Southern Alps, New Zealand

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The Week’s Most Sectioning, Detectioning, and Post-Electioning Headlines

ALMOND JOYLESS
Kamala Harris should’ve seen the warning signs. When the sequel to the Joaquin Phoenix Joker film bombed, what was that if not proof that the American public was sick and tired of psychopaths with nervous giggling tics?

LBJ famously said, “You can’t cackle your way into the White House.”

He also said, “But if you’re VP and the president’s brain explodes, that’s different.”

And that’s more or less what happened with Kamala, who got affirmative-actioned into the top spot when Joe Biden was caught on live TV arguing with an ice cream cone (“You ain’t low-fat, jack; don’t gimme that marshmallarkey”).

Kamala had everything going for her. Everything except skill, intelligence, accomplishments, sound policies, a winning personality, and a pleasing voice.

But apart from that, she was a fine candidate. Yet voters rejected her, another example of bias against street-pooping Punjabis (LBJ often forced his advisers to brief him while he was on the toilet. Would it have been that much worse had he been squatting on a sidewalk?).

Last week Kamala’s campaign of joy ended in sorrow thanks to Trump, who proved that you can literally copy a Simpsons gag—inviting a roast comic to an event where you’re not supposed to alienate the crowd—and still come out ahead.

Indeed, the Puerto Rico joke that was supposed to “destroy” Trump among Hispanics seems to have actually helped instead; Trump scored a record high number of Latino votes, Harris a record low.

Because the only blow jobs that interest Mexicans involve leaves.

In a final bit of ginned-up outrage, a Pennsylvania Halloween parade float was pilloried by Democrats for showing Harris chained up and dragged behind Trump’s golf cart.

An inflatable Harris parade float? Cue Yakov Smirnoff: “In America, YOU blow KAMALA!”

What a country.

ALPINE FOR YOU
War’s everywhere these days. Israel vs. Lebanon and Iran. Russia and North Korea vs. Ukraine. China vs. tamper-proof soft-drink cans (it’s hard to make joke when you can’t access the Coke). So last week the Daily Mirror helpfully published a list of the “safest countries to go if World War III breaks out.”

First up? New Zealand, where, according to the tabloid, “billionaire Sam Altman of OpenAI told the New Yorker he had an agreement in place with PayPal co-founder Peter Thiel to hole up there should things take a turn for the worse.”

Considering Thiel’s sexual preference, “hole up” might not be the best term to use in this instance.

Next: Iceland, a nation impenetrable to nuclear missiles, as Björk’s high-pitched shrieking will shatter any incoming projectiles.

After that: Chile, because it’s not like that nation has a history of going absolutely bonkers during a time of international crisis. Once supplies start to dwindle, be wary of “free helicopter rides” for fatties.

And finally, according to the Mirror, “Fiji is as good as it gets.”

Oh, really? A nation that’s half black and half Indian is probably very friggin’ far from “as good as it gets,” considering that depending on where you are on the island, hearing a local say, “That’s some good shit,” might mean marijuana or sidewalk leavings.

That said, at least Kamala has somewhere she can feel at home now that Americans have shown her the door.

Funny enough, not on the list is Switzerland. Maybe that has something to do with the fact that last week it was revealed that the first American woman to use the nation’s vaunted “suicide pod” didn’t die from “painless gas” but strangulation.

Apparently the pod malfunctioned and for once the Swiss decided to not be neutral; the attendants finished the job manually.

The owner of the suicide pod store (formerly a Blockbuster) claims that the strangulation marks were caused by the victim herself.

And that’s how you turn a Swiss clinician into an American black: “Bitch dun strangled herself.”

Word has it that the suicide pod store will now be rebranded as a funhouse for autoerotic asphyxiation enthusiasts: Davos Carradine.

RODENTAL FLOSS
According to The Guardian, “every US state except Alaska and Kentucky is facing drought.”

And because it’s The Guardian, you know it isn’t true.

Quick quiz: Name the rat-infestation capital of the U.S.

If you said NYC, good guess but wrong. For the past decade, NYC has been what bums leave in its gutters: number two.

The number-one rat city? Chicago (to be fair, many rats migrated to Chicago from NYC because they thought Lori Lightfoot was one of them).

Now, for the first time ever, Los Angeles is the number-two rat hub in America, thanks to years of record rainfall, not drought. And with so few Haitians, the rats are multiplying because nobody’s eating them.

Haitians avoid L.A. because Mexicans kill them on sight (if Philly’s the “City of Brotherly Love,” L.A.’s the “City of Not Loving the Bruthas”). Still, it’s amazing that with so many gardeners, L.A.’s ratas problem could be so bad, especially because the food from the Eastside’s Mexican sidewalk vendors certainly tastes like rat.

The catalysts (or ratalysts) of L.A.’s rodent problem are nebbishy Westside Jews, who’ve been complaining to City Hall that feral cats were pooping in their yards, so the city rounded up and euthanized the ferals. Congratulations, Shmuley; you Holocausted the cats and now your backyard’s filled with reminders of what Goebbels thought you looked like.

The Week That Perished reached out for comment to Takimag’s two L.A. columnists. Steve Sailer couldn’t reply because he was busy building mazes to test the intelligence of white rats vs. black ones, and when David Cole drunkenly passed out in his backyard, the rats nibbled off his tongue.

So it’s not like the rat infestation hasn’t done some good.

WEAVING THROUGH TRAFFIC
If Head & Shoulders is the “no tears” baby shampoo, big-bootied baby-mamma Tasshay Mills definitely prefers “Busted Head & Dislocated Shoulders,” the “lotsa tears” baby shampoo.

Mills was driving through Hialeah, Florida, last month when she tossed her 1-year-old girl out the door of the moving car.

Obviously this has to involve cold fries, right? Nothing can soothe the savage sagging breast that receives chilly spuds.

But no, this wasn’t about spuds but suds. The baby had accidentally knocked over a bottle of shampoo, which spilled onto the car’s floorboard. Granted, shampoo is the least bad thing to spill, as it’s essentially soap, and it smells quite nice. But that’s the problem: Fat, stank-ass Tasshay became enraged because now her car smelled like lavender instead of ribs and Ripple.

Be fair—what else could she do but toss the little saboteur out the window?

Fortunately, a Hispanic Good Samaritan got the baby out of the road, which angered Tasshay even more. She drove back to the scene of the crime and yanked the limp child from the bystander’s arms, then drove off into the night, likely to cure cancer or plan a Mars mission.

Cops tracked Tasshay to her home in Miramar, a 47 percent black cesspool (motto: “DeSantis is good, but he can’t change the laws of biology”). She was released on bond, because judges in Miramar are chosen by how far they can throw a baby (the “baber toss”).

Black lawyer supreme Ben Crump told the press, “Look, this is why hoes gotta wear weaves. They be stain-resistant; no shampoo needed. Once a month just run ’em through the dishwasher along with them Big Gulp cups, and you good to go.”

Tasshay is facing charges of “child abuse; no great bodily harm.” Yeah, you can’t harm no baby by throwing it from a car. Ain’t you heard? They be bouncing.

After Tasshay sashayed out of jail, she bought one of them ejector child seats so she don’t gotta toss the kid manually (“I just got mah nails did”).

NOT TAMPA-PROOF
Florida may be “deep red,” but its doctors may make you deep dead.

Tampa gastroenterologist Ishwari Prasad puts the “o no” in colonoscopy. Prasad is deaf without his hearing aid. Several weeks ago, he was using his colonoscope on a man’s “black hole of Calcutta,” but the patient hadn’t been anesthetized. And Prasad couldn’t hear the screaming, because he was operating without his hearing aid.

In-da-rear-a Gandhi has been placed on probation by state health officials.

Facing worse charges is Miramar Beach’s Dr. Thomas Shaknovsky.

Last month 70-year-old Bill Bryan began having sharp pains on the left side of his body. At the ER of Sacred Heart Hospital (now renamed Scared Heart), Shaknovsky declared that Bryan’s spleen was about to burst; a splenectomy was necessary at once!

And then Dr. Demento got confused and removed Bryan’s liver instead. And while he reread the Merck Manual to see if humans need a liver to live (they do; it’s right there in the name), Bryan bled out and died.

When a nurse screamed whatever’s Tagalog for “The f*ck you do that for?” Shaknovsky claimed that Bryan’s spleen had become so diseased it “migrated” from the left side of his body to the right, pushing the liver down into Bryan’s ass.

Literally, that was his excuse; when spleens become unhealthy, they march around the body like the “let’s all go to the lobby” refreshments and displace the other organs. Shaknovsky labeled the removed liver “spleen” and went out to dinner.

Thankfully the coroner was competent enough to correctly identify the organs.

Shaknovsky may face charges, but Florida has a six- to nine-week waiting period before a doctor can be charged with malpractice. Maybe while DeSantis is getting rid of waiting periods for guns, he can give that law a fresh look, too.