Listen up, you simpering, sanctimonious, libertarian castrato:
While you’re busy fellating the parchment of 1787 like it’s some sacred prophylactic against reality, Mexican and Venezuelan cartels are running a daily Nuremberg of dismemberment across the border, pumping weapons-grade fentanyl into every suburb, trailer park, and Ivy League frat house in this country.
Your precious “war powers” clause isn’t a magic incantation; it’s the very reason Congress is a sclerotic circle-jerk of geriatrics who can’t declare war on a fucking paper cut without 47 subcommittees and a CBO score.
You hide behind “constitutional authority” the way a eunuch hides behind a fig leaf: proudly, pointlessly, and with the full knowledge that nobody’s impressed by what isn’t there.
The same Congress you demand “reclaim” its authority couldn’t reclaim its own balls from a Mason jar on Mitch McConnell’s desk.
You think the cartels are quaking because Senator Aqua Buddha is going to hold a hearing, subpoena some mid-level DEA stooge, and then grandstand for the C-SPAN gerbil cam?
They’re laughing so hard they’re snorting lines off the skulls of the people your pacifist cosplay just got killed.
“Boat-strike revelations,” you bloviating, bow-tied pedant. Spare me the faux-outrage performance art.
You’d rather watch another 110,000 Americans turn blue and rigor-mortised than let a president use the military instrument you pretend to care about “properly authorizing.”
The only thing surgical about you, Rand, is the way you’ve excised your own spine and replaced it with a rolled-up copy of the Federalist Papers you clearly skimmed while high on optometry’s finest dilating drops.
You are the human equivalent of a “This is fine” dog, except the house is already ash, the dog is dead of an overdose, and you’re still yipping about congressional procedure while the cartels film another beheading in 4K.
So take your selective originalism, your performative libertarian circle-jerk, and your entire career of accomplished nothing, fold it until it’s all corners, and ram it so far up your rectocratic ass that the only thing left sticking out is that sad little Kentucky colonel bowtie.
The adults are talking about stopping a genocide on our doorstep, and you’re whining that the president didn’t fill out the permission slip in triplicate.
Fuck you, Rand.
Fuck your cowardice dressed up as principle.
And fuck every second you spend ensuring more American mothers get to bury their kids because you’re too busy polishing the Constitution’s taint to let anyone actually defend the country. |
