From Fang Fang’s Beijing-Bugged Bedroom to White House Fantasies, This Giant-Headed Goon Proves Congress Needs an IQ Test. Who Votes For These People?
Eric Swalwell, the California congressman whose skull looks like it was inflated by a malfunctioning hot air balloon, just cemented his status as the Democratic Party’s premier village idiot.
On October 26, he unleashed a deranged X tirade demanding that any 2028 Democratic presidential hopeful swear a blood oath to “take a wrecking ball to the Trump Ballroom on DAY ONE.”
This slack-jawed simpleton, whose face resembles a melted Mr. Potato Head, frothing at the mouth over a $300 million private upgrade to the White House East Wing. Funded entirely by Trump and deep-pocketed donors like Amazon and Apple—no taxpayer dime involved
Yet Swalwell envisions a future prez swinging hammers like a toddler in a tantrum. The stupidity burns.
Demolishing it would cost millions in public funds for cleanup, lawsuits, and rebuilding, turning a free gift into a fiscal black hole. But logic flees when your brain is marinating in Trump Derangement Syndrome, leaving room only for spiteful sabotage.
It’s not policy; it’s preschool pettiness from a man whose biggest achievement is not drooling on live TV.
Swalwell’s retardation isn’t a recent bloom—it’s a congenital weed overtaking every crevice of his empty cranium. Remember Fang Fang? In 2015, this national security “expert” bedded a Chinese spy 20 years his junior, who infiltrated his orbit with honey traps and classified whispers.
Wait, no—actually, it was worse: He romanced her for years, jetting her around like a conquest trophy, all while she burrowed into California politics for Beijing’s intel. He was banging a genuine communist spy for chrissakes!
Swalwell played dumb when Axios exposed it in 2020, claiming he was a “young politician” too naive to spot the red flags. Translation: Too horny and brain-dead to vet a date. There are rules for retarded dating, right?
The FBI yanked him from briefings, but he clung to his seat like a barnacle on a sinking ship…or Fanf Fangs San Pan floating out on the Potomac.
Mentally limited? This fool compromised U.S. secrets for spy coochie and still postures as a defender of democracy. If espionage were an Olympic sport, Swalwell would medal in gold-medal gullibility. His gaffes stack like a Jenga tower of incompetence, each pull revealing deeper voids.
During the 2019 Democratic debates, he lunged at Trump with “GOP stands for Gaslighting, Obsessing, and Pining for Putin,” a zinger so limp and cringe it wilted under its own weight. Viewers tuned out faster than Chinese spy gals fled his Tinder profile.
Then came the 2020 campaign flop: Swalwell, the self-proclaimed millennial heartthrob, raised $2 million before quitting after Iowa, where he polled at a resounding zero-point-something. His stump speech? A word-vomit of bumper-sticker slogans—”Beat Trump like a drum!”—delivered with the charisma of a damp sock.
No policy depth, just vibes from a guy whose idea of foreign policy is banning TikTok while ignoring his own Chinese entanglements.
Mentally limited proof: He once tweeted that the Second Amendment protects “muskets,” as if AR-15s are museum relics. Gun control from a man who couldn’t control his zipper around a foreign agent?
Swalwell’s cranial cavern echoes with more idiocies. In 2022, he accused Republicans of “eating Tide Pods” during a House floor rant, equating Jan. 6 to a laundry detergent prank. The man who dodged accountability for his spy fling now lectures on patriotism, while his district’s crime surges and homelessness festers under his watch.
He amplified the Steele dossier’s fever dreams, peddling Trump-Russia fanfic long after it crumbled, earning rebukes from even his own party for wasting time on proven hoaxes. And don’t forget his 2023 meltdown over Hunter Biden, where he defended the laptop as “Russian disinfo” months after intel agencies debunked it—proving Swalwell’s intellect lags years behind headlines.
This balloon-headed buffoon embodies Democratic decay: All bluster, no ballast. His ballroom bloodlust exposes the rot—privately funded elegance becomes “corruption” because it bears Trump’s name, so obliterate it at taxpayer peril.
Jonathan Turley nailed the recklessness: “Swalwell’s litmus test turns politics into demolition derby.”
Voters see through it: Polls show his approval scraping bottom, a fitting grave for a career built on borrowed brains and borrowed lovers. Eric Swalwell isn’t just dumb—he’s a danger. His mental midgetry fuels division, from spy scandals to shutdown saber-rattling.
California deserves better than this walking embarrassment, a giant-headed golem animated by envy and empty calories. Retire to a think tank that lowers the bar, Eric. Or better: A quiet farm where wrecking balls are for fences, not fantasies. America can’t afford your idiocy any longer.
