Tag: Felonious Punk

Boom times

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments
Miss Mia in the sack.

A thunderclap yesterday afternoon startled Miss Mia Sopaipilla, who was curled up in her favorite sack, enjoying her eleventy-seventh nap of the day.

I did not tell her, as did Johnny Lundgren’s dad in Jim Harrison’s “Warlock,” “That’s God barking at you for being such a miserable little pissant.”

No, I reassured her that it wasn’t God, probably, or even the work of a (much) lesser (would-be) deity — say, Felonious Punk, commanding a few of his masked ICEholes to shock-and-awe us back to wherever we came from, or didn’t, whatever.

Even if fascism were to come a-calling at El Rancho Pendejo, Miss Mia should have nothing to fear. She’s a Russian blue, and since the Punk just blew a Russian, she should be A-OK with him and his goons. Cream for all my apparatchiks!

Now, me, I’m an Irish-American Red, so who knows where I’d wind up? Where would a Adderall-snorting asshat send a sober Mick scribbler with a bicycle fetish? A Boston pub to pull pints on St. Patrick’s Day? The International Space Station, to chronicle its “retirement,” slated for 2030? Couldn’t log much saddle time up there over the next five years, but I’d get to rip one helluva descent when NASA — if it’s still around — pulls the plug.

And Herself? Conscripted into the Punk’s platoon of librarians, I expect. Condemned to catalog the pestilential archives of fuck books, Truth Social screeds, and unpaid bills.

And she wouldn’t be allowed to shush any of his minions, who never ever give their festering gobs a nanosecond’s respite from telling the FreeDummies that Making America Great Again requires chop-shopping it into a Dollar Store knockoff of Pooty-poot’s Russia.

Troops to Ukraine? Hell no! But troops to DeeCee? That’s the real global trouble spot, amirite?

The best intel I can muster tells me that the enemy is bunkered up at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW. Careful with the arty and airstrikes, lads, and try to avoid damage to the facility if it’s feasible — it is a National Heritage Site, but may have been desecrated beyond resurrection.

I mean, have you seen what these terrorists have done to the Rose Garden?

Dead air

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 52 Comments
KRCC is just one of the three public broadcasters we support.

CPR, we hardly knew ye.

The Right got another zopilote feather in its asshat with the news that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting will cease operations in 2026.

What’s the problem? Why, money, of course. There’s just not enough to go around! Writes The New York Times:

The Corporation for Public Broadcasting has been in the cross hairs of Republicans for decades. Conservative policy advocates, legislators and presidents argued persistently that the public shouldn’t be responsible for financing media they perceived as having a liberal bias. But repeated attempts to defund public broadcasters failed, until this year.

Congress voted last month to claw back more than $500 million of the organization’s annual funding in a narrow vote that played out along party lines. That forced the corporation into a cash crunch.

Hey, $500 million here, $500 million there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money. Money for stuff like — oh, I don’t know — say, a $30 million military parade to give Felonious Punk a chubby on his birthday. Or $1 billion to refurb’ a Qatari jet that he will take with him to his “library,” which will be a walk-in closet full of fuck books, golf scorecards (see the Fiction stacks), and classified documents (homeless dude thumbing through them whilst on the shitter).

And then there’s the tab for flying this fat cunt around the world to visit his golf courses, where the locals gather to jeer, snigger, and call him a fat cunt. We can call him a fat cunt right here at home for free. See? I just did it. Didn’t cost one of the pennies we won’t be making in 2026.

Maybe that’s why the Corporation for Public Broadcasting got it in the neck. No pennies for that crowd.

Felonious funk

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 15 Comments
If you can’t change the channel, open a window, f’fucksake.

On this date last year, Beelzebozo became the first former president to be convicted of a felony — 34 felony counts, to be precise — stemming from a scheme to illegally influence the 2016 election through hush-money payments to a porn actor who said the two of them did The Nasty.

Less than six months later he won re-election to the presidency.

Some of the 77,302,580 Americans who voted for him probably thought they were pulling the lever for a Republican candidate. But what they actually pulled was his stubby little finger.

And on Jan. 20 of this year, the Great Rumbling began.

Small wonder the weather has been so unsettled.

When it comes to dealing with an asshole of this magnitude, there just ain’t enough air freshener in the world.

Ralph Spoilsport Motors, ‘The World’s Biggest’

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 14 Comments

Say, when did Ralph Spoilsport open a White House dealership?

Man, they really do it in the road at their West Gomorrah location. Let’s just look at the extras on this fabulous car! Wire-wheel spoke fenders, two-way sneeze-through wind vent, star-studded mudguards, sponge-coated edible steering column, chrome fender dents, and factory air-conditioned air from our fully factory-equipped air-conditioned factory. It’s a beautiful car, friend, with doors to match! Birch’s Blacklist says this automobile was stolen, but for you, friends, the complete price, only two-ninety-five hundred dollars, in easy monthly payments of twenty-five dollars a week, twice a week, and never on Sundays. …

Your Daily Don (first in a series)

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Presidential candidate or Marvel supervillain?

If the TV hucksters are going to pitch these affairs as though they were sporting events I think the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency should drug-test the competitors.

I’ve been in rooms with people who behaved like Felonious Punk did last night, thanks to various and sundry powders and potions, and we never once thought about running them for president. We thought about running away from them before the cops came, is what.

One dark night in the Seventies I didn’t run fast enough and wound up in the Denver sneezer with a couple of pals. At some point around stupid-thirty our jailers emptied the drunk tank, stuffing all of us minor offenders into cells, so a PCP fiend could have the run of the joint without mayhem.

Dude is bouncing off the walls with his eyes out on stalks, screeching like a banshee about this, that, and the other, when finally a screw marches in and purrs, “If you don’t settle down I’m going to have to consider you an asshole.”

As he turns to leave our duster suddenly had a moment of clarity.

“What’s an asshole to you?” he asks.

At which point one of our cellmates shouts, “You an asshole, motherfucker! Now shut the fuck up! We tryin’ to get some sleep!”

It’s a shame these two dudes weren’t moderating last night’s “debate.”