In a world not unlike our own, where the sky was a peculiar shade of
orange and the air smelled faintly of burnt popcorn, there existed a
man named Donald Trump. He was a figure whose hair defied gravity and
logic, a golden monument to the art of the deal, and a walking
billboard for the American dream—if that dream included a lot of
shouting and a deep-seated obsession with ratings.
One day, Donald woke up to find that he had been elected President of
the United States. This was a curious twist of fate, considering he
had only intended to sell a few more ties and perhaps build a golf
course on the moon. But there he was, sitting in a big chair in a big
room with very important people bustling about, all of whom seemed to
be either terrified or utterly bewildered by his presence.
“Make America Great Again,” he would proclaim, though no one could
quite pinpoint when America had stopped being great. Perhaps it had
been during the time when people wore bell-bottoms and listened to
music that sounded like a cat in a blender. Regardless, Donald was
determined to find out, armed with an arsenal of tweets and a
collection of well-groomed golf clubs.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the nation
watched in a mix of horror and amusement. Donald, with his penchant
for hyperbole, declared wars on everything from “fake news” to the
very concept of gravity itself. “Gravity is a hoax!” he would shout,
floating momentarily before being brought back down to reality by the
pesky force that kept him tethered to the ground.
One fateful evening, during a particularly raucous rally, he
proclaimed that he would build a wall—a magnificent wall—around the
entire country. “It will be the biggest wall the world has ever seen!”
he exclaimed, as if he were describing a new amusement park ride
rather than a geopolitical strategy. The crowd cheered, not entirely
sure why they were cheering, but caught up in the electric atmosphere
of absurdity that had become the norm.
Yet, amid the chaos, there was a strange sort of poetry in his
presidency. The absurdity of it all mirrored the grand narratives of
yesteryear. The media, a swirling vortex of soundbites and outrage,
became the modern-day chorus, echoing the highs and lows of a
civilization on the brink of unraveling.
So it goes.
orange and the air smelled faintly of burnt popcorn, there existed a
man named Donald Trump. He was a figure whose hair defied gravity and
logic, a golden monument to the art of the deal, and a walking
billboard for the American dream—if that dream included a lot of
shouting and a deep-seated obsession with ratings.
One day, Donald woke up to find that he had been elected President of
the United States. This was a curious twist of fate, considering he
had only intended to sell a few more ties and perhaps build a golf
course on the moon. But there he was, sitting in a big chair in a big
room with very important people bustling about, all of whom seemed to
be either terrified or utterly bewildered by his presence.
“Make America Great Again,” he would proclaim, though no one could
quite pinpoint when America had stopped being great. Perhaps it had
been during the time when people wore bell-bottoms and listened to
music that sounded like a cat in a blender. Regardless, Donald was
determined to find out, armed with an arsenal of tweets and a
collection of well-groomed golf clubs.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, the nation
watched in a mix of horror and amusement. Donald, with his penchant
for hyperbole, declared wars on everything from “fake news” to the
very concept of gravity itself. “Gravity is a hoax!” he would shout,
floating momentarily before being brought back down to reality by the
pesky force that kept him tethered to the ground.
One fateful evening, during a particularly raucous rally, he
proclaimed that he would build a wall—a magnificent wall—around the
entire country. “It will be the biggest wall the world has ever seen!”
he exclaimed, as if he were describing a new amusement park ride
rather than a geopolitical strategy. The crowd cheered, not entirely
sure why they were cheering, but caught up in the electric atmosphere
of absurdity that had become the norm.
Yet, amid the chaos, there was a strange sort of poetry in his
presidency. The absurdity of it all mirrored the grand narratives of
yesteryear. The media, a swirling vortex of soundbites and outrage,
became the modern-day chorus, echoing the highs and lows of a
civilization on the brink of unraveling.
So it goes.
No comments:
Post a Comment