September 2, 2024: Sundown Towns, Bastions of Ignorance, Audience of One

 

Disgustus, ever fearful of another attack on his wretched person and painfully aware of the empty seats at his ever diminishing venues, has taken to holding his 'rallies' is comfort zones, small rural communities where the population despises education, miscegenation and integration.

The King Hell Rat has been recently spotted holding court in places like Howell and Pottersville, Michigan. I'm familiar with Michigan, my old home state. Although it has been some time since I traveled its roads, I'm familiar enough with its history. These are towns known in the black community as 'sundown' towns, places where one does not go, if one is black, after dark.

Howell, is a case in point. It's reputation for racism is so pronounced that both Keith Olbermann and Steve Schmidt, John McCain's presidential campaign manager, were moved to comment on it. Howell is home to the headquarters of the Michigan Klu Klux Klan, and has recently held a parade where the Klan marched down Main Street chanting “we love Hitler, we love tRUMP”(1) Disgustus, held court in the parking garage of the Livingston County Sheriff's Department standing at a makeshift podium in front of a phalanx of the appropriately brown shirted Sheriff's deputies as well as the Sheriff of Livingston County.

Next he moved on the Potterville, a small town south of Lansing, Michigan, population a bit over 3,000 souls. Disgustus, speaking before a half empty auditorium claimed with a straight face that the 'authorities' were blocking thousands from entering the hall, echoing a charge he has made at earlier 'rallies' in Georgia and Pennsylvania, all in an attempt to cover up his obviously dwindling appeal as fewer and fewer citizens are willing to brave the stench and gather to see and hear his endless drivel about Hannibal Lechter, electric boats and sharks.

Disgustus is afraid. He is, and always has been, in the words of his niece Mary Trump, “a frightened little boy”. He knows he is now outclassed. He knows he is now facing the prosecutor. He knows he is about to face the 'shark' in the form of Kamala Harris, who will cut him to pieces and render his fat bloated carcass to the bottom feeders. He openly confesses that, presented with such a fate, he would prefer electrocution. Confession Donald?

Harris terrifies tRUMP. The extent of his fear is betrayed by his endless braying about someone, acting nefariously, preventing the throngs of faithful from entering the arena. Lansing's Channel 6 News had a team at the event to cover his arrival showing his 'motorcade' passing by a sparse crown looking very much like one assembling six hours before a typical Memorial Day parade in any small town in America. A couple of hundred at best sitting on folding lawn chairs with their ridiculous tRUMP flags as testimony of both their staggering ignorance and their joy at being consistently fed falsehoods. It is here, in the bastions of ignorance, where Disgustus has found his last redoubt. It is here, in the half-empty halls, where his crowds are shriveling down to the size of his penis that Disgustus finds his greatest comfort; the echoes of his own voice bouncing off the empty seats and walls to an audience of ONE.

Imprison the Bastard.

_____________-

1. Howell's notorious history was mentioned in both Olbermann's “Countdown” and Steve Schmidt's “This is the Warning” podcasts in the days following tRUMP's event there. In a campaign appearance reminiscent of Ronald Reagan kicking off his post convention campaign in 1980 at a town in Mississippi a few miles from where three civil rights workers were murdered in 1964, Caesar Disgustus is seen here openly playing the race card.

August 29, 2024: Fascination with Crowd Size, Shit Attracts Flies. He is Dickless

 

 “And what is this fascination with crowd size?”, President Obama asked at the Democratic National Convention to roaring laughter as he brought his hands together as if he were staring down at an ever disappearing penis. Indeed, what is it with Caesar Disgustus and crowd size?

We have noticed this at least since the first presser held at the White House launching his maladministration back in 2017. He's always bragging, especially about the size of the crowds he attracts. Nobody attracts bigger crowds, not Obama, nor Hillary, nor Martin Luther King, nor Biden, especially now not Harris. Disgustus is king of them all attracting crowds as shit attracts flies, Disgustus is the greatest among all men, just ask him.

It is, of course, grandiose delusion which, combined with an attenuated sense of persecution, composes textbook paranoia. The man is not only a malignant narcissist but is deeply paranoid. Disgustus is mentally ill and cannot ever again be allowed anywhere near the Oval Office nor the nuclear code.

Psychologists Gartner and Segal have hinted, more than casually, that this fascination with crowd size betrays a form of penis envy, with crowd size replacing the 19^th century fascination with locomotives and the peculiarly American fascination with guns as phallic symbols substituting for penises among the tragically less endowed. And, given the testimony of Stormy Daniels, who knows something about well endowed men, tRUMP is “small, but not freakishly small”. It appears even Harris is more endowed than the pathetic excuse for a man that now heads the ReSCUMlickan Party. In the immortal words of Bill Murray's character in “Ghost Busters”, “ he is dickless”. Senator Marco Rubio may well have nailed it. It explains his tiny hands. Perhaps this explains as well his lifelong consistent cowardice, his need to denigrate the brave and the fallen, and his constant sense of victimization. He is a tiresomely pathetic little 'man'; a hopelessly boorish braggart with nothing about which to brag.

It's all projection and confession with Disgustus. Occasionally, nearly always inadvertently or by mistake, the truth slips out. Keep you diaper on Donald and stay out of the locker room lest the truth be discovered and suspicions be verified.

Imprison the Bastard.

August 18, 2024: Lead Us Unto Convention, Deliver Us From Evil, Ours is the Republic

 

“Oh, Kamala, lead us now unto convention and deliver us from evil, for ours is the republic, the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen”

----Quotations of Chairman Joe

For the first time in 56 years the Democrats are gathering at Chicago to hold their quadrennial convention, forge a platform and nominate Kamala Harris for the Presidency of the United States. Unlike the dark days of 1968 this will be a brand new sunrise.

The ReSCUMlickans still reeking from their freak show in Milwaukee and suffering from fornicator's remorse find themselves rudderless in turbulent seas. Ranting and raving like a madman, Caesar Disgustus flails about, rambling endlessly about sharks and the 'Great' and 'Beautiful' Hannibal Lecter, a fictional character in the film “Silence of the Lambs” who was, perhaps tellingly, a serial killer and cannibal. Disgustus regales every audience with constantly glowing references to Lecter as well as sharks in what has recently morphed from simple campaign speeches to well publicized press conferences on, for example, the economy. You figure it out, I simply no longer possess the levitational powers nor the mental agility, nor the simple required energy. tRUMP's madness is becoming increasingly irrelevant and, more importantly, boring.

Against boredom the gods themselves struggle in vain. Disgustus finds himself addressing half-empty auditoriums whose crowds begin to slowly file out as he drones on about electric batteries in boats and sharks awaiting in threatening waters, about windmills that kill imaginary birds, about sinister forces afoot to waylay him at every turn. It's all about him you know, hell in a rare moment of honest confession he laid bare his malignant narcissism by telling one crowd that he didn't care about them, he just wanted their vote. Of course what was left unsaid was that he wants their vote not to improve their lot in life, but to stay out of prison.

This is proving all too much for even maggots drawn to the most rancid shit. One witnesses them wriggling free, recoiling from the stench and making for the exits. Even they can no longer stomach this shit.

But while the sun sets on Maggotland, the sun rises on America. Harris and Walz are drawing huge crowds; people are showing up and volunteering in droves to join the 'crusade'; Over half a billion dollars has been raised in the last month, mostly in small donations. In Chicago the Democrats meet to build a new platform for America and nominate a new slate, younger in age, bolder in vision, and openly joyous is celebrating the greatness of this republic and its infinite potential. Happy warriors about the earnest business of delivering us from evil.

Amen

Imprison the Bastard.

August 18, 2024: Politics of Joy, To Breathe Free, Impotence and Agency

 "Against boredom the gods themselves struggle in vain. against laughter every tyrant must fall."

                  ----Quotations of Chairman Joe

When President Joe Biden announced that he was stepping aside and that he is throwing his support behind Vice President Kamala Harris it was as if a millstone had been taken from our collective necks. There was an immediate relief, indeed an exultation, the stench of Barron von Shitsinpants no longer fills the nostrils, at last to breathe free once again.

Thousands gather at her political rallies as she smiles and openly laughs with the audiences.

At a campaign rally where she introduced Tim Walz Her Vice Presidential choice put it most succinctly: “Thank you Madame Vice President for bringing Joy back to our politics”. In this pithy yet telling observation Walz has captured the essence of the contest.

For nearly a decade Caesar Disgustus has been the Merchant of Death. Always gloomy, always moving behind a thinly veiled threat of violence, always the harbinger of disasters real and imagined, and mostly imagined, on the immediate horizon, Disgustus has parlayed fear into political capital. Journalist turned historian Bob Woodward put it clearly with the simple title of his first book on tRUMP: “FEAR”. Disgustus terrorized the country then turned on his own party driving out what little intelligence, courage and honor it possessed and distilling the Grand Old Prostitute into a full blown fascist enterprise with the Donald as the supreme leader. What remains are sniveling lickers of boots and kissers of ass, Donald's ass.

Caesar Disgustus has miscalculated. He has always thought that he could institute a reign of terror and thereby rule not understanding the culture in which this country's political institutions operate. At some point we will have had enough and that point has now been reached.

Psychologists John Gartner and Harry Segal host a weekly podcast called “Shrinking Trump” in which they catalog the mental and emotional decline of our 45^th 'president'. In this weeks edition Gartner made the observation that in a contest between joy and despair or, more precisely, joy and victimization, joy will always win.

In sum, this is why: victimization implies powerlessness. One is constantly victimized and, in the fascist fantasy the strong man emerges to assume agency for the powerless. But, unlike Hitler, tRUMP has internalized the powerlessness by himself becoming the victim, the martyr. “They are doing it to me because they want to do it to you”, he constantly tells his people. “I took a bullet for you” he proclaims in his faux messianic persona in a secularized version of “I nearly died for your sins”. His hero Adolph Hitler, it must be observed, never said that he was the victim, that he was stabbed in the back at Versailles. This is tRUMP's tragic miscalculation. The bond that Disgustus has forged with his following is one a mutually shared grievance and thirst for revenge, but it is born of a naked powerlessness, a powerlessness that can find no relief through any form of revenge, it is simply naked rage, a howling at the moon.

Biden had been making the mistake of empowering tRUMP by highlighting his threat to the republic and, by extension to the nation. Yes he is an existential threat and extremely dangerous one at that, but to inflate his persona is to play into his hands. The answer is belittlement. In the words of our psychologists, the answer is “Shrinking Trump”.

Along comes Harris. Kamala is tRUMP's kryptonite. She is black. She is Asian. She is Indian. She is a woman. She smiles. She laughs. And, devastatingly, she laughs at him.

Poor Donald has no idea how to handle such a force. He rails against her. He belittles her name. He questions her ethnicity claiming that she only recently “turned black”. He tries to mock her laughter telling the great unwashed that he never heard such a laugh and that her laugh makes her sound crazy and that her advisers have put a muzzle on her laughter claiming that if she ever laughs again the race will be over. The truth here is that our fearless leader, a man who is never seen to laugh, is terrified of her laugher.

And this is telling. Laughter is a sign of joy. It is a visceral reaction not easily faked. It communicates not only the absurdity of the moment but the liberation from it. It liberates the audience from the oppressiveness of everything tRUMP represents. Against boredom the gods themselves struggle in vain; against laughter every tyrant must fall. To turn the Dear Leader, the Fuhrer if you will, into a laughingstock is to render him impotent.

In this ridicule is simply not enough. One must bring Joy to bear. Joy is optimistic. Joy gives one Agency, Joy is empowering. It is for this reason that civil rights demonstrators danced and sang songs of hope and promise.

Kamala Harris has plumbed the depths of the national crisis. The battle lines being drawn now, at base, have become a contest between not simply between fear and hope, nor between despair and joy, but between impotence and agency.

There is no doubt where America will turn.

Thank you Kamala for kicking open the doors of the dungeon. We can see and breathe again, we can laugh and dance again.

Imprison the Bastard.

August 17, 2024: It's the Stench, Table is Set, Reason For Hope

 

“It's the stench, stupid!”

----Quotations of Chairman Joe

The table is set. Old Joe has withdrawn from the race, close on the heels of a dismal 'debate' performance against our rotting Caesar Disgustus last June 27. It took about a month to persuade Joe to take a curtain call but in late July Biden did the honorable thing and bowed to father time.

This may not be, however, the whole story. One suspects this may well have been the plan all along. Continue the administration and secure his legacy by passing the torch to his able Vice President, twenty years younger than the drooling, gibbering buffoon lying incessantly and babbling incoherently in opposition immediately after Disgustus, fresh from his coronation at the ReSCUMlickan National Convention already boasting of riding a great 'red' wave, an electoral landslide, back into the oval office.

Instead, after spending months and hundreds of millions in treasure running against our aging president Disgustus now finds himself in in entirely new contest against an opponent 20 years his junior, moreover a black woman, a candidate tailor made to attack his most vulnerable susceptibilities. If ever Disgustus demonstrates his electoral weaknesses it is over gender and race, two issues he simply cannot leave alone. Kamala Harris is precisely the candidate best suited to call out and display to the world the fast decomposing turd that is Donald J. tRUMP.

From a certain perspective Biden's fast footwork transforming the contest from a verbal boxing match into a tag-team wrestling contest appears pure genius. Passing the torch to Harris at this late date eliminates the long and bruising primary contests, the threatened fracturing of the Democratic Party, and the undermining, had the Democrats chosen someone else, of the continuity and legacy of his administration. Pure genius and it looks like this may well have been the plan all along. Why else would Biden have challenged the aging idiot to a debate so early in the electoral cycle?

So, having seamlessly passed the torch, the contest has been reset. Disgustus, now the oldest candidate ever placed before the electorate will face off against Harris. Old vs relative young, white vs. black and East Indian, male vs. female, fascist vs. democrat. The lines could not be more stark, the significance more glaring: barbarism vs. civilization. The very survival of the republican experiment now approaching a quarter of a millennium, at stake.

It all boils down to a simple calculation: will the recoil from the stench of Caesar Disgustus be strong enough to overpower the country's underlying and pervasive racism and sexism? That is the question.

The 'ragin cajun' James Carville, Bill Clinton's 1992 campaign manager, has given us some perspective. Pointing out that in the last four election cycles the American people have twice elected a black man President of the United States with over 50 per cent of the vote. It has chosen by popular vote a woman for President albeit losing in the electoral college. And it has elected a black woman Vice President of the United States. There is every reason for hope.

Indeed there is. And the greatest reason is that the stench the permeates Caesar Disgustus, “Barron Von Shitsinpants” as Michael Cohen famously calls him, is so overpowering that the country simply cannot bring itself to get near enough to the rotting turd to wrap it's arms about him. The stench permeates everything. It flares the nostrils, burns the eyes and lungs, it leaves a putrid taste in one's mouth. One cannot imagine the country willingly returning to the days when every morning it would awake to find yet another steaming pile of fresh shit deposited in one's living room via Fox and Fiends, or Shitter, as the Coward in Chief, sitting on his gold plated 'throne' deposits yet another outrage for the country to confront. No, the Drama Queen has long since worn out his welcome. He, alas, no longer entertains.

And that too, is reason for hope.

Imprison the Bastard.

June 25, 2024:

May 31, 2024: Stormy Days Ahead, Not Freakishly Small, Guilty as Charged

 

Porn Star Stormy Daniels took the stand last week in the Election Interference trial of Donald J. tRUMP. Everyone, and I mean everyone, expected the prosecution to skewer her; instead quite the opposite occurred. Daniels danced rings around the hapless counsel demonstrating an integrity and intelligence few had expected.

In at times sharply critical close cross examination in which the defense, in the predictable attempt to discredit and smear the witness, asked Stormy to describe the encounter. Testifying that she had met The Apprentice star at a golf tournament at one of is garishly appointed country clubs. Disgustus, ever attracted to tits and ass, asked her to join him for dinner later in the evening. Meeting the appointment she soon found herself in his suite, understanding that they were to discuss a possible Celebrity Apprentice appearance as a way of mainstreaming her public personae. After briefly retiring to the rest room she emerged, according to testimony, to find the Donald stripped to his underwear and lying on the bed in an awkwardly adolescent posture of sexual appeal. What followed, according to Daniels was and all too brief exchange in which he asked her if she wanted to keep living in a trailer the rest of her life, implying she knew what it would take to make the 'big time'. This crass approach was immediately, and with no demonstrated skill, followed with, in her telling, altogether thankfully brief intercourse lasting but a few brief seconds. Donald has always exhibited both lack of self control and total inconsideration for the feeling, if not the existence, of the other. In typically pre-adolescent behavior he was heard, the next morning, bragging of his most recent conquest, yet another notch on the old Derringer. Stormy described the thankfully brief encounter as the worst sexual experience of her life, in which she endured the assault by staring at the ceiling briefly pondering how soon it would be over.

In any case it gave Ms. Daniels the opportunity to describe what Marco Rubio only hinted about in his 2016 challenge of tRUMP during the 2016 debates. It was confirmed by Daniels that tRUMP is indeed underdeveloped where it counts, describing his rampant member as “small, but not freakishly small,” with a large mushroom head, she didn't testify as to whether or not his testicles had yet dropped.

Now, having already confirmed through testimony brought out by the Defense that Daniels had appeared in over 200 adult films, it could be assumed by any jury that Ms. Daniels is an established authority on male anatomy, especially well endowed men among which, Donald is surely not. Her testimony confirms that of E.Jean Carroll in her civil lawsuit in which she testified, convincingly, to the jury that she couldn't tell whether he had inserted his penis or one of the fingers on his tiny hands when he assaulted her in a Department Store dressing room. This, under New York law, meant that the jury could find him guilty of sexual assault instead of outright rape; which they promptly did.

It was information revealed in this case that further confirms the depravity of the 'man'; adding yet another sordid tale in a growing litany of sordid tales that composes the dung heap that is our Caesar Disgustus; stories that, through intimidation or outright bribery, did not see the light of day depriving the public of a full understanding of just what a pile of steaming stinking dog shit he really is.

In any case, after requesting a re-reading of the testimonies of both Ms. Daniels and Michael Cohen, the first and last witnesses, the bookends as it were, of the trial the jury returned a swift verdict. Guilty on all 34 counts. The soon to be anointed ResCUMlican presidential nominee is now a convicted felon. Let that sink in.

Imprison the Bastard.

April 29, 2024: Pecker Bones tRUMP, Ratfucking the Republic, The Seedy Side

 

David Pecker, (one can hardly make up these names), is a former publisher of the rag known as the “National Inquirer”. This is not to be confused with the Philadelphia Inquirer, for the latter is a respected publication with high journalistic standards while the former is not. The problem is that Pecker's National Inquirer is to be found at the check-out counter of every damn grocery store and nearly every newsstand in the United States. With gripping stories how a surviving, albeit badly damaged, JFK is running things from the basement of the White House, or that Hillary has give birth to a son who is half human and half bat, the Inquirer traffics in the worst kind of 'journalism', giving credence to every conspiracy theory this side of Qanon and 4chan.

Long before “Faux News” and Rush Limbaugh's introduction of hate radio, there was the National Inquirer. It says a lot about America that as it checks out at the grocery what passes for 'news' is not Time or Newsweek; not even Life or the hopelessly reactionary Reader's Digest. Hell, one seeks in vain The New York Times or Wall Street Journal. Instead there is substituted the National Inquirer. This tells you all you need to know about the state of information in these United States, where this upcoming national election is to decided by, perhaps, razor thin margins in a handful of 'swing' states. That is, states that could 'swing' either way.

What this means is the frightening prospect that this election will be decided by a segment of the population that reads this shit, a segment that believes 'professional' wrestling is real. My god, the Republic hangs by a thread.

Pecker took the stand this week in the trial of Donald J. tRUMP for falsifying financial statements related to a 'hush money' scandal involving porn star Stormy Daniels. Although it is universally referred to as a 'hush money' scandal it is, in fact, an election interference scandal involving illegal campaign contributions and the falsification of business records to 'cover up' nefarious behavior in order to prevent the public from becoming aware lest he lose the election.

It's always about the elections with the ReSCUMlickan. Nixon in '68, Reagan in '80, Bush Senior in '88 with the sabotage of Gary Hart's campaign, Bush the Lesser in 2000, Bush the Lesser again in 2004 with the 'swift boating' of John Kerry, tRUMP in 2016 with above mentioned scandal and the Russian interference, Caesar Disgustus again in 2020 with the Ukraine fiasco, the election denials, the fake 'electors' scheme, and the ensuing insurrection. The ReSCUMlickans have been ratfucking the Republic for nearly 60 years. Having 'caught' the 'scandal' the Inquirer, having gained exclusive rights, would 'kill' the story by failing to publish it. This was the case with the Karen McDougall story, a Playboy Playmate of the Month with whom Disgustus allegedly had a protracted affair lasting nearly a year.

And so, Pecker testified at length, he set about implementing the plan. Accordingly, the Inquirer ran blaring headlines featuring stories about, for instance Ted Cruz's father being involved with Oswald in the assassination of JFK. Cruz was, at the time a chief rival for the 2016 ReSCUMlican presidential nomination. It ran stories featuring Hillary's alleged failing health and impending physical collapse. It ran countless stories savaging tRUMP's rivals with glaring headlines guaranteed to catch the eye of every devotee of the World Wrestling Federation and, since it is prominently displayed at every check out isle, it was hoped, beyond.

But, alas, Caesar Disgustus again, unerringly, proved to be the author of his own undoing. Forever the cheapskate, Disgustus refused to pay Pecker for services rendered. This ended the implementation of 'catch and kill' as far as the Inquirer was concerned and when the 'Stormy Daniels' encounter, for according to her the 'affair' lasted only a few brief seconds, was about to break Pecker and his 'journal' were no longer available. Enter the ever reliable Michael Cohen. Cohen, under intense pressure to do something mortgaged his home in order to pay off Daniels, a transaction that tRUMP agreed to reimburse in 12 monthly installments. This was done in order for the back-channel payments to appear as 'legal consultation' fees instead of a campaign contribution which tRUMP no doubt declared a business expense for tax purposes. It would also keep the whole business, it was hoped, from ever seeing the light of day. Cohen spent about three years in prison for his part in this affair. Pecker was granted immunity for his testimony. Disgustus, after nearly 8 long years, and nearly 4 years after leaving office, finally finds himself before the bar of justice for election interference, falsification of business records and tax evasion.

What emerged from Pecker's testimony is the tawdry nature of tabloid journalism, of the seedy side of Donald tRUMP and the scope of a scandal the public had every right to know as it went to the polls in 2016. The Republic is now in grave danger having been denied that right.

Imprison the Bastard.

April 19, 2024: Odor In The Court, Stench of Corruption,

March 31, 2024