I am convinced we exist in the most retarded of simulations.
Today's news reads like Onion articles from 5 years ago. You got the Kansas City Chiefs somehow based in Kansas, since our stable genius with his black hurricane marker can't find them on a map.
You got a fat fuck of a blue-ribbon-from-West-Point Secretary of State who can't find the Ukraine on a blank map.
You got opera singers crashing Mar-a-lago, fired upon by useless security with useless guns, her bullet riddled car ignored at the airport as she picks up her mom. You got slack vagina Trumpettes putting up bad caricatures of some fat waxy face planted on a narrow-shouldered football cartoon, while the President's wife and son's mistress compare their much larger hyena pseudopenises to father's and son's little peens.
You got a circus bear for President, who, during Executive Time, squeezes out two sausage-link turds into a toilet that takes ten flushes to whisk them away, by which time he has mistaken them for real sausage links and gobbled them up. A circus bear that can't stay upright on a scooter, molests the trick poodles, can't operate a clown umbrella, and gets out of his cage through rudimentary animal cleverness.
You got a #PABGOP Senate convinced of the circus bear's guilt but too scared to convict.
Well, I have the solution. Reduce the felony charge to misdemeanor. Dart, tag, and equip Trump with a radio collar and release him in the wilds of Manhattan. If he wanders off the island, allow his large adult sons their fondest wish to hunt him down with high powered rifles.
Then, I say we take off and nuke the whole fucking thing from orbit.
It's the only way to be sure.