My name is Sundown Joe. I am Potatus. My favorite fruit is ice cream. My working hours are between the time I get up and dressed in the morning, normally around 10 a.m., and mid-afternoon, when I go into a deeeep fade with severe CRAFT symptoms.
I got my degrees from Plagiarism U, and my brain, which was never anything to brag about, turned into rotten kimchee decades ago.
One of my most notable skills is wandering off from meetings or press conferences without a clue where I’m supposed to go. I can trip on anything, from a bread tie to an imaginary strumble.
For most of my adult life my signature trait was making the wrongest possible decision on controversial issues. All that time I lived paycheck to paycheck, but as the guy in charge of vice for Bathhouse Barry, I really filled up my bank accounts by selling out American commercial and military interests to any enemy willing to pay enough for ‘em.
For 3 years now I’ve flooded the country with unauthorized, unskilled, unvaxxed, and unworthy immigrants from the slums and prisons of the most corrupt countries on the planet, knowing that once they get here they’ll be totally dependent upon government handouts to stay alive, so they’ll vote to keep liberals in power.
Also, as wanderer-in-chief, I’ve allowed tons of dangerous drugs, especially fentanyl, to cross the border to help eliminate habitual junkies and spoiled middle-class teenagers.
I turned the world’s most powerful and sophisticated military into a woke joke, crippled a thriving economy, made food and other necessities unaffordable for most families, and converted the justice system into a tool for eliminating my political enemies, locking them up if possible.
Call me a sonofabitch if you want to, but none of that stuff really means anything in the bigger picture where this fall’s election is concerned. What’s important is I’m not Darnell Tramp.
And my uncle was eaten by cannibals, and my son died fighting Saddam Insane in Iraq. I am not exactly a pedophile, but I must admit to enjoying sniffing the hair of other people’s daughters and taking showers with mine.
A vote for me is a vote for demography . . . for demonstration . . . for demolition . . . ah, hell — you know, the thing.
god help us
Still the guy pretending to be president. 81 million votes my ass.
The cat is out of the bag, and he isn’t making any decisions other than the flavor of sprinkles on his ice cream.
Any one with functioning eyes, ears, and capable of rational thought would have known long ago that the bumbling fool was incapable of running a kids lemonade stand, let alone a country of 300+million people.
The 25th amendment discussion leads to the uncomfortable question of “when did you know, and why didn’t you act at that time” immediately followed by “who was acting on behalf of the president during the time you knew he was incapable of performing his duties, and during the time you failed to execute your official duties with respect to the 25th amendment.
Joe has dug in his heels, saying he ain’t going. His family is apparently on board, as they are riding the gravy train. The congressional figures who were calling on him to step down are backing off. The longer this goes on, the less likely a candidate could step up and make a showing. Joe’s polling remains dismal. Kamala won’t likely do much better. Her polling is being spun as ” the candidate to beat Trump”, but they are showing a single percentage point advantage with double digit margins of error. As soon as she becomes the nominee, folks are going to realize they didn’t improve things by dumping Joe.
They are between a rock and a hard place, and it’s of their own doing. Watching the backbiting and infighting as they try to dig themselves out of this mess is quite entertaining.
Thankful, this shit show is entertaining as hell. Bout to run out of popcorn so I got to run
Posted this on another blog a few minnitsago:
My name is Sundown Joe. I am Potatus. My favorite fruit is ice cream. My working hours are between the time I get up and dressed in the morning, normally around 10 a.m., and mid-afternoon, when I go into a deeeep fade with severe CRAFT symptoms.
I got my degrees from Plagiarism U, and my brain, which was never anything to brag about, turned into rotten kimchee decades ago.
One of my most notable skills is wandering off from meetings or press conferences without a clue where I’m supposed to go. I can trip on anything, from a bread tie to an imaginary strumble.
For most of my adult life my signature trait was making the wrongest possible decision on controversial issues. All that time I lived paycheck to paycheck, but as the guy in charge of vice for Bathhouse Barry, I really filled up my bank accounts by selling out American commercial and military interests to any enemy willing to pay enough for ‘em.
For 3 years now I’ve flooded the country with unauthorized, unskilled, unvaxxed, and unworthy immigrants from the slums and prisons of the most corrupt countries on the planet, knowing that once they get here they’ll be totally dependent upon government handouts to stay alive, so they’ll vote to keep liberals in power.
Also, as wanderer-in-chief, I’ve allowed tons of dangerous drugs, especially fentanyl, to cross the border to help eliminate habitual junkies and spoiled middle-class teenagers.
I turned the world’s most powerful and sophisticated military into a woke joke, crippled a thriving economy, made food and other necessities unaffordable for most families, and converted the justice system into a tool for eliminating my political enemies, locking them up if possible.
Call me a sonofabitch if you want to, but none of that stuff really means anything in the bigger picture where this fall’s election is concerned. What’s important is I’m not Darnell Tramp.
And my uncle was eaten by cannibals, and my son died fighting Saddam Insane in Iraq. I am not exactly a pedophile, but I must admit to enjoying sniffing the hair of other people’s daughters and taking showers with mine.
A vote for me is a vote for demography . . . for demonstration . . . for demolition . . . ah, hell — you know, the thing.
god help us
Still the guy pretending to be president. 81 million votes my ass.
The cat is out of the bag, and he isn’t making any decisions other than the flavor of sprinkles on his ice cream.
Any one with functioning eyes, ears, and capable of rational thought would have known long ago that the bumbling fool was incapable of running a kids lemonade stand, let alone a country of 300+million people.
The 25th amendment discussion leads to the uncomfortable question of “when did you know, and why didn’t you act at that time” immediately followed by “who was acting on behalf of the president during the time you knew he was incapable of performing his duties, and during the time you failed to execute your official duties with respect to the 25th amendment.
Joe has dug in his heels, saying he ain’t going. His family is apparently on board, as they are riding the gravy train. The congressional figures who were calling on him to step down are backing off. The longer this goes on, the less likely a candidate could step up and make a showing. Joe’s polling remains dismal. Kamala won’t likely do much better. Her polling is being spun as ” the candidate to beat Trump”, but they are showing a single percentage point advantage with double digit margins of error. As soon as she becomes the nominee, folks are going to realize they didn’t improve things by dumping Joe.
They are between a rock and a hard place, and it’s of their own doing. Watching the backbiting and infighting as they try to dig themselves out of this mess is quite entertaining.
Thankful, this shit show is entertaining as hell. Bout to run out of popcorn so I got to run