It's Probably Hard to Ace That Many Cognitive Tests Without Spiraling Into Megalomania, Honestly (Ferret/Shower Cap)

“He’s been talking recently about how he is the most powerful person to ever live.”

Everybody working in the one-sentence horror story field can go ahead and retire.

(Links n’ such: https://showercapblog.com/its-probably-hard-to-ace-that-many-cognitive-tests-without-spiraling-into-megalomania-honestly/)

On balance, I’m cheering for the brain rot to outrace the megalomania, though I suppose if Philadelphia winds up nuked, it doesn’t really matter whether the Mad King targeted his enemies or simply confused the football with the TV remote.

Yes, the news from the presidential cognition front remains rather grim, I’m afraid. The old poop can no longer remember the names of even the countries he’s started wars with, but you can’t expect What if Genghis Khan Were a Game Show Host to focus on such petty details.

No sooner had I composed the preceding paragraph than Grandpa mashed out the latest stanza of the epic poem he’s perpetually composing, praising his mastery of the dementia screening exams he’s taking with increasing regularity for…reasons.

Perhaps he can be convinced to dazzle us all with a command performance at the next Cabinet meeting.

“Person.”

Tulsi Gabbard ooohs a little too loudly.

“Woman.”

Not to be outdone, Marco Rubio begins to moan, as if aroused sexually.

“Man.”

Lutnick can no longer contain himself. YOU ARE LIKE UNTO A GOD, SIR, he bleats, collapsing to the floor, convulsing and speaking in tongues.

“Ca…ca…capybara? Toyota Camry?”

“Camera, sir!” whispers JD Vance ingratiatingly.

“Cameraaaaa…” And though the president nods off before getting anywhere near that fifth word, the room erupts in a standing ovation that doesn’t die down, even when Fox cuts away forty-five minutes later. We eventually learn that Markwayne Mullin was ultimately the first to stop clapping when he is entombed alive in the foundation of the ballroom.

Well, we knew he was a snake when we handed him back the nuclear codes. A snake and a rapist and a con man and a white supremacist and a sleep-farter and very possibly the single dumbest human being alive on the planet right now.

It hasn’t worked out, on a variety of levels. Levels like “inflation” and “civil liberties.” The illegitimate wingnut Supreme Court majority took their expected next bite out of the VRA, and Republicans throughout the South are already planning coming-home parties for Jim Crow.

Even Trump’s assassination attempts are shabby. Some dipshit rando who never got anywhere near his supposed target, even without the highest security protocols in place? How many of those did Obama shrug off? But then, Obama’s not a wuss.

WAHHHHHHHH YOU HAVE TO BUILD ME A BALLROOM NOW!!!

What? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s obsessing over his Barbie Dreamhouse rather than designating the Democrat Party a terrorist organization, but this is not the conclusion of a well-ordered mind.

The entire institutional GOP swiftly agreed that yes, the tariff-and-war-battered American taxpayer should most definitely be forced to buy the billionaire grifter an oligarch-cave to prance about in. Given that polling shows voters are furious about the cost of living and understand full well who’s to blame, I think you kids should worry less about gerrymandering and more about guillotines.

Anyway, I say let the old fop build it. We’re clearly lurching towards a Norma Desmond-y climax here, and the moment demands an appropriate set. It all comes to a head during history’s least comfortable daddy-daughter dance.

Whatsamatter, strongman? Can’t even get a late-night television host suspended, let alone fired, anymore? Caved completely to Thom Tillis’ lame duck power play with Powell? Forced to pull your whackjob surgeon general nominee?

Why it’s almost like you’ve peaked. (Perhaps that’s what that smell is.)

I dunno, man. If you’re the most powerful person in history, why is your head stuck in that paper bag?

Like, the public hates the tariffs. The Supreme Court says the tariffs aren’t legal. The Dotard rolls out replacement super-tariffs, mostly for spite. This is a head-stuck-in-a-paper-bag-level problem.

Okay, so the Iran war is a little trickier.

Although I’m hearing it’s “terminated” now. I tried to explain to the fellow at the gas station how our studly coMANder in chief had so decisively terminated the war, but he still refused to lower the price. I thought I could get him to compromise, maybe toss in a Slim Jim for free, but no dice.

Oh, I see. That was just bullshit to avoid complying with the War Powers Act. Of course, by the time Alina Habba gets laughed out of court trying to defend it, Hegseth will have authorized a secret bombing campaign in Cambodia.

We should hang “Kid Rock Addressing the Pentagon” in the museum of our madness. You probably scrolled right past it at first. Dismissed it as AI or maybe an Onion article about the next phase of the Cabinet purge. “And a substantial upgrade, I’d say!” you chuckled smugly to yourself, enjoying being in on the joke, but no, it’s real. Of course it’s real.

No doubt the Secretary of War picked out extra-fun socks for the occasion. Lookit Pete, fangirling around in a helicopter with the visionary artist behind no less than three of Rolling Stone’s “Top Ten Albums to Do Meth To.”

All in all, I’ve been feeling pretty smug about the midterms, but that was before the greatest political mind of an era hit upon the idea of tacking the word “national” onto the front of Immigration and Customs Enforcement, so that the next time a nurse gets gunned down in the street for exercising their constitutional rights, it’ll be a masked, unaccountable NICE agent doing the gunning.

I mean…how’re you supposed to fight a branding genius?

I see the Golfing for Blood Money show is getting cancelled. Cutting into the journalist-dismembering House of Saud’s bonesaw budget, I’m told.

If you’ve ever wanted a drawing of a rapist on your passport, have I got news for you! In fact, your government has been spending god knows how much of your money to slap this rapist’s face on everything from banners to national park passes to, well…your money.

It’s for America’s 250th birthday, y’see. That’s entirely traditional, by the way. Nobody ever makes it to their 250th wedding anniversary, but if they did, you’re supposed to give them like, a painting or a tapestry or a cute little framed cross-stitch of a rapist. That one goes way back. To like, Two Corinthians.

Jimmy Comey thought he’d get away with selling seashells by the seashore, but he’ll pick his next peck of pickled peppers in prison, if Todd Blanche has anything to say about it.

They’re apparently talking about relaunching The Apprentice, starring Don Jr., for anyone who wants to watch foreign governments bribe the smooth-braindest of all possible nepo babies in order to procure U.S. government contracts.

And from there, it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to History’s Next Most Powerful Person to Ever Live…

You can go ahead and play the Twilight Zone outro under that one.

Okay, friends. I’m gonna take next week off to catch up on comic book stuff. If you enjoy these rants, feel free to help me stock the beer fridge for this working staycation via PayPal, Cash App, or even Venmo. I’ve got an email list and a Xwitter account for those who remain unsatiated.

SPEAKING OF COMIC BOOK STUFF…I am still missing a bunch of Kickstarter surveys! Can’t send you your comics if I don’t know your address! Oh, and if you missed GENERAL WASHINGTON AND THE LIBERTY TREE #1, maybe just maybe there’s a whole new Kickstarter for #2 just around the corner…

Stay safe out there so you can find out, okay?