why the fuck were millions of dollars wasted on Donny’s pointless Emotional Support Trip to Ireland?

everything Dear Leader got up to on his 48-hour vacation could have been done right here at home

someone please explain to me, what the fuck was Donny’s Big Irish Adventure all about? what was the point?

as everything goes to shit, and the cost of living grows ever higher — as We the People struggle to pay for basic goods and services — America’s Mad King wasted countless millions of taxpayer dollars, just so that he and his beloved diaper nurse could have a 48-hour golf motel holiday in Ireland.

I mean, look at all this pomp and circumstance.

Donny’s entourage — his donterage, if you will — comprised 34 vehicles and 19 motorcycles. all that rolling hardware had to be flown in from Washington DC, on five U.S. Air Force C-17 Globemaster cargo planes — because, spoiler alert, it turns out that you can’t call the Dublin office of Enterprise Rent-a-Car and ask for 34 armored, secure limousines. apparently, they don’t keep that kind of shit on hand. who even knew?

so, who pays for all that? you and me, that’s who. all so Donny and Natty can play patty-cake in a different time zone.

fuck that. if Dear Leader wants to hang with the Carrier of the Royal Diaper Bag, and watch her bray like some love-smitten hyena, let him do it at home. if he’s so horny to be at one of his golf motels, he’s got plenty of them right here in the good old US of A.

it’s been a minute, so let’s check in with the Donny Golf Tracker.

look that. our Golfer-in-Chief has spent almost a quarter of his second term on a course. let him do that shit locally. let him cross the Potomac into Arlington, and save the taxpayers the cost of five military transport planes.

everything Donny got up to on his 48-hour Irish vacation could have been done right here at home.

if Agolf Shitler wants to be mocked by protesters everywhere he goes, there’s no need to travel anywhere. all he has to do is wait until next month’s No Kings Day Four. we’re going to make that shit wild. we’d be all too happy to find some protesters willing to spell out the c-word, just as they did yesterday at his Doonbeg golf motel.

Protesters at the Irish Open. shitler’s international golf links and hotel Doonbeg, Ireland. Thank you, Doonbeg!

I’m sure we can even find balloon makers in every major American city, willing to gin-up Donny getting railed from behind.

if Donny wanted to be pantsed by a world leader, he could have done an Oval Bordello dog-and-pony show. he didn’t have to go all the way to Dublin.

in fact, Donny’s twenty-minute face-to-face with Ireland’s President Catherine Connolly — during which she told him in no uncertain terms to cut the bullshit in the Middle East — could have been an email.

oh wait, the stupid shit doesn’t do email. he’s illiterate. my bad for even suggesting it.

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if Dear Leader wants to whine like a colicky piss-baby, there’s no need to do it on some Irish tarmac.

Q: “Your approval is really low in Ireland…Do you think those polls are incorrect?”

Trump: “I think the polls are fake. My approval rating in Ireland is good. My approval rating in the U.S. is great.”

I love how in Donny’s rotting mind, he imagines there’s some international conspiracy of '‘fake polls’ that follow him around from country to country.

free clue, bro: you’re hated everywhere you go, because you fucking suck.

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if Donny wanted to humiliate his own furniture-fornicating vice president, there’s no need to fly across the ocean for that.

Q: Are you ready to throw your weight behind JD Vance?

TRUMP: It's too early

ooof.

come on — how is it too early to endorse Couchfuck McGee? it’s never too early to endorse your own veep. the real reason Donny won’t commit is that he knows JD Vance is a toxic doofus who hasn’t a snowball’s chance of winning. guy’s got negative charisma. he’s going to get buried if he runs. that your own vice president is a repellent shit-stick is on you, Donny. way to hire only the best people, ace.

if Donny wants to announce that he’s going to tank the economy, he can do that from inside the White House.

Trump says he will cut off all trade entirely with “some nations” unless the Fed lowers interest rates,

wait, Donny’s going to do what? am I on crazy pills, or is that not the most insane idea ever to seep from his rancid anus-mouth? how does cutting off trade solve an imaginary interest rate issue? I can’t believe I even just typed that sentence. it’s that batshit.

come on, that’s like holding a gun to your own head, and saying you’ll pull the trigger if you don’t get what you want.

does Donny even understand what he’s threatening to do? I wouldn’t put money on it.

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if Sundowning Grandpa Befuddlepants wanted to ramble confusedly about shit he’s too demented to remember doing, he didn’t have to do it from Fuckface Force One.

President Trump seems to be confused about his own social media posts.
Reporter: You reposted a video you took on January 6th.
Trump: Well, I posted about 30. Which one are you talking?
Reporter: You posted a video you took and posted on January 6th asking the rioters to go back home.
Trump: Who???
Reporter: The rioters of January 6, 2021.
Trump: I don’t know what she’s talking about

remember that? how last Friday, on a day when the rest of the world was honoring those who died on 9/11, Dear Leader posted a video from January 6, 2021, when he pretended to tell the insurrectionists that he’s sent to try to overturn the 2020 election that it was time to go home.

everyone was all ‘what the fuck is that all about?’

here’s what I wrote about it at the time.

what was the possibly context for posting a random video from over five years ago? spoiler alert: there isn’t any. the fucking idiot’s brain is tapioca pudding.

and it turns out I was right. even Donny has no fucking clue why he did what he did. he doesn’t even remember doing it.

Dear Leader’s brain has gone fuckity-bye.

there’s no point in wasting millions of taxpayer dollars sending Donny anywhere — not when there’s a good chance he won’t even remember going. not when there’s a good chance you can trick him into believing he’s already been there.

the White House staffers might want to try this: just keep the fucking idiot in the White House, and when he walks into the West Wing in the morning, they should just go up to him with tears in their eyes, and go, ‘sir! sir! how did you like your Irish vacation? Natalie says she had a great time! sir!’

when he acts confused, just keep gaslighting him. ‘sir! don’t you remember? President Connolly said you were the smartest, sexiest man she’d ever met! sir!’

that’s the ticket — play to Donny’s bottomless ego. there’s no way he’s not going to admit that something like that never happened.

and then beat him in a vigorous round of ‘I’ve-got-your-nose.’ dude is that far gone.

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Korrection Korner!

in yesterday’s post, I tried to explain about The Troubles in Northern Ireland, and I completely whiffed it — and then, after literally hundreds of people took me to task for getting it wrong, I re-wrote that section, and folks pointed out that it still wasn’t satisfactory.

tell us something we don’t already know, Laura.

so let me do what I should have done in the first place: consult a source more knowledgeable than I. yes, I’m talking about Google’s janky, six-fingered plagiarism robot.

hey, robot — what were the troubles in Northern Ireland about?

The Troubles were a 30-year ethno-nationalist and sectarian conflict in Northern Ireland lasting from the late 1960s to 1998, centered on whether the region should remain part of the United Kingdom or unify with the Republic of Ireland. [1, 2, 3]

look how easy that was! and I had it completely backwards.

I can’t believe that in yesterday’s post, I took the time to fact-check the spelling of ‘céad míle fáilte,’ and to fact-check whether or not people in Dublin call each other ‘mate’ — but when it came to the most important section of my post, I relied on my increasingly-unreliable old-man memory.

sorry, folks — I really do try not to be a fucking moron in public, but it doesn’t always work out.

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let’s make up for my stunning lack of Responsible Journalism and Everything™ with some Daily Claudia.

Ms Spouse’s bff Mandi emailed me some scans she made of photos from her collection. these are all from the 2000s.

have a great Monday, everyone.

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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.