Every January, America takes a moment to dust off Martin Luther King Jr., aggressively smooth his razor-sharp edges, only to put him back on the shelf by dinner. We do this and congratulate ourselves for it.  We quote the dream speech because it’s soothing and comforting. However, we skip over the demands as if they never existed; we do this partly because they don’t fit the narrative we prefer. Mostly, though, it is that fairness is still being sold to the public as being too costly.  We remember the great orator and his tone, but the substance is criminally discarded. Martin Luther King Jr. is presented today as a passive, gentle unifier, a moral mascot for civility, a man who asked us to be kind and then carry on with business as usual. That sterile version of King is safe. He fits neatly into corporate emails, school assemblies, and social media platitudes. He asks for nothing. He is no threat to the status quo. This version allows people to avoid confronting themselves or...

For decades, the United Kingdom has presented itself as a model of democratic maturity. Procedural. Measured. Governance by pragmatic norms rather than overblown theatrics. Even its scandals arrive packaged and presented with a polite veneer.  However, now that reputation functions less as an admirable virtue than as subterfuge and camouflage. The UK has become a case study in how a liberal democracy can fracture silently, outsource devastating cruelty to the mostly tabloid press, and erode minority protections while smugly congratulating itself on restraint. It is a mistake to view Brexit as merely a referendum outcome. It was a cataclysmic structural event that rewired British politics, possibly forever. It normalized grievance as a governing force, degraded public trust in expertise, and created an unyielding state of cultural agitation. The economic damage is no mystery. It has unfolded exactly as the critics predicted: reduced growth, trade friction, labor shortages, and a con...

Trump Idiot Paste Up Photograph by Freegar Net (Mexico) Political fatigue is not maturity; it’s surrender disguised as self-care. It can feel self-protective. Necessary. The current political and cultural landscape looks like a dystopian hellscape, complete with viciousness, impossible atmospheric heat, and a never-ending despair loop with no discernible end. It is no wonder that this stance, political fatigue, has become an accepted contemporary emotional posture.  We are told, constantly, soothingly, that disengagement is a wise choice. That tuning out is a healthy form of mental health regulation. They tell us that the real danger is paying too much attention. Look away, they encourage. Save yourself. Really. This framing flatters people who yearn to feel evolved, float above the fray, while opting out of responsibility. It is precisely what authoritarian politics feed on. It is the essential ingredient that this dynamic needs to thrive. It requires that the very people who have...

Oh, Gloria, it's year's end, and you know what that means - one year closer until the inevitable laws of nature make all of our dreams come true. Just hang on a little longer, honey. It will be a lot better on the other side of this...

If you're looking for a good way to get through the worst timeline in the history of timelines, just do what Joan does! Simply cover your ears and you won't hear a thing! * bliss *

Cary can't tell if what he's just heard is a headline from The Onion or just the latest buffoonery he most certainly does not sanction. Neither can we, Mr. Grant. Neither can we. 

Are we having fun yet? The elections brought a blue wave, the shutdown has ended, and the Epstein files will soon be released. Why so "sad-emoticon?" At least some people are having a good time , right? Though I guess it depends on what side of the aisle you're on, or if you'd like to receive actual healthcare.  I suppose things could get better in the short term, since stranger things have been happening lately , yet when the entire economy appears beholden to a bunch of wealthy, but  dim-witted, tech bros , it's had to work up any real excitement, especially since said tech bros are trying to lasso in your kids.  At least we have hopeful distractions, but we all know how well those will turn out:  Art Credit: Joel Pett/Tribune Content Service, Dave Whamond/Cagle

Did you know there are over a thousand days left  until Trump's 2nd Presidential term is over? Holy fuckballs, I'm barely hanging on.  But there have been a few amusements this week (it's fun to see the RepubliKKKans squirm !), as well as a few horrifying  opinions and even more horrifying revelations. There's also the notion, with respect to the Democrats caving on the shutdown, that they might have lost the fight, but hey, they  won the war . Really? I'm not so sure, but like everything else these days, or so it seems, we'll learn the truth at the midterms.  Speaking of the all-important midterms, which many regard as the one thing that can save us from our MAGA nightmare, I'm having a creeping sense of Mueller-ism. You know Mueller, don't you? The guy whose 2017 Special Council was supposed to take down and destroy Trump once and for all? Yeah . We need more than potentially false hope . Where's the backup plan for the backup plan? Did I mention...

While we Americans like to think of Canadians as polite, well-mannered citizens, they turn positively feral at the sight of Trump, as evidenced by a Trump punching bag which a group of ordinarily gracious Vancouver moose heads (allegedly!) were only to happy to punch, pummel and viciously kick.  C’est tiguidou, cheri. C'est le fun.  To which I say, we understand, eh-sayers, we understand. After all, we can't even escape our hell-hole of a country these days. Calisse, right? And though sane 'Muricans won big in the recent election, causing much amusing uproar , we ain't out of the woods yet . The stupid rich are still getting stupid rich , and it could all blow up before you know it. Chalice de   Crisse!   So keep punching and kicking, mon amis . We're hanging on by a thread here, and hoping that all won't be forgotten come the midterms in 2026. Because, tabarnak , that would be tres-tres hellacious, no?

Here they are kissing his ass and praising his doo-doos as detailed  HERE and  HERE , plus don't miss out on fashionable  DICTATOR CHIC , and be sure to nab your very own GET OUT OF JAIL FREE card! 

Resistance Painting by Sylvia Solovyeva, 2020 Fascism never knocks politely and asks to be let in. It seeps under the door and through the cracks. The ideology masquerades as patriotism and nostalgia, often wearing a poorly tailored suit with an expensive flag pin or a gold cross. The steady rise always appears righteous at first. True believers claim they are protecting children, protecting borders, protecting tradition and culture. Florida bans books and black history. India muzzles journalists and opposition. Hungary calls outrageous censorship “Christian values.” America passes laws that sound like Bible verses while looting the treasury like thieves.  Historically, what follows is the peak, the magnificent glittering rot. The leader becomes a brand with a PR team. News becomes a farce. Billionaires buy the airwaves, the content, and microphones. Law enforcement budgets swell while libraries and hospitals close. Anger becomes performance, cruelty becomes currency, and conspirac...

  When Politico published the cache of racist, bigoted, antisemitic, and violent messages from the “Young” Republicans’ private group chat, it didn’t just expose a few “edgy” or “off color” jokes. It exposed rot that had been lurking beneath charm, networking, and the polished illusion of respectability. These were not anonymous internet basement dwelling trolls. They were congressional aides, campaign staffers, interns, and strategists. They are the ones who will inherit the microphones, the legislation, the power, and the laws. In that putrid chat, they wrote like people who believed they were protected. They used slurs as punctuation and bonded over cruelty. The reaction from the GOP was predictable: a few suspensions, some hollow statements, and a chorus of “That’s not who we are.” Worthless excuses that no one who paid attention would believe. This is exactly who they are when they think no one is watching. But this story isn’t just about them. It’s about the ones who knew and...

The hour was indecent again—the kind that makes the world sound hollow. Same lobby, same hum. I’d promised myself I’d never meet him twice, but ghosts don’t honor boundaries; they find a crack in your resolve and call it a doorway. Roy Cohn was already sitting there. No announcement, no chill, just presence. He looked freshly dead, which was impressive after forty years. “Don’t act surprised,” he said. “You people keep invoking me. Every time someone shouts down a fact or sneers at empathy, I get the call.” He smiled the way a courtroom smiles after a conviction. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t haunt places. I haunt behavior.” Cohn and Joseph McCarthy He began as a prodigy of menace. At twenty-three, Cohn helped prosecute Julius and Ethel Rosenberg for espionage. Evidence was thin, but spectacle was thick, and he made sure the execution went forward. Two dead parents were résumé material in 1950s Washington. The Justice Department noticed his appetite for intimidation, and Senator Jose...

He still lingers here. You can smell him before you hear him — that ghostly musk of flop sweat, Old Spice, and moral rot baked into the wallpaper of the West Wing. Richard Milhous Nixon, spectral and swollen with grievance, still pacing the Oval Office at 3 a.m., muttering about “the press” and “the Jews” and the long con of American virtue. The lights flicker when he’s near. The portraits turn their faces toward the wall. Even Andrew Jackson won’t look at him. Every administration since has pretended they buried him, but Nixon never went underground — he went systemic. His ghost isn’t haunting Washington; he is Washington. He’s the unkillable architecture of paranoia that powers the republic now — the data-mining, the black budgets, the men who believe the law is just a suggestion until someone leaks it. The only thing that’s changed since Watergate is that now, the bugs are in our pockets and we pay monthly for the privilege. He materialized to me last night, just after midnight, whe...