All This Creeping Normalcy, It's Like We're Still in Hell, But There's Cake Now (Ferret/Shower Cap) [View all]

[TheFerret]

While it’s certainly better than Hell, I confess I have yet to find my footing in our current Limbo. Like, we finally shut the malfunctioning thrill ride down after four long years, and it’s certainly nice not to be flung through the air at a hundred miles per hour every minute of every day, but the restraint bar is still in place, and frankly, I need to pee.

(Of course you are always invited to view this post, with links, here: http://showercapblog.com/all-this-creeping-normalcy-its-like-were-still-in-hell-but-theres-cake-now/)

We’re in for an incomprehensible Thanksgiving, as a political movement gone mad charges naked into battle with inescapable reality. We rational, responsible types can only watch from isolation as these feverishly insane people spread their death in the name of Whatever Tucker Carlson Told Them to Be Mad About This Week.

I’ve lost track of precisely which Shart House coronavirus outbreak swept Ben Carson off to the hospital, but thanks to cutting edge medical treatments available to him as a leading capo in the Trump Family Crime Syndicate, he pulled through. Of course, this level of care is hardly accessible to you serfs or your filthy taker families, though you are certainly welcome to form orderly lines outside your communities’ overflowing hospitals.

In fact, here’s a helpful Shower Cap Holiday Hack for ya: save time this Thanksgiving by heading directly from the food bank queue to the hospital queue! Getcherself a little hot plate that plugs into the cigarette lighter in your car; by the time the turkey heats up, you’ll be in prime position to snag the next available ventilator!

Historians will remember the last few days as the most gratifying in American history, as Tangerine Idi Amin’s dreams of finding a bunch of judges willing to end democracy for him deteriorated into a viscous blob of failure, public humiliation, and whatever was leaking out of Rudy Giuliani the other day.

Oddly enough, Trenchmouth McCousinfucker’s literal/figurative meltdown in Pennsylvania ultimately yielded little beyond an atomic wedgie delivered in blistering legalese, which is almost a shame, since he won’t be able to comprehend a word of it.

As his kakistocrat clowncar coup went down in flames, Donnie Dotard finally noticed he’d hired a team of defective One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest action figures to represent him in court. “They’re making me look bad!” he whinged, before retweeting a 172-minute-long video of James Woods reciting Anders Breivik’s manifesto.

His assessment, for once, isn’t wrong; Sidney Powell’s recent behavior has been extremely...well, “Sidney Powell-like” is the only term that comes to mind. So when she dropped her ultra-helpful DOUG COLLINS WUZ ROBBED BY THE DEEP STATE AND ALSO JEWS take smack dab in the middle of the crucial Georgia Senate runoffs, I mean, you’re the one who loves the scorpion story so much, bro. Sidney Powell is a machine that haphazardly spews toxic sludge; I don’t know why you’d turn it on in the first place, but you certainly don’t get to complain now that the carpet’s ruined.

So Sidney goes into the airlock, but Rudy gets to stick around? That doesn’t seem fair. The dividing competence line between those two maniacs is a gerrymander crooked enough to make Robin Vos blush.

At least these desperate, comical attempts to (lest we forget) overturn the 2020 election provided a steady supply of procedural milestones to celebrate. Yet another doomed lawsuit, filed in crayon on official Four Seasons Total Landscaping stationery*, laughed out of court? Michigan officially certifying their results, dashing the wacky plans of an underdog wannabe autocrat with a crazy dream of a world where Black folks’ votes don’t get counted? It’s like winning the election all over again, every time, and we fucking well deserve it.

It’s been a long, shitty year, and if I get to pop another bottle of champagne every time an election clerk in Philadelphia gets back from their lunch break, I am absolutely taking advantage of that opportunity. I say mythologize all this shit; going forward, every day in November is holy for one reason or another; we’ll write carols and make advent calendars.

Meanwhile, Joe Biden’s aggressively normcore politics continue their slow, steady infiltration of our news cycle, like a light breeze smelling of nothing in particular. With each individual appointment, and the accompanying resumé overflowing with expertise, excellence, and commitment to public service, rather than the “Nominee X initially drew the President‘s attention by smearing swastikas on the front door of a local elementary school in his own filth” stories we’ve grown accustomed to, I feel like Andy Dufresne emerging into the rain.

Well, stop the dang presses, Emily W. Murphy finally decided to do her goddamn job. Somewhere around the 8th or 9th confirmation of Joe Biden’s landslide victory, America’s breakout bureaucratic irritant, the Orwell It Girl herself, finally acquiesced to the overwhelming will of the electorate and permitted the transition to begin. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get your footnote in the history books, you giddy little goose-stepper.

Yes, the transition of power will be peaceful, if pissy. Between Treasury Secretary Mnuchbag’s bold experiments with sabotage-by-accounting and Mike Pompeo’s petulant plot to smash the nation’s toys rather than let his successors rejoin the Open Skies Treaty, it seems as though McConnellism is swiftly evolving from mere obstruction to active vandalism, and it would be really awesome if the Republican Party could stop viewing the majority of the American people as mortal enemies.

You may’ve missed it, but Lil’ Donnie Two-Scoops finally crept out of his bunker for the first time in days, pathetically seeking to take credit for the stock market surge that occurred as a direct result of his overdue submission to reality. Didja see it? It didn’t last long. He’s living the narcissist’s nightmare right now; he lives for the spotlight, but he can’t bear it any longer, for it illuminates a loser.

...and then he has to waddle back out for the goddamn turkey pardoning! Like a forgotten sitcom star cutting the ribbon at a Fuddruckers opening! Shoot it straight into my fucking eyeballs; this evil fuck is finally falling out of the dignity tree and hitting every single branch on the way down and it is truly magnificent to behold.

Like, sneaking out of the G20 to sulk on the golf course because you just know he was paranoid all the other leaders were talking about what a loser he is, in all their fancy high-falutin’ foreign languages? I’ve been waiting a long time for this schadenfreude, and now that it’s here, nectar and ambrosia ain’t shit.

Heads up, with the long holiday weekend, this is likely the last time you’ll hear from me until next week. I expect less news than we’ve seen since the bygone normalcy of 2014, for which I’ll give thanks until I have no more thanks to give. I hope you and your loved ones are navigating this warped holiday season safely and sanely. See y’all soon.

*This is a big moment in Shower Cap’s Blog history, the first time I spelled this word correctly.

(I feel like I should clarify the Woods/Breivik thing was just a gag. It isn’t real. Yet.)