Dingus of the Week: Rudy Giuliani

Our first Dingot winner

The Weekly Dingus™️ is the Friday newsletter for

Men Yell at Me

. More and more people have come to rely on the Weekly Dingus™️ as way to relax and unwind during the decline of man. The Dingus began in 2020 as a way to make fun of someone or something in the news making our lives a little worse. It continues today, simply because this bitch knows how to commit to a bit. If you enjoy the Weekly Dingus™️, consider becoming a subscriber.

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Life comes at you fast. One day you are taking down the mob using Rico laws. The next, you are the mob being taken down by a Rico law.

And the “you” in this case, is Rudy Giuliani.

Rudy is a 2020 Dingus of the Year nominee. In the end of the year dingus newsletter¹, professional comedian

Josh Gondelman

wrote this of Rudy:

Since leaving public office, Rudy is most notable for becoming the chief beneficiary of 9/11 after Osama bin Laden, the previous title holder, was killed by (if I remember correctly) Chris Pratt. Oh, and he’s also a dubious but well-compensated cybersecurity expert with an ass that won’t quit accidentally calling reporters. Giuliani’s 2020 has been defined by a degree of humiliation that must be sexual for him, or he would have called Dr. Harold Bornstein about a script for cyanide pills by now. He’s been caught on camera by Borat, repeatedly pranked on a YouTube show, and duped into hosting a press conference at an establishment called Four Seasons Total Landscaping, which in his defense is an easy mistake to make if you’re an incompetent nihilist whose numerous failures and misdeeds have never resulted in personal consequences. Most recently, he’s been the weathered face of a series of lawsuits that were designed to subvert the will of American voters but have amounted to an old man repeatedly sitting on his own balls. Political news in 2020 has essentially been a Truman Show scenario for Rudy Giuliani’s near-constant embarrassments.

But that was 2020 and Giuliani hadn’t even tried to help Trump do a little lite overthrowing of the democratically elected government yet.

This week, Giuliani, along with 19 other co-defendants, was indicted on 13 counts, including under anti-racketeering “Rico” laws. Laws he himself used to go after organized crime in New York City. Laws that helped him make a name for himself.

It’s almost awe-inspiring if it didn’t almost bring down our nation’s system of governance.

The Guardian, god bless them, took it upon themselves to round up some of the responses from mob lawyers. Ron Kuby, who represented Stephen “Sigmund the Sea Monster” Sergio, said: “It is just delightful to watch the guy who expanded Rico prosecutions well beyond their original intent, and did so grasping for the biggest headlines … be indicted by the very law that he championed.”

This level of dingusry is like the health inspector getting food poisoning from his own cooking. Like a British king choking on the Magna Carta. Grimace asphyxiating on a french fry. James Dobson beating himself to death with a Bible.

It’s so egregious it is approaching the dingularity. The dingularity is a term, created on the Flyover Politics discord server by Caitlin (everyone’s favorite human) to describe a moment of dingusry that creates “a gap so wide in the dingus-time-space continuum that is sucking in not just light and energy, but irony” and our collective will to live.

While Giuliani is approaching dingularity. He isn’t quite there. Instead, he’ll just have to settle for this DINGOT award.

Also, now is a good time to remind people that Giuliani accidentally spent 14 years married to his cousin.

And Now For Something Good:

• Taylor Swift and Beyonce carried the American economy on their backs. Like, you see that set of footsteps where America was walking alone? THAT’S WHEN BEYONCE CARRIED YOU!!

• No, but seriously, the economy is doing just fine.

• Fani Willis is good for America.

• School starts next week. And that is great for me personally and for everyone else who has been waiting for my email reply.

What I Am Drinking:

I am not much of an iced coffee drinker. But this week, I took my kids to do some back-to-school shopping and of course, because I am a 40-year-old midwestern mother, I went to the Starbucks inside the Target and got us all a drink. The drink I chose was an iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso.

My daughter tried the matcha latte and she loved it. And I don’t want to beverage shame. The world is filled with lots of beautiful sickos who should knock it off. Like oh, wet cardboard that I have to pay $6 for! What a great idea.

Now, I have to stress my normal Starbucks order is a dark roast with a splash of coconut milk, or an Americano with steamed coconut milk². Its the drink of a woman who is probably depressed but is lying to herself. Like it’s just depressing enough of a drink order for someone to want to call a well check, but then I say “coconut milk” and they think, “Okay, she’s hanging in there.” But I am not hanging in there.

So, this week, I was feeling wild and extravagant so iced brown sugar oatmilk shaken espresso it was. And wow, holy shit. It’s good.

Like it’s incredible. Some sickos will say, “Get it without the brown sugar syrup.” Those sickos are wrong, disgusting, and leading you down a path of perdition. They’ll tell you a matcha latte is good. Do not follow. Do not listen.

Instead, listen to me, your mom, who spends a lot of time in Home Goods and talking about (and to) her houseplants. I know of what I speak. I know when a mass-produced caffeinated beverage is good. I am the target audience!

I am the poor, the haggard, the aging woman in black leggings for whom these drinks are made.

Starbucks has given me no money to say this. And it fills me with regret to even shill for a corporation in such a pathetic manner. Like who am I? Just another mom in a felt, wide-brimmed cap, with kids named Kydyn and Hydyn, with her little Starbies, posting on Instagram #blessed #oatmilk #OOTD.

Anyway. This weekend at the Chicks concert, I will be drinking a proper drink of a proper person — Bud Light. If you see me in my jorts and Coors Banquet crop top, crying and scream-singing to “Goodbye Earl”, no you didn’t. Mind your business.

Have a lovely weekend.

1. If you don’t know, at the end of every year I ask my friends to help me round up the notable dingii of the year and then I donate the money I would have paid them to a good cause.

2. I am not lactose intolerant, I just really hate milk.