When Holiday Cheer Gets Curb Stomped

The smell hits you first—that particular stench of democracy rotting from the inside out, like fruit left too long in the sun. It's the week between Christmas and New Year's, that liminal space where most Americans are nursing hangovers and pretending their families didn't just spend four days passive-aggressively destroying each other over turkey. But this year, the hangover isn't from eggnog. It's from watching Donaldo Fartfisted transform every tradition, every institution, every fucking monument into another pustule-covered extension of his brand.

But what happens when the tyrant doesn't die? What happens when he just keeps stamping his name on everything, turning memorials into marketing opportunities, Christmas into combat, and dissent into deportable offense?

Let me paint you a picture of Christmas Eve at Mar-a-Lago, where Trumpington De ShittyGobhole decided that the birth of Christ was the perfect moment to brand his political opponents as "Radical Left Scum." Not "people I disagree with." Not "the opposition party." Fucking scum—the word you use for pond residue and bathroom mildew.

The message blazed across Truth Social like a drunk uncle's racist tirade at the kids' table, except this drunk uncle commands nuclear codes and Department of Justice investigations. He crowed about stock markets "swelling like my beautiful hands"—his words echoing through gold-plated halls while families across America chose between heating and eating. He bragged about closed borders while agricultural industries hemorrhaged workers and crops rotted in fields. He celebrated expelling transgender policies while trans kids contemplated suicide in bathroom stalls, terrified of which door will get them beaten today.

THE RECEIPTS FROM HIS CHRISTMAS CARNAGE:

Translation: When fascism comes to America, it doesn't need the flag or cross anymore. It just needs a fucking iPhone and a narcissist willing to turn the Prince of Peace's birthday into another episode of his personal grievance show.

Here's where this shitshow goes from bad to fucking catastrophic: Picture the Kennedy Center, that marble monument Congress specifically designated as John F. Kennedy's living memorial. Now picture some dickwad bureaucrat—undoubtedly with Trumpy AssChatterChasm's blessing—bolting "The Donald J. Trump and The John F. Kennedy Memorial Center" across the facade like a kidnapper's ransom note.

Drummer Chuck Redd had spent twenty years creating Christmas Eve jazz traditions there. Two fucking decades of "Jazz Jams" that brought communities together in a space dedicated to a president who actually believed in public service instead of personal profit. The moment he saw that name desecration, he severed all ties. Just walked. And he's not alone:

The Artistic Exodus Speaks Volumes:

The worst part—and I cannot stress this clusterfuck enough—is that Congress created this space specifically, legally, explicitly as Kennedy's memorial. Not a shared memorial. Not a "and also featuring" memorial. Kennedy's. And now it's been name-raped by an assclown whose greatest contribution to American democracy has been proving how easily authoritarian tendencies metastasize when institutional guardrails corrode.

The Kennedy Center's corruption isn't just institutional vandalism. It's a preview of how authoritarians rewrite history by literally rewriting buildings, transforming spaces of collective memory into personal monuments while we watch and rationalize and normalize.

Meanwhile, former special counsel Jack Smith is practically begging—fucking begging—for transparency in a system designed to bury transparency under parliamentary procedure and partisan hackery. He testified behind closed doors to the House Judiciary Committee about his prosecution of The Dumping Donald's election-overturning schemes and classified document theft, and now he's demanding the full videotape be released so Americans can actually hear his defense unfiltered.

Chair Jim Jordan, that simpering fuckwit who never met a sexual abuse scandal at Ohio State he couldn't ignore, orchestrated this closed-door deposition precisely to prevent Democrats from using the five-minute rule to expose Republican hypocrisy in real-time. Smith's attorneys fired off letters insisting he followed every Justice Department protocol, dotted every goddamn i, crossed every motherfucking t, and would charge Donny Caligulump again without hesitation given identical evidence.

Smith's Unshakable Position:

Smith stands firm that regardless of party affiliation, the evidence warranted prosecution. His convictions aren't carved in sand or political convenience—they're carved in the bedrock of documentary evidence showing Farty Donaldo attempted to overturn a legitimate election and hoarded classified documents like baseball cards.

Democrats lamented the private format, recognizing it as calculated theater designed to hide prosecutorial competence behind procedural obfuscation. But Smith refuses to let his testimony be chewed up and regurgitated through partisan teeth, demanding Americans see for themselves whether he acted as a political hitman or a career prosecutor following evidence where it led.

And isn't that the fucking tragedy? That a prosecutor demanding transparency for doing his goddamn job constitutes revolution? That following evidence and protocol makes you a radical in a system that's normalized corruption as standard operating procedure?

While Americans nursed their holiday hangovers, comedian Jimmy Kimmel hijacked Britain's Channel 4 "Alternative Christmas Message"—a tradition for voices outside the royal establishment—to deliver a scorching indictment that should terrify anyone still clinging to American exceptionalism fantasies. Standing before UK audiences, he declared "tyranny is booming" like it's a cash crop, because it fucking is.

Kimmel sketched America's fascist slide with the precision of a street artist spray-painting warnings on the wall before the flood: presidents demanding worship, journalists threatened into silence, democratic structures dismantled brick by fucking brick. He referenced the "No Kings" protests—tens of millions marching against Donnie TurdATrump's imperial pretensions—while simultaneously documenting the dismantling of press freedom, scientific integrity, and judicial independence.

His apology to Britain rang with bitter irony: "We're a right mess." Not "we have some challenges." Not "we're going through a rough patch." We're a right mess—the kind of mess where comedians have to broadcast warnings from foreign soil because speaking truth at home increasingly carries authoritarian consequences.

The Pattern Kimmel Illuminates:

These aren't separate incidents—Christmas messages as warfare, monuments desecrated, prosecutors silenced, comedians exiled. They're symptoms of the same metastasizing disease: the normalization of authoritarian theatrics as political business-as-usual. When a president can brand opponents as "scum" on Christ's birthday without mass resignation from his administration, when institutions can be name-raped without congressional intervention, when prosecutors must beg for transparency and comedians must flee abroad to speak freely, we've already ceded democratic norms to authoritarian entropy.

The synthesis is fuck-all clear: We have normalized the transformation of every American institution—from memorials to holidays to justice systems to artistic spaces—into extensions of one dumbfuck's narcissistic brand while pretending this is somehow normal political disagreement rather than systemic authoritarian consolidation.

Not "concerning developments." Not "troubling trends." Active collaboration in democracy's dismantling through silence, through rationalization, through the cowardly fucking calculus that speaking truth might threaten careers or social standing or family peace.

These same shitstains who claim to fear tyranny are the ones stamping authoritarian branding across every monument, threatening every institution that won't bend knee, and celebrating Christmas by dehumanizing half the country. The projection isn't just psychological defense—it's strategic camouflage for the exact authoritarianism they claim to oppose.

What does it say that we watch monuments being desecrated, prosecutors being silenced, artists being driven into exile, and our primary response is to check our phones and scroll to the next outrage? That we've become so numbed to institutional decay that name-raping the Kennedy Center barely registers as a scandal worth sustained attention?

That smell from the opening—democracy rotting in the sun—it's not getting better. It's intensifying, spreading, seeping into every institution we once pretended was immune to authoritarian capture.

Tomorrow, Donald BukakkeVictim will post another dehumanizing screed, institutional cowards will avert their eyes, and the same goddamn masses will rationalize why this particular transgression doesn't warrant their attention or action. The cycle continues. The rot spreads. The normalization deepens.

But that's not inevitable. That's just what happens when enough people choose comfort over confrontation, when we decide that our personal peace matters more than collective resistance, when we let authoritarians transform our monuments and traditions and institutions into extensions of their brand without sustained, organized, furious pushback.

The question isn't whether we can recognize fascism when we see it—Kimmel just broadcast that diagnosis from across the Atlantic for anyone still confused.

The question is whether we'll tolerate watching every institution we claim to value—from memorials to justice to art to the simple dignity of holiday traditions—get systematically corrupted into authoritarian branding exercises, or whether at some point we decide that some desecrations are worth fighting to prevent.