Malevolent Mayonnaise with a Smoky Eye

Nobody likes JD Vance. Nobody. But what he represents is dangerous as fuck.

This last week has been a lot, for all of us. I’ve personally run a whole damn buffet of emotions. I’ve been sad. I’ve been mad. I’ve been scared. I’ve been anxious. But today? Today, more than anything, I’m annoyed. Annoyed in the way only JD fucking Vance can annoy me. Because there’s something uniquely infuriating about a man this pathetic, this desperate, this weird, being handed a microphone and treating it like a crown. And believe me, the last thing I want to do is add more fuel to the fire, but I’m sure as hell not going to sit here and let them gaslight us into oblivion.

Not a chance.

So, let’s talk about JD Vance shall we?

The guy looks like the universe tried to build a human out of mayonnaise and Catholic guilt. He isn’t just desperate to be liked. He carries himself with the tragic stink of someone who has never once been picked first for anything, not even tag.

Picture a playground full of kids shrieking with joy, sprinting, dodging, laughing, and JD lumbers toward them with his clammy little hands out, wheezing “gotcha!” And what happens? They scatter like kids from the guy who hands out raisins on Halloween. Nobody tags him back. Not once. Not ever. He was the kid who stayed “it” for the entire recess bell, sweating through his Toughskins while everyone else united in a silent pact to let him chase shadows. That’s JD Vance in a nutshell: the eternal “it.” Unwanted, unchosen, unliked, and still sulking about it forty years later from the Vice President’s chair.

And here’s the twisted comedy of it all. MAGA is parading JD Vance around as their poster boy for virility, as if this damp dishrag in a Kohl’s clearance suit is the second coming of testosterone. Their hunched, shuffling, dark-handed messiah can barely sit up straight, so they need a younger stand-in. And this is who they picked. A mannequin with the raw magnetism of a DMV printer jam. A man with the sexual charisma of a dirty ashtray. This isn’t Marlboro Man. This isn’t John Wayne. This is a man who looks like he pulls a muscle opening a bag of chips.

The idea of JD Vance as the alpha male of MAGA is so pathetic it would be hilarious if it weren’t also a test run for authoritarian myth-making. He wants so badly to be their next Trump, but let’s be honest: he’s not even Temu Trump. He’s the shit you find on the clearance end cap at a Weis supermarket. Expired novelty “peep preserves,” marked down from $9.99 to nineteen cents, gathering dust under a flickering fluorescent light.

The guy is historically unpopular.

[How unpopular is he??]

Look, JD Vance is so unpopular it’s practically performance art.

He’s less popular than dropping your phone in a Porta-Potty on the first day of a music festival, less popular than the guy who drags out an acoustic guitar at every party and strangles Wonderwall like it owes him money, less popular than finding a long black hair coiled inside a deviled egg at a church potluck, an Uber driver who won’t shut up about his screenplay, or an off-brand soda machine that only spits out lukewarm Dr. Thunder. He’s less popular than the stale stench of microwaved fish in an office break room, less popular than people who clap when the plane lands, less popular than colonoscopy prep, a Nickelback cover band at your wedding reception, or a condom snapping mid one-night stand with someone who immediately calls their ex. He’s less popular than a reply-all email chain arguing over fridge space like it’s the Treaty of Versailles, an old man at the checkout line who tells you to “smile more”, or an irritatingly chatty waiter who details his festering rash while handing you soup.

JD Vance is so unpopular he makes a timeshare presentation look like Coachella.

You take my point.

And despite all of that, this milquetoast mannequin with a smeared smoky eye has somehow convinced himself he’s America’s conscience. That’s how he ended up behind Charlie Kirk’s microphone yesterday, declaring there can be “no unity” with anyone who mocked Kirk’s death or harassed his family.

Almost sounds noble, until you remember this is the same man who stayed mute while Alex Jones tormented Sandy Hook families for years. Jones called murdered children hoaxes, sicced mobs on grieving parents, and got rightfully bankrupted for it. And JD? Not a peep. No sermon about decency.

Because Vance doesn’t care about cruelty. He just wants to corner the market on it.

And then came the lie. Not a dodge. Not a hedge. An outright lie: the left is responsible for this kind of violence. He said it into a microphone, straight-faced, like facts don’t exist. But the facts are damning. Political violence in America is overwhelmingly right-wing. A University of Maryland study shows right-wing extremists commit far more violence than left-wing ones. The Cato Institute found that since 1975, only about 2% of politically motivated murders came from the left. The rest, the vast majority, came from the right. The FBI says it. DHS says it. January 6th screams it. JD Vance knows this, but propaganda isn’t about truth. It’s about power.

It’s the Big Lie reheated and served with a side of smug. And JD Vance, who once called Trump ‘America’s Hitler,’ now spends his days playing ventriloquist dummy to the very man he compared to the Führer.

And here’s the kicker: every ghoul on the right is milking Charlie Kirk’s death like it’s a political stress ball. They’re not mourning. They’re fundraising, fearmongering, and painting half the country as killers. Trump, Kirk’s media cronies, and Vance have turned tragedy into content. And JD, with his raccoon-eyed sheen and Cabbage Patch scowl, is leading the charge like a homecoming king nobody voted for, trying to turn a memorial into a pep rally for fascism.

That’s where the laughter stops. Because this isn’t just some Ivy League cosplay act blowing smoke. This is the Vice President of the United States, a man who should be carrying the weight of history on his shoulders, behaving instead like an internet troll on semi-permanent vacation. Using Kirk’s podcast to deliver these words aimed at people like me:

“With God as my witness, we are going to use every resource we have at the Department of Justice, Homeland Security and throughout this government to identify, disrupt, eliminate and destroy this network and make America safe again for the American people.”

Read that again. “Eliminate and destroy.” He’s not talking about terrorists abroad. He’s talking about critics at home. He’s talking about weaponizing the government to go after citizens whose only crime is disagreeing with him. With them.

That’s not policy. That’s a threat.

So, when JD talks about “real unity,” understand what he means. He means firing people for speech. He means free speech for him and blacklists for you. He actually told listeners to call employers if they saw anyone celebrating Kirk’s death. MAGA, the same crew that howls about cancel culture when a celebrity loses a sponsorship, is now deputizing HR departments to enforce political loyalty. JD Vance, the eternal loser, has made himself America’s hall monitor, handing out detention slips for mean tweets.

This is the authoritarian playbook. Turn citizens into informants, normalize reporting your neighbors and coworkers, and make surveillance and denunciation feel like civic duty. That’s how regimes eat civil society whole.

Meanwhile, the right’s own violence is hiding in plain sight. Stop political violence? Like Kirk asking for an “Amazing Patriot” to bail out Paul Pelosi’s attacker, the man who shattered Pelosi’s skull with a hammer? Stop political violence? Like Kirk musing Biden should be executed? Like Trump sending a mob to hang his last VP? That’s political violence. And JD Vance is buckled into the passenger seat for all of it, grinning, nodding along, and fiddling with the mirror so he doesn’t have to see democracy collapsing in the rearview.

What makes it worse is that Vance probably doesn’t even believe this shit. He’s not a zealot. He’s an opportunist. He’s the kid who never got tagged back, grown into a man who thinks he can retroactively win recess by smearing half the country as murderers. He’s so desperate for relevance you can practically see the nervous shine gathering at his collar. Every sentence he utters hums with the same pathetic undertone: please like me.

He’s so eager for the cult to embrace him that he’s turned himself into their sock puppet, parroting their lies, copying their sneer, pretending he has authority when he couldn’t even emcee a middle-school spelling bee without getting booed.

He’s also just fucking weird. Not eccentric-weird. Not endearing-weird. Unsettling-weird. The kind of weird that makes you cover your drink. The kind of weird you wouldn’t trust alone with your dog, your Wi-Fi password, or your houseplants. He doesn’t radiate leadership. He radiates “don’t let this man near the punch bowl.”

And that’s what makes this dangerous. Because when a man that desperate, that weird, that shameless decides the only way to matter is through propaganda and division, the country pays the price. He’ll twist grief into a weapon, wrap lies in Bible verses, and call it unity. It’s Orwell in real time: war is peace, freedom is slavery, JD Vance is Übermensch.

Because this isn’t really about JD Vance. It’s about what he represents. He is the shamelessness of the Republican Party distilled into one person. A hollow opportunist who will be whatever he thinks he needs to be and say whatever he thinks he needs to say to appease the base, to charm the cult, to cling to power. He’s the cosplay populist one day, the Ivy League statesman the next, the Bible-thumping crusader by morning, and the snarling attack dog by night. Nothing consistent except the desperation to please.

We make jokes, I make jokes, and there are memes so hysterical they could peel paint off a wall — because sometimes laughter is the only remedy. You laugh so you don’t scream. You laugh because if you didn’t, the absurdity would eat you alive. However, history is littered with men like this. The eager enablers, the sycophants, the errand boys of stronger tyrants who hollow out democracy for a pat on the head. They don’t get remembered as leaders. They get remembered as accessories to the crime. They’re the rot in the woodwork that lets the whole house collapse.

And if we’re smart, in between our laughter at his expense, we’ll treat what he represents with the seriousness it deserves — because this isn’t comedy, it’s fascism dolled up as dinner theater, delivered through a man so off-kilter it makes your skin crawl. But we tried the veal. It tastes like shit, and it’s high time we sent it back.

And with that today’s song:

I love you guys!

Stay strong, stay smart and stay away from the fucking veal.

💙 Jo