It is August 3, 2024. I just put this reblog into my queue, absolutely confident that it will be as true when it hits main as it is today, as it was yesterday.
It is August 13, and I am adding this to the queue again. For the record, he did his … whatever that was … with Apartheid Nepo Baby last night. They are claiming it was viewed one billion times.
Sure, Jan.
Welp. It is September 16. His lies and rhetoric have put the entire ciry of Springfield, Ohio, in the crosshairs of his most unhinged and violent followers. He and Jeffery Dahmer Vance told a racist lie that they knew was a lie, and they keep repeating it, even after Jorts Dickhead Vance admitted he knew it was a lie.
I’m not sure when this will come back up in my queue, but I do know that, as despicable and crazypants this latest bullshit it, he’s going to get even more racist.
This came back around on October 2. I literally can’t keep track of all the hideous things he has said just this week. He’s expanded his lies about Hatians to now include people from Congo (proving his lazy racism can still get even more lazy, as we all know what Congo is code for inside his cult).
It is October 11. Jesus Christ.
I won’t subject you to his awful voice, but the way he says “Black” is such an epithet.
Updating this on October 22, 2024 because holy shit.
Carusone: Media needs to do a better job of contextualizing Trump’s “dangerous” rhetoric
From the October 20, 2024, edition of The Sunday Show with Jonathan Capehart
JONATHAN CAPEHART (HOST): We’ve been so inundated by Trump’s water canon of crazy that some of us don’t take what he says seriously. He’s considered more of a stand up comedian riffing his greatest hateful hits than a barely veiled tyrant bent on retribution. And what makes this especially troubling is that almost half the country supports him in spite of it, or maybe because of it. As Michael Sokolove of The New York Times soberingly writes about the Trump supporters he talked to in Riegelsville, Pennsylvania, a town that Trump won by just two votes in 2020, “what if what his supporters really want and do not express is the Trump vibe? All the name calling, coarseness, and bullying, the hyper masculine authoritarian rhetoric. Mr. Trump is peddling that poison like political crack and half the nation is hooked, the other half repulsed. If it works, and he is elected, it promises four more years of national political warfare.”
Folks, this isn’t normal. It’s dangerous. And I pray that a majority of the American people agree with me.
not to be controversial but sometimes I think the private personal lives of celebrities are in fact none of our business
Unless they are being closeted, oppressed or censored and they show discomfort with and about it, and try to warn us or communicate to us about their situation. Just then and only then…it’s also our business.
celebrities are not sending you secret coded messages asking you to save them. i’m so sorry to tell you this but the former members of your favorite boy band are not actually secretly communicating with you about your RPF ship
I could’ve swore you said they were not trying to communicate through coded messages.
I think RBB and SBB handled by One Direction themselves don’t agree with you on that one, lad.
Just two rainbow teddy bears wearing a real expensive Rolex in their wrist and all dressed up at One Direction’s stage tour just for no reason at all.
What a strange happenstance!
NOT. I could go on and on all day. Anyways…great chat, pals!
i’m obsessed with the way that this is phrased like a slam dunk while absolutely being one of the most incoherent responses possible. it’s literally just pictures of two teddy bears
us: celebrities aren’t secretly communicating with you asking you to save them through coded messages
someone in an incredibly bizarre fandom echo chamber with zero self-awareness about how unhinged they’re about to sound: yeah well what about THIS *posts a picture of two teddy bears where one of the bears looks like it’s reading a book about diarrhea*
now that the statute of limitations has expired, i can say that during the pandemic, my apartment complex at the time tried to change the laundry room hours to business hours, and i very calmly and quietly went down, took a cinderblock off the garden wall, and threw it through the glass door. and it stayed open til 9pm, and we never heard about changing hours again. sometimes you have to throw a cinderblock in a very businesslike manner, i’m saying. this is a negotiation, among stakeholders, and i would like to make clear that the cost/benefit balance sheet used to make the decision to change the hours was missing a variable
what the fuck kind of laundry room has hours????
The kind that ends up with a cinderblock thrown through its glass door
LATROBE, Pa. — When fascism finally went mainstream in America, it came hawking a $60 made-in-China Bible and shadowed by a 50-foot American flag braced by construction cranes — and it opened with a story about Arnold Palmer’s private parts.
I’d driven nearly five hours into and under the Allegheny ridges of Western Pennsylvania — up and down slopes that got steeper each mile with the volume of Donald Trump flags and yard signs that proclaimed “I’m Voting for the Convict 2024″ — out of a sense that the decline and fall of American civilization has reached a depth that I needed to personally bear witness. It was a fever dream — maybe I could find words that have eluded everyone else.
Just six days earlier, Trump came to the Philly suburbs and turned a supposed town hall into a 39-minute dance party as his deeply confused crowd watched a once and wannabe future U.S. president sway awkwardly to Sinead O’Connor and Luciano Pavarotti or look utterly frozen in the bubble of his 78-year-old head. And yet when the alarm goes off the next morning, it’s still Groundhog Day in America, an election with a 50% chance of the music-trance guy winning. Something both incredibly momentous and weird is happening at the same time.
Now, the sun was nearly setting over the runway at Arnold Palmer Regional Airport. With the most consequential U.S. presidential election since 1860 just 17 days away, about 3,000 to 4,000 of the most die-hard MAGA Trump fans who weren’t exhausted by the campaign and the GOP candidate’s frequent visits to Steelers’ country had been waiting for hours on a sunbaked tarmac. They’d let out the obligatory whoop for the obligatory flyover of Trump Force One, and then finally the man tasked with bringing their country back was on the podium, filtered by bulletproof glass.
Donald Trump’s red meat of mass-deportation camps and R-rated attacks on his opponents would have to wait. Monday’s DJ was now Saturday night’s comedian, with his cult as captive audience. What started out as an obligatory shout-out to Latrobe’s famous native son — Palmer, the late great golfer who brought the sport to your TV screens in the 1960s — went on for five minutes, then 10, then 12. What started as a nice but meandering tale about Palmer’s working-class roots grew into a stone silence during long detours into stuff like types of golf club shafts as the tale grew increasingly instead about Trump — about how his own power and wealth allowed him to claim friendship with this great man.
You are standing in the twilight wondering if this could get any stranger when of course it did. The man who bragged in his first campaign that he could shoot somebody on Fifth Avenue and people would still vote for him now wants America to know he can tell a penis joke with the cameras rolling and still get elected as the 47th president.
[…]
So I came to Latrobe to try and write the 72-point headline that the Times editors can’t — “PHALLUS-JOKE MAN AND DANCING FOOL COULD LEAD THE FREE WORLD AGAIN” — and to scream at the top of my lungs from the bluffs overlooking this tiny airport that this would-be emperor telling the shower story is actually wearing no clothes. Who will shout that Trump’s “closing argument” is the melding of his increasingly public breakdown with how that might lead to an all-too-real domestic war of midnight raids and armored personnel carriers against the fiction of an “Occupied America”?
Ironically, Trump’s endless Arnold Palmer bit seemed part of an effort Saturday night to prove that the rambling candidate is not “exhausted,” something that his own aides reportedly said after several recent interviews were canceled. But the Republican nominee — kind of like Madonna’s “Sex” phase and shock photos when her 1980s were ending — also appeared to sense that he needs to get more and more outrageous to get attention, after numbing America to his Hitlerian language that immigrants “will cut your throat.”
Will Bunch wrote in The Philadelphia Inquirer about Donald Trump’s fascist insultfest in Latrobe, PA in which he infamously obsessed about Arnold Palmer.
When I think of family members that I will never know of sacrificing so I can hold my head up and vote. My very important Black Job is to VOTE. How proud I am of my race and ethnicity. Somebody was lynched so I can vote.
Somebody was raped so I can vote. Somebody was physically beaten so I can vote. Somebody lost their livelihood so I can VOTE. I thank my ancestors. Thank you ancestors you did your Black Job and more. We honor you by voting.
If your eyes do not well up with tears, then you have no understanding of history and just how far our country has come. The irony is, trump wants to take America back to the days when Black people were getting their skulls crushed for simply wanting to be treated as equal.
amhrancas 