Brain worms, dead puppies and a rapist who craves incest

Let’s address the elephant in the room. Apparently, all of the RFK Jr. Brainworm jokes were long gone hours before I posted them on Friday evening. I don’t have a great, worthwhile, completely original, unheard RFK Jr. brainworm joke for you. Excuse me. For about ten minutes you fool yourself into thinking that no one else will notice the ivermectin bank shot, but who are you kidding?

Dune jokes. Tequila jokes. Shazam fans seized the opportunity for Mr. Mind. You wouldn’t be reading this if you hadn’t heard five thousand brain worm jokes from RFK Jr. by now. I can’t contribute anything to the discourse. Except maybe this… As we look back at the headline that sparked a thousand gags, we raise a glass to the simple, comedic purity of the story when it broke:

RFK Jr. says doctors found a dead worm in his brain

Perfect.

Subtitle: “The presidential candidate has struggled with previously unknown health problems, including a parasite that he said ate part of his brain.”

Oh, the agent of chaos who perhaps randomly hurled the souvenir snowglobe of American democracy onto the ground, shattering it for all time, had a REAL FUCKING WORM living in his skull and eating parts of his REAL FUCKING BRAIN until he presumably died poisoned?

Sounds right.

I just assume that we will be punished by God at this point.

Gosh, I hope Brainworm guy doesn’t give the choice to that rapist.

You know the rapist I’m talking about. Always cold, likes to print out parts of the internet to wave around? You’ll recognize him from that interview where he talks about running the “party of fertilization” (he’s a branding genius, that rapist), or that time he whined about being cold, or maybe the other time he complained about being cold or even so Another time he complained about being cold.

I bet it sucks to be so cold when you’re living your worst nightmare.

Because that’s exactly what it is, you know.

If you’re a narcissist, it probably isn’t much fun to listen to a woman talk about how unattractive and unsatisfactory you are sexually, but imagine how the torment gets worse if A) it happens during your criminal trial and B ) the whole planet is watching.

An emasculation on a scale that would never have been possible had he not sought and received the presidency. That’s some Sophocles shit right there. For Donald Trump, that’s room 101.

Of course he will kill us all if we have the chance. He’ll take his oath of office, call for the nuclear football, and pound the button with those burly fingers until all life on Earth ends, because that’s the only way he can be sure there’s no one left who knows.

Yes, Stormy Daniels Week was definitely the most dignified one ever in American history.

To no one’s surprise, all the defense could muster was a venomous outburst of slut-shaming, which was disgusting enough, but the real dryness began when the story began in the dank, moldy alley where all stories about Donald Trump’s sexuality were told , their inevitable turn ultimately took leading: his attraction to his daughter Ivanka.

Seems like that thought is never too far from his mind, you know? He talks about how much he wants to fuck his own daughter… a lot. More than anyone I’ve ever met. Much more. That’s one of the things I think makes him such an odd choice to build a cult of personality around.

And times are certainly hard for the Children of Candy Corn in the blinding glare of the God Emperor’s public humiliation. You turn on Fox and there’s this shame-soaked circle, Jesse Watters, moaning about the dotard’s potential body in the prison gym while Gutfeld scratches his groin with steel wool and squeals, “He’s a sex god!” Laura Ingraham paced in the background, muttering “orange shit” in disgust and stopping every now and then to whip Gutfeld.

In addition to the courtroom humiliation, everyone points and laughs at Wee Don’s recent poor performance against Nikki Haley, but it could have been worse. Imagine if he had to arm wrestle her.

At least we finally figured out why he has a hard time staying awake in court. Begging oil executives for bribes can really unnerve you, especially when you’re already dizzy from the bronzer fumes.

He needs the money to pay Paul Manafort. Apparently everyone’s favorite Kremlin channel is back on the campaign trail following a lucrative post-pardon influence operation with the Chinese Communist Party. However, “America first”.

Oh, and congratulations to Judge Aileen Cannon for once again emerging as Trump Org Employee of the Month! I bet you have a chance at one of the best parking spaces in the empire!

The low point of the week was definitely the moment Kristi Noem finally figured out that it was within her power to just…stop making media hits. Like mom unplugging the TV in the middle of Darkwing Duck. I’m fucking watching this.

Kristi makes it worse. Best show on television. Water cooler moment after water cooler moment. “Did you see where Kristi threatened to murder another dog?” “I heard it was the President’s dog!” “It was!”

It’s a really specific genre, but there is a market for this content. Let’s call it “watching a terrible person fail to get their head out of a bag.” James Comer is the Michael Jordan of it. The Excruciatingly Paced Downfall of Rudy Giuliani has already gained a loyal audience, I’ve heard that the film may even be picked up for another season.

And Kristi is the star who burned for half as long but twice as hilarious. How could she believe that this would all work out for her? Why should you even bring attention to your puppy murder? How did you even manage to keep your head in your pocket?

It turns out her team tried to talk her out of it, but she was so confident that Cricket’s execution would lead her to fame (or at least the NRA) that she wasn’t deterred. Somehow that certainty lasted until the moment she realized, “My God, I’m being screwed by a fucking Newsmax anchor,” whereupon her soul just…dissolved into the ether. You have to look at the Dakota Constitution to see if it is even legal for a shell to run the state. I won’t pretend I know.

I already miss you.

The competitions are all sad now. Sure, that makes Doug Bugman the undisputed Prime Dakotan, but for that and five bucks you get a cup of livestock dewormer. I guess Tim Scott is a pretty good groveler, but I have to be honest, I don’t see a breakout star.

The Republican-controlled U.S. House of Representatives continues to resemble a Lollapalooza toilet block, packed to the brim with clowns. But no funny clowns. Clowns from Tom Waits songs.

What a damn madhouse. Chip Roy complains about the elves who want to enforce Sharia law but refuse to mend his shoes while he sleeps. Steve Scalise screams increasingly desperate arguments for impeachment like a drunk at an improv show. Mike Collins comments on, wow, a variety of topics. Distant screams indicate that Nancy Mace has just skinned the last wave of interns.

Oh, and Doc Ronny is under investigation by the Ethics Commission, allegedly for illegally distributing drugs that improve the ability to distinguish a drawing of a horse from a drawing of a lion.

We were all looking forward to Moses vs. Marj, but the whole thing ended up lasting about a minute, and her subsequent tantrum was drowned out by brainworm-like gags. However, it’s nice to see MTG on the right end of a heckler for once.

Whatever the case, Mikey is sure he’s feeling good after surviving an eviction filing. As he walks, he throws his shoulders back so everyone can get a look at the “Slightly Better Than Kevin McCarthy” merit badge. He has a new bill that bans something that is already illegal. “That’s okay baby, I couldn’t pass it anyway! I just want to demonize some immigrants a little bit, baby! POLITICS!” And then he throws a smoke bomb, but forgets to walk away and is still there when the smoke clears.

Over in the Senate, Katie Britt wants a national pregnancy database that she vows she won’t abuse. All she wants is an app that will send her an alert every time a whore/incubator crosses a state line into a jurisdiction that recognizes her rights to bodily autonomy.

Let’s check in with the circus freaks who want to join Katie in Washington and help her realize her vision, shall we?

I suspect Dave McCormick believes that most Pennsylvanians are divorced. Strong Milhouse’s Dad energy with Dave.

In Montana, Tim Sheehy fills his staff with anti-Semites who get caught liking posts that say something like, “Don’t follow me for my cute cat post if you can’t stand with me denying the Holocaust.”

“Don’t follow me for my cute cat post if you can’t stand with me denying the Holocaust.”

“RFK Jr. says doctors found a dead worm in his brain.”

“New Hampshire police officer who called teen ‘mature’ won’t apologize to his haters.”

I’m… unnecessary. Outdated. Overtaken in the absurdity market by real world news.

I have never experienced a more disturbing, eye-catching meeting than When Vivek Ramaswamy Met Ann Coulter. Still, there’s undeniably some sort of incel-livestreamer chemistry going on there, and a certain part of me wants Werner Herzog to document what would surely amount to some horrifying copulation, if only for scientific reasons, but why don’t we talk about something else ?

I know everyone is excited about Bannon showing up in prison, but I seriously doubt there’s a cell that can hold him given all the corrosive secretions.

Kevin McCarthy is definitely living his best life, as an unusually well-connected and well-financed mosquito who, for heaven’s sake, stabs the doughiest parts of Matt Gaetz’s anatomy. God knows it wasn’t his calling to make laws.

Hey, RIP FreedomWorks! Man, remember when the weirdest Republicans were old white guys in tricorn hats? You never had to worry about bear spray or zip ties at the Tea Party, you know?

On that note, I need a damn beer. And I’m drinking for two tonight! No, Katie Britt, I’m not pregnant, I’m talking about the parasite I invited into my skull in hopes of erasing all memories of the last seven years or so, except maybe the ice and professional wrestling.

If you’d like to support my quest for sweet obliteration, the Tip Jar now accepts PayPal, Cash App, and Venmo; I promise to only spend your donation on things that kill brain cells. Follow too @john_luzar, and join the email list! As we hurtle down this crazy, crazy, crazy path, I sincerely hope you can still stay safe out there, my friend. See you soon.