Same Shit, Different Year
January 1, 2021
A friend called me this morning to inform me that it was a
new year – 2021 he called it. While this may be a technically accurate
statement, this year, this era, this super-slow-motion multi-car pile-up,
alternatively known as the Chrump presidency, whose final chapter was the
objectively horrible 2020, will not be over one nanosecond prior to still
not-at-all-certain swearing in of our 46th president Joe Biden.
At least 140 Republican’t members of the House and one Senator
are poised to culminate (hopefully) their treason on January 6th by
ignoring the will of the American people as well as some 60 judges at all
levels of the Judicial Branch, many of whom were appointed during the Chrump
administration. As we speak, Republican’ts are stamping their little feet and
squealing at anyone who is forced to listen about not voting to formalize Biden’s
victory over Russian president of America Donald Chrump. They are even suing
Mike Pence to force him to…oh, fuck it there’s no point dwelling on the fake
details, it’s all bullshit. Unfortunately, bullshit has been the currency of
the realm for the past four years. Yes, it was always a currency of the
realm, but under Chrump it became the only one.
For his part, Chrump is claiming victory over the virus, though he should be claiming victory for the virus, which continues to wreak havoc at an alarming rate. Having, in his febrile mind defeated the virus, Chrump is turning his inestimable attention to finding a way to start a war with Iran in order to declare martial law. Just like Rudy Giuliani suggested it would be a good idea to keep him on as New York’s mayor after 9/11 even though his term was about to expire, Chrump, if he is successful in starting another illegal Republican’t war before January 20, will suggest (insist?) that he remain in office to oversee his latest crime against America and humanity. He alone can fuck it.
So, I for one, remain at least a bit skeptical that anything
will go as planned until they pry the presidency from Chrump’s cold, tiny (and
dead if need be) hands on January 20th. I don’t generally watch
these swearing in ceremonies as I am usually too busy swearing at whoever
it is putting their hand on some religious text, or in Chrump’s case his
bathroom copy of The Art of The Deal, and pledging to support and defend the
Constitution of The United States against all enemies foreign and domestic; or
in Chrump’s case, against all allies, and only so far as pleases Vladimir Putin.
Soon-to-be-ex-IMPEACHED Fake president Donald Chrump remains
toxically obsessed with continuing his treasonous attempt to overturn the irrefutably
legitimate 2020 election that made it abundantly clear that Chrump reign of terrible
terror will come to a screeching halt at noon on January 20, 2021. He is so
preoccupied with staying at a job he never really wanted, never for a moment took
or did seriously, and remains to this day, after four years in offense office,
historically unfit to perform, that he was unable to focus on golfing away his
final weeks as so-called president.
Chrump did not, mind you, return to Washington, DC in order to make sure the country was safe or sound during his dwindling final days of sucking up all the oxygen in every room in America. Fat chance. He returned to the White House he once referred to as “a dump” in order to orchestrate the final throes of his attempted fascist take-over of our federal government. Can you even imagine what Republican’ts would have done if Barack Obama raised this much of a stink had he been defeated at the polls – which he most certainly was not? The Last-Phrase-of-the-Second Amendment fetishists would have been surrounding the White House within minutes.
Sorry to spoil your earliest hours of what you are calling a
new year. Maybe I should have waited until I was awake to start weighing just
as this year is taking its first breath, but the doctor doesn’t wait to slap
the newborn to start her breathing air after emerging from the cozy, safe, watery
environment of the uterus.
Hopefully, you won’t read this today.
I. Mangrey.
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