Herr Yam Tits

Old Yam Tits is leprosy in human form. He is a suppurating, oozing sore on the genitals of mankind. Among other atrocities, he wants a war very, very badl, anywhere, any time, but his choice if the best time would be yesterday, and is doing everything he can to get one.

I’m tired of pretending this isn’t fascism with a spray tan. Trump isn’t just incompetent or corrupt—he’s actively behaving like a low-rent Hitler cosplay, minus the military discipline and plus a Twitter addiction. And no, I’m not talking about concentration camps or genocide. I’m talking about the early-stage authoritarian playbook. The propaganda, the scapegoating, the cult of personality, the attacks on institutions. It’s all there, and it’s not subtle.

He demonizes the press like it’s a national sport. “Enemy of the people”? Straight out of the fascist starter kit. He mocks judges, undermines the courts, and treats the Constitution like a napkin he sneezed into. He’s built his entire brand on fear, rage, and repetition - just keep lying until the lie feels true. That’s not politics. That’s psychological warfare.

He’s got his own loyalist media echo chamber, pumping out propaganda like it’s Fox News’s full-time job (because it is). He incites mob mentality at rallies, glorifies violence, and dehumanizes anyone who disagrees with him. Immigrants, minorities, journalists, Democrats; everyone’s a threat except the guy with the nuclear codes and the emotional maturity of a yam.

And let’s talk about the militarized cosplay. Sending federal troops into cities under the guise of “law and order”? That’s not leadership. That’s authoritarian foreplay. He’s itching for a war, any war, just to distract from the flaming dumpster fire of his domestic failures. Venezuela, Iran, China. Pick a target, light a match, and hope the smoke covers the stench.

This isn’t just bad governance. It’s a slow-motion coup wrapped in a flag and sold with a MAGA hat. If you’re not alarmed, you’re not paying attention. And if you are paying attention, welcome to the rage spiral. Grab a drink, scream into a pillow, and let’s keep calling this shit what it is: dangerous, deliberate, and depressingly familiar.