Big Beautiful Bezos by Clay Jones

What else are they cutting to give the rich tax cuts? Read on Substack

I’m bummed I didn’t get an invite to Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sanchez’s $56 million wedding. What? You didn’t get an invite either? What we should do is form a protest. We’ll just have to get in line with all the citizens of Venice, Italy. I didn’t want to catch a bouquet anyway.

The folks in Venice (Venucians, Venetians, Venicers, Veniceeans?) aren’t too happy about this “secret” wedding taking place in their city. Apparently, it’s too much for them. There sure are a lot of celebs attending despite it being a secret. If you want something to remain low-key, you don’t invite every Kardashian to it, as well as Tom Brady, Orlando Bloom, Javanka, Usher, Jewel, Sydney Sweeney, Bill Gates, Sam Altman, Tommy Hilfiger, and Oprah Winfrey. Oh, Oprah. No.

The guest list pisses me off because I invited all these people to a crawfish/oyster party and none of them showed up, but they all found time to go to Bezos’ thing. Hmph!

Bezos, who founded Amazon, bought the once-great Washington Post, killed an endorsement for Kamala Harris, and chased away the great Ann Telnaes, proposed to Sanchez on his $500 million yacht, which is worth 10 Bezos weddings and only half the size of his nose. And then, he sent Sanchez to space with Katy Perry on one of his rockets.

And, if he and Sanchez ever decide to split, he can just send her to space again…and not bring her back. In space, no one can hear you scream about a prenup.

Bezos kept it humble. On Thursday, there was a party at the Madonna dell’Orto complex, which contains a church and a cloister, whatever the fuck a cloister is. On Friday, there was a party at San Giorgio Maggiore where famous Italian singer Matteo Bocelli, whoever the fuck that is, delivered a celebratory performance where everyone requested he sing Freebird. There was another party Saturday, and because they wanted some authentic Italian food, was held at Olive Garden (I made that up, but the Freebird requests were real).

The protests are called the “No space for Bezos” movement. Get it? “No…space?” It’s because he owns Blue Horizon, a space company. Oh, never mind. (snip-MORE)

TACO Daddy by Clay Jones

An open letter to Republicans and MAGAts Read on Substack

Dear Republicans and MAGAts,

This whole “Daddy” thing regarding Donald Trump…it’s weird. It’s not weird as in we disagree with it or because there are better nicknames for Trump, and there are, like Hair Fuhrer, Donny Dementia, Toupe’d Fucktrumpet, Mango Mussolini, Diaper Don, Trumplethinskin, Rug-Wearing Thundernugget, Tiny-Finger Vulgarian, Sweet Potato Hitler, Cheeto Benito, Dumb Donald, The Lyin’ King, Don the Con, Fuck Boi Von Clownface, Tangerine Toddler, Cheetolini, Tiny, and T.A.C.O (Trump Always Chickens Out). Feel free to use any of these at your next cross-burning.

No, it’s weird because it’s fucking weird. It’s weird, as in it’s sexually weird. It’s gross. It’s icky. It’s icky and gross like the bathrooms on Amtrak.

Remember during the presidential race, when you were labeled the weird party? You were weird all along but the “weird” label emerged when you added the couch fucker to the campaign. And then all you idiots started wearing bandages on your ears. Now, calling Trump your daddy doesn’t help diffuse the weird thing. You are all weird. It also adds to the cult thing.

I believe we should keep our politics and fetishes separate. If you wanna fuck a dolphin, that’s you, but you can’t lecture anyone about anything else ever again, especially the president of Ukraine. Just sit on the couch and keep your mouth…no! Never mind. Get off the couch. We know about you and couches.

Even though he was a shitty president, America looked up to Ronald Reagan as though he was the nation’s grandfather. It worked because he was very old, accepted that he was old, and gave the impression he was taking care of the nation, even when it was just the White people the old racist was taking care of. But, there was never anything kinky about it.

Grandpas are supposed to be kinda sweet. They might ask you to pull their fingers at times, and might have some different generational opinions about “Indians,” but he usually has a butterscotch in his pocket that you really shouldn’t put in your mouth, but still, he means no harm…mostly. Like you, he doesn’t know he’s racist.

But at least nobody has said “bow-chicka-wow-wow” to someone they call “grandfather.” You guys haven’t, have you? (snip-MORE)