Uhhh, That Ain't Wine

Here's a little tip to all of my progressive peeps out there in DC demonstrating against Shitheel Hitler's Nazitional Guard:

Don't throw sandwiches at the Guard or the police. That's just wrong.

Instead, give them donuts.

Give them the best donuts you can buy. Offer them donuts everyday until they bloat up like a Snoopy Thanksgiving balloon and suffer a fucking coronary thrombosis.

I'm serious.

Any National Guardsman, or police officer for that matter, now standing around uselessly on the streets of Washington, at the behest of the Oaf of Office, who didn't tell their commanding officer "Sorry, sir, but I prefer following the Constitution so I'm gonna stay home, thank you very much" should hand in his uniform and fuck right off!

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The Epstein files are the new "Trump taxes", which means they'll never, ever be released to the public.

Never.

They'll be burned or flushed as a last resort if and when adults grab the reins of government again.

So we all just need to agree that he's a kiddie-diddling perv and take justice into our own hands. I propose we build a box-trap just outside the gates of the White House and we'll bait it with a Real Doll dressed as a Girl Scout selling Big Macs.

With a favorable breeze wafting the delicious aroma of seared animal fats in the direction of his office he might be able to hold out for one hour, two hours tops.

After capture he'll be confined to a room that's the exact duplicate of the Oval Office where he can sign all the fake executive orders he wants and order Diet Cokes to his heart's delight.

This means that the Heritage Foundation will be giving JD Vance, as prez, a whole new set of inhumane orders to follow but at least we won't have to hear that Orange Asshole's voice again.

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People often complain about "having to do laundry".

Pleeease.

You put your clothes in one machine and then put them in another machine. That's all you did.

Doing laundry used to mean firing up a tub of river water and then boiling the clothes in lye soap, which you often made yourself from animal fats and wood ash. Now that was doing laundry.

I used to imagine that we were just one technological leap from pushing a button and Rosie the Robot would come and gather our stinky underthings and put them through the Atomic Wash-O-Matic but, with Orange McFecalmass in the White House, I think we're actually closer to the "animal fats" end of the hygiene spectrum.

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- Lefty