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J.D. Vance is to authenticity what Velveeta is to cheese, or Trump’s hair is to…hair.
His recent “performance” on ABC—in which he tried to pick a fight with George Stephanopoulos to impress Trump—was less interview than audition for “The Biggest Bootlicker.”
Performative outrage is all Republicans have left with their lack of a policy agenda and corrupted core [ [link removed] ].
It’s a simple formula.
You go on corporate media, whose journalists must invite you on knowing you’re going to lie about everything. Why?
Because they’re owned by monopolistic merdes who don’t even try to do their jobs.
They’re now just there to make money, for “shareholder values" and to find mergers hiding in pre-war closets [ed note: support independent media! [ [link removed] ]]—like Mike Johnson…at certain bars.
Attack the host as left wing. Deny what he he/she says even if there’s video, audio or photographic evidence. Claim a conspiracy against right-wing troglodytes such as yourself.
And always—always—play poow wittle victim getting ve-wy, ve-wy ang-wee at da mean man askin qwest-yuns.
Yes, it’s television of, by and for addled toddlers, a stupid waste of everyone’s time and insult to our system of governance. But, then again, so is the existence of the Republican Party [ [link removed] ] since at least 2010.
Of those who try this little dance on tv, there are those who truly need mental health assistance—you know, perpetually angry at tree branches for whispering indignities about them just out of earshot.
The rest of the scrum, full of more sh*t than a port-o-potty convention, but at least capable of pulling off some of the serial lying. And then there’s JD, a guy who can’t convincingly order donuts.
Fails at basic communication efforts with other mammals.
Gets doors slammed in his face in Greenland, is so profusely protested he has to run away from the hills while on a skiing vacation and whose name Donald Trump couldn’t even remember when he first announced his support for him.
Here’s to Vice President JD Mandel!
JD Vance is what we’d call, back in my school days, a “loser.” An asshole.
My kids and their friends have their own Gen Z versions, a “sweat” or a “try-hard.” The kid always trying to impress other kids, who are all scouting for back doors the minute they get stuck in a Dave & Buster’s or high school dance with him.
And the adult, or adult-ish, in JD’s case, who nobody likes, nobody wants to be around and everyone knows is as fake as a manufacturing job created by this administration [ [link removed] ].
The JD Vances always had girlfriends in Canada or the Niagara Falls area in high school. In college always talked about scoring the winning touchdown for “the team,” til you discovered they washed the team’s towels.
As an adult, constantly lying.
Taking credit for scoring the big client when they collated copies of the presentation. [ [link removed] ]
Or in JD’s case, claiming in a book they were from a place they weren’t, grew up in circumstances they didn’t and the real tell you’re a deeply insecure little dweeb with the self-assurance of a shell-less turtle:
You change your name, four times? Five? Seriously, who the f*k does that? Can this person possibly have a solid sense of self?
Ever wonder why these Vance-baby memes were so popular? Could they have been communicating something actually real about the person parodied in them?
So James Donald Bowman became James David Hamel who became J.D. Hamel who became J.D. Vance who became JD Vance. Yes, this toolshed went to all the trouble to change his name one last time because he couldn’t live with two periods.
I don’t know about you, but if this doesn’t scream really cool human, well then I’ve lost my touch in knowing what is true charm.
So back to our interview where JD (not J.D., you insensitive bastard!) practically had flop sweat pooling into un-natural hot springs. Bowman Hamel Vance tried to channel righteous outrage at Stephanopoulos, but ended up sounding like a kid reading cue cards in a bad high school play.
Every gesture, every sneer, every clumsy insult where he tried soooo hard to sound authentic. But came across as dimwitted drone dripping with calculation. Sad and insincere.
Why his answers were almost as tragic as war-ravaged as Portland! [ [link removed] ]
This was supposed to a JD tough-guy moment—put that damn “liberal media” in its place, right? Instead, it was like watching a mediocre TikToker try to do De Niro.
Vance puffed himself up, attacked the host, repeated MAGA TPs like an underpaid extra, and looked about as natural as Trump in a Speedo.
[Ed note: Pause. Ewwwww. Continue.]
You could tell Vance he didn’t believe a word exiting his fraudulent talk-hole. He was just thinking & praying—as Republicans do for tragedies—that the boss watching from Mar-a-Lago would toss him a participation trophy for approximating Lara Trump’s singing.
The problem is, Trump has one genius. Yes, otherwise he’s a brain-wounded wombat, but he’s always been a performer—or conman—because he instinctively can read a room and tell what everyone wants.
And Trump knows they don’t want Vance. He can smell the desperation Vance wears like a cheap eau de toilette.
And so could George Stephanopoulos. Who in a Boss move that should be standard practice, cut JD’s feed, cut to commercial and cut the schmuck off the rest of his show.
(Now we see if ABC, Marvel, Hulu, ESPN, Disney or whoever runs the f*king joint kicks George off for journalism..or pays Trump another bribe—inspirational!)
Dayum! Ya got played, JD. You looked weak! Kinda dorky. The boss isn’t gonna like that.
A guy who once called Trump “an idiot” and “America’s Hitler.” Who said he hoped Trump would lose to Hillary on an NPR show I was on with him in 2016, now bends over backward to prove his Trump-love.
And in doing so, he’s become the most transparent phony in American politics (and, wow, the competition’s stiff) [ [link removed] ].
He’s like what you’d get if you ordered a 3D-printed “Generic MAGA” then hit “add beard for gravitas” add add eyeliner for…well, you explain that one, JD.
But one thing it couldn’t give him—like when Vincent Price dies before gifting Edward Scissorhands real, human hands—was any heart. Or, at least any understanding of how to show emotion to human organisms that surround him.
Every time Vance opens his mouth, you can practically hear the ka-ching of his political ambition cashing checks his dignity can’t cover.
It’s like karaoke conservatism—and he’s singing the National Anthem Roseanne Barr-level off-key.
The irony is that the man who wrote Hillbilly Elegy to posture as the truth-teller from the heartland, has turned into the most hollow Beltway puppet of them all. Vance isn’t channeling working-class anger. [ [link removed] ]
He’s miming it—badly—because he’s a low-self-esteem liar who needs to Trump-fluff.
It’s like there’s been a high-stakes, James Bond casino table where right-wing chuckleheads have been upping the ante of the last two decades.
Who can part with the most pride? Who can show-off the most shamelessness?
That lack of shame got us Trump. And now it gifted us the multi-named, always trying to get into the fraternity that doesn’t want him by saying his great uncle was a member, eternally locker-bound kid in junior high, JD Vance.
I mean, folks, did JD take this picture at Incels-R-Us?
The kind of social parasite all too happy to play the part, no matter how see-through he is. Because at least people are saying (one of his) name(s), he tells himself as he looks—with disdain—in the mirror each morning.
But, a few things here. One this is something Democrats can and must use to their advantage. [ [link removed] ]
But if the Trump’s purple blotches and cankled ankle-weights went out on a date with actuarial tables, they’d find out there’s a good chance nature has a a plan for Trump in a that great money-laundered condo in the sky.
Likely at some point in the near future.
And what happens when the MAGA audience looks at the emperor’s court jester who’s never been funny…or clever, or the slightest bit interesting.
And the emperor has left the gold-encrusted building?
Then JD’s another sellout doing bad dinner theater for the world’s worst dead-dictator. And still be the last kid picked for kickball at recess.
His usefulness to the fascists he helped backstop—with only couch-charisma left to offer—will be gone. And he’ll find himself part of a rudderless, splintering criminal enterprise, with lots of angry, purposely-riled up Nazis, and no Trump to protect him.
He may want to ask Mike Pence how that almost worked out for him.
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