The best thing you can say about John Cornyn is that he’s the least—or rather less—revolting U.S. senator from Texas. That’s not saying much, of course. After all, even if the senior senator from the Lone Star State were an intestinal fluke who emerged fortnightly to sing Captain & Tennille B-sides during official state dinners, he still wouldn’t be as revolting as Ted “Probably Not the Zodiac Killer” Cruz.
Today's Liberal News
Aldous J Pennyfarthing
Donald Trump isn’t worth his weight in off-brand ramen noodles, but Forbes magazine still thinks he’s “worth” around $2.5 billion. I’m not sure what the current exchange rate is between enchanted sparkly unicorn farts and the U.S. dollar, but Forbes seems to think Trump still has more of the latter than the former.
Republican Sen. Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee appeared “exclusively” on Fox Business’ Sunday Morning Futures with Maria Bartiromo this week to weigh in on Joe Biden’s $3.5 trillion Build Back Better human infrastructure plan.
There’s a meme commonly shared on social media that goes something like this: “If you drank from a garden hose, stayed outside till dark, rode in the back of a pickup truck, ate dirt, licked random amphibians, taunted apex predators, and slapped yourself repeatedly in the face just to feel something in the midst of your cosseted, banal, utterly meaningless existence, then SHARE.” I may be paraphrasing, but the meaning is plain enough.
So remember when multibillionaire e-tailer Jeff Bezos got shot into space and acted like it was something brand new that a monkey hadn’t done seven decades ago? And how he thanked his long-beleaguered Amazon employees for paying for his ride, and did it all while wearing a cowboy hat that made him look like a 6-year-old posing for sepia-toned GlamourShots at a half-occupied mall outside of Boise, Idaho?
Yeah, you remember.
Dave Rubin is a political commentator and talk show host who appears on YouTube and BlazeTV, a conservative network that also hosts famed Algonquin Diaper-Changing Station members Glenn Beck, Mark Levin, and, erm, one of those Duck Dynasty dudes. You know, the one with the shitty beard. No, not the shitty Rip Van Winkle beard. The other one. The one that looks like a rent-by-the-hour motel for boisterously horny sea otters. You know, that guy.
Texas lawmaker introduces uber-unconstitutional resolution to make the Bible the official state book
While Texas having an official state book may seem a little like Wisconsin naming an official nonalcoholic beer and vegan goat cheese, at least the state is trying to encourage reading. Officials should probably ease into it, though. Maybe start with an official “back of a Cocoa Pebbles box” or an official misspelled, ungrammatical neck tattoo?
That’s not to say everyone in Texas is less than well-read, of course.
When it comes to killing people with coronavirus, Wall Street apparently prefers the deliberate, methodical approach of Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis to the chaotic, poo-flinging paroxysms of super-duper-spreader Donald John Trump.
The hirsute-lipped brain effluent known as Mike Lindell is at it again. And by “it,” I mean giving his brutally overworked absinthe fairies another go at convincing the world—through this bellowing bringer of absurdities and unduly upbeat pillow ads—that Donald Trump really and for true won the 2020 presidential election.
To prove his thesis, Lindell has crawled down hundreds of rabbit holes bristling with brain-damaged rabbits.
If you already thought the Trump administration’s COVID-19 response resembled two drunk howler monkeys punching each other in the groin on a Tilt-A-Whirl, you’ll be horrified—though certainly not surprised—to discover it was actually worse than previously thought.
We all have that one relative whose brain is nothing but spackle, expired haggis, and unnecessarily circuitous termite tunnels, and presidents are no different. Jimmy Carter had his brother Billy. Bill Clinton had his half-brother Roger. And George W. Bush famously disgorged from the same womb as … wait. Never mind. He is the embarrassing, cookie dough-brained black sheep of that family.
For a brief period, Michael Flynn was the actual national security adviser to an actual U.S. presidential administration. He left in disgrace (i.e., was fired) after lying to Vice President Mike Pence about his conversations with Russian Ambassador to the U.S. Sergey Kislyak. Ultimately, he was fired by Donald Trump. For being a liar.
Let that sink in for a moment. Trump fired a guy for telling one lie.
The blizzard of snowflakes that stormed the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6 is rapidly melting under the klieg lights of consequences. It’s hard not to laugh sometimes, and of course, the funniest part is that these salty traitor tots’ putsch not only failed to keep their wayward wad of amoral protoplasm in the White House, it also inconvenienced them so egregiously you’d think they were involved in serious lawbreaking or something.
Well, you know, 300 Spartans held off Xerxes’ forces at Thermopylae in 480 B.C., so maybe these goobers can make a stand with their meager phalanx of befuddled cheese bread receptacles.
Then again, if you’re expecting 10,000 enthused MAGA mites and only 300 show up, maybe it’s finally time to fold the denim tent you’ve kept propped up for the day of Donald Trump’s triumphant return.
From where I stand, Sean Spicer appears qualified for nothing. He’s best known, of course, for serving as the first of four White House press secretaries under Donald Trump, for whom he brazenly lied in one of his first official acts on the job. If he’s known for anything else, it would be having Melissa McCarthy channel his demented Chucky Doll soul in an Emmy-winning guest turn on Saturday Night Live.
The latest tell-all from a former Trump associate promises to be a real barnburner and/or barf-bagger, depending on your current tolerance for the perpetually eye-popping evidence of Donald Trump’s treachery and bottomless bad taste.
At this point in the game, it’s difficult to envision what sort of scandal, if any, could possibly change anyone’s mind about Trump.
Afghanistan! Delta variant! Hurricanes! Wildfires! Chaos, chaos, chaos! Hie thee to thine lifeboats, fellow Americans! The good ship Biden is sinking!
The evidence? President Joe Biden’s approval ratings have now sunk to a roughly 45% average based on FiveThirtyEight’s latest aggregate of polls. As usual, the media is doing its news cycle tango, questioning Biden’s ability to push through his agenda in the face of these numbers.
Ever wonder what happens to the money you donate to nonprofits and political causes? Some organizations and websites exist solely to help you choose which charities to support, typically basing their ratings on the percentage of donations that go directly to programs rather than salaries and other overhead costs.
Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis reminds me of someone. Someone from popular culture. Is it Hannibal Lecter? Nah. Lecter was far more discriminate when it came to choosing his victims. President Camacho from Idiocracy? No way. Camacho at least showed glimmers of empathy. Gus the Field-Goal Kicking Mule? Closer, but no. Gus was actually good at something. Jim Carrey’s talking asshole from Ace Ventura? Much closer—especially this version. But not quite.
I’ve seen chipmunks with their heads stuck in Mountain Dew cans that were better adapted to their environment than today’s lumpish throng of anti-vaxxers. Their reasons for eschewing the COVID-19 vaccines are as varied as they are stupid: Jesus will protect them, God gave them an immune system, the vaccine will kill half the population by October, the vaccine is the mark of the Beast.
Assuming we don’t all die of the Omega! Omega! Omega! COVID-19 strain sometime before the year 2050, it’s easy enough to imagine future archeologists rooting through our scattered, bleached bones seeking explanations for why TruckNutz suddenly disappeared from the fossil record in 2040 or so.
Okay, to be fair, I watched more of Mike Lindell’s goofy cyber symposium than I care to admit. And I may have hidden the full extent of my pathological obsession from my wife. And my therapist. And my dogs, for that matter. But, you know, I wasn’t literally banned from watching it.
Capitol rioter Douglas Jensen was banned, however. In fact, as a condition of his release from jail following his part in Donald Trump’s Jan.
Don’t get me wrong. Joe Biden isn’t perfect. His administration’s assumption that the Afghan government’s security forces would put up more than nominal resistance to the Taliban appears to have been disastrously wrong—though, luckily, many of the people who need and deserve safe passage from the country are now being taken care of.
I used to challenge my friends—usually when we were well into our cups—to come up with the most crass and inappropriate product placement they could for a movie. Product placements are done all the time, of course. If you see a Roman centurion eating Funyuns at the foot of the cross on Golgotha, that’s almost certainly a product placement paid for by Frito-Lay. If Jesus himself tucks into a family-sized bag of Tostitos, you can take it to the bank.
As Republicans bash Biden, recall that antiwar liberals were right and hawks were disastrously wrong
Roughly 20 years ago, I wrote some (very unpopular, mind you) op-eds about our adventures in Afghanistan. As a lefty liberal in a conservative Northeast Wisconsin redoubt, I took a far less knee-jerk approach to 9/11 than some of my neighbors. I experienced the pain, horror, and fear of that day like anyone else. Still, my instinct was always to reject half-baked, jingoistic calls for “nation-building” (to resurrect a term George W.
Sometimes when I wake up in the morning feeling a bit down, and life seems like little more than a small service to the strange, twisted course of the universe, I think, “Well, it could be worse. I could be Matt Gaetz.” And then I think, “Nah. Impossible. If I were Matt Gaetz, I’d be wearing Donald Trump Underoos.” Then I go back to sleep, wondering when our country will return to any semblance of sanity.
For a network that’s been huffing Donald Trump’s underpants nonstop for the past five years, this is pretty rich.
For some reason, Fox News decided it was newsworthy—and perhaps somewhat untoward—for a group of gold medal Olympians to throw back a few bevvies in the wake of their victories. They were “drunk,” according to Fox’s eyeball-grabbing headline.
It’s a soulless, mindless quasi-life form that drains the vitality of the living, leaving nothing but tribulation and death in its wake, and it really wants to be president. Of course, Ron DeSantis’ frothy-mouthed political ambitions may help explain why Florida is essentially a leper colony with a Pirates of the Caribbean ride right now.
To know Pillow Man is to laugh at Pillow Man—or it is if you’re a member in good standing of the sane community, anyway. If not, you may be willing to follow Mike Lindell down every rabbit hole he’s managed to slither through with the help of a spelunker’s headlamp and a Costco-sized tub of Crisco.
Lindell is about what you’d get if Harry Carey had switched from Budweiser to bath salts late in life.
I get that writing for a living can be hard sometimes. It can be difficult to find a voice. Or a platform. Or any reason at all to remain an ink-stained wretch instead of, say, trying one’s hand at perpetual lighthouse-sitting.
Unless you’re Stephen King or J.K. Rowling, the pay is frequently low, the laurels few and far between, and the indignities often serial.