The Consummate Politician Refuses to Apologize

 

My fellow Americans, this is no time for violence. I know some of you are running wild outside my office in the Capital Building at this moment clad in your MAGA gear and armed to the teeth. My peers and I may even be somewhat to blame for the fomenting sea of misinformation circulating in the right wing cesspools of the internet. However, we take no responsibility for our actions, so everybody needs to settle down on both sides of the aisle. To the hillbilly horde: maybe sorta cut it out? I want you to vote for me, and you won't vote for me unless I suck Trump's micropenis while defecating on the American flag, but I never expected to suffer any consequences for my seditious acts. I certainly never thought I'd be huddling down in the secret tunnels that run underneath the Capital making friends with the mole people. I guess you can only pour so much gasoline on a fire before it explodes, but what do I know about science? Science is for Democrats and people who don't believe in White Jesus. To the rest of America: how about you cut it out with that traitor talk? Look, everybody in Washington is out for themselves. There ain't no Republican here that wouldn't eat a baby if doing so would secure him or her another term. Scruples are something communists believe in. Don't go try to hold us accountable because you know and I know that all that matters is rampant partisanship no matter the cost.

It seems like things are dying down upstairs. I hope nobody got hurt. If they did, it certainly wouldn't be my fault. Sure, just minutes ago I was trying to persuade my fellow Congressmen to throw out legitimate votes, but hey, I was just trying to buy myself some political capital. Four years from now, I want to be the one sitting in the White House. Instead of sucking micropenis, I'll be having my own micropenis sucked. That is, if I can somehow con 74 million Trumpers into voting for a Harvard educated lawyer. I can feign stupidity with the best of them. Unfortunately, I fear that they really want the real thing. Lemme tell you something, suckers: nobody is as stupid as Donald Trump.

Except maybe us, I guess.

We're the ones that built conservative talk radio. We're the ones that supported Fox News. We benefited from the nonsense of Breitbart. We made subtle overtures to white supremacists while denying that we knew what we were doing. We retweeted Pepe memes; we liked the Proud Boys. We did every goddamn anti-democratic trick in the book, from gerrymandering to voter purges to stacking the judiciary with Federalist-society partisans. We took a reasonably sane half of the American electorate and brainwashed them with conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory until their critical reasoning skills atrophied like a sac of castrated balls. When Trump threatened to burn it all down, we said: why not? He can't be serious, and there's no possible way it could backfire. Nobody fires up the base like Trump.

Four years from now, don't remember any of this, alright? Because no one has anything to apologize for.

I hope I make it out of this alive.

A Year of Weightlifting in Review: 2020

 

George Hackenschmidt, circa 1905. Guy was Brock Lesnar before Brock Lesnar.

2020 was a fairly successful year in my lifting hobby. I benched 315 lbs for the first time, a fifteen pound record, squatted 275 for thirteen reps, rack pulled 570 about two inches below the knees, and performed a quarter squat with 500 lbs, all while staying around 195 lbs in bodyweight. I had a bad pec tendon injury that kept me from benching since pressing 315, but in the meantime, I've focused on overhead pressing, without a whole lot to show for it. The press is a difficult beast; adding five pounds to a lift seems to take an eternity. Early in the year, I did the Juggernaut Method for a couple of cycles, while my bench pressing gains came from doing an Antony Ditillo program I dug up years ago. Recently, I've been pressing, pulling, and squatting three times a week, sticking to low reps. At thirty five years of age, I'm not an old man by any means, but I don't find the time to do the marathon training sessions of years past. Also, I find I need to pay attention to minor aches and pains or they develop rather quickly into chronic injuries, like my pec tendon problem. As far as the future is concerned, I'd love to do a strongman competition sometime this year if Covid ever goes away. I bought an atlas stone mold, and my recent focus on the overhead press is geared toward making me competitive in that area. Mostly though, I find myself just being content with being strong and capable as the years go by. Some of the goals of the past have been abandoned; I never really see myself doing a powerlifting meet, and I also don't want to gain much in the way of bodyweight at this point. The fact that I still find lifting weights interesting is enough. I also started experimenting with meditation, and I find that it conveys full body benefits by way of improved breathing and mental focus. So that's that. I'd like to strict press 225 lbs this years, as well as pull 600 lbs from the floor. If it happens, it happens. If not, well, I'll still be fitter and stronger than I ever thought I'd be.

Someone Please Teach Me How to Monetize Myself Like the Piece of Consumer Trash that I Am

 

Hey I was wondering if anybody knew how to get famous and rich on Youtube or Tiktok or any of the other avenues of personal commercialization. Obviously I need some help. The most-viewed video on my Youtube channel has 15 views. This blog has been in existence since 2013 and all it's earned me is a constant hangover and a couple of weird comments. It has been my dream, for all of fifteen minutes, to become a famous unwrapper of boxes. Do you think there is an audience willing to watch a thirty-five year old man rip apart packages of meat? I dunno. All I know is that my value as a human being is dependent on my ability to commodify my existence. If nobody wants to watch me play video games in a tight tank top, I really don't know what I'll do with my life.

You should be thinking about yourself in terms of efficiency and value. Are you wasting your time? Don't you think there's something productive you could be doing to help contribute to the endless cycle of consumption? Push your brand, bro. Elon Musk gets by on six hours of sleep a night; you can too. Of course, Elon Musk probably has a handjob by a Swedish hand model for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and you're not quite at his level yet, you lazy dweeb. You know he makes those goddamn Teslas himself, right? He's earned those billions, and just because you and I are low caste wage slaves doesn't mean we can't have a piece of the pie, that is, if we're prepared to sacrifice our souls while treating ourselves like disposable consumer trash. It's our fault that we're not best buds with luminaries like Joe Rogan, host of Fear Factor. It's our fault that we haven't ascended to the top of the capitalist pyramid.

You know, I have a goddamn video camera. Surely I am capable of something that will inexplicably hold the interest of billions. Maybe I'll haul tractor tires around my farm or squat in a hole with a dildo on my head for ten hours. All of it will be recorded for posterity, and all of it will be hosted by our benevolent overlord, Google. Don't be evil, bro! Remember when that was Google's motto? I can't recall if that was before or after they worked with the Chinese government to integrate their products with the Great Firewall. Watch out; my blog is next. Haha, nobody gives a shit. Google is happy to give me free internet hosting in exchange for my data. Google is providing us all with a wonderful way to commodify ourselves. It's all about the benjamins, peeps. Christ, this is why I have no audience.

Maybe I'll bring back the Pointless Podcast, the podcast that was the antithesis of podcasts, if that can exist. Somehow, there's got to be a way to milk all of my artistic ability for top dollar. Or maybe it all doesn't matter. Perhaps I can have value as a human being without constantly selling myself or facing a camera like a goddamn animal in a zoo.

Who am I fucking kidding? This is late-stage capitalism, friend. The shitty dystopia is here. God bless America. 

Pointless Venture's Best and Worst of 2020

 

Man, what a doozy of a year, amirite? And it ain't over, folks; there's still a whole month left. Nevertheless, we must persevere, and in the spirit of optimism, here is my definitive list of all the best things media related that I consumed in 2020. Sorry, Cyberpunk 2077. There's no way I'm finishing you in December if you're anything like the Witcher 3.

Game of the Year: Doom Eternal

A ridiculous gorefest and one hell of a first person shooter, Doom Eternal was the game I spent the most time with in 2020. I liked it so much that I beat it on Nightmare, and that's no easy feat, lemme tell you. Although I preferred the tonal approach of Doom 2016, Eternal has awesome level design, great battles, and a complex combat system that keeps you on the edge of your seat.

Honorable Mentions: Metro Exodus, Black Mesa.

Best Wrestling Match: Jon Moxley versus Kenny Omega for the AEW Heavyweight Championship.

 

Despite the fact that these two didn't have the best charisma (Moxley's a brawler, Kenny's a high-flying hotshot), they put on a hell of a fight last night, Omega spamming V-Triggers and Moxley countering with Paradigm Shifts. The finish was a little weird (there's always gotta be blood in an AEW championship match, but can a mic bust somebody's head open?) yet I'm pumped to see Kenny's hotshot heel reign. Dynamite is the only show I watch religiously, other than the Mandalorian. Thanks for saving my wrestling fandom, AEW.

Best TPM song: Pandemic Blues

 

The only song I wrote this year was a melancholy piano powered ode to sadness. Can't believe this shit is still going on. Christ save us.

Social development of the year: Dungeons and Dragons.

 

I became a Dungeons and Dragons player this year, a fact which I would've considered hilarious ten years ago, but you know what? Twenty-five year old Goon was not as nice a person as thirty-five year old Goon. Anyways, playing D'n'D with a small group of friends every week has kept me going during the pandemic, and it's fun as hell, especially if you're playing as a drunken half-orc who never met a bushel of apples he couldn't punch his way through.

Best book:  Black Leopard Red Wolf by Marlon James

 

A gay African fantasy seemingly inspired by Game of Thrones, Quentin Tarantino, and mythology. Violent, disgusting, and absolutely dripping with poetic language (Fuck the Gods!) Black Leopard Red Wolf is unlike any epic fantasy you've ever read. Don't be scared, pick this book up.

Honorable Mention: Borne by Jeff Vandermeer.

Pointless Venture's Worst Person/Event/Apocalyptic Force of 2020: Donald Trump

Jesus, take this man away from us.

Crazy to remember that 2020 started with Trump being Impeached in the House for asking the government of Ukraine to investigate Hunter Biden. At least Nixon had the decency to keep his corruption on American soil. Then came the Coronavirus, which has killed over a quarter of a million Americans and counting. All of that blood is on Trump's hands. He politicized the virus, and he's the reason half of the country won't wear masks or treat a pandemic seriously. He's the sole reason we're still dealing with this shit. Finally, the election came, and Trump bowed out as graciously as everyone imagined he would. By pushing completely baseless accusations of fraud and refusing to concede, the God Emperor of the Republican Party has succeeded in turning half of the country into authoritarian conspiracy theorists completely disconnected from reality. Donald Trump has been the disaster every reasonable person thought he would be, and his shit-stained legacy will mar our nation long after he's bitten the dust. For all of the above and more, he is Pointless Venture's Worst of 2020. Congratulations. You will receive one rotten apple in the mail. 

Bulksgiving 2020: The Results

 

Starting weight=197 lbs.

Ending weight=201 lbs.

Food consumed: Half-pound of turkey covered in gravy, several spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, half of a green bean casserole, one dinner roll, two Mad Tree Crisp Golden Ales, two Rhinegeist Dad Ales, one piece of cheese cake, one piece of apple pie, one peace of pumpkin pie with whipped cream, a quart of water, one small dog, half a stick of butter, a random container of mixed food, the rest of the whipped cream, half a quart of aged cider that smelled like cheese, a moldy apple, one banana and peel, a sock found under the couch with a significant amount of hair, a baby foot, a squirrel that got in my way and never lived to see another day, the sadness and idiot tears of half a nation (Tard Nation!), a pile of rocks (crunchy), a rat's nest, a book of twigs, my wife's diary, a history book, an old VCR, a couple of small persons rambling about the park after dark, screws that fell out of a minivan, a deer, another small dog (not as tasty as the first), a bushel of apples, an old bone found jutting out of the earth, a book of spells, a book of smells, the essence of evil, a crocodile heart, a shoe, Hunter Biden's laptop, Bungalow Bim, a pack of gum, some baseball cards, a sack of farts, and poop.

I think I have a stomach ache.

Estimated recovery time: Thanksgiving, 2021.

Gainz expected=infinite.

Happy bulksgiving, America.

Doom Eternal: The Ancient Gods, Part One Review

 

The Ancient Gods is perty.

Doom Eternal is my game of the year, which is remarkable considering I initially returned it because I was disappointed by the changes from Doom 2016. It is a complicated, difficult shooter, sort of a Dark Souls for FPS fans in how it rewards mastery of all of its many systems, and it is that complexity, I think, that's made me spend sixty hours with Doom Eternal, as well as purchase its first DLC, the Ancient Gods.

Let's get this out of the way: the Ancient Gods is HARD. I beat Doom Eternal on Nightmare, and I found that the Ancient Gods on Ultra-Violence (one difficulty level beneath Nightmare) was significantly harder than Eternal's campaign on Nightmare. Did you hate the Marauder in Doom Eternal? Well, you'll eventually face two Marauders at once, as well as one buffed by a totem, and those encounters rank among the Ancient Gods' easier battles. The Marauder was loathed by the majority of the Doom player-base because he's invulnerable except for a split second before he attacks. No other enemy in the base game is like this, and many thought that the Marauder broke up the game's flow. ID have not listened to this vocal contingent, however, because the two new enemies in the DLC share the Marauder's design philosophy. The Blood Maykr is a shielded version of the maykr drones from Eternal, but it can only be killed with a headshot while it's attacking. Unlike the Marauder, it only takes one shot, but these guys have a tendency to finish you off during a big battle. The other new enemy is the spirit, a blue ghost that possesses enemies, doubling their health and making them immune to the ice bomb as well as staggering. Oh yeah, they also move at twice normal speed, and you can't disable their weapons. When you finally manage to kill a spirit, the ghost hovers for a few seconds, and it is at this point when you must hit them with the microwave beam, making you rather immobile as well as extremely vulnerable. The spirit is far more frustrating than the Marauder, and it really seems like a troll job by ID, shrugging off concerns of unfair difficulty with a "Git Gud" attitude. I'm willing to bet that many players found Doom Eternal to be really hard compared to most first person shooters. I found it to be ridiculously hard in spots, and it was only after I beat the campaign on Nightmare that I felt I'd gotten pretty decent at the game. For hardcore Doom fans, the Ancient Gods is a really nice challenge, but I feel as though ID can't jack up the difficulty much more without alienating a large portion of their fanbase. Some battle arenas in the Ancient Gods, particularly at the end of the Blood Swamps, require you to face a ridiculous onslaught of heavies. One of the trials involved multiple mancubui, a doom hunter, a spirited arachnotron accompanied by three other arachnotrons, two barons, and a archivile. So don't fuck up, because you'll have to battle them all over again.

In other news, the three levels of the Ancient Gods are visually compelling, and as well designed as any in the base game. I'm still on the final boss, but I believe I've spent about five or six hours with the DLC so far. If you're a hardcore Doom player who welcomes a challenge, then I think the Ancient Gods is worth it. If you barely made it through Eternal, stay away.

There's a lot of visual spectacle going on in this DLC.

Batman Versus Robin: The Denial

 

Batman prowls the streets, searching for criminals that deserve the swift fists of justice. As he swings from roof top to roof top, a mantra is heard, barely comprehensible, yet said with vigor. "Fraud, fraud, fraud!" he mutters, eyes red, slivers of spittle flying from his lips. Momentarily perched on a gargoyle above a coffee shop, he sees a younger couple walk out onto the street, soy lattes in hand. With a bestial roar, Batman drops down before them, arms spread wide as though he means to crush them both in a titanic embrace.

"Who the fuck did you vote for!" he screams, grabbing the man by his lapels. "Did you chose to make America socialist again, you curly haired poofter?"

The woman throws her coffee right at Batman's face, causing him to drop the man and clutch his eyes. As the couple flees in terror, another figure emerges from the shadows to loom over the disabled Batman.

"You need some help?" asks Robin.

"Motherfucking communists blinded me," mumbles Batman, removing a Bat-hankie from his utility belt to wipe his face.

"I see you're not handling the election results very well," replies Robin.

"Fraud! Democrats cheated!" says Batman.

"Yeah, the Republican state government of Georgia cheated in favor of Joe Biden. If they cheated, don't you think they would've kept the Senate? There have been zero cases of fraud. Trump's lawsuits keep getting thrown out of court. You have to accept the inevitable. Trump will not get another four years."

"I don't have to accept shit! I make my own goddamn reality, you understand that? What Batman says is, is. And I'll be damned if I'll accept a socialist running the country."

"Joe Biden, socialist?" Robin laughs. "It's almost as if you don't understand what the word 'socialism' means."

"It means everything that is wrong with this country," snorts Batman. "Transgenders. Obamacare. School lunches without wholesome processed food."

"When the Right talk about socialism, they want you to think about an authoritarian boogeyman who will take all your money. They don't want you to think about Medicaid, Social Security, Medicare, or the Affordable Care Act. Hell, any government program is technically socialism. Rich people like you have somehow convinced poor white people to vote against their own interests, mainly by appealing to their emotions and prejudices."

"Goddamnit, Robin, you should be arrested for treason," says Batman, removing a batarang from his belt.

"We live in a representative democracy. There's nothing in the Constitution that says I have to vote for a capitalist oligarchy."

"Smarty-pants commie word soup," says Batman. "Nothing you said makes any sense."

"That's because you've spent the last four years in an echo chamber totally divorced from reality," says Robin. "You're attacking people outside coffee shops because you see monsters everywhere. Your fellow Americans are not the bad guys, Bruce."

"I get to say who's an American, not you, you pampered pansy!"

"I'm beginning to think that you don't understand American values," says Robin. "Then I remember that you are a vigilante who operates outside the legal system so that you can beat up the lower dregs of society with your fists."

"That's the legacy I bequeathed to you! You're supposed to take up my mantle!" screams Batman, now out in the middle of the street. Cars honk and swerve around him, but Batman continues to yell and wave his arms like a madman.

"I reject it," says Robin. "I'm retiring as a crime fighter to pursue a career in environmental law."

"Fuuuuccckkkkkkkkkk!" yells Batman as an Escalade flips him over the windshield. He bounces off the next car and crashes into a bicyclist before coming to rest next to a drain. As he lies in the gutter, moaning and crying inconsolably, Robin retreats back into the shadows, leaving the past behind.

A Premature Obituary for the Last Four Years

 

I remember waking up Tuesday night, November 3th, 2016, checking the computer for the election results and then reassuring myself that in the morning, things would be different, that there was no fucking way that Donald Trump would be elected the President of the United States. Many people reporting feeling like we'd entered a parallel universe, an alternate timeline where crazy shit like the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series happened. Anything is possible, folks; we might wake up tomorrow and see a meteorite hurtling toward earth. In fact, that would be perfectly in character with the rest of 2020, amirite? Actually, fuck that. There have been plenty of worse years in human history. Did you know in the fourteenth century, the Black Death killed between 75 and 200 million people over the span of five years? Hell, the early 1940s were pretty goddamn bad, with World War 2 happening and all. Still, in my lifetime, the last four years have been full of things that I thought would never happen. I always thought people were smart enough not to fall for a charlatan like Donald Trump. I thought if an authoritarian political movement ever took root, it would be led by someone charismatic and intelligent, someone capable of distracting from the evil festering behind the scenes. Trump's appeal, of course, is that he doesn't hide that evil; rather, he puts it on full display. I never thought a large number of people could support someone who tore immigrant children from their parents and then lost the information to reconnect them. I never thought anyone could support someone whose campaign met with Russian agents to receive dirt on a political opponent. I didn't think the so-called religious right would throw their backing behind a man who used campaign funds to pay off a porn star. I didn't think anyone could accept Trump firing an FBI Director for refusing to end an investigation of Russian political interference in the 2016 election. I thought (for a split second) that Trump's attempt to withhold foreign aid to Ukraine unless they investigate the son of his political rival would be too blatantly corrupt, even for Republicans. Now, of course, I am wiser. A quarter of a million Americans have died because of the coronavirus, and it's pretty much all of Trump's fault. He made the virus political, after sitting on his hands while New York suffered. Now, the rate of infection is skyrocketing, and people in my red state don't wear masks. Are we in the dumbest timeline? Christ, I would rather have Herbert Mountain Dew Camacho for President. At least he listened to the smartest man in the world rather than trolls like Rudy Giuliani and whatever the fuck Jared Kushner is.

I don't know what's going to happen this week. I like that over 93 million Americans voted early. I would bet that most of those people feel similarly to how I feel. They've probably lived in a constant state of disbelief for the last four years. They've watched their country transform into a partisan nightmare where reality can be discarded and replaced with alternate facts. I cannot state the pure contempt I have for people that support the reelection of Donald Trump, a obvious sociopath who has never tried to be a President for anyone besides himself. He's the exact opposite of a competent leader. He never takes responsibility for anything. He insults anyone who disagrees with him. He is a habitual liar, a liar so lazy that he seems to lie out of compulsion and contempt for the very nature of objective truth. He has insulted women and military vets, made racist comments, and refused to disavow white supremacists. He has been accused of sexual assault by 28 women. He has made numerous attempts to discredit our democratic process, from telling his supporters to intimidate voters to hiring an unprecedented army of lawyers to challenge legitimately cast ballots in the courts. He is, in short, the biggest piece of shit ever to occupy the Presidency of the United States in the modern era, and it is far from hyperbole to say that he is a threat to the future of democracy in America.

So whatever the hell happens tomorrow, Wednesday, this month, this year, I hope and pray that the next four years are the exact opposite of the last four, that America reaffirms its commitment to liberalism, to equality for all, to hopefulness and progress rather than spite and bile; that we take our ideals seriously and hold all men and women to the same standard that we hold ourselves to, and that we punch nihilism right in its fucking face and send it back to the black pit from whence it came. A vote for Joe Biden is a vote for morality, positivity, and the future. A vote for Trump is a vote for debauchery, vileness, and a dead past that will never be living, no matter how much evil is pumped into its cold, rotting corpse.

New Music: A Day In The Life

 

Wrote this eons ago (older version here on Soundcloud) but was never happy with the drum loop or the overdistorted production. This time I used my strat and a cheap tubescreamer, and I'm mostly content with the tone I got (solos are still a little too piercingly trebly, but hell, that's a strat for you). Lyrically, I've always liked this song, which trades coherence for mood, an exchange that every songwriter is prepared to make. Would love to do A Day In The Life with a live band. Perhaps some other time.

Hanging with The Goon

 

Well folks, tis teh season to stick yard signs in yer yard taht display yur most promonent religion. Slack has him a Trump sign in front of teh trailer even though no one can see it, wich is why he hammered one-hundred of them on teh trees and animamals surroundin us. I mesylf can't abide teh orange menace, but teh last sort of argument you want ta have wit Slack is one about Drumpf 'cause he thinks he's taht besteest thing since donuts or confedrat asshol tattoos. Bein' teh sole Communists in taht family, I already used my Constiutional right to vote early, thou it wont matter in my state 'cuase of teh Electrocution Collage. IN fact, teh nice lady wit teh behive in her hair took my ballet an threw it in teh trash wit teh rest of teh mail, but its teh thought teh counts, hah. Lemme tell ya about teh importance of voting: it's really, really important. My intire family are Trump supporters, an tehy are about teh worst people I've ever met. Uncle Tom is a convicted woman-tenderiser; Slack is a meth0head an a hater of colors; Reuben went missin after he pooped in teh gazeebo. Yall gotta cancel culture these people out. Tehy are all into Q, taht guy from Star Trek who was always messin' wit Cap'n Picard. Well I guess he says taht Trump is savin us from teh Klingons and tehr nafarious scheme to eat all teh Vulcan childrens, which would me we wouldn't have no more computer wizzes or autistic savaunts. That sounds liek a bunch of nonsense to me. Now I no what yur sayin: that ol' Goon couln't find no diffrence between his asshole an a hole in teh ground. Keepin taht in mind, my family is even dumber tahn me. Slack once gotta his wenus stuck in a tree; Reuben dont eat mayonnase 'cause he think it poisonius; Uncle Tom cant read no better tahn a raccoon. If I leave teh trailer, I make sure I diddn't leave teh matches out, lest Slack burn teh whole wood down tryin to heat up a pot of meetloaf. When I say Meetloaf, I mean I loaf of bread stuffed wit mystery meat. I told ya tehy dont got no brains.

I guess waht Im sayin is you gotta half hope in teh world, hope in people makin' each other better an not worse. All Drumpf is for is hatin' yur neighbor while tehy die of teh coronavirus. I aint votin fer nobody who dont take no responsibility for nuffin. Every time Slack pisses all over teh toliet seat, he don't clean it up. I think tahts teh best metapoor for waht Trump's done to are country. If only I could convince ol Sam to ditch him. Hes made an apple man fer Trump, an' every night he hang a raccoon pelt on his head. Perty soon teh raccoon pelts are gonna rise up to teh sky. I don't know waht his lookin' fer, but I sure as hell hope he dont find it. So get out tehr an rock teh vote liek Pdiddy was sayin.

Batman and Robin: The Shit Hits the Fan

 

Batman is grinding his way through a bowl of grapenuts when Robin appears in the kitchen, his bags packed. His face wears a pained expression, as though he is dreading what is coming next. Nevertheless, he pulls up a chair and sits down next to Batman, his hands folded together before him.

"I'm moving out," he says

"'About time," replies Batman. His mastication sounds like the grinding of gears.

"Bruce, we've known each other a long time. You've been like a father to me. But the last four years or so, we've grown apart..."

"Liberal pussy talk," snorts Batman in disgust.

"And I really can't take it anymore. Not with a month to go. I need to be some place else."

"Why? What's happening in a month?" asks Batman, a slight smile on his unshaven face.

"Americans get one last chance to save their democracy," says Robin.

"More like Americans get one more chance to make America liberal pussy free," says Batman.

"That's the position you're going to take? Is that a real argument or just a senseless insult?" asks Robin.

"Got to watch the polls. Christ knows Antifa will be out, along with the Black Lives Matter punks. I'll be there, roosting. Any child-kidnapping, Satan-worshiping communists try to cast their vote, well, they'll be good and fucked, lemme tell you. I ain't dragging their ass to Commissioner Gordon. No one will ever find the bodies."

"I'm not really sure if you're serious or not. Tell me your not serious," pleads Robin.

"Oh I'm serious. I got contacts in Metropolis as well. They're planning a little something special for ol' illegal alien Clark Kent. Let's just say Superman will be forced to go back to his shit-hole country instead of infesting the US of A with his commie bullshit."

"His planet literally doesn't exist anymore, Bruce. You know that. You expect him to go back to a broken collection of rocks?"

"You can't let any of them in, not a single fucking one!" screams Batman, pounding his fist on the table. The bowl of grapenuts overturns and spills its rock-hard contents all over the floor.

"What the fuck happened to democracy?" asks Robin, getting up from the table.

"Democracy? This is a federal republic, not ancient Athens! This country was founded by white Christian men, and by god, that's how it's going to stay! We don't need any Kryptonians, no fucking Martian Manhunters, no goddamn illegals from under the sea that fuck dolphins and fish-people! I'm going to take a big fist-full of Jesus and shove it so far down their throats that when they take a shit, it'll be a perfect reproduction of Donald Trump's face!"

"What? You want Aquaman's poop to look like Trump? That's even bizarre for you, Bruce. Isn't that kind of disrespectful of the President?"

"Take your book-reading, soy-latte-sipping, manscaped pussy-queefing ass out of my mansion, you piece of shit!"

Robin ducks as the box of grapenuts flies past his face. He doesn't know what the next year will bring. He's not sure if he'll ever see Batman again. As he goes out the door, he is filled with an incredible sense of sadness. The MAGA sign in the front yard of Wayne Manor taunts him like one of the Joker's grotesque poisonous balloons, and he has to fight an urge to rend it into pieces. He knows he can't change Batman. He hopes Batman will change himself.