This week: The unspeakable horrors of yet another War on Christmas; Herr Donald was this close to becoming just another crazed, low-level, third world dictator; You get 600 dollars! You get 600 dollars! Every-body gets 600 dollars!; Trump’s Confederacy of Dunces increases its ranks yet again; How our president un-worked his ass on; And the surprising final stop on COVID-19’s “2020: Fuck The World” tour.
Dig it…
This week: The unspeakable horrors of yet another War on Christmas; Herr Donald was this close to becoming just another crazed, low-level, third world dictator; You get 600 dollars! You get 600 dollars! Every-body gets 600 dollars!; Trump’s Confederacy of Dunces increases its ranks yet again; How our president un-worked his ass on; And the surprising final stop on COVID-19’s “2020: Fuck The World” tour.
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If it was actually Friday, this would be “My Christmas Dump” and I would begin by saying “Merry Christmas.” But it’s not Christmas day. It’s just “the holidays,” and so I will say happy holidays because I’m not an ignoble ignoramus who has somehow convinced himself that acknowledging the celebrations and traditions of other cultures means I’m participating in a war on Christianity’s belief that they know for sure the exact day Jesus was born. They don’t. No one does. But my own best guess would be that he dropped roughly nine months after some rando traveling myrrh salesman convinced Mary he was God while Joseph was out of town at a carpentry convention.
Despite the ridiculous annual “War on Christmas” refrain from the parade of lying liars who lie at FoxNews, the fact of the matter is that Christmas itself was originated specifically as a War on Paganism. It was the Roman Emperor Constantine, if memory of what I just now read on the internet serves, who, in 336, chose to celebrate “Christmas” on December 25th. This was a deliberate effort to overshadow the Roman holiday Saturnalia during which Pagan Romans celebrated their god Saturn, the God of agriculture and well-built, moderately priced automobiles manufactured by a subsidiary of General Motors.
Personally, I consider all of it to be hocus pocus long since hijacked by the powerful and used to control the masses and, if necessary, tear gas them to clear the way for a mealymouthed religious-themed photo op.
Mealymouthed religious-themed photo op.
But enough of the super-fun origin story. Let’s consider what has become of Christmas, aside from an opportunity for unlikely musicians to team up and sing unrequested versions of holiday songs that are no less awful simply because they’re so obviously intended to be awful. I’m lookin’ at you, William Shatner (somehow featuring ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons)!*
(*Definitely not this week’s musical guest.)
Christmas is an opportunity to be thoughtful, kind, generous and grateful in a seemingly sincere way that you don’t need to bother with the rest of the year, save for maybe the week leading up to your own birthday. Unfortunately, that’s understandably difficult for a lot of people this year thanks in large-to-full part to the lingering effects of a unique and deadly virus that, back in February, our president, in his harebrained version of wisdom and leadership, said is “like the flu” and bombastically predicted was, “going to disappear. One day, it’s like a miracle, it will disappear.”
He’s literally the worst leader since Esposito in Woody Allen’s Bananas…
It’s demoralizing to have to believe that this could actually have been the exact text of Trump’s second inaugural speech. That’s how close we were to being forced to wear our underwear on the outside… so he could check.
But fear not, America!
“Help is on the way!”
At least according to multi-millionaire Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McConnell, who has bravely led the way in his fight to make sure that every American who jumps through the right hoops will get a whopping 600 dollars, or what amounts to .003 percent of Mitch’s 20 million dollar net worth. It’s like if you had 100,000 dollars (which most people don’t) and you said to someone who had no money at all that “help is on the way,” handed them three dollars, and then waited around for applause.
In the meantime, our Lame Schmuck president seemed for a while to be taking what, for him, is a very infrequently traveled high road by surprisingly insisting that $600 is the pittance that it actually is and that his loyal, royal subjects should all get two thousand dollars a piece, for which they should then undoubtedly thank him personally lest he kill their friends and family to remind them of his love.
And that’s a big part of the problem with Trump:
1 – You simply cannot trust that anything he does is for the good of anybody but himself, and…
2 – He doesn’t seem to concern himself with the detailed consequences of his actions, which, dare I say, is a Brobdingnagian understatement.
I dare! I dare!
Here’s the thing. Trump had little if any input and less if any feedback on the aide package until his defiant boast that the peasants be given more scraps. So he hemmed and hawed and threatened to blow the bill down. A cocksure stance to be cocksure, though, dare I say, more “cock” then “sure.”
I dare again! I dare again!
Of course, in the end, he finally did sign the bill, but because he waited until after December 26th to do that, 14 million Americans lost much needed additional unemployment benefits, meaning if they want to pay the rent and feed their families they may have to resort to selling their bootstraps, and then what would they pull themselves up from?!
Of course, none of this has kept the White House from claiming that over the holidays Trump would “continue to work tirelessly for the American People.”
And if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge I’d like to hit you over the head with.
What actually happened was that on Wednesday he flew to Mar-a-Lago, and literally the very next morning he did what anyone who even knows anyone with half a brain knows is the only thing he actually does tirelessly: he went golfing.
By the way, if you’re looking to buy those pants, you can find them at any L.L.Bean outlet store over by the two-person tents.
#ThosePants
Quick correction. There is, of course, one other thing our President un-Elect has recently taken to doing tirelessly, and that is undermining our democracy by using the highest office in the land as his platform for repeatedly challenging the results of a free and fair election.
Fun!
And he’s managed to do it all based on incredible conspiracies presented to the public with an astonishing level of incredibility by the Simple-twins of the American legal system, Rudy the human oil spill and his Hindenberg of a witness, Footnote McTaintStain.
National embarrassments.
They’re like the punchline of a joke the world has already forgotten.
How’s that legal battle for the soul of our country going, anyway?
Well, Jackoff Nicholas’s most recent staunch defender is former football coach, now Senator-elect from Alabama, Tommy Tuberville, who is not only new to politics, but also apparently an oblivious tenderfoot when it comes to those very same politics. For you see, “The Tubs” as I will only call him from now on…
- doesn’t realize banking and finance are two different senate committees
- believes our nation’s health-care system has exactly one insurance company
- doesn’t know that heroin is an opioid
- thinks we were fighting socialism in WW2
- and recently announced his discovery that there are three branches of government, namely, (quote!!) “the House, the Senate and the executive.”
Forget about being “Smarter than a 5th Grader.” This guy is dumber than a 1st grader who got held back in kindergarten. I bet I couldn’t count on a thousand hands the number of times people talking to The Tubs have furrowed their brow and said, “You’re kidding, right?”
But that’s a detailed consequence of “draining the swamp” – you end up with everything that used to be hidden at the bottom of the swamp.
But there’s good news for president high-IQ/low handicap (or is it the other way around?) His team of soulless apple-polishers has finally been able to confirm one of their Glorious Leader’s wild accusations regarding the supposedly bogus election results: they found a case of a dead person voting!
Finally! His white whale! His political Bigfoot! The truth is out there!
Alas, the offender was Pennsylvania patriot Bruce Bartman, who, after proudly exercising his right to vote, then dumbly exercised the federal crime of registering as his dead mother so he could cast an extra ballot for… drum roll please… He Who Shall Not Be President.
And so, the streak of ineptitude continues unabated.
p.s. – Jackoff’s latest round of golf is his 289th since taking office and brings the taxpayer-funded travel and security total for his hobby to $151.5 million. This despite what he told his readily duped followers while campaigning in 2016…
“I just want to stay in the White House and work my ass off.”
Well, he did not “just stay in the White House,” and he most certainly did not “work his ass off.”
The proof is in the pudding-cheeks.
And yes, perhaps I’m name-calling and body-shaming, but I prefer to think of it as “acting presidential.”
***
You didn’t think I wouldn’t mention it, did you? Well, COVID-19, being the voracious world traveller that it is, has now achieved its ghastly and terrifying goal of visiting literally every fucking place on the planet. Last week it was revealed that the virus somehow made its way to Antarctica. Humanity’s frozen underbelly. Earth’s icy bottom. Santa’s Asshole.
Word is that upon arriving in Shrinky McTestesTown, even the coronavirus immediately requested a transfer.
“Okay, this has gotten out of hand,” said the confused and shivering virus. “Why didn’t I just stay in America? That place is a virus’s happy hour. Some blithering idiot who used to be on TV even just took a bunch of people Christmas caroling without masks on! It was like shooting dumb fish in an idiot rain barrel.”
Hell, even the fucking lost tribes in the Amazon are probably wearing face masks at this point.
I never thought I’d have to say this, but “get your shit together, Kirk Cameron!”
Ending, as usual, on a positive note…
This week’s musical guest is Tom Waits. Perhaps never before in the history of history has the tone of a musical artist more accurately matched the general mood of the country. Waits constantly looks like he’s about to throw up, and sounds like he just spent several hours screaming at his film crew for not wearing masks. And yet, I can’t seem to stop looking at him and listening to him. It’s as if, though either of those things on their own may be hard to swallow, the combination of the two is somehow indefinably mesmerizing. I sheepishly admit that I’d never even heard of Waits before I moved to New York City in 1988. And even then, I was only introduced to him because I let a girl talk me into watching Jim Jarmusch’s “Down By Law” (on VHS) because I wanted her to like me. Turns out I liked the movie a lot more then the girl, so I went right out and bought Rain Dogs, which was his most recent album at the time. Listening to it made me want to either run off with a shitty circus or move in with a severely depressed family of gypsies… but in a good way!
Anywhoooo, since listening to standard Christmas music makes me want to actually wage war on Christmas, my annual search for something different led me to this redefinition of beauty that I can only describe as “A Very Waitsy Christmas.”
Dig it…
Peace, y’all!
And Happy Holidays. 😉
