Dear Leader is bugfuck nuts.

we know this. it’s not open to debate. we’ve all seen the erratic behavior. the pants-shittingly infantile tantrums. the utter lack of impulse control. the mood swings. the ever-shifting incoherence he wreaks on the world, as the family of raccoons that live inside his fat, waterlogged head randomly chew through allthe wires.

but you know who else is equally deranged?

Preznit Fuckwit’s stalker-slash-diaper-nurse, that’s who.

you know who I’m talking about: the Ivanka-esque blonde who’s ever-present, following three steps behind Dear Leader, everywhere he goes. the one whose official job is to make a broken-inside rage-baby feel good about himself.

Donny went on a posting spree yesterday, one that was even more crazypants than usual, shitting out dozens of childish memes all over his crappy app.

but of course, it wasn’t Donny pulling those antics all by himself. it’s Natalie Harp who curates all that shit in the first place and shows it to Donny, at which point he goes ‘hurr hurr hurr, so funny.’

so yeah, she’s every bit as bugfuck nuts as Dear Leader.

she’s also every bit as transphobic.

isn’t that charming? Donny and the diaper nurse are doubling down on the childish ‘Kaitlan Collins and Dylan Mulvaney, who can even tell them apart’crack that Donny made at the Correspondents’ Dinner. why? it wasn’t a particularly clever — or even remotely accurate — remark. it’s just a sad reminder that we’re dealing with the most infantile administration ever. it’s just sewer clowns and bridge trolls.

now, somebody please explain to me, what the fuck even is this?

seriously, who’s panicking? who is this aimed at? it’s just Donny and Nattie, high on their own supply, smiling at each other and going ‘they’re so scared of us.’

how fucking dumb.

and it’s all so delusional.

which man, exactly, ‘saved America’? the psychotic teenager who was so out of control that his cold and distant parents shipped him off to a military academy, so he’d be out of their hair? the serial predator who used to fight with his dead pedo bestie over which one of them had the right to ‘own’ the Motel-a-Lago ‘spa girls’? the racist game show host? or the current doughy pantload in the Oval Bordello?

who even comes up with this stuff? oh look, it’s the worst remake of North by Northwest ever.

let’s get real. any real-life scenario where George Washington meets Dear Leader would simply be George repeatedly smacking Donny upside the head and going ‘what the fuck is wrong with you? America doesn’t have kings, you stupid dipshit.’

how MAGA-pickled does your brain have to be to sit down at an AI prompt and go ‘draw me Dear Leader saving George Washington from falling off of Mount Rushmore and there should be a clock with lightning in the sky, because it’s all something something something time travel’?

this is like proudly announcing to the world, ‘look how mentally ill I am.’

so is this.

let’s do a quick fact check. does Donny in real life actually look as handsome and heroic as he does in that AI-generated drek?

yeeesh.

of course he doesn’t. that ‘cosmic commander’ bullshit is just the diaper nurse stroking the piss-baby’s ego. ‘look how rugged you are, sir!’

seriously, how can Natalie keep from swooning, being in such close proximity to such a hunk of alpha masculinity?

it’s all so fucking idiotic. no other world leader needs to be coddled like this. no other head of state runs their own social media site devoted to stroking their fragile ego. at this point, even Kim Jong-un has to be all ‘come on, dude. tone it down. you’re embarrassing yourself.’

and then there was this shit. Donny and Nattie farted out at about a dozen variations on the ‘Donny 2028’ theme, each one dumbfuckier than the next.

oh please. Donny wishes he looked anywhere near that good, ever.

it’s time for another fact check. here’s a photo from yesterday, by Matt Kaminsky, of Dear Leader waddling his way back to the White House after cheating at golf.

look, I’m going to go out on a limb here and make a prediction: there isn’t going to be any serious effort to run Donny again in 2028. all we’re seeing here is Donny’s minders trying to troll us, and get us all riled up over nothing. it’s a distraction — along with a generous dollop of letting Donny think he has a chance to run in 2028, just to keep him mollified.

but here’s where Nattie and Donny’s posting spree goes from stupid to reckless.

oh gee, Commander Crazypants is warmongering again. I have no idea what he imagines he’s accomplishing here, aside from antagonizing the country that’s currently shut down the Strait of Hormuz. does Donny actually believe that shitting out threats on social media is an effective way of negotiating?

Donny has clownfucked himself into an unwinnable don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, a quagmire that’s now in it’s fifth month, with no end in sight — and now he’s making things worse for himself, by posting first and thinking never.

oh, it’s our tanker now? what, we’re going to board Iranian oil tankers? just like that?

that’s a pretty strong boast — especially considering that there are reports that Donny’s gin-soaked Secretary of Death had to put his jolly little war on hold, because we’re fucking running out of munitions.

The U.S. military had been poised Friday to launch an intensive series of strikes against Iran, which could have lasted up to two weeks, the officials said.

But the operation was delayed so diplomacy could proceed and as officials discussed the effect a major attack could have on the U.S.’s shrinking stocks of Patriot and other air defense interceptors.

gee, maybe Piss-Drunk Pete should have spent less time obsessing over the testosterone levels of his warfighting warfighters and more time on making sure he had enough bombs on hand to win the war he thought would be over in an afternoon.

which brings us to this exchange between Meet the Press’ Kristen Welker and UN Ambassador Mike Waltz, because — well, you have to hear it to believe it.

Welker: “NBC News is reporting that the Pentagon is actually rationing some defense weaponry amid diminishing supplies. is America backing away from a larger military attack because our stockpile has been depleted?”

Waltz: “look, we have to take a step back here. a lot of stockpiles were depleted … the administration inherited a depleted military under the Biden administration.”

Welker: “but you acknowledge that they’re depleted?”

Waltz: “I want to be crystal clear. the US military has everything that it needs to conduct this campaign, and I have to tell you, the people who are leaking this nonsense deserve to be in jail.”

got that? America doesn’t have enough munitions, because of that meanie Joe Biden, who was old and icky and smelled bad — but we also have more munitions than we need, and anyone saying otherwise needs to rot in prison.

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hey, speaking of rotting in prison — everything totally fucking sucks right now, but at least we can all enjoy Andrew Tate (or, more likely, some flunky posting for him) continuing to bellyache about how super unfair it is for an ahem alleged rapist and sex trafficker awaiting extradition for his ahem allegedcrimes to be deprived of his liberty.

boo fucking hoo.

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It feels like a good portion of this nation is on death watch right now.

My social media feed is filled with photos and videos gleefully documenting the markers of his physical deterioration, with rising hope as his public appearances grow more sporadic, with almost giddy prognostications of his departure date from this place. People are posting their plans as if preparing for New Year’s Eve or a World Series Championship.

I am not exactly one of those people.

Yes, he has been an odious blight upon this planet and a cancerous presence to this nation. He is, without question, one of the single most objectively horrible human beings our species has produced.

Setting aside the reality that his passing would elevate a successor who is smarter, shrewder, less impulsive, and potentially far more effective in accelerating this country’s slide into theocracy, authoritarianism, and economic devastation for everyone but the billionaire cadre of amoral tech bro vampires who elevated him to the platform to begin with.

But I don’t wish for his death.

I wish he’d never been born.

If he departs this mortal sphere as I type this, it will do nothing to undo all the evil that his now bruised hands have wrought, to erase every vile thing his presence has exposed as he ascended politically.

It will not rewind the years of those who lived in squalor and poverty in New York City, on whose backs he built his jittery, hollow empire.

His death will not bring financial restitution to the thousands of workers and contractors left abandoned by the many bankruptcies that emancipated him from responsibility.

It won’t give back wholeness and healing to the girls and women he violated in secret or maligned in public.

It will not reverse the irreparable damage he has done to a political party whose members individually and collectively abandoned every legal and moral expectation to fall prostrate before him.

It will not elicit repentance in a white Evangelical Church that parted ways with the compassionate, loving namesake of its faith tradition and fashioned a vicious, sneering, profane, God-mocking idol out of his antithesis and bowed down before it.

His passing now could not allow us to unsee the repugnant grievance cult he unleashed here; the historically hateful movement of miserable people who’ve spent the last decade reveling in an unrepentant ugliness because he gave them consent.

It will not remove the legion of incompetent, predatory, corrupt sycophants he poisoned our government with; people who have and will continue to dismantle and pervert our systems of care and legal oversight.

And his death, as much as it would feel like an initial reprieve from the chaos he has engineered and the unfathomable suffering he has spearheaded, would do nothing to conceal the vile sickness he exposed within the people around us: the long-simmering racism, the scalding contempt for foreigners, the phobic hatred of human beings for their gender identity or sexual orientation.

Long after he is gone, we will be left with what we now know about our family members and friends and neighbors; about the people in our churches, about the parents of our children’s friends; about the pillars of our communities, about those we trust to govern us, to protect and serve us.

These atrocities, sadly, will all long outlive him.

He lived, and his life has done its brutal, irreversible damage.

And with that being true, I do not wish for his death; not yet.

I hope and pray that he lives long enough to face legal accountability for his crimes; that he will not depart this place before escaping consequences for the willful disregard he has spent 80 years showing for the laws of our land, for the disparate humanity that has called this place home, and for the sacred and powerful platform he never deserved to begin with.

I want him to live long enough to face a cell before he faces his maker.

And I want to live long enough to see it.

That will be cause for true celebration.

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