The shamelessness of Nancy Mace.

South Carolina’s soulless foot soldier for a sexual predator.

The shameless gaslighter bench is deep as fuck in the “Republican” Party. And every time you think you’ve seen the worst of them, they manage to prove you wrong. Every damn time.

Enter Nancy Mace, who I like to call “Chester Prynne” partly because it’s funny but mostly because she fucking asked for it.

And if you’re wondering if I feel badly about making derogatory comments about another woman — when that woman is Nancy Mace… the answer is, hell fucking no. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and that gaslighting gander has more than earned her fair share of scorn.

Plus, let’s be real here — no one walks around the halls of Congress in a form-fitting scarlet-letter meets Daytona Beach wet t-shirt contest top UNLESS they WANT attention.

A very SPECIFIC type of attention.

And as is the MAGA way, she milked (pun intended) every single second of that ridiculous display for all it was worth.

(Much like she is now milking her Stephanopoulos interview only in a slightly different way, and with fewer boob jokes, but I digress).

So, attention she got and is getting. Only, it might not be the kind of attention Tits McTshirt was hoping for. At least not if I have anything to say about it.

But then again, honestly who the hell knows with that crazy bitch. She could have a fetish for public flogging for all I know (which to the pro-flogging folks, I mean no offense and would certainly not seek to diminish your kink in any way, and frankly as I’ve stated many times, who among us ain’t down for the occasional, consensual, playful slap on the ol’ derriere, but I scandalously digress).

But let’s get back to good ol’ Nancy shall we, whose boots were not so much made for walking, but for stomping on the necks of rape survivors all over this country so long as it keeps her in the good graces of a cult of bros beholden to an unrepentant sexual predator and his fawning fleet of feckless facilitators.

As we all know, there are some truly detestable douchebags in the party formerly known as the “GOP”. Jim Jordan, Ted Cruz, Lindsey Graham, Josh Hawley, Marco Rubio, Matt Gaetz, Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert to name just a few of the worst of the worst, and yet for me at this point, Mace is arguably worse than all of them.

But maybe that’s because for me, it’s personal. As I’m sure it is to a great many people all over this country. People who ended up through no fault of their own, with a membership card to a club no one ever hopes they’ll one day belong to.

The survivors of sexual assault club is a dark, cold and often isolating place. And while many of the members retreat there in solitude consumed whole by a sense of shame they should never feel yet nonetheless do, it is actually possible for them to find solace in fellow survivors. To find support. To feel less alone. Less ashamed.

You see, Nancy Mace says that she too, is a member of that club. Although, she’s recently thrown a Molotov cocktail in the window of the joint and walked away smoking, and I want to know why.

I can certainly guess why, given that in the sea of crazy bitches in the Qrackhead Caucus, she likely knew she had to do something to stand out. She wasn’t as rabidly hateful and willfully stupid as Marge, not as overtly whorish and defiantly dumb as Boebert and not quite as “They’re all gonna laugh at you” post-pig blood Carrie as Elise Stefanik. So one can only presume that she had grown tired of the feeding frenzied reporter pool elbowing her scarlet-letterless boobies out of their way to get the latest batshit comment from the Space Laser lady or the Beetlejuicing knob polisher, and she probably wanted to claim her piece of the soundbite pie.

And she hasn’t looked back since, because it’s been paying off in spades. Tv hits and pontificating pundits asking each other and all of us, “What’s up with Nancy Mace?”