How Many Bill Barr Stories Does it Take to Ruin Valentine's Day? Let's Find Out! (Ferret/Shower Cap)

I went to the store to pick up a Valentine for my beloved country, but they didn’t have one that said I Still Love You Even Though a Mush-Brained Fascist Has Been Shitting All Over You for Three Years, so I settled for a card with some orange cat professing to “love you more than lasagna,” whatever that means, but I got plenty of beer, too, so I’ll be okay. Let’s do the news.

(As always, you can find this post, with nifty news links, on my blog site: http://showercapblog.com/how-many-bill-barr-stories-does-it-take-to-ruin-valentines-day-lets-find-out/)

At the rate we’re going, the history books are gonna come with a laugh track. Future generations will surely chuckle at this chapter in The Tragic But Somehow Darkly Hilarious Downfall of the United States of America, as they read, “The once-mighty nation took its next sudden, unexpected, and massive step towards totalitarianism, not in response to an energy crisis or a foreign invasion, but to keep a single, clownish, criminal named Roger Stone out of prison.”

Y’see, when prosecutors recommended a stiff sentence (well, stiff for a wealthy white dude, anyway, it’s not like he stole $40 from Wal-Mart or anything) on account of all those felonies Stone committed, the Candycorn Skidmark leapt into action, which was really strange to see, after all these years of never once lifting a finger to help anyone but himself. Suddenly a new, lighter, sentencing recommendation materialized out of air which smelled suspiciously of overcooked steak farts.

So the entire prosecutorial team quit the case in protest, with one leaving the Justice Department altogether, and the rule of law continued to shrivel up like a houseplant purchased by an over-optimistic college kid experimenting with responsibility. Watching the Manchurian Manchild’s gloating victory lap, as he proclaimed the “absolute right” to command DoJ as his own personal plaything was not my favorite moment of the still-young year; I definitely preferred the Super Bowl halftime show, and also that one time I ate some bad tuna and violently puked for five hours.

Trumpal corruption is hardly a one-way street, of course; while President Crotchrot works to get his buddy Rog out of that prison jumpsuit and back into suits he’s too white for, he’s simultaneously pushing the military to further punish, defame, and generally torment Lt. Col. Alexander Vindman for the ghastly crime of (checks notes) obeying a subpoena and telling the truth. Personally, I preferred the days when we praised folks like Vindman and shunned the likes of Eddie Gallagher, but I suppose honor is out and murderous bigotry is in, I don’t really keep up with the trends anymore.

It appears as though Jacket-Fearing Human Jockstrap Gym Jordan did shed some tears for the victims of the Ohio State sexual abuse scandal after all, assuming you take Gym’s view that the real victims weren’t so much “the people assaulted by a serial sexual abuser, enabled by countless coaches and administrators who knew what was going on but couldn’t be bothered to stop it,” but rather the cowardly Congresscreeps whose political careers would be threatened if word of their craven behavior ever got out. Anyway, fuck Gym Jordan, and fuck every single shitsack who votes for him.

Former Chief of Staff John Kelly took a little break from profiting off of his former boss’ concentration camps to finally criticize a handful of Pumpkin Spice Pol Pot's blunders and crimes, years too late, and if you’re looking for a pat on the head, John-John, you can get in line behind Jim Comey, John Bolton, and Omarosa. I’m sure Cult45’d be happy to pelt you with turds while you wait. Aw, nobody’s on your side these days? Guess you should’ve taken one of the three or four million opportunities you had to take a stand back when it would’ve meant something.

And President Gas Station Urinal Cake is working to gut a scheduled pay raise for federal workers, citing a “national emergency” and/or some sort of alleged “serious economic conditions” as his excuse to fuck over millions of hard-working Americans. This super-serious, super-severe, economic emergency does not seem to be quite so pressing as to necessitate a cut in his weekly golf vacations, or the accompanying transfer of wealth from the U.S. Treasury to his own custom-tailored-for-those-wee-little-hands pockets, oddly enough.

Hey, another fun way the Turdmaggot Administration is choking the Constitution to death right in front of us is that thing where they keep stealing congressionally-appropriated funds from the military budget in order to finance the Big Stupid FailWall Nobody Wants. Sooooo...I dunno who needs to hear this, but if the Executive can respond to a budget passed the duly elected representatives of the people, and just go, “Aw, that’s adorable! Anyway, thanks for the money, we’re spending it however we fucking well feel like, ya wusses!” then we don’t really have separation of powers anymore, we have tyranny. Tyranny by a mouth-breathing dolt with a head full of used cat litter and hatred, which is an unusually undesirable form of tyranny.

Like a dirtbag hipster showing off that brand new, prefaded, Alf t-shirt at the local kombucha bar, Hairplug Himmler is struttin’ around town in those platform shoes the Senate GOP just gave him, you know, the ones that elevated him permanently above the law? Life’s certainly a whole lot easier now that the unshakable sycophancy of his pet caucus has been so firmly established; why, he doesn’t even need to bother committing his crimes in secret anymore! I mean, if you’re gonna unconstitutionally extort the great state of New York, why not do it right in public, on Twitter, in front of the whole world, so you can make Ben Sasse and Marco Rubio squirm a little in the process? Man, remember when we thought of the President as a public servant, rather than a petty gangster, weaponizing the powers of the executive branch for personal gain? We sure were chumps, huh?

Yes, it sure looks fun out there, at Bed Bath & Beyond the Reach of Consequences. You can unburden your conscience, and confess “I sure did send my creepy, incest-y, lawyer to Ukraine to dig up dirt on the Bidens,” but I suppose that would imply the existence of a conscience, so we’re probably dealing with more of a Taunting the Coppers scenario here. Shit, if the State of the Union had been a couple of weeks later, it might’ve been a giddy recitation of every crime Fat B*Bert has ever gotten away with, from knocking over little Susie Brubaker’s lemonade stand in second grade to colluding with Vladimir Putin to weaken and ultimately destroy the United States. (And Republicans STILL would’ve applauded every minute of it.)

Redactor General William Barr sat down for an interview with ABC, during which he proclaimed his incorruptible impartiality, vowing that no political influence would shake the Justice Department’s commitment to independence, no matter the pressure, no matter the length of the unhinged tweetstorm, not on Bill Barr’s watch, bah gawd! Anyway, for his second, contrasting, monologue, he tried a little Falstaff, but he didn’t really pull it off, cuz he’s got the jowls but not the chops, if you take my meaning. If that went over anybody’s head, it was an acting joke, because Bronco Billy is betting that America won’t demand an honest Attorney General so long as they’ve got somebody who plays one on TV.

Back in the real world, Barr continued dutifully doing Donnie Dotard’s dirty work, digging his grubby little fingers into not only the Stone case, but also Mike “the Turkish Delight” Flynn’s. There’s actually enough William Barr news this week to spoil the holiday, and indeed, the very concept of love, forever, so let’s all agree to just eat another layer of our Whitman’s Samplers and move on with our Valentine’s Day.

Susan Collins must be all, “I don’t understand why the President keeps on hacking away at the tree of liberty with that axe I gave him! I told him it was a decorative axe!”

Tragedy struck in QAnonLand, as Deep State Pizzagate Lizard King Andrew McCabe will not face charges for the TOTAL BULLSHIT reason that he didn’t committee any crimes, and not even a pan of Mrs. Barr’s famous lemon squares could convince the grand jury to charge him anyway, just as a lil’ ol’ favor; maybe the rule of law still has a fighting chance after all. So McCabe walks free, no word as yet on potential charges pending against Mrs. Miller*.

And now I see Tangerine Idi Amin is deploying elite ICE tactical units onto the streets of several sanctuary cities, and let me just say that this would be extremely unwelcome news even during a week that didn’t already feature numerous examples of Romero-style-zombie creeping authoritarianism transforming into 28-Days-Later-style-zombie sprinting authoritarianism, but in the current context it feels like a real WHAT THE LIVING FUCK IS HAPPENING TO MY BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY kind of moment.

Well, shit, it’s a (greeting-card-company-manufactured) holiday, so I can’t leave y’all without a little good news. How about we swing by North Dakota real quick, where Native American tribes overcame a particularly scuzzy GOP plot to disenfranchise them? Or how ‘bout the defeat of Medicaid work requirements in a federal appeals court? See? There’s always a little fancy mustard lyin’ around to spice up your shit sandwiches!

And that’s what I’ve got for ya, folks. Hmmmm...I’m so used to pimping my Kickstarter in this space, I don’t know what to say now that the Kickstarter has concluded. So, um...how’s the family? Seen any good movies lately? Uhhhh...yeah, look, I should get going, early day tomorrow and all that. We should have lunch. Soon. Really.

*You don’t get no Robert Altman jokes on Jake Tapper, is all I’m sayin’.