Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones:
The fight: St George kills the dragon VI
(c. 1866)

"…defending our democracy from such villainy going forward forever."

Despots must, seemingly by their nature, continually challenge the boundaries normally placed around any leader. Enough can never adequately serve as enough for them. More must be continually commanded. This means that every Despot’s rule must become inherently unstable, fragile, and ultimately temporary. When a Despot declares themself Ruler For Life, they’re essentially predicting a radically shortened lifespan, if not for their physical life, then most certainly for their political one. It has seemed much the same for our BananaRepuglicans, our present infestation of despotism. [Thanks to Jamie Raskin (D-MD) for apparently coining this term back before the 2024 election.] They have been actively colluding to undermine many of our proudest traditions, a seemingly cursed mission from its earliest actions, but they moved quickly this time, intent only upon breaking things, and in that modest intention, they have proven wildly successful, though with glaring caveats. Virtually everything they’ve attempted has later proved either ineffective, self-destructive, or both. Their blows to our country’s spirit seemed to have angered and awakened it.

It always proves dicey to accurately pinpoint the moment when enough became more than enough, a parody of its originating intentions. Commentators have declared dozens of Rubicons since this batch of clowns was elected, but the tension had been building since before the beginning. No soothsayer’s services were required to recognize that their charter had been rapidly expiring. Each day brought another insult to proud tradition or some innocent. Decency held her nose so continually that she couldn’t successfully applaud. Popular support left the building, leaving only lap dogs and the least popular available to cheer. Decorum, never a primary concern of any BananaRepuglican, ultimately left the building, too, leaving only shamelessness and corruption to support their unfolding wildly unpopular positions and policies.

Yet the public respect largely held through that first year. The jeers came from the loyal opposition. They hadn’t often originated from what had previously constituted their loyal base. Then that base blew up. The Iran War will be remembered as the proximate cause, whether it actually was or wasn’t, but beyond that point, all semblance of respect for even the office seemed to disappear. The Iranians produced brilliant Lego® AI opposition videos that were so cute and honest that they were impossible not to smile through, however regrettable the issues that induced those smiles. Every ounce of public respect for both the Despot and his self-beleaguered office and self-disgraced supporters seemed to disappear from the public dialogue. Congressional BananaRepuglicans could only change the topic when cornered with yet another, in a by then endless series of Fundamentally Unanswerable Questions, a sure and certain sign that everything had finally become terminally FUQed up!

Then he and his Minnie Me tied into the first American Pope, a wildly popular and sympathetic political and religious figure. It’s long been received doctrine that no one’s ever allowed to fuck with the Pope. He’s off limits. Besides, those always turn into unfair fights, even if you’re not Catholic and could genuinely not give a good goddamn about catholicism, even if your base prides itself on being overtly anti-catholic. Joisting with any generally acknowledged Prince of Peace transforms the critic into an instant Antichrist. Our Despot responded with AI images intended to make him look like Jesus. He came across looking like Jesus Fucking Christ instead, and was forced to withdraw his offending image and make up a lame story about how he was trying to portray himself as a physician, “because I heal people.” None of this even distantly qualified as laughable, yet it elicited little more than laughs.

This Rubicon was not an Italian river, but the point beyond which his presence no longer elicited the respect necessary for him to successfully fulfill even his illegitimate roles. Once seemingly indispensable, he played himself into being ultimately indictable. If he lives, he will certainly be impeached. If he manages to leave office before he’s impeached, he will be tried and convicted on more criminal counts than can be realistically counted, just like every leader of every Banana Republic ever was. With Orbán gone and Putin failing, he’s all alone and flailing. His midnight calls to his sole remaining supporter among the EEU aren’t picked up. He’s become the most popular point of derision on the planet. It’s even considered patriotic now to support Iran in his misappropriated war against it in our once respected name. He’s done.

I know, Raskin predicted a flip back before this clown was reelected, and as I said when I started this sorry story, it has always proved dicey to accurately pinpoint the precise moment when this sort of worm turns. It has either turned, or it hasn’t, and, Lord knows, this clown has surprised everyone before. It has, though, finally become inconceivable that he will last to the end of his term, even though, as of this morning, he’s somehow lasted four-hundred-fifty-one dog days. He looks exhausted rather than empowered. Whatever magic he was able to muster to get himself re-elected has dispersed and very likely won’t return. The end for every BananaRepuglican must ultimately be the same. Their reign must thereafter live in infamy only, and serve as the foundational cautionary tale defending our democracy from such villainy going forward forever.

©2026 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #EndDays, #PureSchmaltz