What the fuck is happening aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln?
Because while Donald Trump and Pete Hegseth spend their days jerking their little Vienna-sausage egos raw over “warrior ethos,” testosterone levels, pull-ups, fitness tests, purging career officers, politicizing the chain of command, and making damn sure qualified women don’t get promoted, roughly 5,000 American sailors and Marines are still stuck aboard an aircraft carrier because Donald Trump’s “won on day one” war has developed the shelf life of a fucking Twinkie.
Hegseth personally struck nine Navy captains from a promotion list for one-star admiral this year, including every single woman on it, leaving the Navy promoting exactly zero women to rear admiral despite women comprising roughly a quarter of Navy officers. Trump and Hegseth have also blown through senior leadership, firing Joint Chiefs Chairman C.Q. Brown, Navy chief Adm. Lisa Franchetti and other senior officers in a purge critics warned was politicizing a military whose loyalty is supposed to belong to the Constitution, not the bronzed bowel obstruction occupying the Oval Office.
And while they rearrange the brass to make room for people less likely to tell Dear Leader something he doesn’t want to hear, the sailors and Marines doing the fighting are still out there.
Nearly six goddamn months after Trump was bragging that his Iran war was basically won.
More than 260 days deployed. More than 200 consecutive days without docking, month after month inside the same fluorescent steel labyrinth, breathing recycled air beneath the ceaseless mechanical growl of a nuclear-powered warship, sleeping in narrow bunks, waking in windowless warrens, working punishing shifts while the horizon remains the same endless fucking sheet of water.
And they’re being treated like shit.
One sailor said he had to walk the entire ship looking for somewhere he could take a shit.
Picture that fucking pilgrimage.
Past billions of dollars in radar, avionics, weapons systems, surveillance equipment and precision-guided American lethality, corridor after corridor, deck after deck, looking for a functioning bathroom like he’s searching Penn Station after the apocalypse.
We can track an incoming missile across continents.
We can put a bomb through a window.
We can move a carrier strike group across an ocean.
But basic sanitation sends American military supremacy into the fucking fetal position.
Meanwhile Draft-Dodging Donnie is fussing over fake gold, ballroom bullshit and architectural self-worship while the sailors and Marines carrying his war on their backs are eating food with all the color and nutritional optimism of drywall compound.
We’ve got $875 million sloshing through a White House repair and restoration account. We can rip apart federal rooms and tart them up until Liberace’s ghost files a copyright claim. We can Temu Louis XIV the place from cornice to fucking commode.
But clean underwear and fresh vegetables for the troops?
Whoa, Rockefeller.
These are men and women who signed a blank fucking check payable up to and including their lives. They agreed to leave children, spouses, parents, pets, beds, kitchens, ordinary mornings and quiet nights behind, to work around jet fuel, screaming engines, explosives and lethal equipment where one mistake can send somebody home beneath a flag.
They agreed that if America called, they would fucking go.
The least America can do is feed them, supply them and give them somewhere to take a fucking shit.
Instead, loved ones are raising hell about physical and psychological deterioration aboard the Lincoln. Sailors have reportedly attempted or threatened to go overboard, and the Navy acknowledges one sailor recently went into the water and was recovered alive.
Sailors are trying to jump off the fucking ship, but sure, sure, nothing to see here, folks.
Everybody’s fine.
The families aren’t concerned.
Carry the fuck on.
Because the so-called Commander in Chief was finally asked about them, and Donald Trump dismissed their concerns.
Except they fucking ARE concerned.
They’re begging people to listen while this administration swats away their anguish with the blasé, bilious contempt of pampered pricks who will never sleep in those bunks, choke down those meals, breathe that hot metallic fug of fuel, sweat, disinfectant and too many human bodies sealed inside steel, or watch another month of their lives disappear over the side of an aircraft carrier.
And some of these families are reportedly afraid to even put their names and faces behind what they’re saying because they’re worried the person they love aboard that ship will pay for it.
Imagine being so desperate you’re begging somebody to help your sailor, but so scared of retaliation that you have to calculate whether speaking out might make their life even fucking worse.
Trump: We love our military.
Military families: We have concerns.
Trump: No you don’t.
Who the fuck are you going to believe?
Our military and their families, or the guy who has declared the Iran war basically won so many fucking times we’ve lost count while WE’RE STILL FUCKING FIGHTING IT?
Then Cadet Bone Spurs was asked whether the Lincoln had been deployed too long.
His answer?
“Not nearly long enough.”
This motherfucker had five deferments for a medical condition he didn’t fucking have to dodge being drafted, but 5,000 American service members can spend well over half a year without touching port and it’s not “nearly long enough.”
The bloviating bone-spur blackguard has bottomless bravery when somebody else is supplying the sacrifice.
And his day-drunk weekend-TV-anchor fetch-it bitch Pete Hegseth is no fucking better.
While sailors are rationing necessities and running on fumes, Hegseth dismissed what they’re enduring as “completely misrepresented” while his Pentagon obsesses over T-levels, physiques and performative tough-guy theater.
And this is the same fucking Secretary of Defense who leaked sensitive strike details into a Signal chat that included a reporter.
Captain Kettlebell can apparently secure everybody’s abs but not the fucking war plans.
And these are the chucklefucks Donald Trump wants to hand roughly $1.5 trillion for defense.
A trillion and a half fucking dollars.
Fleets and fighters. Missiles and drones. Satellites and weapons with price tags containing more zeroes than most Americans will encounter in their lives.
But spinach on a tray?
A clean uniform?
Basic supplies on the shelves?
Go fuck yourself.
And now, after grinding the Lincoln and its crew into the fucking deck plates, the Navy is pulling the George Washington out of the Pacific to relieve it, leaving that entire theater without a single American aircraft carrier for an unknown period of time.
One overstretched carrier has become such a problem that we’re robbing an entire fucking ocean to rescue it.
And where the fuck are Republicans in Congress?
You can’t swing a gold-plated bald eagle through a Republican convention without hitting seventeen flag-pin fondlers desperate to tell you how much they “support our troops.”
Well, here they fucking are.
Five thousand of them.
Exhausted. Undersupplied. Loved ones livid. Shelves stripped. Morale subterranean. People breaking.
Where the fuck are you?
This isn’t a partisan issue. These aren’t Democratic sailors and Republican Marines. These are Americans being sent into combat.
Are you really so terrified of a five-time draft-dodging pussy that you cannot demand a full briefing on what the fuck is happening on the Lincoln?
Drag Navy leadership in. Drag Hegseth in. Ask about the food, supplies, sanitation, exhaustion, morale and psychiatric emergencies. Ask why desperate loved ones had to go public before Congress could locate a fucking pulse.
You feckless fuckstains held seventy bazillion hearings over Benghazi.
Find a conference room.
When Ghislaine Maxwell gets treated better than sailors serving their country, you know you live in Trump’s America.
Abandonment lacquered in patriotism. Dereliction draped in camouflage. Deprivation dressed as discipline. Callousness cloaked in flags. Cruelty costumed as toughness. A colossal clusterfuck of cowardice, contempt and congenital indifference sold back to America as red-white-and-blue fucking reverence.
They signed up to defend us.
They did not sign up to become disposable fucking parts in Donald Trump’s grandiose, garish, grotesquely narcissistic wartime fantasy.
“Fuck the troops” is a bold fucking slogan to carry into the midterms.
So, spare me the salutes and troop-loving theatrical bullshit when the people actually wearing the uniform tell you they are exhausted, undersupplied and hurting and your answer is that they haven’t endured nearly enough.
Donald Trump does not give a fuck about the men and women of our military.
He keeps telling us.
How many fucking times does he have to tell Ma and Pa MAGA before they finally fucking believe him?
And with that, today’s song:
I love you guys!
Stay safe out there, stay strong, and stay connected to each other!
💙 Jo
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