldn’t I be a first-class fathead? Think about that fellas. Use your good American heads. Don’t let anyone make suckers out of you” —Frank Sinatra

and then there’s this.

sit on that and rotate, Nosferatu.

Frank Sinatra may have loved him some tolerance and inclusivity, but there is one homey he absolutely loathed — Donny Convict.

which brings us to this heartwarming story. Donny once wanted Sinatra to perform at one of his casinos. here’s how the negotiations went.

Weisman said that when he called Sinatra with Trump’s offer, Sinatra responded that Weisman could either tell Trump to “go fuck himself,” or give Sinatra Trump’s number and he would tell him himself.

hey, I’m beginning to like this Sinatra guy.

thursday: punching a Nazi never goes out of style

let’s watch ahem alleged sex trafficker and roid-rage aficionado Andrew Tate take ‘being a hateful shitwad’ to the next level.

“[seig heils] my heart goes out to all of you. you know, I’m kind of thinking we should bring the Nazi salute back. because the people we’ve been arguing with for the last four years have no interest in objective truth. [seig heils three more times] hail SpaceX! [seig heils again]”

oh, great. we’ve reached the ‘let’s be Nazis to trigger the libs’ stage of our national discourse. lucky us.

let’s not waste our breaths debating this. let’s just enjoy watching Tate — who fancies himself a fighter — get the shit beat out of him, from a recent match where he got his ass handed to him.

pro tip: live your life in such a way that if you google ‘[your name] getting punched in the face gif’ — there isn’t one.

friday: the further adventures of some fucking idiot

on Friday, some fucking idiot had no public appearances on his official schedule — but that didn’t stop him from being a fucking idiot all over his crappy app.

first, the fucking idiot bragged about having fired 200,000 American workers. merry Christmas, suckers!

then he posted a photo of himself in the Oval Bordello.

why? what’s the context? it’s a plane with the words ‘America first’ photoshopped onto it. of what relevance is this photo? the fucking idiot wasn’t at the White House yesterday, he was in his Florida golf motel. did the feral rats that live inside the fucking idiot’s head chew through the wrong wires again?

then the fucking idiot made another one of his stellar employment choices.

remember when presidents didn’t make hiring decisions based on how much the candidate resembled the daughter they want to quote-unquote ‘date’?

then he took a moment to praise himself, in the third person, as one does.

the fucking idiot then bragged about having defiled more of the White House.

here’s what the Palm Room used to look like.

on what planet is turning a warm, friendly, sun-filled room into an antiseptic mausoleum any sort of improvement? it’s just one more abomination for the next president to put on their to-undo list.

then, the fucking idiot unveiled his latest shitbrained idea: marble armrests for the seating at the Kennedy Center.

because who among us hasn’t sat in a theater, watching a performance, and thought ‘you know what would make this experience so much better? if the armrests were rocks.’

and, finally, the fucking idiot melted all the way down — because his Dead Pedo Bestie problem isn’t going away. in fact, it’s just going to keep getting worse, no matter how much his flunkies try to cover it up for him.

oh, so we’re back to the Dead Pedo Bestie files being a ‘Democrat hoax,’ are we? then why did you sign the legislation mandating their release?

the only thing you need to know about the magical appearance of these hundred thousand ‘newly found’ files — which the fucking idiot isn’t smart enough to realize is just another delaying tactic by his loyal DOJ — is that the fucking idiot’s name is on every page.

release the full, unedited Dead Pedo Bestie Files.

saturday: ?

hey, it’s still morning as I sit here writing this — but give it time, I guarantee you that some dipshit wingnut is going to do something stupid before the day is over. you can set your watch to it.

do you have a nomination for This Week in Stupid? email me at jefftiedrich@gmail.com. thanks!

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.

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