The Clitorati calls itself a “post-Project 2025 menstrual insurgency.”
The Clitorati are a decentralized network of righteous chaos agents with a healthy diversity of backgrounds and demographics, but their most committed members tend to be radicalized librarians, moon-charged Wiccan witches, pissed off social workers, burnt out public defenders, Millennial moms who go to school district meetings and raise hell against book bans, nurses from rural hospitals Republicans are tirelessly trying to shut down with their budget cuts, MSNBC-addicted grandmas, cool lesbian aunts, unionized baristas, bisexual women in traditionally male career fields, former hipsters-turned nuns, and divorcees who left their husbands for voting for Trump in 2024.
“If Trump thinks Megyn Kelly is a nasty woman on her period for asking him a tough question, he has no idea what’s coming for him,” said one member. “We Clitorati are the nastiest harpies Trump will ever see.”
The Clitorati like to protest in front of churches on Sunday mornings, and call out with bullhorns for Christians to pour their money and time adopting all the orphans and foster children since they’re so against contraception and abortion.
The Clitorati also like to yell at congregants about how abortion is a sober healthcare procedure that preserves life in the case of ectopic pregnancies and various other medical complications. And, for good measure, they like to yell out random abominations in Leviticus beyond the one loosely interpreted as referring to gay sex that Christians everywhere commit everyday.
To maintain their secrecy, the Clitorati have created an “underground railroad” style network of safe houses stocked with burner phones, disguises, and art tools to make anti-Trump graffiti art and win the sympathies of the public all throughout red states. The “railroad” also assists women who have MAGA husbands or partners to leave and start new lives, and they help raise funds for childcare centers in impoverished zip codes.
The Clitorati also help fund several subgroups of agents who do clandestine “matriarchal rebellion,” such as spying in gay clubs and drag shows to catch publicly homophobic Republican members of Congress in attendance. Other agents try to orchestrate gay sex stings.
“The ends of getting these weirdos out of Congress, we think, justifies the ethically controversial means we’re taking,” said one Clitorati field agent.
The Clitorati are also very opposed to Elon Musk and the damage he did to the federal government with D.O.G.E. They offer to pay in full, as well as facilitate transportation if needed, for any woman pregnant with Elon Musk’s child to get an abortion to stop him from further polluting America’s gene pool.
Several Clitorati agents are currently investigating to find out if Trump has any secret children.
At night, they stealthily replace Confederate statues in Southern towns and replace them with spectacularly large, bronze molds of female genitals they call “Labia of Liberty,” or likenesses of Susan B. Anthony. They’re currently sculpting a cast for statues of Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris to put as close to Republican Party offices as real estate opportunities will let them.
The Clitorati have gotten into finance as well, and launched a crypto coin called “Clitor Coin” used solely for shorting Trump’s coin every time its price goes down. Profits go toward putting up various billboards displaying extremely unflattering portraits of Trump that he hates and complains about.
“Just for shits and giggles,” the Clitorati post photos of JD Vance looking like a Cabbage Patch Doll saying, “You didn’t say pwease,” everywhere they can on social media.
Clitorati field agents also go deep undercover to date young conservative thought leaders and influencers to record and leak embarrassing and hypocritical texts and browser histories. They responded to questions about the ethics of such actions with just a “shrugging woman” emoji.
They also have a lovely monthly book club. This month’s book is The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir, and next month’s book is The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein.
On full moon nights the more astrologically inclined Clitorati members have extemporaneous bonfire parties with word-of-mouth only invites in wooded locations. They call them “Menstrual Raves,” and they burn effigies of various icons of the patriarchy while drinking to excess in Eleusinian honor of Demeter and worshipping Persephone’s underworld immortality. At the moment of peak lunar fullness the witches of the gathering go deep into the woods, cast spells against fascism, and then do things they swear themselves to secrecy about.
One Clitetati cell spends most of their time catfishing Donald Trump Jr. and Eric Trump into various pranks, like last month making them drive 300+ miles from NYC into the Vermont wilderness posing online as fake Azerbaijani businessmen interested in investing $25 million into the latest Trump pump-and-dump crypto coin.
They’re currently looking into installing a Clitorati “Bat Signal” that will project a uterus into the sky every time Nazis start coming out of their moms’ basements with khakis, masks, and LARPing shields to protest America’s multiculturalism.
The most elite agents of the Clitorati are called the “G-Spot Squad” because their male targets can never find them.
They leave calling cards at the scenes of their missions that say “Lilith was here.”
Become a paid subscriber and support my relentless comedy for just $2.50 a month. 🥃
☕️ Or buy me a coffee if you want to help keep me caffeinated.
If you think Donald Trump is a joke, I published three books for you: Satire In The Trump Years, Satire In The Biden Years, and Trump Comedy.
I’ve also published four existentialist poetry books, Cabaret No Stare, Moon Goon, Hotel Golden Hours, and Nostradoofus.
Our social media platforms are getting scrambled by oligarchs so if you like my writing, diversify where you follow me so you never miss my jokes to interrupt your doomscrolling: Threads, Twitter, Bluesky, Facebook, Instagram, Spoutible, Medium, and Substack.
The Halfway Post 