Never pass up a chance to sit down or relieve yourself. -old Apache saying

Tuesday, February 17, 2026

RFK, Jr.

I guess Trump wants to destroy our healthcare system, because the healthcare system was...uh, mean to Trump? Or, it has to be destroyed because Project 2025 wants our healthcare destroyed? After all, the wealthy will still get good healthcare. Most likely, Trump thinks he can besmirch the good Kennedy name by hiring the heroin-addict Kennedy. He could be right.


The Disastrous First Year of RFK Jr.

The damage the HHS secretary has done to science and public health is appalling—and it could have been avoided.

FEB 16, 2026

ROBERT F. KENNEDY JR. MARKED THE EVE of his first anniversary as secretary of health and human services as only he could: By telling podcaster Theo Von that he attended in-person recovery meetings during the COVID-19 pandemic (instead of isolating at home) to survive addiction: “I’m not scared of a germ. You know, I used to snort cocaine off of toilet seats.”


Shaughnessy Naughton, head of 314 Action, which works to elect doctors and scientists to office, raised a good point in response: “But . . . RFK Jr. doesn’t believe in germ theory?”


Not really, no: Kennedy, in a bestselling 2021 book, explicitly rejected germ theory, one of the foundations of modern medical science, in favor of “miasma theory,” which pediatrician and vaccine inventor Paul Offit describes as “a long-abandoned medical theory that holds that diseases are caused by poisonous vapors.”


It is beyond comprehension that the Senate confirmed this man to oversee America’s health. The risks are so immediate and constant that it can be difficult to keep track of them all.


Take last week. On Tuesday, we found out one part of Kennedy’s department is researching horse dewormer (Ivermectin) as a cancer cure while another is refusing to consider a new Moderna flu vaccine.


On Wednesday, four states led by Democrats—California, Colorado, Illinois, and Minnesota—filed suit to block $600 million in cuts to public health funding from Kennedy’s department, arguing that the “devastating” plan is “based on arbitrary political animus” and violates both the law and the Constitution in multiple ways.


On Thursday—the same day the Trump administration ended the Environmental Protection Agency’s authority to regulate greenhouse gas pollution, a threat to both human and planetary health and welfare—Kennedy announced from his highly visible perch that the nation’s top public health official had disregarded public health guidance during a worldwide pandemic.


On Friday, a judge in Boston heard arguments in a lawsuit filed by the American Academy of Pediatrics and other health groups, trying to restore childhood vaccine recommendations weakened by Kennedy’s handpicked vaccine advisory group.


And that was just one week. It’s hard to disagree with the verdict from Protect Our Care, a health care advocacy group, after the interview with Theo Von: Kennedy “continues to lay bare why he is the most dangerous, in over his head, ill-suited person ever to lead such an important federal agency that has life-and-death power.” Brad Woodhouse, the group’s CEO, offered this succinct comment: “Resign.”


More disease, more death

ALL THIS COMES AGAINST THE BACKDROP of a growing measles outbreakin South Carolina, the United States on path to lose its measles eradication statusin April, and the new childhood vaccine recommendations that amount to “choose your own adventure,” in the words of vaccine expert Jason L. Schwartz, an associate professor at the Yale School of Public Health.


Yale color-codes the new vaccine schedule on what appears to be a scale of perfectly clear to utterly opaque: (1) recommended for all kids, (2) recommended for high-risk kids, (3) recommended for high-risk kids and for other kids after “shared clinical decision-making,” and (4) recommended only after “shared clinical decision-making.” In other words, parents, it depends on the meaning of “risk” and “clinical decision-making.” You figure it out. Oh, and all vaccines are available at no cost. Unless you must see your doctor to make a “shared” decision. If you even have a doctor. Or insurance.


Confusion, and fewer vaccinated children, are inevitable. Which means more disease and death are inevitable.


If only someone could have prevented this.


There are, in fact, two senators who could have stopped Kennedy, and whose political and personal histories make them particularly well suited to stand up to him. I’m thinking of Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, the former Republican Senate leader who shaped today’s disastrous Supreme Court and allowed Donald Trump’s resurgence, and Bill Cassidy of Louisiana, a gastroenterologist who once organized a public-private drive to vaccinate 36,000 children against hepatitis B at no cost to schools or parents—but later swallowed Kennedy’s lies and made possible his catastrophic tenure atop America’s public health system.


McConnell, 83, is the only Republican who voted against Kennedy’s confirmation. A childhood polio survivor from before there was a polio vaccine, in the past few years he has had occasional falls and other problems associated with post-polio syndrome. He recently spent a week in the hospital for flu-like symptoms, and is not running for re-election this year.


Cassidy is 68 and he is running, but he shouldn’t be. Since voting to convict Trump of “incitement of insurrection” in his 2021 Senate impeachment trial, and earning an instant censure from the Louisiana GOP, Cassidy has done his cringeworthy best to simulate diehard devotion to Trump.


He cast the deciding vote on the Finance Committee last year to send Kennedy’s nomination to the Senate floor, and voted yes on his confirmation. In August, he praised Trump for his leadership fighting fentanyl (he had signed a Cassidy billinto law). In October, Cassidy posted on Instagram: “In the Oval Office with President Trump today. He signed this terrific ‘Gulf of America’ hat for me. Made in the USA, of course. Nobody supports American manufacturing like our President.”


All the kissing up isn’t working. At Trump’s urging, and with his advance endorsement, Rep. Julia Letlow jumped in to challenge Cassidy last month. 


“You can’t represent Louisiana if you voted to impeach President Trump. We deserve a Senator who can work with the President and deliver results,” she wrote recently.


The Baton Rouge Advocate put a photo of Letlow with Trump on its front page last week, under a headline about her endorsement from Kennedy’s Make America Healthy Again movement—a Trump-backed effort that encourages healthy eating and exercise but that also believes there is a chronic disease “epidemic” and promotes conspiracy theories about vaccines, wi-fi, and autism.


No guilt, no shame, no regrets

MAHA AND MIASMAS ARE NO SUBSTITUTE for modern science. They’re just a distraction from the wrecking crew Trump and Senate Republicans have installed to oversee the nation’s public health system. MAHA is a way for Letlow and others to seem concerned about health, when in fact the news each day suggests things are going to hell.


Cassidy and McConnell could do a literal world of good if they spent the rest of 2026 speaking out against Kennedy and joining his Democratic critics in calling for him to be removed from his job. They could help gin up so much negative attention that Kennedy becomes an unsustainable drag on Trump and is fired or relocated.


But there’s no indication this is a priority for Congress or the two senators. 


Rep. Haley Stevens (D-Mich.) introduced a well-grounded 28-charge impeachment resolution against Kennedy in December, but so far it has attracted only one cosponsor. McConnell remains engaged on other matters he cares about—he published a Politico op-ed Thursday about various geopolitical challenges—so his failure to speak out strongly against Kennedy is striking.


And Cassidy, for his part, is still trying to prove he’s got what it takes to be a MAGA success, including a working relationship with Trump. “President Trump SIGNED my bill that ensures drug discounts work to DECREASE Americans’ health care costs, NOT increase profit for shareholders. Big win for patients!!” he tweeted last Wednesday. Maybe. Whatever. Fine. But does that really compensate for the lies Kennedy told him to get confirmed, and the damage the secretary is doing to scientific research, public health institutions, and the nation’s well-being?


Dignity and professionalism are hard to find these days. Redemption is even less fashionable. You have to be capable of guilt or shame to even think about that sort of thing, and the Republican message from top to bottom, from the president down to the MAGA rank-and-file—whether it’s the Epstein files or killing two people in Minneapolis or watching measles make a comeback—amounts to no apologies, no regrets, just power on through to the next great abomination/victory.


Only wimps worry about how history will judge them. The only time that matters is now, and the only judge that matters is Donald Trump. Even for McConnell and Cassidy. Even if their legacies, and the first sentences of their eventual obituaries, may hang in the balance.


Original.



Thursday, February 12, 2026

JoJo from Jerz

How about a little bit of righteous outrage re Pam Bondi? JoJo from Jerz has some for you.


Pam Bondi Is Such A Bitch

A Pedophile Protector in Pumps & Pinstripes

It was another day ending in Y in Donald Trump’s motherfucking America. And there we were again, dragged into yet another gobsmacking gauntlet of gilded grift and grievance theater — a stress test of our sanity, our restraint, our daytime sobriety and our ability to resist the urge to chuck the goddamn remote control through the goddamn living room window.


I was watching clips from the Bondi hearing — which dragged its bloated carcass across my screen for hours — and it was the single most unprofessional, evasive, petulant, mean-girl spectacle I have ever seen in my life.


She was smarmy. Insufferable. Condescending. Combative. And so fucking rude.


Was she raised by a marauding band of exiled Real Housewives, bottle-fed on boxed Pinot Grigio and menthols, left to marinate in a playpen with a bleach cocktail and a stack of National Enquirers? Did she learn her signature brand of venom by mainlining reruns of Jerry Springer and YouTube compilations of cats getting drop-kicked?


She didn’t even have to speak — her mere presence radiated the kind of entitled malevolence that made you want to leap through the screen and personally escort her out by the hair, heels scraping marble, before dumping her out on the curb with the rest of the day’s trash.


I hated watching that shit. I would have rather scraped dried gum off a subway platform with a stolen Starbucks gift card. Sat through a three-hour lecture on municipal sewage infrastructure delivered by a man who thinks PowerPoint transitions are a personality trait and “let’s circle back” is foreplay. Reorganized my junk drawer with tweezers. Untangled Christmas lights in July. Argued with Comcast about a phantom fee.


But that was where we were.


And if the Democratic members of that committee could endure her resting Cruella-de-Vil-sucking-on-lemons face, so could I.


That nasty-ass, sanctimonious, snide, self-satisfied so-called attorney general didn’t answer questions — she ducked them, barked over them, and mangled them into unrecognizable shapes until the substance evaporated.


Every time someone asked a direct question, she reacted like someone had just keyed her car in the parking garage. Not a public servant. Not an adult. A snarling, eye-rolling, grievance-soaked little tyrant in a blazer.


Was she trained in some underground seminar called How to Dodge and Demean in Ten Easy Steps? Did she major in Advanced Deflection with a minor in Playground Bullying? 

Because instead of answering anything, she barked, she sniped, she flung insults like cocktail napkins at a closing-time bar. Bulldozed the clock. Yanked the conversation sideways. Tried to smear the person asking the question as if character assassination could substitute for substance.


Oversight wasn’t oversight to her. It was a personal affront. And she responded the way insecure people do when they know they’re cornered — louder, meaner, smaller.


She called Raskin’s questions “Trump derangement syndrome.” Called members jokes. 

Snapped “no evidence.” Threw out “transparency” like it was holy water. Invoked “the Dow at $50,000” — which is not even a thing the Dow does — as if stock tickers function as moral disinfectant.


Then Ted Lieu played the footage.


Trump and Epstein laughing together at Mar-a-Lago.


Lieu asked whether underage girls were present at that party or any gathering Trump attended with Epstein.


She refused to answer.


Instead, she bristled. Raised her voice. Redirected. Inflated. Deflected.


Members of Congress went into those Epstein files and came back saying his name was everywhere. Not once. Not twice. Everywhere. And as Raskin pointed out, we now know his name has been redacted nearly 950,000 times.


Nine hundred and fifty thousand.


A forest of black ink where sunlight should be.


What did the public get? A blizzard of black bars. Entire sections gutted and wrapped in Sharpie like accountability was contagious.


Thomas Massie pointed out that survivor testimony naming the men they say trafficked them had been carved up beyond recognition — thick slabs of black swallowing names, swallowing details, swallowing oxygen out of the room.


The girls named names.


Those names were buried under redaction like bodies under fresh concrete.


Then came the part that should haunt her.


Survivors were asked — right there in that room — whether they had requested meetings with her Department of Justice and been granted the opportunity to speak.


Hands went up.


One after another.


Not one of them had been given a meeting.


And she sat there. Snack in hand. Phone glowing. That thin curl tugging at her mouth.


She kept her eyes fixed anywhere but their faces — on her phone, her notes, the clock, the ceiling tiles, maybe the exit sign glowing red like a tiny neon lifeboat.


She refused to look at them.


She refused.


People were watching and recoiling. You could feel it — that collective stomach drop, like watching someone trip a child in a grocery store aisle and then blame the child for being in the way.


My phone lit up all day with the same blunt reaction.


What a bitch.


And let’s stop pretending there was ever mystery about who she works for.


We’ve known.


She works for Donald Trump. Not the public. Not the Constitution. Not the girls in those files.


Him.


Her loyalty doesn’t move outward toward justice. It shoots straight up toward power. She is an instrument — a puppet — of his lawless authoritarian regime. A fixer. A fluffer. A fellator. An enabler in a tailored suit who treats proximity to power like a sacrament and accountability like heresy.


If she ever had a soul, she taxidermied it and mounted it over the fireplace long ago. What’s walking around now is just the costume.


She isn’t some tragic accident of bureaucracy. She’s the symptom you can see because the infection is already everywhere — rash, flare, pus surfacing. The rot was there long before she took the chair. She volunteered to wear it like perfume.


And there I was, jaw tight, watching her slither away from accountability like it was an Olympic sport — ducking, deflecting, reshaping language until it resembled something that might survive cable news chyron therapy.


She’s betting time will sand this down. That transcripts will fade into footnotes. That redactions will dull into abstractions. That history will blur the footage instead of writing down exactly what she did.


She thinks time will bleach the record.


Like she bleaches her hair.


Well, fuck that.


And fuck her.


Fuck the smugness.


Fuck the gaslighting.


Fuck the corruption.


Fuck the criminality.


Fuck the coverups.


Fuck the complicity baked into every plastic smile and prewritten talking point.


Fuck the moral sewage bottled and sold as “law and order.”


Fuck the fraud framed as faith.


Fuck the cruelty polished into policy.


Fuck the idea that we’re supposed to sit quietly while predators are shielded and it’s called justice.


Accountability may not have arrived today, and it likely won’t come tomorrow. But it will arrive just the same.


Because history is going to lay her out flat — no spin, no lighting tricks, no PR gloss — just the record.


It will remember exactly what she chose to be.


A fixer.


A fluffer.


A fellator.


An enabler.


A loyal operative for power.


Not a guardian of justice.


Just a henchman in heels, shining the boots that crush downward.


And when the redactions lift — because they always do — the record will show exactly who turned away from the survivors.


And exactly who didn’t.


(Just LOOK at her face here 🤬).



Original.