George Carlin would have said...



If George Carlin would have been alive he would have said something like this about this month's "news".

Alright, settle down, you magnificent maniacs! You’ve survived another month in this glorious theme park called reality, 2025 edition. And who’s still the headliner on the goddamn marquee, hogging the spotlight like a hippo in a hot tub? You guessed it! The Donald! Still out there, folks, still slingin’ it. It’s like a rash you can’t get rid of, a song stuck in your head that slowly drives you insane, a goddamn recurring nightmare in a cheap suit and a bad wig!

(Takes a slow, deliberate sip of water, squints at the audience)

So, what’s our former Fearless Leader, the Sultan of Self-Promotion, been up to this month? Well, let’s peek under the hood of this clown car, shall we? Tariffs! Oh yeah, baby, the tariffs are back! Or maybe they never left. Maybe they just took a little vacation to Mar-a-Lago, sipped some Diet Cokes, and plotted their triumphant return. "We're gonna put tariffs on everything!" he bellows. "From European air to Martian moonbeams!" Because nothing says "I understand global economics" like slapping a 100% tax on imported oxygen!

(Mimics Trump’s voice and posture)

"It's a beautiful tariff. The best tariff. Everyone agrees. The Chinese will pay for it! The Martians will pay for it! Your grandmother will pay for it when she buys her goddamn cat food, but don't worry, it's making America great!"

(Scoffs, shakes his head)

And the language! It's always the same linguistic fog machine! "Tremendous deals!" "Unbelievable strength!" "Nobody's ever seen anything like it!" He could describe taking a shit and make it sound like the second coming! "It was the most perfect, the most powerful, the doctors said they'd never seen such an incredible bowel movement!" It’s all superlatives, folks! Biggest, best, greatest, most beautiful pile of horseshit you ever did see!

And then, the jet! Oh, this is rich. A shiny new jet, donated to him! Donated! Like someone just found a spare Boeing 757 under their couch cushions and thought, "Hey, I know a guy who could use this!" Who the hell donates a private jet? Is it tax-deductible? Do you get a little plaque? "This Gulfstream G650 generously donated by… well, never mind who, just know it’s from a very, very smart person, a winner!"

(Leans in, voice dripping with sarcasm)

You think that jet comes with no strings attached? Please! That jet’s got more strings attached than a marionette in a wind tunnel! Those aren't donations, folks, those are down payments! Those are investments in future fuckery! It’s all part of the game! "You scratch my gold-plated back, I'll make sure your industry gets a nice, juicy tax break, or maybe I'll just declare your competitors a national security threat!" It’s influence peddling dressed up as goddamn philanthropy!

(Paces a little, getting more animated)

And the rallies! Still packing them in! Thousands of people, bless their hearts, standing out in the sun, or the rain, or a goddamn locust swarm, listening to the same rambling, incoherent, grievance-fueled word salad he’s been serving up for a decade! "The election was rigged! The media is fake! The radical left wants to take away your hamburgers and your pickup trucks and replace them with soy lattes and gender-neutral unicycles!"

(Voice rises, mimicking the rally fervor)

And the crowd goes WIIIIILD! Yeah! Fuck those unicycles! It’s a hypnotic rhythm, isn’t it? Repetition, repetition, repetition, until your brain just shuts down and starts chanting along! He could read the phone book and they’d be screaming, "USA! USA! Read those Yellow Pages, Don! You tell 'em!"

(He stops, a look of exasperated disbelief)

And the headlines! "Trump suggests lizard people might be running the Federal Reserve!" Okay, I made that one up, but could you tell the difference? Could you really? "Trump claims he can communicate with dolphins, and they love his policies on offshore drilling!" It’s a constant barrage of pronouncements so outlandish, so divorced from reality, that your brain just short-circuits trying to process the sheer, unadulterated audacity of it all!

(Lowers his voice, conspiratorial again)

It’s a performance, folks. It's always been a performance. He’s not a politician; he’s a goddamn ringmaster of a psychic circus! And the main attraction is seeing how much bullshit he can shovel before the tent collapses on all of us. He’s selling you outrage, he’s selling you fear, he’s selling you a golden-tinted past that never existed, and he’s doing it all from a donated private jet while telling you that you’re the ones getting a raw deal!

(Shakes his head, a grim smile)

Yeah, another month of The Donald. Tariffs, jets, rallies, and a whole lotta noise designed to keep you from noticing that the guys in the cheap seats are still the ones paying for the goddamn popcorn. It's the American Dream, folks, or at least his version of it. And you don't have to be asleep to believe it, but it sure as hell helps if you’ve had a recent head injury.

(Winks. Blackout.)

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