On Renamings, Redactions, and Rob Reiner (Ferret/Shower Cap)

You guys, what if the backup plan to Project 2025 relies on making the domestic opposition too ashamed of being American to fight for their country?

(Links! Valor! Compassion!: https://showercapblog.com/on-renamings-redactions-and-rob-reiner/)

Might just work, too. You watch his lewd, triumphal gyrations over the murder of a celebrity critic, like a strip club on Giedi Prime, and the appeal of living the rest of your life alongside the millions who rock the fuck out to such obscenity wanes a bit.

He must’ve been so disappointed to learn Rob and Michele Reiner were not, as he so gleefully assumed, killed by a loyal MAGA foot soldier in his name. Man, you know you’re a fucking loser when even your stochastic terrorism flex fizzles out.

YEAH WELL WE PUT HIS NAME ON THE KENNEDY CENTER! AREN’T YOU TRIGGERED, LIBTARDS?

Not particularly. If you want to see triggered, snap a selfie when they scrape it off in three years. I know you guys; you’ll pop like zits. I look forward to the video of Kid Rock blowing up a Marriage of Figaro program with a bazooka.

HOW ABOUT THE PLAQUES DID YOU SEE THE PLAQUES ONE OF THEM SAYS BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA AND ONE SAYS SLEEPY JOE AND THE PICTURE IS AN AUTOPEN BET YOU’RE TRIGGERED PLEASE SAY YOU’RE TRIGGERED I’M SO LONELY MY CHILDREN STOPPED CALLING HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?

Everyone’s really impressed. Truly. Meanwhile, the mighty strongman still struggles to make it through his abbreviated workdays without nodding off on camera, though in his defense, all that cognitive screening can really tucker a septuagenarian rapist out.

Still, pump him full of enough Adderall (with just a dash of the finest vintage from Elon’s ketamine cellar), and he can bleat his way through a 20-minute speech, so long as he doesn’t have to gesture with his shameful death-blotch hand.

Less a speech, really, than a primal, impotent cry to let him gaslight the nation just a little longer, until the cankles rupture and the 224 pounds (wink) of bile and rat turds within spill out onto the Oval Office floor.

He’s so flummoxed and scared. He can’t figure out why us ungrateful plebs don’t just thank him for the fake accomplishments he keeps making up. It’s not like taking credit for ending a war between countries his voters couldn’t find on a map; we know food prices aren’t down, because we have to keep buying the stuff or we’ll die.

You might walk into the pharmacy expecting a 600% discount, but they’ll set you straight pretty quick. And maybe there’s $1.99 gas someplace, but it sure as shit ain’t near me.

If you’re in the military, you’re getting a little holiday bribe, though, and if the money comes out of an already appropriated housing allowance, well, it’s no secret your commander in chief thinks of you as suckers and losers. Anyway, there’s plenty more where that came from if you follow the orders Hegseth gives when the GOP loses the 2028 elections.

I guess Pam Bondi must’ve spilled an inkwell or two (or thirty) all over the Epstein files while they were on her desk, because the incomplete fragment they released this week seems to have been almost entirely redacted beyond a couple of photographs of Bill Clinton.

Probably for the best, as I haven’t stopped puking since I read that article in the Failing New York Times about the pedofriendship between ol’ Jeff and a certain wonderful secret-sharer.

Turd Reich Chief of Staff Susie Wiles tends to keep out of the headlines, so she must’ve been making up for lost time when she sat down with Vanity Fair to dish on the creep cabal she works alongside.

So many newsy little quotes in that article, huh? The President “has an alcoholic personality.” Stephen Miller “swallows live slugs and masturbates to TikTok videos of animals in pain.” Marco Rubio “steals Trump’s socks and sucks on them when he thinks no one is looking.”

Now, this sloppy wad of doofuses has all kinds of mad, fashy plans, like denaturalizing citizens and cracking down on political speech, so I’m certainly thankful for their ongoing ineptitude.

Speaking of, I see Elise Stefanik collected her wages. Not the U.N. ambassadorship, nor a ticket to the New York State Executive Mansion, nor even the seat she’s held in Congress since 2015; no, in exchange for her soul, Elise walks away from electoral politics with a big, fat sack of absolutely nothing, which is fair market value, if you ask me.

Without the benefit of the killer’s father turning him in, Kash Patel’s FBI struggled to locate the latest campus mass shooter, this time at Brown University. “He could be anywhere,” stated one frustrated official.

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? If he’d been hiding out on Katie Miller’s podcast, Kash would’ve caught him for sure. What, you don’t expect the FBI Director to sully his time with law enforcement duties when he could be jetting around the country with his girlfriend on the taxpayer’s dime?

Dan Bongino, however, will be booking his own flights from now on, having realized public service is way harder than spouting lies on the internet. Here’s a phrase I never imagined I’d write: Republicans should be MORE LIKE DAN BONGINO, at least when it comes to quitting jobs they were never qualified for in the first place.

I was gonna suggest referring to Speaker Moses as “Mikey Discharge” from now on, but it turns out that triggers my gag reflex. Point is, while the occasional bill might reach the House floor on Mike Johnson’s say-so, they’re mainly arriving via discharge petition these days. Thanks to a unified Democratic caucus and a quartet of GOP moderates, we’re getting a vote on a three-year extension of ACA subsidies early next year, unless he orders another two-month vacation.

House Republicans were of course far too chickenshit to allow Jack Smith to testify publicly this week, but his opening statement leaked anyway. It’s okay, fellas; we can wait till your midterm whoopin’, assuming Kid Kankles lasts that long.

Tommy Tuberville considers it a “badge of honor” to be labeled an Islamophobic extremist, which makes sense; heaven knows he’s never excelled at anything other than hatred.

Thwarted in her quest to procure the seed of the world’s richest dork, Bettina Anderson officially settled for Rapist Jr., confident the cocaine overdose will strike before he notices the arrangement with the pool boy and alters the will accordingly.

So I guess Alan Dershowitz told the Dotard the Constitution is “unclear” on whether or not he’s allowed to run for a third term. Of course, there’s a whole-ass amendment saying he can’t, but Dersho’s only too happy to burn down American democracy if it means keeping the them files under wraps a little longer.

RFK Jr. worried that his measles outbreak might get lonely while he’s out harvesting whale heads, so he brought a whooping cough outbreak home for company. Say, how much is that bubonic plague in the window?

As for me, I remain a humble peddler of fart jokes, hoping to save enough to purchase a pair of Sticky Kicks. So feel free to toss a buck or two into my tip jar (now accepting PayPal, Cash App, and Venmo!), or if you really wanna make my day, the Kickstarter for my latest comic book is still accepting late pledges!

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/worthcost/general-washington-and-the-liberty-tree/posts/4549372

Ok, I’m taking the next couple of weeks off for the holidays, but I’ll see y’all in 2026! As always, follow @john_luzar, sign up on my email list, and pretty please with REDACTED on top, STAY SAFE OUT THERE!