Thursday Thread: Big Ick Energy 😂
Imagine... a lifetime of ill-fitting underpants for the Broligarchs!
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Hello, Lovelies, How are you?
Monday was rough. I confess I could not stoop to watch Zuck and Bezos fellate a half-sentient Cheeto. That SCOTUS didn’t rule it an obscenity begs all reason. It is perhaps the most ironic twist on the Frost poem that ever was:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
No one said in cringe.
But it was a whole googol (10100) of cringe if you do the math (which they were).
Check out Ketanji Brown Jackson off to the side. She’s got a FULL Teodora-“I-curse-you” look going on. And Her Honor was def. sending a message with her accessories:
Just look at all of those little va-jayjays! They’re like “We’re watching all you weenies. Halt, and catch fire, fools!”
Now, I hail from a storied lineage of petty women, the kind who clutch their grudges with the dedication of Ballerina Farm TradWives cradling their cherubic, Proud-Boy-poster-baby spawn. These women are perpetually three cocktails away from a full-on Liz Taylor in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? transformation. And they adore curses.
Me? I lean toward the low-stakes, enduring variety—like wishing a lifetime of damp socks on the person who broke my heart. Or for the Broligarchs, may their days forever include ill-fitting underpants. You know, the kind that cinches and rides until you feel trussed up like a holiday roast. Every. Single. Time.
But here’s my dilemma: Mariann Edgar Budde’s book sold out this morning! (Cheers to her!) So now, I’m tempted to wish a different fate upon the Cheeto. Maybe a lifetime of awkward corridor run-ins with her—everywhere. Or, better yet, a permanent seat next to her at dinners and meetings where decorum is required. Divine punishment, no?
Perhaps Moira Donegan captured it best: “America is ruled, now, by men who are extremely psychologically transparent: their resentment and greed, their desperate, seeking needfulness, their insecurity, and rage at those who provoke it; these things seep off these men, like a stench. They are evil men, and pathetic ones: mentally small, morally ugly. They are relentlessly predictable.”
Juicy, eh? So what about you… cunning, crafty reader? Knowing the relentless predictability of these dweebs, what benign, but clever curse might you dream up to topple the Broligarchs?
Feel free to get creative… Yours in Python - xoxo - gotham girl
Quoted
“It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it.” —Upton Sinclair
PS - I am a human typo. Amnesty appreciated.
I wish them ceaseless competition to be the richest, the one with the hottest mate, the one with the most power. In that way they will never know happiness.
May all the broligarchs suffer an eternity of painful rashes, head splitting migraines, and soul crushing fatigue brought about by a mid-brain infection. This infection will not lead to their deaths and will rob them of the strength needed to take their own lives. Most importantly, all of their suffering could have been predicted, protected against and perhaps treated had the holy mango not stopped publication of the CDC's Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report for the first time it its 64 year history.
https://www.forbes.com/sites/joshuacohen/2025/01/23/trump-administration-halts-public-health-agencies-activities/