Shit-Show

It's clear that our Somnolent Sultan wears diapers and is not shy about when and where he enjoys a nice, refreshing core breech. Many's the recent video of public events in which those in close proximity to the bloated bully have a sudden urge to turn away from him and, uh, scratch their noses.

But here's what no one talks about... what happens to those diapers afterwards? This may be an indelicate subject but just consider what kind of comprehensive health analysis of the Oaf of Office a foreign power could assemble after digging through the chunky, fetid spew of just one pant-load.

This means there must be an arm of the Secret Service (lucky them) whose job it is to collect each and every soiled nappy and deliver them, probably in an armored vehicle protected by an armed security detail, to a facility where they are likely incinerated. When he's overseas the SS no doubt stores them in AF1, possibly in the loo that's allotted to the press, for the ride home.

So when you hear that schoolchildren are going hungry and Grandma can't get her insulin just remember that the fecal load of the leader of the fascist world has its own, very expensive, armed delivery service.

Ah, 'tis a Golden Age, indeed.

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Mea Culpa: Rain finally returned to Dallas after three months and my brain was evidently too happy to engage in the usual snark so today's 'toon is a slightly modified version of one which originally appeared in February of 2020. (It works. Shuddup!)

-Lefty