Dear Carolynn, I’ve written a synopsis describing a film that will never be made–the circus that was the last seven days in the orbit of The Donald, who, at least is the new inspiration for the next Bond villain. Well, him and Bibi. If this were a script, it would be rejected for being too on-the-nose, too utterly absurd. But here we are, living it. Pass the spliff, please–or a stiff drink–nah, both and keep them coming.
Author: Mark Bolton. Subbing: DeepSeek. Pics: Fotor
Act I: The Rhetoric Hits Home (With Chilling Precision)
This week, the rhetorical shrapnel from The Donald seemed to coalesce into horrifying reality: the assassination of a Democratic official and her husband, and an attempted hit on another and his wife.
Act II: The Unintentional Kingmaker (And Military Morale Manager)
In a stunning twist worthy of a telenovela, The Donald appears to have accidentally anointed the next Democratic frontrunners! Gavin Newsom, looking perpetually like he just stepped out of a California sunlight ad, and Tim Walz, the Midwestern dad who sounds like a trusted kids football coach, saw their profiles rocket from “Maybe?” to “Future Contender(s)?” faster than you can say “This is very bad, very, very bad.” The DNC owes you, The Donald. Not sure the world needs them either, but, hey, it ain’t you.
Simultaneously, the Commander-in-Chief (or adjacent) managed the incredible feat of making the US military look like an out of shape Washington Generals facing the Harlem Globetrotters, and the troops showing they are unprepared to play for their football coach.
Act III: Protests, Parties, and Precipitation-Based Climatology
While millions united across the country in protests that actually had decent attendance, another gathering occurred: a birthday bash. Reports suggest the ambiance leaned heavily towards Lesley Gore’s ‘It’s My Party‘ (But Nobody Came Remix). And the big takeaway? Climate change is officially fake. Why? Because it didn’t rain on his party. That’s it. Case closed. Pack it in, scientists. Decades of research debunked by a single dry evening in Florida. Whether you believe in ‘climate change’ or not, the sheer, unadulterated audacity of this logic is almost beautiful in its stupidity.
Act IV: Bibi’s “Special Envoy” & The Tinderbox Tour™
Ah, foreign policy. Where our protagonist, acting as Benjamin Netanyahu’s… enthusiastic ‘special friend’, has achieved the diplomatic equivalent of juggling nitroglycerin. How? By helping pivot a significant chunk of Western public opinion towards Iran. Yes, Iran. While Israel expands operations in Gaza and the West Bank, the spectacle has other nations suddenly feeling the urge to jump into the fray to “protect” Israel (a non-signatory to the Non-Proliferation Treaty, unlike Iran). It’s less ‘coalition of the willing,’ more ‘coalition of suck-holes.’
World War 3? Not officially on the menu yet, but the kitchen is definitely smoking, and the head chef is demanding more fire as The Donald tells citizens of Tehran (at 4am their time) to flee now. Imagine The Donald’s huffing and puffing if Ali Khamenei sent this warning to those citizens of his native NYC!
Act V: The Temper-Tantrum Tariffs & The G7 Ghosting
Not satisfied with merely destabilising global security, our hero decided to spice up international trade! His latest brainwave? Threatening 30% tariffs on any country that doesn’t immediately sign… well, presumably whatever he’s waving at them. It’s the economic equivalent of “Play with me or I’m taking my ball and going home… and I’m also burning down the playground.”
Which brings us neatly to the G7. Picture this: the world’s major leaders gather. Discussions ensue. Our man, perhaps feeling less like the toast of the party and more like the slightly-off potato salad nobody wants to touch, decided he’d had enough. Solution? The dramatic exit. It’s likely he started playing Lesley Gore again, while hugging his soft pink blankie as he fled the summit. Again. Because when the going gets tough, the tough get going… straight to the motorcade. One can only imagine the world leaders’ group chat afterwards. “Did he just…?” “Yep.” “What a sook“
Final Curtain: A Note to News Editors
To the brave souls trying to edit this last and current week into a coherent news cycle: we salute you. We also recommend a strong therapist, a lifetime supply of anti-depressants, and perhaps considering a career in something less challenging like llama farming in the middle of the ocean. The sheer velocity of unhinged chaos is enough to induce permanent vertigo. One man’s week of farcical tragedy is another man’s… well, Tuesday, apparently.
The punchline? There isn’t one. Because this isn’t funny. It’s a slow-motion car crash where the airbags deploy sarcasm instead of safety. The irony is so thick you could spread it on toast, but the consequences are deadly serious. Buckle up. It’s only Tuesday and we’re still less than 6 months in.
Leave a Reply