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Queen Rat Deserts Sinking Ship, and Other News of the Week

11/24/2025

Even the dumbest rat knows when to gnaw its way into a lifeboat, and the Space Laser Lady, sensing that flagship MAGA was getting set to disappear beneath the polling waves, started paddling away from the oncoming disaster last week.

In what direction she is rowing no one knows, probably not even herself. Probably towards a fantasy island where health care is cheap, gas is two bucks a gallon, and the Epstein files are carved into stone in front of every public building in Georgia, right underneath the Ten Commandments.

Old Cootchie Collar promptly called her a traitor, but stopped short of calling for her immediate death. Then, empowered by the mental energy that comes with being able to correctly identify the outline of a giraffe, he demanded the public execution of six Congresspeople. Gone was his and his base's sobbing over the role of violent rhetoric in the assassination of Charlie “I Don’t Know How My Wife Will Go On Without Me” Kirk. He even tagged George Washington in his post, alleging that the First President had an affection for sudden, mindless, unadjudicated hangings.

Speaking of Washington, how many other Presidents does anybody think the Fascist Fucknut can name off the top of his head? The guess here is probably about six, especially if he gets to mention Obama twice.

He then welcomed international killer-billionaire-head-of-state Mohammed bin Salman to the White House, in a manner so obsequious that it stopped just short of Trump offering to lick the smell of camel hump off of bin Salman's ass.

Continuing to bone-saw his way through the week, the Caucasian-in-Chief treated himself to a pop-in audience with the newly elected Mayor of New York, Zohran Mamdani, a man Trump has called a Communist more times than he’s tried to finger-fuck Pam Bondi, and greeted him just as warmly as he had the Middle Eastern torture tyrant, probably because the man styles his facial hair in a far more flattering manner than J D Vance, Trump’s own Vice-Beardo.

Finally, in a demonstration that his grey matter has more black holes in it than Stephen Hawking ever discovered in the space-time continuum, The Nobel Peace Putz offered a peace plan to Zelensky that consists of him leaving the keys to half of Ukraine in a garage in the Donbas, and letting Putin pick them up there like it was an Air BNB rental.

Next week we may see the start of a war against a relatively helpless South American nation on bogus pretenses. Currently the plans for combat are called Operation Southern Spear, Southern Spear being a favored username by Secretary of War Pete “How Do You Like This Suit on Me?” Hegseth on Grindr, but which are currently referred to in the high halls of the Pentagon, with much head-shaking as Operation Jeffery Who?

Missing those days when he just went golfing. I am, I am.

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Magnet Man Attacks Space Laser Lady

11/15/2025

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Magnet Man, the All-Powerful Attractor, has thrown down the gauntlet to former ally Space Laser Lady over the Felonious Files of super villain Dead Jeffrey, former master of Girls Who Ought to be Babysitting Instead Island.

Other heroes of the Justice for Us League are said to be uniting behind Magnet Man. The heir apparent to the throne of Justice for Us, often abbreviated as Just Us, Vance Whom the Furniture Fears, sometimes called the Beardo, is steadfast in his support of Magnet Man. Bannon the Bold, also known as Crust Man, dismisses the defection of Space Laser Lady as inconsequential. “Third Termer vs Horse Dewormer,” he says scornfully of the conflict, and Bobby Brain Wormer agrees. So does Patel, the Cross-Eyed Seer.

The powerful super females of Just Us agree as well. ICE Kristal and Pam the Indicter are both sure that Space Laser Lady was merely jealous of their looks and the fact that, unlike both of them, Magnet Man had never tried to slide his powerful Digit underneath Space Laser Lady’s disguise.

Some are staying above the fray. Elon the Magic Martian, being somewhat estranged from the Magnet Man himself, is said to be staying hidden at his Fortress of Kleptitude, keeping his first trillion dollars warm. Boebert, the Wicked Skank of the West, is said to have a firm grip on any developments, as usual.

The falling-out has only emboldened the other super-hero alliance, The DEI Rangers. Despite losing its nominal queen, Pelosi the Aged, the Rangers are nonetheless moving in. Schumer the Waffler also seems ready to give way to a new coalition of younger powers, led by Peter the Gay Dad and Shapiro the Swing Stater. Zohran the Sultan of Mamdani and the AOC the Socialist Sweet Thing are standing by in the left wing.

But willing to go toe-to-toe with Magnet Man is Sir Gavin of the Good Hair. Radiating rizz from every product-dolloped follicle, the crafty Californian has moved up the sidekick ranks to dominate the ranks of the opposition. His matchup against the Beardo as the decade draws to a close seems all but assured.

Look for the next issue at a newsstand near you.

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Other Things Trump May Want Named After Him

11/11/2025

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Trump is entering the heritage phase of his Presidency and, apparently under the delusion that he will be remembered as Lincoln, Washington or JFK-esque instead of a lowlife scungeball who was lied into office by Fox News, is trying to put his name on everything he can before his term runs out, or that blood clot finally moves from his cankle to his brain.

He is unaware that the Trump Ballroom will inevitably be torn down the second he starts his sojourn in Hell and the East Wing restored so that the White House will continue to resemble the building on the money. The Arc de Trump, now only in the planning stages, will stay that way. He was just booed out of the stadium he wants named after him over the weekend, so much so that preliminary designs for it call for ample public toilets on the outside of the building, in an effort to satisfy the hygienic needs of the tourists who will come to piss on it if the Trump name goes on top.

None of this will keep Trump from going on a self-naming frenzy, especially since the newly-elected Mayor of New York is rumored to have plans to rename Times Square “Epstein Alley” and Long Island Sound the “Gulf of Obama,” as soon as he takes office. Here’s a sample list of what Trump could name after himself before his heart seizes up:

J D VANCE AND ERIKA KIRK’S FIRST CHILD: Hey, we know there already is a Donald Trump, Jr., and nobody’s begging to have another one. But a Donald Trump Vance Kirk Jr.? Yeah, nobody wants one of them, either.

THE APPALACHIAN MOUNTAINS: Even though they have nothing to do with Trump, besides being a reliable source of votes, the exercise adverse President has never set foot upon them, and they have existed since Pangea split apart, Trump would naturally love to have them named after him. These mountains are everything Trump is not—serene, beautiful and quiet. Which they will continue to be, even after they are renamed Cliffs O’Trump, Hills of the Poorly Educated, or the Hoax Mountains.

CHESAPEAKE BAY: The Trump Trough, Waters of Trumpland, Bay of MAGA—all good names for the watery heart of the East Coast, even though Trump has never been photographed on a boat in his life, probably because he pukes like a baby choking on formula every time he boards a watercraft, and the salt water winds and his hair are deadly enemies.

ANY RANDOM STATE IN THE DEEP SOUTH: Fuck remembering how many s’s there are, and where they go in Mississippi. The state of Trump! With its capital of Ivanka!

AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER: This is almost inevitable for any Republican President, since the Navy quit naming its carriers after famous military battles (the Lexington, the Yorktown) and starting naming them after people who signed off on the money to build them (the Reagan, the Gerald Ford). Usually, they wait until after that President is dead, or demented enough that he might as well be. Trump qualifies on the second count, and can sit by, napping with pride, as the champagne is broken over its bow by his own surly former Slovenian prostitute First Lady.

AIRPORTS GALORE: From any drug-smuggling dirt runway in South Texas to bustling international hubs currently named after lesser Presidents, the pilots of private jets carrying billionaires and their teenage dates back from island fun will wipe a tear from their eye as they vector in to runways newly renamed after the First Pedophile.

Hardly an exhaustive list, but I’m out of coffee and need to walk the dog. Trump will think of more, and so will Mike Johnson. The burst of creative bottom-smooching from the Republican Congress when they realize that lipping Trump’s hiney is as easy as naming things after him will only be exceeded by the Democrats renaming them when he loses the next election or starts paying back the deal with Satan that got him The Apprentice in the first place.

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Sandwich Guy Would Have Been Convicted If He Threw a Hoagie

11/7/2025

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A jury in DC recently acquitted the “Sandwich Guy” of misdemeanor assault, after he was filmed, and confessed, to throwing and hitting an ICE officer with a Subway sandwich.

His fate is far preferable to that of the assaultee, who will forever be known as “Onion Boy” or “Mustard Mike,” to his fellow ICE officers, for faking PTSD (Pastrami Thrown Stress Disorder) on the witness stand, by sobbing about the stench of mustard and onions on his bulletproof vest. The DC jury laughed off the charge, and no one offered to take him out to lunch afterwards.

This was in our nation’s capital. A far different legal outcome would have occurred if the incident had moved a hundred miles north to the nation’s original capital, Philadelphia. There, no one carries a Subway sandwich. Philadelphians are armed with hoagies, which is to a Subway sandwich what an Abrams tank is to a Prius.

First off, no one puts mustard on a hoagie. In Philly, mustard is reserved for hot dogs and the above-mentioned pastrami. A hoagie is lubricated with Italian dressing and seasoned with oregano. A pound apiece of prosciutto, salami and provolone are added. You never have to order extra meat on a hoagie. Extra meat is a given.

Onions are present, accompanied by lettuce, tomato and either hot or sweet peppers. Hoagies are not ordered by pointing at small tubs of useless veggies (I’m looking at you, nasty little tub of olives) or condiments. If you're a hoagie aficionado, you may order in just two words. “Italian, sweet,” or “Italian, hot,” and the fat guy with brawny arms behind the counter and you both know exactly what you want and what you’ll get. "You wanna Tastykake with that?" is the only question he might ask.

The hoagie is not served on a fresh-baked but mysteriously tasteless roll. It is served on a fresh crusty Italian roll baked that day by a local bakery. This armor is strong enough to hold the hoagie’s ingredients together, so weighty enough to serve as the outer shell of a projectile weapon.

Officer Onion would have instantly felt a hoagie’s impact through his bulletproof vest. It could easily have knocked him down, depending on how fat and/or off-balance he was. As he lay there, sprawled on the sidewalk, feeling the olive oil dripping down his face, possibly mistaking it for his own blood, the criminal intent of the perpetrator would have been obvious. It would not have been so lightly dismissed by a jury, especially a jury familiar with the hoagie shop at which it was purchased.

“Oh, yeah. Da hoagies dey got there are huge,” is a phrase that would have been heard during jury deliberations.

“Guilty.”

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