(BlueScream stands center stage, dressed in a hazmat suit, complete with a bedazzled respirator. She holds a Geiger counter that clicks erratically.)
BlueScream: Welcome back to Night Sweats. I'm your host, BlueScream, still desperately trying to decide which apocalypse is the most aesthetically pleasing. I'm leaning towards the one where sentient sourdough bread rises up and enslaves humanity. At least the carbs would be… crusty.
(She gestures vaguely with the Geiger counter.)
Folks, I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to think “normal” is just a setting on the dryer we’ll never see again. This week alone has been like watching a clown college spontaneously combust in a dumpster fire.
Let's start with the Big Beautiful Bill, or as I like to call it, the “Billionaire Bailout Bonanza.” Apparently, the GOP is so committed to helping the little guy – you know, the guy with the yacht and the private island – that they’re willing to slash Medicaid, gut environmental protections, and basically turn the social safety net into a decorative hammock made of razor wire.
And what’s the justification? “Economic growth!” they cry, as if “trickle-down economics” hasn’t been debunked more times than RFK Jr.’s grasp on reality. It's like they think the economy is a leaky faucet, and the only way to fix it is to give all the water to the guy holding the bucket…assuming that gravity is a thing that exists.
Speaking of gravity, Trump’s trying to rewrite physics again. This time, it involves tariffs. He's raging against Walmart for daring to suggest that his tariffs might, you know, raise prices. Trump, bless his tiny, tangerine heart, insists that foreign countries are just eating the tariffs.
(She lowers her voice conspiratorially.)
Folks, I think Trump genuinely believes that international trade is just a cosmic buffet, and that foreign countries are lining up to foot the bill for his… eccentric… appetite. He probably pictures Xi Jinping sitting down to a plate of steel tariffs with a side of aluminum sanctions, thinking, “Mmm, this is the taste of American dominance!”
And speaking of economic realities, did you hear about the great American housing market? It's… vibrant. That's what I call it when I can't afford the down payment on a cardboard box, and my only hope of homeownership is winning the lottery or discovering a previously unknown oil deposit in my backyard.
And as the rich get richer, we’re shipping off Venezuelans to a prison in El Salvador for, like, having a tattoo or something. I swear, this administration treats international relations like a really intense game of Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? except instead of finding Carmen, you’re just…deporting random people to random dictatorships.
Then there is the bizarre battle with CBS News. After filing a $20 billion lawsuit, the network is looking for ways to settle with Trump. But what if he doesn't want the money? He just wants to kill the freedom of the press?
But hey, at least we know Trump has his priorities straight. He's demanding a "major investigation" into Kamala Harris' celebrity endorsements. Apparently, Beyonce and Bruce Springsteen are now threats to national security. I can just picture Trump hunched over in the Situation Room, muttering, "That Springsteen… he's got lyrics. Very… powerful lyrics. And Beyonce? Don’t even get me started on the choreography."
(She sighs dramatically, then checks the Geiger counter again. The clicking intensifies.)
Honestly, folks, sometimes I feel like we’re all trapped in a particularly dark episode of The Twilight Zone, except instead of Rod Serling, we have… checks notes… Rudy Giuliani as our narrator. And instead of unsettling moral dilemmas, we have… gestures wildly… all this.
But you know what? We're still here. We're still laughing. We're still fighting. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, one day we'll wake up and realize that this has all been a fever dream. Or maybe the sourdough bread will finally rise up. Either way, I'll be here next week, ready to make jokes about the apocalypse. Because, what else are you gonna do? Cry?
And now, a word from our sponsor: "Trump Steaks: Still not available, but now 50% more… imaginary."
(BlueScream stares deadpan into the camera as the lights fade.)