When Congress “can’t find” the bill to replace the ACA, I’m fairly sure that means they can’t find the bill because they forgot to write one.
I mean come on, you sorry dingbats. It wasn’t written by hand in someone’s Composition notebook! Surely there’s a .doc file on someone’s computer? A copy saved on Google Drive? Shared Dropbox folder? Even if the final draft was saved on a USB drive that some braindead intern accidentally took home in the back pocket of their messenger bag, there should be other, only slightly earlier, drafts saved elsewhere. This isn’t rocket science.
Either the bill doesn’t exist, or it’s been written and printed but it’s so awful they don’t want us to know what’s in it and they’ll vote on it at like 2 AM so we won’t be able to rain shit on their heads before the SCROTUS gets his pen on it.
I assume there were several legislators involved in drafting this bill. Even if it was just one, there must have been some staffers involved in the process. Surely, there must be at least one adult who knows where the bill was saved and has the executive functioning to print a fresh copy.
This administration keeps on finding new ways to disgust me.
Everyone’s talking about the travesty that is Trumpty Numpty ordering a $54 steak well-done and covering it in ketchup. And sure, that sounds obnoxious, but Kate Harding on Facebook posted a photo of a guy holding up a sign at a protest rally: “HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A DOG.”
I mean…that tells you so much more about the SCROTUS’s character than how he eats a steak. Even Nixon had a dog! I have this headcanon where Trumpty Numpty is so gross, even my brother’s dog wouldn’t get close enough to accept a treat from him. He and Melania once got a little pooch for Barron, and that dog was Barron’s best friend whenever his dad was away, but it turned into a little killing machine whenever The Donald showed up, so they had to give it back. Cats are just as bad; they constantly try to escape the penthouse, and they’d rather fall off the top of Trump Tower than stay one more minute in that man’s presence. Cats love Melania (although I don’t let her off the hook), and dogs love Barron, but all companion animals flee at the sight of Commander-in-Cheeto.
When the time comes when the local police force turn their cloaks and help the resistance storm the Capitol, you may hear something about Mitch McConnell getting his face smashed in with a frozen pineapple.
And, THAT, dear readers, is how you’ll know I was in the battle.
I was just saying earlier on Facebook and Twitter: I have a bit of teaching experience, so I’m way overqualified to teach stuff like science and math to kids if Betsy DeVos can be Secretary of Education.
And then it occurred to me: I work in Accounting. I do real-world-relevant Accounts Payable work for a living, and I’m good at it. I could put my name in for Secretary of the Treasury, and my resume would be more promising for the position than what we just allowed to take the Sec of Ed job.
I just heard about this “Bowling Green Massacre” this morning.
I’m afraid I’m already past the point where, if someone in this administration accidentally told the truth, I wouldn’t believe it. I actually don’t want to be that person who can no longer believe the sky is blue because I’m so used to Trumpty Numpty and his handlers calling it every color except blue, but the political situation is turning me into that person.
First: do not do anything that will make the DC Metro system run any worse than it does already. If I cannot use the Metro, then I will have no choice but to find a new job closer to home, and if I no longer have to spend 2.5 hours per day in transit between work and home, I will have more time to get together with the other lefty pinkos around here and figure out how to fuck shit up. I live in Greenbelt; you can’t throw a rock around here without hitting a weirdo. Don’t give us more time to collude and collaborate. You have plenty of opponents already living in the District, and when we suburbanites want to get downtown for protests, we’ll find ways to get there. Might as well be on the Metro.
Second: do not fuck with our Internet access. You wanna censor the information we can access? Whatever, I’ll find it anyway, but if we cannot use high-speed wifi at home, then we cannot stream TV shows, and if we cannot watch the new season of Game of Thrones next summer, that’s ten weeks we’ll spend fucking shit up.
Third: do not fuck with my electricity. If I can’t use mass transit, that’s bad enough, but I can still entertain myself at home. If I can’t access the Internet, that’s even worse, but I’ll still find things to do. If I cannot charge my laptop, then I’ll have no choice but to go outside and fuck shit up. I live within spitting distance of USDA property, I’m good with animals, and you’d be surprised at how far I can walk. If I were y’all, I’d be legalizing weed and handing out free Netflix accounts like candy at a parade.
If I were in DJ Rump’s position, I wouldn’t be calling attention to the legality of an election that I, ultimately, won.
Especially if there were lots of people already suggesting there was some funny business involving the Russian government involved in some of the battleground states where I won.
I get that he’s sore about losing the popular vote by literally millions, but he still won the Presidency, Seven help us all.
But, sure, President Pussygrabber, go on and put even more scrutiny on the election that put you in the White House! Let’s see what other fun and colorful things we learn about the validity of your victory. Here’s some rope. The gallows are other there.
I see everyone talking about how people shouldn’t make fun of Barron Trump, and I’m going to join the chorus.
I’m about the same age as Chelsea Clinton. I remember when Bill Clinton became President, and the media had a field day in bullying Chelsea. Oh yes, it was everyone’s favorite hobby to talk about how ugly the new First Daughter was. Such a great way to treat a 12-year-old girl.
So with that in mind, wouldn’t it be cool if we could now be the country that doesn’t gang up on kids who have to live in a fishbowl? Wouldn’t it be cool if we could choose not to repeat the abuses we heaped on Chelsea Clinton? Wouldn’t it set a great example if we could make the distinction between DJ Rump and all he represents, and a 10-year-old boy who didn’t ask for any of this?
And after 4 years (hopefully JUST 4 years) of DJ Rump’s time in Washington, plus several years more after that of being DJ Rump’s son, suppose Barron grows up to be his father’s worst nightmare? Imagine if Barron becomes the kind of person who can hit back against the damage his father’s done to our country?
Because if that happens, then we’ll be glad we handled him gently when he was 10. If he grows up to be his father’s son, then he’ll be grown up, and THEN we can be vicious to him.
Well, everyone, I’ve been sick with a cold for the past week. I only went to work for one day last week, and I expect my workday tomorrow to be a trainwreck. I finally started feeling sort-of better last night, so, no marching for me. I live not even 10 miles from Washington, DC, I’ve marched and protested before, I enjoyed it, but I will not do that to myself when I’m sick. Which is a shame, because the march looked fabulous and amazing in every possible way. I’m still knitting my pussyhat. I haven’t ruled out wearing it in public every day until warm weather arrives.
I’ll miss the Obamas. I would’ve been okay with another 4-8 years of them in the White House.
I finally watched Selma today. Anyone who thinks violence never accomplishes anything: Ava DuVernay and Dr. King would like to have a word with you.
Also, I am totally supportive of punching Nazis in the face. Or the gut. Or the crotch. Whatever part presents first.
Just spotted this putz on Twitter:
Yeah, first of all, if you’re going to tag your Tweet as “just saying,” try spelling “just” correctly. Not the sort of thing that requires an advanced degree.
I am so far past DONE debating reproductive rights at this level. Abstinence is not a contraceptive strategy, it is a condition defined by absence. Being in a situation in which you don’t need contraception, is in itself NOT a contraceptive method. You’re not having sex? That’s fine! It’s not a position from which to determine health coverage policy.
Most of all, I am not the least bit interested in playing this game where some lying fuckhead says “well if you don’t want a baby then don’t have sex” and I respond as if this person actually expects us to stop having sex. I no longer accept that premise. They don’t realistically expect us to swear off sexual activity, and they would not be happy if we did so.
The difference between the alleged sexual profligacy of “this generation” and the supposed restraint of previous generations is that we no longer see a virtue in systemically punishing fertile young women for doing what everyone does when they get the chance. We are not interested in going back to the era of pregnant women hiding out in homes for unwed mothers, and their offspring growing up in orphanages. We don’t want to produce even more hungry mouths to grow up to become cheap labor and cannon fodder, and we don’t think that makes us less virtuous than our ancestors who had no better options.