(BlueScream bounces onto the stage, dressed in a shimmering pantsuit that appears to be made entirely of tiny American flags. She’s carrying a box labeled "Alternative Facts: Handle With Extreme Disbelief.")
BlueScream: Well, hello there, fellow survivors of late-stage capitalism. Or, as I like to call it, “Tuesday.” You know, I was just thinking, if they ever make a Mount Rushmore of political scandals, Trump’s face is going to be on all four of them. And he’ll probably sue for copyright infringement.
(Sets the box down with a thud.)
Where do we even begin this week? It’s like the news cycle is a washing machine set to “Permanent Chaos.” Honestly, my therapist bills are higher than Trump’s approval rating in… well, anywhere that isn’t a QAnon convention.
First off, Trump’s “Big, Beautiful Bill,” which sounds less like legislation and more like a failed real estate venture, hit a snag. Apparently, even Republicans have limits to how much they’re willing to bend over backwards for him. It's like they’re finally realizing that supporting Trump is less like riding a majestic stallion and more like clinging to the back of a runaway shopping cart filled with expired mayonnaise.
And to think, we were worried about a unified government! Turns out, the biggest obstacle to Trump’s agenda is…other Republicans. It’s like watching a pride of lions fight over a single, slightly used steak.
Speaking of fights, JD Vance, fresh off his pilgrimage to Rome, met with Zelenskyy. It’s like sending a mime to negotiate a peace treaty. I’m sure their insightful discussion involved a lot of furrowed brows, meaningful hand gestures, and ultimately, absolutely nothing of substance.
Meanwhile, back in the US, Trump is furious that Moody’s downgraded our credit rating. He’s blaming Biden, of course, because logic is apparently a liberal conspiracy. It’s like blaming the guy who fixed your car for the fact that you ran it into a brick wall… repeatedly.
But hey, at least we know where his priorities lie. He’s busy telling Walmart to “eat the tariffs.” Which, let’s be honest, is probably healthier than anything else they sell. I’m picturing the CEO, Doug McMillon, at a board meeting, saying, “Alright team, new strategy! We’re replacing all our inventory with… cardboard.”
"It's patriotic," he'll say. "And surprisingly high in fiber."
(Pulls a small, crumpled receipt out of her pocket.)
And of course, the whole “Trump Steaks” thing is back in the news, because when you’re facing potential economic collapse, what you really need is a heavily overpriced cut of beef. It’s like offering a band-aid to someone who's just been mauled by a bear.
And then there’s RFK Jr., our new Surgeon General, who’s apparently decided that fluoride is the root of all evil. I’m half-expecting him to declare war on toothpaste next. I mean, who needs strong teeth when you can have… brainworms? It’s the natural way!
(Shudders dramatically.)
Honestly, folks, I’m starting to think we’re living in a choose-your-own-adventure novel, except all the endings involve societal collapse and increasingly bizarre conspiracy theories.
(Opens the box with a flourish.)
Which brings me to my next point: I’ve decided to start my own political party. It’s called the “Sentient Toast Coalition.” Our platform is simple: we believe in carbs, we oppose senseless violence, and we’re pretty sure the earth is… mostly round.
We’re currently accepting donations in the form of artisan bread and existential dread.
(Closes the box.)
But seriously, folks, it’s not all doom and gloom. I mean, at least we have the Cannes Film Festival. Oh wait, they banned nudity on the red carpet. Because apparently, the real obscenity is… human bodies. Not, you know, the slow erosion of our democracy.
(Looks directly into the camera, a mischievous glint in her eye.)
So, what’s the takeaway from all this? Well, I’m not entirely sure. But I think it’s safe to say that if you’re not slightly terrified right now, you’re probably not paying attention.
And if you are terrified, well, welcome to the club. At least we can all scream into the void together. Right after these important messages from our sponsor: “Trump University: Where your dreams of financial ruin… come true!”
(BlueScream throws the box into the wings and exits with a jaunty step, leaving the audience both amused and deeply unsettled.)