Time to rip off the Band-Aid — or, in this case, the masks.
Eliminate the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. Period. It was a bad idea from the get-go — “homeland” me bollocks, leave that fascist shit in 1933 Berlin where you found it — and it hasn’t aged at all well.
Anyone who’s serious about shrinking the federal government should start with DHS. Tear down the superstructure and let’s see whether any of its components can be salvaged.
One should go straight to the trash: Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Shitcan the whole shitshow. Anyone who hasn’t already resigned in horror is part of the problem. Anyone who still wants to work there should be encouraged to emigrate (I hear Hell isn’t half full).
Anyone still on the job? Off you go. Lt. Aldo Raine, U.S. Army (ret.) will escort you off the premises after presenting you with a small memento of your service.
“Ve vant only piece … a piece of Venezuela, a piece of Greenland. …”
Maybe I should count my blessings.
Herself has a good job, plus a small pension from PERA set to start in a couple months. I have my Social Security. We have health insurance. The house and cars are paid for, we live frugally, and our financial adviser says we’re in fine shape.
But I just can’t stop thinking about Nazis.
Goddamnit, I fucking hate fucking Nazis. Especially the homegrown variety. We should be making them jump off bridges. And not into Venezuela or Greenland, either.
Michael O’Hanlon recently wrote a piece for Foreign Affairs that noted, accurately, and with the usual disclaimers, that when it comes to national security policy the current federal management really isn’t that much different from a number of its predecessors.
Ohhhh-kay. Thanks for the history lesson, Mickey. What say we try learning from our mistakes? Remembering the past to avoid being condemned to repeat it? The name George Santayana ring any bells in your cerebral carillon?
It’d be comical if it weren’t so serious. Which of the various Marvel timelines are we experiencing now, in which an unelected strutting fuck-bubble like Obergruppenführer Stephen Miller is running the country, giving Kent State scholarships to educate anyone who won’t do as they’re told, while his alleged supervisor whiles away the hours nailing Hobby Lobby kitsch to the White House walls, cheating at golf, and watching on TV as “Happy Hour” Hegseth punishes another two-bit dictator for stealing the boss’s dance moves?
If they were mine, I’d leave them out on the street with a handlettered sign reading, “Free.” Or maybe just park them in the shitter at Mar-a-Lago next to all those classified documents that should’ve served as his ticket to Leavenworth until Thanos snapped his fingers. Or was it Eileen Cannon? Whatever.
“Aren’t we supposed to be the good guys here?” asks Sen. Mark Kelly, D-Ariz., in an interview with Hanna Rosin at The Atlantic.
Not according to the gin pig at the top of the DoD org chart, who’d like to hang Kelly’s pelt on his office wall, no doubt in part because (a) Kegsbreath would like to see what a pair of actual testicles looks like, and (2) Kelly is making presidential noises just in case we ever have another one of those elections.
But first we have to make damn sure we have some midterms, this year. Take the House and the Senate; impeach, convict, and remove Comandante Piggy — take a seat and another fistful of Bayer’s finest, Porky, watch those cankles swell like poisoned puppies in the summer sun— and then, in 2028, reclaim the White House.
And none of this “let’s not look back” bullshit. Not this time. What’s the phrase? Oh, yeah: Never again.
Call me selfish, but I wanna get back to scribbling my little tee-hees, and I find this relentless “America über alles!” screeching a huge distraction.
Yo, Nazis. Here are your MAGA hats, there’s your bridge, what’s your hurry?
It wasn’t over on Aug. 9, 1974, when Gerald R. Ford trotted out that boogeyman-be-gone bullshit upon assuming the presidency vacated by Richard M. Nixon, a rat fleeing the ship of state he did his best to sink.
And Ford went on to be even more stunningly full of shit when he added:
Our Constitution works; our great Republic is a government of laws and not of men. Here the people rule.
A month later, Ford finally achieved escape-velocity, bullshit-wise, when he granted “a full, free and absolute pardon” to his predecessor, a man whom Hunter S. Thompson called “so crooked that he needed servants to help him screw his pants on every morning.”
Some of us thought that was as bad as it was ever going to get.
Ho, ho, as the Good Doktor would say. We were wrong.
We have elevated some remarkably stupid, ineffectual, and/or venal hombres to the presidency since then. Not Ford, though. Nobody voted him into the gig, but he certainly got voted out in ’76 when the nation decided, well, fuck it, they’d rather have a Georgia peanut farmer in the Oval Office than the knucklehead who waved Tricky Dicky off to San Clemency with nothing but his pension and related benefits to keep him warm in retirement.
And even now, when we appear to have reached our political nadir, the creaky national machinery in the tiny palsied handsies of a senile, shambling, burger-gobbling narcoleptic, a convicted felon with a mean streak a mile wide and an unquenchable thirst for wealth, power, and vengeance, who apparently has a joy buzzer installed in his diapers so an aide can shock him awake, however briefly, to unleash a torrent of non sequiturs to be dutifully chronicled, analyzed, and excreted by the press corpse, well … I’m not about to tell you that this is as bad as it’s ever going to get.
Pogo — himself a candidate for the presidency in 1952 and ’56 — hit the nail on the head back in 1971, when Tricky Dicky was still kneewalking drunk around the White House, arguing with the paintings and looking for an exit that didn’t involve a perp walk in cuffs. Had we insisted upon it, we might have been spared some of what was to come.
But we didn’t. And so it goes.
“We have met the enemy and he is us,” said Pogo. Truer words, etc.
The people have always some champion whom they set over them and nurse into greatness. … This and no other is the root from which a tyrant springs; when he first appears he is a protector. — Plato, The Republic
The Congress shall have Power to … declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water. … — the U.S. Constitution
Shouldn’t this Jolly Rogerer be flying the skull and crossbones?
Cap’n Piggy is pissing on Nicolás Maduro’s shoes, saying the U.S. Coast Guard and Navy have snatched up an oil tanker off Venezuela.
The usual deeply considered, stable-genius, hold-my-Big Mac-and-watch-this planning applies, of course. Asked what would happen to the oil aboard the tanker, the cap’n replied, “Well, we keep it, I guess.”
Well, I guess it couldn’t be long before he added piracy to his list of crimes. Might we expect Piggy to shift his allegiance from Mickey D’s to Long John Silver’s?
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