Day 37

While America burns, media conglomerates continue to praise The Shitstain’s wonderful world wonderful version of American dystopia. They pat themselves on the back, congratulating one another on their foresight for helping to elect a blithering idiot to assist with their financial bottom lines.

Elected representatives refuse to meet with constituents, citing the dangers inherent in the rabble’s discontent. The rabble, unable to force change at this late date, wonders why. They walk away, gleefully shaking their heads, and stick their collective heads up their asses while sending texts into the void congratulating themselves for a job of discontent done well. Unfortunately, texts from the shitter sent with pants down around ankles, shitstained fingers tapping merrily away, will too pass into obscurity quicker than The Shitstain’s next tweet.

Distraction is everything.

America continues on its downward spiral, sold willingly down the toilet. It somehow manages to stay afloat on The Shitstain’s river, well on its way to being disgorged into irrelevance and to the banana republic status it so richly deserves. The only thing that surprises me is how quickly it has happened.

Fortunately, it’s a weekend. The Shitstain’s twitter twatting will be limited to the fake news published on Friday that he is capable of remembering.

How do you see your America coming along now, Les Moonves and CBS? Oh, right. Sorry. It’s good for CBS, therefore it’s good for America. Nothing to see here. Move along.

And this is only Day 37.


* * * SPOILER ALERT * * *

With more fur and leather than a cancelled Barnum & Bailey circus, Frontier will be certain to ensure the arousal of PETA and Pamela Anderson unto her wet and untimely demise, courtesy of a communist socialist Canadian free-health-care death panel.

Fur and leather corsets abound. Heaving bosoms, not so much. Canadian lassies, unfortunately, weren’t allowed to cavort in such manner, thanks to the prevalence of the Catholic church and its predelicktion for the little boys.

Every unemployed Canadian actor will be working unto perpetuity if the series is continued.

The Shitstain is coming! The Shitstain is coming!

Poor Mexico. First on the To Be Invited Invaded list. Given The Shitstain’s yuuuge military qualifications, he’ll probably direct the silly fuckers to the north. Oh Canada, you aren’t on the list yet, but I’m pretty certain you will be, right after Australia.

The list, so far (updated periodically):

  • Chicago (sorry, Mexico. You’re number 2. We all know number 2 tries harder.)
  • Mexico
  • Australia
  • Iran
  • Lawyers
  • The Middle East (not a country, but whatevs)
  • Europe (yeah, I know. It’s not a country, but The Shitstain thinks it is.)
  • Urropean
  • More to come as The Shitstain consults with his family and a world map.

I’d bet Mexico was wishing the wall had been built a lot sooner. Can you imagine that poor country full of stupid, ignorant, uneducated, illiterate Americans that can’t shoot straight?

Mexico doesn’t have too much to worry about. A pack of confused, deluded gringos  will arrive, wander aimlessly, quote scripture, speak an incomprehensible dialect of The Shitstain’s language, and get sunburned, all while dressed in camo. Based on images of invading Shitstain armies, the really cool sunglass quotient will go over the wall, causing more of a demand for made in China goods and services.

Given that The Shitstain’s troops haven’t been responsible for winning a war in many decades, I doubt much harm will come to bad hombres. If anything, drug use and smuggling by The Shitstain’s returning troops/generals will most likely ensure overflowing cartel coffers forever.

Black Sails

* * * SPOILER ALERT * * *

Tight corsets. Heaving bosoms. Treacherous, deceitful women. Double-crossing, double-dealing men. Sunshine, sand, and wind-filled canvas. Pirate treasure. Much cursing. Need I say it again? Betrayal. What say you?

Arrrr, Billy.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking. –John Masefield