Somebody Break His Thumbs?

It’s not as if we were stuck with some antiquated custom compelling us to coronate the addled git-spawn of royal hillbillies, and it isn’t like Trump pretended being anything other than the smug, racist swindler he is— it’s that a vast, twitchy swath of the country staked their lives on the flatulent whims of that meat stub. Deliberately.

The nation’s now a half-conscious cartoon swarmed by his addled tweets, each shrieking with peurile petulance and the ripening potential of nuclear Armageddon.

We hitched our wagon to a deranged twittering lunatic and we are so screwed.

Also, Whenever His Mouth Moves


If Munch Only Knew


Say goodbye to ill-defined angst, free-floating anxiety and random panic attacks; say hello to a chronically specific, full-on, 24/7/365 nightmare of infantile rage, vindictiveness and poop flinging.

Go ahead and scream, but dial your Congressperson first, so you can share.