🎶 We represent the Lickspittle Guild. 🎶

The triumvirate of tactical treason.

🎶 We represent the Lickspittle Guild, The Lickspittle Guild, The Lickspittle Guild
And in the name of the Lickspittle Guild,
We wish to welcome you to Cuckholdland.
Tra la la la la la la 🎶

Welp folks, just like that — the tongue to Trump taint race of 2024 is underway. And once again, this year’s field of lip-smacking, flip-flopping former guy fawners is replete with the same reliably obsequious, serially sycophantic, overly eager submissive ballwashers of years past, ready once again to pretend as though not a one of us was ever in the possession of eyes nor ears, or at least not the kind of eyes and ears which showed us the truth anyway.

You see, they’ve managed to take the truth of their more than reasonable warnings about Donald J. Trump in 2016 and turn them into a never-ending game of “Lalala I can’t hear you.”

Three of Trump’s staunchest critics in the lead-up to the 2016 election have become, without a shadow of a doubt — three of his most loyal lackeys in the years since. The contradictions between the things Lindsey Graham, Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio rightfully said about Donald Trump before he was in the White House and the meek manservantudes they have spewed since, resemble one another about as much as Alina Habba of today resembles Alina Habba of 2016. Although at least in Habba’s case you can still see the general outlines of a face that’s remained unchanged, unlike our traitorous twatumvirate.

Let’s begin with Lady G shall we, if he can hold it together long enough to not catch a fit of the vapors mid-swoon as he opines on the manliness of his yam-dyed daddy.

In the run-up to 2016, Lindsey Graham infamously said of Donald Trump:

“I want to talk to the Trump supporters for a minute. What is Donald Trump’s campaign about?”

“He’s a race-baiting, xenophobic, religious bigot. You know how you make America great again? Tell Donald Trump to go to hell.”

Fast forward to today, and Lindsey’s toadying has reached a fever pitch point where he now finds himself penning journal entries every night before bed, just so Trump can be his very last thought before drifting off into lala land.

Oh, how I long to be wrapped in the strong, calloused arms of my beau, feeling the protection of his embrace. His eyes, like deep pools of sweet tea, draw me in with a charm that rivals the finest gentlemen in the county. Each glance, a sip of honeyed words that leaves me yearning for more.

As the Spanish moss sways in the oak trees, so does my heart in the rhythm of his laughter. It’s a melody that echoes through the cotton fields and sets my soul ablaze. His voice, a drawl that resonates like a country tune, is the sweetest serenade beneath the moonlit magnolias.

But, oh, the vapors overtake me when I speak of him! The mere mention of his name sends me into a dizzying whirlwind of emotions. My cheeks flush like the petals of a blush rose, and my genteel nature falters in the overwhelming tide of love that engulfs me.

(^this also an actual except from his recent endorsement speech).

He sighs a deep, heavy sigh and drifts off while visions of overturning (elections that is) for Donald Trump dance in his head.