Lusting in the Heart vs. The Cult of Personality

The conservative right in this country has officially gone completely to the dark side, abandoning even the pretense of the traditional family values they spent decades preaching. It did not happen overnight, but the evolution from self-righteous moral police to absolute, shameless hypocrisy is undeniable. To understand exactly how deep this rot goes, you only have to look at three specific moments in modern political history that show when and how it all happened.

Rules for Thee, Freedom for Me: The Deep Hypocrisy of the Modern Right

There is a distinct psychological mechanism running the modern American hard right, and it is a textbook case of psychological projection. The formula is as predictable as it is shameless: whatever structural corruption, ethical rot, or lawless behavior ultra-conservative leaders are actively committing—or planning to commit—they immediately accuse their political opponents of doing first. It creates a chaotic smoke screen, ensuring that by the time their own scandals come to light, the public is too exhausted by the non-stop noise to notice. But when you strip away the flags, the slogans, and the manufactured outrage, the reality becomes undeniable. The MAGA movement has systemically transformed the very grievances they spent a decade fundraising on into their actual policy blueprint.

Welcome to Trumpland USA

If there were a chance it would be published, I would send this letter to the New York Times, the Christian Science Monitor, the WaPo, and every other major paper. But it would not be published.

To the Editor,

I am looking at the absolute state of this country, and I want to know when the hell people are going to wake up to what that orange fool is doing in the White House. This lunatic is literally building a bunker inside the fucking ballroom, and the spineless bastards around him are just letting it happen. 

8647 For Fuck's Sake!

 

The man:

• Wants to be on a US stamp.
• Wants to replace FDR on the dime.
• Wants a Triumphal Arch overlooking Arlington Cemetery.
• Wants a Nobel Peace Prize
• Wants the reflecting pool to be country club pool blue 
• Wants a fucking ballroom
• Wants to suck Putin's cock.
• Has added himself to our passports
• Is on a 24K plated commemrative coin that the US mint sells for approx$50.
• Has his cabinet praise him one person at a time before meetings
• Persecutes (and prosecutes) his political enemies
• The Kennedy Center. 'Nuff said.
• Considers himself on a par with Jesus H Crucified Christ
• He illegally invaded a sovereign nation and kidnapped its president
• Wants to pave Palestine and turn it into a fucking casino or summat

He spends most of his time bitching and griping about these non-issues, like a toddler throwing a tantrum to get what it wants. Meanwhile, there's a war, there's a big blockade, there's no affordable gas, soon there will be no gas at all, and then the food and other commodity shortages start. 

He's more interested in his orange face being on a stamp than in pulling our troops out of Iran or any real issue on this planet and in this country.

He needs to go.

8647 - 25th Amendment NOW! Congress used to have balls. Now it's a bunch of fucking sycophants groveling at his feet and licking his smegma laden uncircumcised schlong and not doing its job. Grow a new set, assholes. 

Come and get me for saying 8647. Here's a fucking history lesson for you:

"The term "86" originated in the 1920s-1930s as American restaurant and soda jerk slang for running out of an item, likely evolving as rhyming slang for "nix". It expanded to mean kicking out customers or refusing service, with popular, though unverified, theories linking it to [Chumley’s Speakeasy] at 86 Bedford St. or Prohibition-era police tactics. [1, 2, 3, 4, 5]

Most Likely Origins:

• Soda Jerk/Diner Code: In the 1930s, staff used numerical codes (e.g., 81 was water). "86" meant an item was sold out.
• Rhyming Slang: It is often considered a direct, witty rhyme for "nix" (to cancel or reject). [1, 2, 3]

Common Origin Myths & Theories:

• Chumley’s Speakeasy: Located at 86 Bedford St. in New York, police would allegedly tell the bartender to "86" patrons out the back door before a raid.
• Prohibition Era: Bartenders would serve a rowdy customer 86-proof liquor to get them drunk faster so they would leave.
• Supplies/Space: Early diners only held 85 items, or in soup kitchens, the 86th person got nothing.
• Military Code: Reference to the F-86 fighter jet shooting down an enemy, or Article 86 (AWOL) of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. [1, 2]

Today, it is commonly used in hospitality to mean an item is gone, or that a customer is no longer allowed on the premises. [1]" (History.Com and Wikipedia)

NOWHERE does it mention it as a term for icing somebody. Nowhere.

When somebody is egomaniacal and utterly fucking deranged, he sues everybody who so much as looks at him strangely. He orders his subordinates to investigate and prosecute his enemies as a revenge tactic for having the sheer effontery to stand against him.And when somebody is delusional and incredibly stupid, he tilts at windmills and sits around on his ass.

86 fucking 47. The world cannot wait. World War 3 is starting, because of his insane policies. There is unrest here at home, and a growing global disgust for the US due to Donald Trump's hubris. 

He has got to be stopped by any LEGAL means necessary. While he's #2 on my Dead Pool List, I do not advocate violence against anybody.25th Amendment, Impeachment and Conviction, something else non-violent and legal, but it's got to stop. It's really got to stop. 

I cannot believe that there are people in this country, a LOT of people, who think he's the best thing that ever happened to the US and the world. Who believe every word out of his mouth. Who consider all liberals to be traitors to the US. Who cannot see that this man embodies the biblical description of the Antichrist they believe in.  That he is craven, childish, and creepy. He is a danger to the entire planet and he has control of "the football".

Get me the fuck out of here and 8647. Last week.

Auntie Elfi's Fables: The Schoolyard Bully

As the days stretched on, the bright colors of the playground seemed to fade under the shadow of the big kids’ rules. They didn’t just play on the slide; they decided how fast you were allowed to go down, and you had to pay them a polished pebble for the privilege. They set up "sandbox shifts," where anyone from the far side of the woods could only dig for a minute at a time. The seesaw was declared "out of order" indefinitely, though everyone saw the big kids using it as a private bench to plot their next move.

Yet, a strange thing happened. The "lousy babies," as the big kids called them, didn't break. In fact, the harder the bullies pushed, the tighter the others held together. They didn't shout back; they fought with a quiet, polite resistance that drove the big kids toward madness.

When they were told they couldn't use the swings, they simply stood in a long, calm line, waiting with patient smiles that suggested they had all the time in the world. When the sandbox whistle blew, they handed over their shovels with a kindness that felt like a challenge. They weren't looking for a fight; they just wanted to be treated decently. That simple, immovable demand made them impossible to defeat. 

Eventually, the big kids began to wear themselves out with their own anger. They gritted their teeth every day, forced to allow those "lousy babies" to move about the playground without fear. It burned them to see the smaller kids sharing the equipment fairly, ignoring the big kids’ self-appointed authority as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. And fairly meant that they gave the big kids fair turns at games and swings, because the other kids were Decent human beings who did not commit the sin of "Treating people like things."

The bullies watched from the sidelines, fuming because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. The more they tried to grab the ball and go home, the more they realized the other kids had learned to play their own games without needing that ball at all. The playground didn't belong to the loudest anymore; it belonged to everyone.

Okay, you've read it. Now swap the words Republican and school yard bully/ies. And Other/Little kids and Liberals/Democrats. Now reread it.

Kinda makes ya think, huh?

RFK Jr's "Weird" relatives

 

“I was standing in front of my parked car on I-684 cutting the penis out of a road killed raccoon, thinking about how weird some of my family members have turned out to be.” RFK Jr

Makes you wonder what kind of stuff he considers weird.

I'm thinking it's stuff like: wearing clothes, sleeping in a bed, and eating regular meals, and not cutting cocks off road kill or beheading whales.

The Legend of Old Yam Tits

 

Old Yam Tits was a man of great greed,
With a pocket for every dishonest deed.
He’d sell you the sun or a bridge in the bay,
Then vanish like smoke at the end of the day.

He wore a bad suit made of cheap woolen thread,
With dreams of a swindle inside of his head.
He’d promise you gold from a mine in the sky,
While looking at you with a plot in his eye.

"Just twenty gold pieces!" he’d bark with a grin,
While hiding a deck with the aces tucked in.
He grifted the baker, he swindled the cook,
He stole every page from the 'Honesty' book.

But Yam was a bumbler, a criminal joke,
His schemes always ended in mirrors and smoke.
He tried to sell water to fish in the sea,
And ended up trapped in his own lunacy.

If you see Yam Tits with his file full of lies,
Just look at the grifter with piggley eyes.
For though he is shifty and looking for loot,
He’s only hot air in a cheap, ugly suit.

And if you see him and are willing and able,

make sure that, toward him, you flip a table,

get grime and dirt on that tacky suit,

and then swing your leg and give him the boot.

(Final stanza by Dan Kupka. Don't forget to tip your waiter.)

Godforsaken Bastards and Why They Suck Ass

The Opening: A Season in the Shade

We have entered the era of the Godforsaken Bastard. It is a time defined not by leadership, but by the violent curation of chaos. A period where the traditional guardrails of decency haven't just been ignored, they’ve been sold for scrap. This is the portrait of a collective that thrives on the friction of a world in collapse, a rogue’s gallery of the high-born and the low-lived who have mistaken their cruelty for courage and their greed for a mandate. They move through our culture like a virus in a designer suit, insulated by billions and emboldened by a mob that has been taught to love the sound of breaking glass. This zine is the shadow to the saints; it is a jagged, unwashed look at the architects of our current misery, the enforcers of our fear, and the loud-mouthed parasites who provide the soundtrack to the demolition of the common good. Welcome to the wreckage.

No, Jesse Welles is NOT pro-Charlie fucking Kirk

Yes, Jesse Welles wrote a song about the killing of Charlie Kirk. NO, it was NOT a pro-gung ho-Charlie is a martyr song.

It was a song about gun violence and freedom of speech...

The Bustiers and Bullshit of the Far Right

The "Freedom for Me, but Not for Thee" crowd is at it again, and the irony is thick enough to choke a horse. Conservative Americans love to wrap themselves in the flag and scream about liberty from the rooftops, but that liberty apparently comes with a "Members Only" sign.

They want the freedom to stockpile enough firepower to arm a small nation, the freedom to vote by mail while simultaneously trying to dismantle the post office for everyone else, and the freedom to indulge in whatever private kinks they fancy behind closed doors. We see the hypocrisy in real-time: a certain president casts his own ballot from the comfort of a gold-plated mailbox while he and his followers scream that mail-in voting is a scam.

If Bryon Noem wants to spend his weekends in a bustier and heels, that’s between him, his mirror, and POSSIBLY his wife, though an argument could be made that it's only her business if he decides that's okay.

“If This Goes On—”: A Side-by-Side Look at Heinlein’s Warning and the United States Today

I've been working steadily on this article since mid-January. It has been harrowing, absolutely frightening, and just a little bit too close to reality these days for me..

I just reread Robert Heinlein’s “If This Goes On—” for the umpteenth time, and I can’t stop thinking about how quiet it is. Not the writing itself, but the way the collapse happens. No sirens. No big moment where everyone agrees something has gone wrong. Just a series of choices that all seem defensible at the time. That’s what got under my skin.

Power Without Oversight Is Not Law Enforcement

In a constitutional system, enforcement authority is granted with an explicit condition: it must be constrained, reviewable, and accountable. When any agency operates beyond meaningful oversight, power ceases to be lawful in practice even if it remains lawful in name.

This concern is not theoretical. Repeated audits, inspections, and independent reviews have documented systemic failures in immigration enforcement agencies to meet basic standards of transparency, accountability, and humane treatment. These findings come not from advocacy alone, but from inspectors general, federal courts, and oversight bodies tasked with evaluating compliance with the law.

When Democracy Requires More Than Words

Democracy doesn't collapse in a single moment. It erodes gradually, through delay, complacency, and the comforting illusion that someone else will intervene before lasting damage is done. By the time the threat feels undeniable, the tools meant to stop it are often weakened or already gone.

This is the danger of treating civic engagement as symbolic rather than functional. Voting, representation, and institutional balance are not gestures of identity or expressions of mood. They are mechanisms. When those mechanisms fail to operate as designed, democratic systems lose their ability to correct abuse, enforce accountability, and restrain the concentration of power.

I'll just leave this here...

 

A Scorched Earth Wake Up Call - Impeach Trump Now

There comes a point where outrage stops being a reaction and becomes a survival instinct. We passed that point years ago. We're living under a man who treats war like a toy. Iran, Venezuela, anywhere he can point a finger and pretend he's a strongman. It's reckless. It's cruel. It's the behavior of someone who should never have been allowed near power.

And here's what breaks me. Here's what turns anger into something volcanic. The deaths of girls in US bombings. My claim is simple. One hundred seventy five girls. Gone. Wiped out by the kind of military action Trump treats like a flex. Children who never had a chance. Families who will never recover. Futures erased because someone in Washington wanted to look tough on television.

The Midterm Mirage: America’s First Tyrant and the End of the Experiment

 

I’ve been listening to the "cancellation" rumors swirling around the White House this week; let’s be real; when this man hints at something, he’s usually already got the matches lit. The talk of "suspending" the 2026 midterms for "national security" or "election integrity" is the final boss of his authoritarian fever dream. We are staring down the barrel of a permanent presidency; the big question isn't just if he’ll try it, but what the hell happens when he does.

The Havana Tripwire: Why Trump's "Friendly Takeover" is a Nuclear Death Wish

I’ve been watching the news this week with a mounting sense of dread; if you aren’t feeling it too, you aren’t paying attention. Trump is out there on the White House lawn casually tossing off comments about a "friendly takeover" of Cuba like he’s talking about buying a failing golf course. But let’s be clear; there is nothing friendly about a fuel blockade that has families in Havana cooking over wood fires because the grid is dead.

When Their Rights Are Sacred and Yours Are Optional

I am absolutely, unapologetically, and without exception pro transgender rights...

A fantasy... Donnie Is Gonna Learn Today!

The following is a purely fictional account that is not about any real person, living or dead, I promise. 

It resulted from a ChatGPT prompt that David Gerrold had used just to pass the time. I took the idea, ran it through Copilot, refining it as we went through several iterations and laughing my ass off and shaking my head all the way through.

Since it was David's idea, I got his permission before bastardizing it.

Really, this is fiction, and bears NO resemblance to real people, seriously!

SCOTUS Overturns Trump’s Tariffs and Trump Loses His Mind About It

SCOTUS finally did what everyone with a functioning frontal lobe knew was coming. They looked at Trump’s tariff stunt, checked it against the Constitution, and said no. Not maybe. Not sort of. Not later. Just fucking NO!

According to the reporting, the ruling was simple. A president does not get to rewrite trade law because he feels like playing Tough Motherfucker. Congress did not authorize the kind of free for all Trump tried to pull. The Court reminded everyone that presidential power has fucking limits. That is their goddam job. That is the whole point of the fucking judiciary.

And Trump reacted exactly how he always reacts when someone refuses to kiss the friggin' ring...