Don’t Squeeze The Constitution.

MAGA shitters aren’t just for top secret docs anymore.

Well, would you look at that? The Republican Party—America’s number-one Founding Father cosplay convention—has finally admitted the Constitution is just a fucking decorative throw pillow for their gun safes and “Don’t Tread on Me” tramp stamps. All those years of “original intent” chest-thumping? Turns out that was just the goddamn opening act before the real shitshow: “The Constitution? Oh, sweetheart, that’s just something we wave around at barbecues between rounds of Bud Light and AR-15 show-and-tell.”

Remember when the Supreme Court was sacred? When every Republican senator would clutch their pocket Constitution and recite “rule of law” like it was a spell to ward off gay wedding cakes? Now the Court is just another “deep state” bogeyman to be ignored whenever the rulings don’t fit the Fox News ticker. Apparently, the only “checks and balances” they care about are the ones in their donors’ bank accounts.

Deporting American citizens? Hell, why not! If you’re already treating the Fourteenth Amendment like a bar napkin soaked in Miller Lite and buffalo sauce, you might as well crank the fascism dial to eleven and start handing out “Go Directly to Exile” cards at the next GOP mixer. At this rate, the only thing more at risk than your citizenship is the last slice of pizza at a Turning Point USA incel-mixer roofie party.

Due process? Please. That’s for snowflakes and anyone who knows what “consent” means. The new Republican citizenship test is easy: If your favorite president isn’t a doddering orange crypt-keeper whose skin peels faster than his Big Mac wrappers and who’s so hopped up on Diet Coke he probably sweats aspartame, don’t let the border wall smack you in the ass on your way out.

They’re one step away from spinning a big-ass Doomsday Wheel of Whoopsie Misfortune: “Congratulations, Karen from Ohio, you’re now a citizen of Belarus. Pack your shit.”

Meanwhile, Ma and Pa MAGA are out back, camo-clad and locked and loaded, convinced the only thing standing between them and a FEMA breadline is their God-given right to vaporize a squirrel with an AR-15. At this point, the family recipe calls for two cups of conspiracy theories, a dash of bunker seasoning, and whatever critter was dumb enough to wander past the “Let’s Go Brandon” lawn gnome.

Forget inflation or healthcare—“real Americans” are dead set on defending their God-given right to eat possum chili from a pleather recliner. Who needs the Constitution when you’ve got a garage freezer packed with feral hog and a Facebook group dedicated to Bigfoot sightings and tinfoil hat tutorials? Civic duty now means sharing a meme about chemtrails while slow-roasting armadillo in the backyard.

And the “principled conservatives”? Give me a fucking break. The 4.2 that even remain at this point are about as sturdy as a Jell-O trampoline. The second someone threatens them with a mean tweet and a primary challenge, they’re diving out the window like it’s the last chopper out of Saigon. The only thing these fuckers ever take a stand for is the open bar at a Heritage Foundation fundraiser.

So now, the party of Lincoln—yeah, that’s fucking rich, ain’t it—has become the party of “Fuck your laws, fuck your rights, and fuck you if you disagree.” Reagan is rolling in his grave so hard you could hook a turbine to him and solve the Texas energy crisis.

Family values? Sure, if your family values are “shoot your dinner, screw your neighbor’s dog behind the shed, and blame the goddamn libs when your cousin’s meth lab blows up next to the bouncey castle.”

Irony didn’t just die—it got waterboarded at Guantanamo, resurrected as a Fox News segment, and now sells supplements on Instagram. The only “rule of law” left is whatever the loudest asshole on cable news screams before cutting to a commercial for survival buckets and testicle tanning.

And as a not-so-insignificant aside, Kilmar Abrego Garcia was not a “terrorist.” His only “crime” was begging for asylum—daring to hope this country still had a shred of decency left. For that, he gets disappeared to some goddamn gulag in El Salvador, like lost luggage nobody’s ever gonna claim. And what do Trump and his Salvadoran strongman pal do? Fix it? Show an ounce of fucking humanity? Hell no. They sit in the Oval Office, laughing their asses off, high-fiving like they just pulled off a prank, while Kilmar rots in a cell and his kid cries himself to sleep every night. This isn’t just cruelty—it’s calculated, gleeful sadism, and they want applause for it.

And the MAGA cultists? Jesus Christ. They’re all up in my replies, telling me to “cope harder,” spinning wild-ass lies that this guy’s a terrorist. Proof? Don’t hold your breath—they can’t find their own asses with both hands and a flashlight, let alone evidence. They don’t care about truth, or justice, or decency. They just want a punching bag, someone to blame, someone to laugh at while they mainline outrage and Fox News talking points. If you can look at this—an innocent man’s life destroyed, a family shattered—and not feel a single pang of guilt or shame, then congrats, you’re officially dead inside. You traded your humanity for a MAGA hat and a conspiracy theory. Fuck fairness, right? Fuck decency? Well, some of us still give a damn. And we’re not done screaming about it.

So the next time you see one of these Founding Father Furries out in the wild, just hand them a roll of Charmin. “Here you go, champ, you’ll need this for your next dramatic reading.” Because at this point, the only thing the Constitution is good for in that cult of a so-called fucking party is cleaning up the mess after they shit all over democracy.

As if they’d even bother to do that.

God bless America. She’ll need a fucking miracle.

Calling this a “constitutional crisis” now sounds about as quaint as a Norman Rockwell painting of a pie-eating contest.

It’s a warm fucking bubble bath compared to the current five-alarm, pantsless, hair-on-fire inferno engulfing the nation.

The United States has officially entered the “duct-taping-the-windows-while-the-living-room-fills-with-smoke-and-your-cat’s-trying-to-call-911” stage of national meltdown, in which every American is urged to try literally anything—legal, illegal, metaphysical, or previously only theorized by stoned philosophy majors—to keep this democracy from being yeeted off a cliff by a pack of feral gremlins in flag lapel pins. We’re way past ‘break glass in case of emergency’—we are now at ‘throw the glass, the fire extinguisher, and your neighbor’s emotional support ferret at the problem and pray to whatever gods you’ve got.

So if anyone happens to have a time machine, a magic amulet, or a Ouija board with Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s number on speed dial, now’s the fucking time to use it.

And with the, todays song:

I love you guys.

Stay safe. Stay sane-ish, stay out of El Salvadoran gulags.

💙 Jo