it was ironic.
there's Papi Trumpo
and screen shots of DJT POTUS' messages , video memes.
Who else looks like stan laurel
The freak Sullivan
The hate just overflows
Roll over, Beethoven, and tell the orange-tinted putz in the shitter the jig is UP, motherfucker!
Stein here, perched on a Colorado porch with Chuck Berry’s guitar ripping holes in the sky while California firestorms 800 miles away look like Jonah just puked napalm on the Second Coming.
I’m limping, stumbling, ancient feet flapping like a drunk flamingo, when the first line smacks me harder than a bad acid flashback: America is now Fragmrica—a Civil War theme park run by Baby Huey the Bathroom Bomber.
He’s locked in the Oval Outhouse, screaming he’ll flush two-hundred-and-forty years of democracy unless he gets his gold-plated diaper changed and a Big Mac on the Resolute Desk.
Historians are rolling on the floor laughing their asses off at how fast the “constipated institutions” bent the knee to this prefab fascist who waltzed in through the Electoral College’s cosmic crack like a Russian-puppeted Trojan horse.
Republicans pledged their immortal souls to the shitter,
Democrats stood around like they forgot their own lines, and every day it’s another Goebbels tweetstorm: dead-baby-on-a-stick headlines, Special Olympics threats, then instant denial and “some flunky did it.”
Founding Fathers?
Drunk frat boys who copied King George’s imperial playbook, forgot the eject button, and built a government that protects only rich white land-owning dudes while pretending the rest of us didn’t exist.
Now the imperial presidency is a runaway freight train with a stupid-evil conductor at the wheel, and the only fail-safe left is us rocking the damn car back and forth before it derails into the radioactive sushi buffet.
Me?
I was busy writing the Great American Assassination Opus—JFK, MLK, RFK, all three whacked by the same Keystone Cops in suits with patsies, CIA spooks, and media shills—when 2016 hit and Putin’s meat puppet stole the show.
Suddenly my book felt as relevant as a rotary phone in a smartphone orgy.
Fires rage, ice melts, depression is the new national pastime, and the putz denies climate change while his tailgating, flag-barbecued minions cheer because at least he doesn’t lecture them like the coastal magpies.
They know he’s a lying sack of shit—they just love watching him torture the elites who looked down on them.
One-out-of-two ain’t bad when you’ve been fucked over for decades.
We’re all in the belly of the whale now, folks.
Past and present are hate-fucking in broad daylight.
Imperial Presidency?
Into the woodchipper.
Lifetime congressional pensions and platinum healthcare? Shred it. Want peace? Then fight for it, or the machines will round us up for the irony exhibit and charge admission to watch the species that invented them beg for mercy.
So tune in, turn on… then for the love of every dead rock star and burning forest,
DROP the bullshit and rock this runaway train before Baby Huey blows up the bathroom and leaves us all whistling “Roll Over Beethoven” in the radioactive rubble.
Because if we don’t fix this mess, the future’s gonna look back and say:
“Damn… those 2020s idiots really did let the orange putz flush the whole goddamn republic while Chuck Berry played on.”