Barking mad and talking out his arsehole as per usual.
His Excremency King Piggy the Sticky-Fingered will be farting higher than his ass this evening during what the legacy media insists upon calling “the State of the Union address” but will almost certainly be more along the lines of the late George Carlin’s “Complaints and Grievances,” only not funny.
I will not be watching for mental-health reasons. Not his mental health; that leaky vessel has sailed, caught fire, exploded, and sunk. My mental health. What with the tariffs and inflation and whatnot, new TVs are way too pricey for me to be shooting ours in a fit of rage.
What say we all give it a miss this time around? If the senile old toad doesn’t stroke out tonight in what he promises will be a long airing of Crimes Against Him, he might just get ferried across the Styx tomorrow by the sort of ratings you might expect from a live goat fuck on the Trinity Broadcasting Network.
What with having a drop taken and/or a mind wandering common on both branches of the family tree it behooves a fella from time to time to test-drive what remains of his wits, if any.
It struck me recently that for perfectly sound (har de har har) reasons I hadn’t done an episode of Radio Free Dogpatch since February 2025. But times pass and things change and people clearly aren’t getting any smarter, especially me.
So here we are so, dusting off what few of the mad skills I possessed only in theory not so very long ago and taking them for a spin around the old podcasting studio to see what falls off.
For openers, the 24-inch LG display that now supplements the 14-inch M4 MacBook Pro in my main office is no longer attached to the MacBook Pro in the studio, which is 10 years older and an inch smaller, displaywise, and I cannot recommend such a tiny stage for audio theater as senescence staggers forward, trying to remember where it left its spectacles (atop its head).
Auphonic is no longer a strictly free app, which failed to astonish me in this, the New Gilded Age, so creator and audience must deal with what they call a “Jingle” fore and aft. Jingle me bollocks, boys … I’ll be looking for some other way to give me chin music a tuneup before I next set it out on its street corner to busk for nothing.
Finally, Libsyn has gotten a makeover as well, but if you’re reading this you can be sure that I managed to negotiate their maze. An old ratoncito can still cut the cheese. Find the cheese! I meant find the cheese!Where the hell are my spectacles? Oh … never mind.
Could this be the start of something big? Probably not. Mostly I wanted to see if I could still get ’er done. Also, I was bored. Giving the old brain-box a wee scrape and a splash of paint is a fine way to stay out of the wind, which is full of allergens and other evil tidings. Extra credit to anyone who can find the Firesign Theatre reference in this mess.
• Technical notes: RFD uses the Ethos mic from Earthworks Audio; Audio-Technica ATH-M50X headphones; Zoom H5 Handy Recorder; Rogue Amoeba’s Audio Hijack; Apple’s GarageBand, and Auphonic for a wash and brushup. Clip from Mike Judge’s “Idiocracy” lifted from YouTube. Booing crowd, kicked-in door, and Celtic tune from Freesound. “Out of Step,” which you’ve heard here before, comes from Audio Hero via Zapsplat. Special guest appearance from Miss Mia Sopaipilla, who despite a screechy meow is healthy as a horse as she approaches her 19th (!) birthday.
“Not dead yet, I suppose?” I remarked to Herself as I set about my morning chores.
“Nope,” she replied.
Humph. And they call this a national holiday?
I haven’t checked the news yet, being only a cup and a half of joe into my day. Has His Excremency ordered up a platoon of virgins to take turns massaging his tiny wand? Good luck finding any in the immediate vicinity. Nothing but worn-out old pros with scabby knees and callused lips in that shabby, shameless army. (And yes, I’m looking at you, Lindsey Graham.) The USS Nimitz has fewer years on the job and has seen less action, too.
Speaking of elderly vessels, has Hair Füror ordered a strike group to menace the emperor penguins at Antarctica? Probably in league with the terrorist sheep of the Falkland Islands. Show ’em what a real emperor looks like! Bonus: Antarctica has coal! Clean, beautiful coal!
Mustn’t forget the terrorists right here at home, of course. The proles actually expect to be able to vote during the midterms! Ho ho. That’s easily managed. While Congress is out of town this week, just change all the locks at the Capitol, issue the appropriate executive orders — “Thank you for your service, kapow, kapow, etc.” — and achtung! 535 fewer speedbumps on the autobahn to 1933. If anyone turns up at the polls, well … ICE already has all the funding it needs. Danke, suckers.
Nevertheless I remain hopeful. Herself and I have birthdays coming up and if our good buddy Jeebus loves us we may yet be treated to the sight of a regiment of flag-pinned toadies doing it hand to hand over who will be The One to “don” (har de har har) the departed cult leader’s Depends of Domination as he rides that golden escalator down to his cardboard condo at the Lake of Fire.
A word to the unwise: Just because those drawers are yellow doesn’t mean they’re golden. Pulling them on with rubber gloves and burning eyes will be a Feat of Strength that will make Arthur pulling the sword from the stone look like Stephen Miller pulling his pud in a rental van parked across from an elementary-school playground at recess, unaware of the bomb attached to his gas tank.
Because no matter how this shit shakes out, nobody wants that dude around to sing his songs. He knows where all the bodies are buried. More than a few of them are probably in his basement freezer.
Dude is off his rocker. Coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs. A couple apple slices short of a Happy Meal.
What I’m saying is, his golden escalator don’t go all the way to the lobby no more.
Can we please drop a 25th Amendment net over the sonofabitch before he invades Chipotle for their cooking oil? Impeach, convict, and remove? Any adults in the room with this angry toddler?
This is one reason why the Missus and I don’t have kids. Sometimes they turn out to be Hitler.
“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?
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