Welcome to the Premiere Episode of Sunday Spackle: Your Weekly Acid Rinse for Democracy Fatigue

Staying mad, staying sharp—and occasionally snorting coffee out your nose.

Let’s face it: last week was a joyride through America’s most deranged funhouse mirror. From court-defying deportation flights to a DOJ performance that made Richard Nixon look like a civil liberties intern, it’s been the kind of week that makes you want to shout into your throw pillow until the stuffing files a restraining order.

That’s why you’re here. And why I’m here.

I asked Dick Spackle to stand in - and up- for me on Sundays because I needed a pressure relief valve. A way to channel the rage and grief so many of us feel watching our democracy buckle under the weight of authoritarian rot—and to do it with just enough wit and grit to keep going. I needed a voice who could tell the truth without sounding like a funeral director. Someone who could laugh through the tears and still call fascism by its name. Dick’s not just a character—he’s my way of refusing to go numb, and maybe he can help all of us do the same.

“I’m Dick Spackle”, is your constitutionally sarcastic handyman, introduced here to slap a patch over thue nation’s cracked foundation and deliver a weekly (Sunday) “loosen-up without giving up” digest of whatever flaming lunacy just got jammed through the shredder formerly known as the American experiment.

This isn’t about looking away. It’s about staying in the fight without grinding your teeth into dust. He will name the madness, mock the maniacs, and shine a little light into the rubble—because gallows humor is still humor, and civic courage doesn’t have to be humorless.

So take a deep breath. Pour something strong. And prepare to laugh just hard enough to keep from crying.

Introducing Dick Spackle:

Week One: The House Is on Fire, but Hey—At Least We’ve Got Jokes.

Well, hello there, fellow patriots, protestors, and people just trying to keep their internet on long enough to read one more terrifying headline before plunging into existential despair. I’m Dick Spackle, here to patch up what’s left of this American drywall before the termites in MAGA hats chew straight through the studs.

Let’s talk about the week, shall we?

America: where the Constitution used to be a sacred text, and now it’s just a soggy cocktail napkin at Mar-a-Lago. We’re not dismantling democracy, folks—we’re speedrunning it. This week alone, Trump threatened to deport people faster than your aunt shares a conspiracy meme, and not to just anywhere—to El Salvador’s mega-prisons. Because nothing says “land of the free” like extraditing someone over a tattoo and an anonymous tip from a guy with a “Let’s Go Brandon” bumper sticker.

But don’t worry, it gets worse.

The Fourth Amendment? You remember it—the one about no unreasonable searches and seizures? Yeah, well it’s currently boarding a train, heading toward a legal oven somewhere in the shadow of the Alien Enemies Act. Turns out if the administration says you might be in a gang, the Constitution gets ghosted faster than a Tinder date with a public defender.

Meanwhile, over at DOJ, Trump gave a speech that managed to combine Nixon’s paranoia, Roy Cohn’s ethics, and a Yelp review of his enemies list. He called out lawyers like they were hecklers at a rally, promised prosecutions like Oprah gives out cars, and turned due process into a punchline.

And speaking of lawyers—shoutout to Paul Weiss, the Gucci-suited gladiators of corporate law, who folded like lawn chairs in a hurricane.After decades of high-minded legal prose about justice and independence, they just signed a $40 million pro bono loyalty oath to Trump to keep their security clearances and cash pipeline. Guess integrity costs less than a year of billables. Paul Weiss didn’t just bend the knee—they had it custom embroidered with a Trump logo and kissed the ring.

Then there’s Chuck Schumer—who tried to navigate the Trump crisis with the grace of a Roomba stuck in a corner. Democrats are fighting over whether Chuck’s doing enough to stand up to fascism, and honestly, if “closing your eyes and hoping for a filibuster” is the strategy, we might be better off with a Magic 8-Ball.

But wait, there’s more! Trump’s not just targeting the courts. He’s also gutting Voice of America, canceling research grants, and turning the Social Security Administration into a DMV escape room where you win… nothing, because your benefits were revoked online while you were trying to reset your password.

And Elon Musk? Oh, he’s not just selling Teslas anymore—he’s apparently getting top-secret briefings on war plans for China. You know, the country where he does billions in business, right as his electric clown cars here at home are circling the drain. But sure, let’s hand our national security to the guy who renamed Twitter with a letter and a midlife crisis.

We’ve got schools defunded, scientists exiled, national parks turning into privatized wastelands, and now, billionaires playing global strategist while democracy hemorrhages in the background. It’s like The Hunger Games but with more paperwork and fewer competent villains.

And yet—somehow—people are rising up. Protesters are flooding town halls, defending LGBTQ+ rights, immigrants, national parks, and yes, even bureaucrats. Because apparently when the administration tries to take away your ranger station and your retirement check in the same week, folks start to notice.

So what do we do? We fight back. We organize. We show up. We build trust from the grassroots up. And we laugh—because if we don’t, we’re gonna cry so hard the Statue of Liberty starts handing out tissues instead of torches.

I’m Dick Spackle. And I’ll be here every Sunday morning with your dry, acidic digest of the week’s political dumpster fire—patching over the cracks with just enough satire to keep the house standing. For now.