“Thanks, Barry, for so thoroughly alienating white voters that I can tear down your entire presidency in a year or less. It’ll be just like you never existed as president. Ironic, huh?”

Smarter people than ‘Puter have written about Democrats’ strategy of unity through division. Way smarter people. People like that one kid in third grade who ate paste and his own boogers, probably. But ‘Puter feels he has something to add.

Democrats divide us. Division is integral to their election strategy. Since the 1960s, Democrats have pushed hard to divide America into mutual grievance societies based on race, sexuality, and gender. Democrats then unite these disparate groups, many with incompatible beliefs and goals, in hatred of the root cause of each group’s problems: white people.

For the most part, it’s been a remarkably successful strategy. Who doesn’t want to believe (despite all evidence to the contrary) that an amorphous third party cabal is the sole cause of everything that’s wrong in your life?

You’re an illiterate mother of seven children by five different men living on welfare? It’s not your fault, or your elected representatives’ faults for giving you crappy schools. Whitey T. Mann is to blame.

Insurance won’t pay for your wang lop-off-ology to cure your gender dysphoria because science and medicine have the audacity to classify it as a mental disorder? That damned Whitey T. Mann!

You graduated college $75,000 in debt with a worthless degree in Gender Studies, and no one will hire you because you’re a loudmouthed jerk incapable of any thought deeper than parroting your equally worthless professor’s totally made up garbage hot takes on the world? Clearly, Whitey T. Mann’s fingerprints are all over this.

Well, guess what, Democrats? After 50 years or so of uniting every grievance group in the country in hatred of white men, white men took a page from your book. They united against you.

Tired of being told they were to blame for everyone else’s problems, white folks looked around at their crappy jobs and stagnant (or falling) economic circumstances and shot Democrats the middle finger.

‘Puter can almost hear whites thinking, “F*ck me? Yeah? Well, I’m sick of this sh*t. F*CK YOU!” And f*ck you they did, Democrats. Whites elected Donald J. Trump president of the United States, thanks in no small part to your decades of blaming them for everything under the sun, from racism to climate change to New Coke.

So as Democrats look around the ruins of their once mighty political empire, they will be comforted to know they created the conditions that lead to Republican dominance of state legislatures, governorships, the Congress, and yes, the election of Donald J. Trump.

Well done, asshats.

'Puter

Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.

’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.

The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.

His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.

He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.

Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.

‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.