Defy The Crown

Today I let go of a friend.

Not because we disagreed — disagreement is the cost of freedom — but because when the moment came to choose between anger and purpose, he chose anger.

He had shared a story: a gay father standing before a school board, pleading for the protection of children from premature sexualization and the forced celebration of adult topics like gender identity debates in the lives of the young.

I agreed. I thought we could stand together. Surely, this was a cause beyond politics.

But it wasn’t enough for him. He needed a villain with a party label.

He needed this to be not about protecting children, but about condemning Democrats. The fact I am not a Democrat proved immaterial- I did not share his vitriol so I was little better than his declared monsters.

I answered with care. I said division will not save the vulnerable. I said the children do not care about party lines. I said what matters is the shield we build around them, not the banners we wave above ourselves.

In return, he accused me — subtly at first, then not so subtly — of siding with the enemy. No, worse! of supporting the abuse on children.

There is a particular sorrow in moments like these. The sorrow of realizing that someone you respected does not truly want to fix what is broken — they only want a clearer view of the battlefield.

They want a righteous war, not a righteous peace.

So I walked away.

It is easy to be angry. I get angry too. It is easy to find a scapegoat, easy to shout about evil in the abstract while ignoring the simple work of actually protecting what is good.

It is harder to stay focused on solutions instead of blame.

Harder to reach across divides and say: Your child is my child too.

Harder to say: I will fight with anyone who fights for the innocent, and against anyone who uses them for political fuel.

Today I mourn that friendship, but I will not mourn the choice.

Because to stay would be to accept a world where the safety of children is just another weapon in a wider war. Where our most vulnerable and innocent are nothing more than a means to an end, all disguised as righteous and pure intent.

I would rather stand alone, with my arms open to any who wish to protect what is sacred, than stand together with those who only want to destroy. Perhaps my arms will remain empty in the end.

But there is no victory in hatred.

There is no righteousness in rage.

There is only the cause — or the betrayal of it.

I choose the cause.

Even if it costs me every friend I once thought I had.

In the interest of understanding the evolution of internal state security forces, it is worth stepping back to examine the structure and methods of one of the most effective and feared domestic policing agencies of the 20th century: the Geheime Staatspolizei, more commonly known as the Gestapo.

Though frequently invoked in discussions of totalitarian excess, few modern observers are aware of the bureaucratic precision, technological innovation, and legal acrobatics the Gestapo employed in the name of national order. It was not chaos—it was policy. And its techniques, however controversial, were astonishingly methodical.

Gestapo operations often began in the early morning hours, capitalizing on the element of surprise. Agents rarely wore uniforms and typically arrived in coordination with local law enforcement partners. They would approach residences or workplaces of suspected undesirables with minimal paperwork—sometimes no judicial warrant at all, but rather an internal authorization signed by superiors within the executive security apparatus.

Resistance against the Gestapo was rare. Most citizens knew that opposition was dangerous, and those who attempted it often found that entire families could be implicated as a result.

An innovation of the Gestapo was its concept of the “collateral suspect.” If the primary target of an operation was not present or could not be apprehended quickly, any nearby individual suspected of association—regardless of specific charges—could be detained. Such individuals, once ensnared, often found themselves unable to contact lawyers or family, especially during the crucial first days of confinement. Children were not spared. In many cases, the agency separated minors from their guardians as a matter of administrative routine. The bureaucratic justification was always rooted in a desire to process individuals “efficiently.”

The Gestapo’s holding facilities were often overcrowded and chaotic, though the paperwork surrounding them was immaculate. Official reports described detainees as receiving necessary medical care and access to counsel, but accounts from within the system tell us a different story: untreated illnesses, psychological trauma, physical abuse, and in some cases, inexplicable hysterectomies performed without consent. Oversight was minimal. When violations did surface, they were buried beneath jurisdictional confusion or passed off as anomalies.

Beyond the physical realm, the Gestapo distinguished itself through the use of surveillance technologies. It created and maintained vast volumes of information on civilians, often contracting with private firms to develop and manage internal tracking systems. This allowed the agency to monitor targets across jurisdictions, compiling detailed profiles that could be used to justify future arrests or deny privileges. These systems extended to license plate tracking, spying on social interactions, and reading personal correspondence—all under the doctrine of preemptive threat mitigation.

The stated justification for these measures was always the same: national security, border integrity, and public safety. But the unspoken function was deterrence through fear. The presence of the agency—its unmarked vehicles, its quiet cooperation with local authorities, its ability to act without clear legal limits—was enough to instill obedience in much of the population. The rest were made examples.

And Now, The Truth

I have played fast and loose with you here, but beg your forgiveness. The truth is every single atrocity and tyrannical detail given above is from contemporary actions of our own Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

These methods, of course, were also hallmarks of the Gestapo—agents of a fascist regime who operated without constraint, who twisted legality into cruelty, and who made fear a tool of governance.

Replace “Gestapo” with “ICE,” and you will find no fiction—only a mirror. We have not escaped the machinery of repression. We have merely rebranded it.

What should shake us is not that such tactics once existed, but that they exist again. What should frighten the hell out of you is that I wrote this entire essay about ICE, then search-and-replaced with Gestapo and it made perfect sense*.

Every detail above—every raid, every separated child, every faceless detention and warrantless arrest—is not a relic of history, but a fact of current American policy.

This began years before Trump ever waddled into the White House and we sat idly by. Trump is now taking it to the next level, testing our resolve daily by pushing the limits. This is authoritarianism 101.

Resistance is never futile. Now, not tomorrow. You, not that other citizen. Get moving, make noise, stop ignoring what is clearly happening to our country.

History is not just repeating—it is escalating. The question is no longer whether this is tyranny. The question is whether you have the spine to defy it.

_{*The only edit I made to a contemporary activity was that ICE monitors both social media and personal emails. As it would have been anachronistic for the Gestapo to be involved with either, I changed the mention to “social interactions” and “personal correspondence.”}

Greg Gutfeld, that smug court jester of cable fascism, recently posed a question he thought was clever:

“Is there any dirtbag Democrats won’t defend?”

Let me answer that for you, Greg.

No.

While I am not a Democrat, I defend every dirtbag on earth if it means defending them from tyranny. If a Democrat wants to join me in that – or a member of any other political party- I welcome them.

I don’t support the “dirtbags” because I like them. Not because I necessarily agree with them. Not because they think like me. Not because their skin is a certain hue like mine or if they are or are not sporting a stupid red hat.

I stand by the “dirtbags” because due process is not a reward for good behavior. It’s a right. And rights don’t disappear just because you find someone disgusting.

This Isn’t About Dirtbags—It’s About Discipline

I’m not a Democrat. I’m not a Republican. I don’t play party politics games. I’m not interested in whatever middle-school food fight your party is staging this week to keep people stupid, scared, and sedated.

What I am interested in is the core principle that separates civilization from a mob with torches:

You don’t skip the trial just because you hate the defendant.

You don’t hang people solely in the court of public opinion and call it justice.

You don’t equate criticism of abuse of power with defense of a criminal. This is the lazy, stupid approach taken by people too weak to admit their bigotry and desire for vengeance over justice.

If someone is accused, they get due process.

A charge is made.

An investigation is conducted.

A trial is held.

A verdict is rendered.

That’s how it works—for saints, sinners, and yes, even dirtbags.

The Moment You Abandon That, You Are the Threat

If you start saying some people don’t deserve rights because of who they are, what they’ve done, or how hated they are, then congratulations:

You’re not defending the system. You’re dismantling it.

You’re not tough on crime. You’re soft on tyranny.

You’re not making America great. You’re making it unrecognizable.

Rights are not just for the innocent.

They’re especially for the accused.

Because once you decide someone isn’t worthy of process, all it takes is power and a lie to make anyone the next target.

What You Call “Defending Dirtbags,” I Call Having a Spine

If defending someone’s right to a fair trial means I get called soft, partisan, or “pro-dirtbag,” then so be it. I’d rather be called that by a TV clown than be complicit in burning down the pillars of justice just to score a political point.

So here’s your answer, Greg:

Yes, I’ll defend the dirtbag.

Yes, I’ll defend the bastard.

Yes, I’ll defend the loudmouth, the liar, the accused, the guilty-looking, and the absolutely rotten—because I refuse to let people like you decide who gets rights and who doesn’t.

I would even defend your rights you pathetic worm.

Due process is not optional. It’s not partisan. It’s not a privilege.

It’s not yours to revoke and it isn’t ours to grant. It is a guaranteed right for all persons, not just legal citizens*.

It is the line in the sand between freedom and fucking fascism.

Get it through your head.

_{*This is where the clever crowd likes to say “the Alien Enemies Act overrules the 5th Amendment, Brutus”. It doesn’t. Nothing overrules the Constitution or its amendments. The Alien Enemies Act allows detention or deportation based solely on nationality in wartime, without the need for a criminal charge or a trial. And it has never been sufficiently ruled on by the Supreme Court.
But we are not at war except in the ridiculous mental games played by Trump and his sycophantic minions.
And if the Alien Enemies Act is legal, lets pretend, and Abrego is a citizen of El Salvador (which is a favorite argument of the right) and we have a financial agreement with El Salvador to imprison people…how can we be at war with El Salvador? Only the demented minds of Trump and his sheep could somehow find that rational.}

It happens every time someone posts about injustice, corruption, or authoritarian overreach:

Some half-awake contrarian rolls into the comments and drops the laziest, most cowardly phrase in the modern playbook:

“Get a life.”

It’s the digital equivalent of a shrug and a smirk—designed to silence, to belittle, to imply that caring too much is the real problem. Not injustice. Not abuse of power. But you. For noticing. But us. For not silently watching the walls fall down around us.

So let’s break it down.

Why Do People Speak Out on Social Media?

Because it’s a primary public square now.

It’s where conversations happen.

It’s where elections are shaped, narratives are built, and silence is interpreted as consent.

When someone raises hell about policy, about fascism creeping in through the back front door, about lies becoming law, about hatred as a policy—they’re not doing it because they’re bored.

They’re doing it because they still believe participation matters. Because history has shown us what happens when people don’t speak up.

You don’t say “get a life” to someone ringing the fire alarm.

You say it to the people playing cards in the basement while the house burns down.

Apathy Is Not a Personality

If you think tuning out makes you cool, it doesn’t.

If your political ideology is “whatever,” you are not free—you’re just tranquilized.

And if your entire contribution to public discourse is calling people “obsessed” or “dramatic” for refusing to normalize authoritarianism, then you are part of the problem.

Indifference is the life blood of tyranny.

And in this climate, staying silent isn’t neutral—it’s permission.

Get a Life? This Is Life.

We post about politics because it decides whether someone can afford insulin.

We post because courts are being stacked, rights are being stripped, and leaders are behaving like kings with no consequences.

We post because some judges are trying to do their part as equals with the executive branch and being ignored with no ramifications.

We post because due process matters, due process is the most important right a person within the borders of this country has, regardless what you think of that person.

We post because if you don’t speak up now, you don’t get to play victim later.

So next time you want to type “get a life,” stop yourself. Ask instead: why does this person care? Why don’t I?

Because the world doesn’t need more spectators. It needs people who give enough of a good God damn to raise their voice—even if it’s just a post, a comment, a shout into the algorithm.

And if that makes you uncomfortable?

Good. That’s called waking up. Now get off your ass and do something.

Let’s be absolutely clear: what is happening in the Trump administration isn’t immigration policy—it’s a fucking clown show with jackboots.
On April 16, Trump administration once again doubled down on the deportation of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a man they claim is connected to MS-13. Not because they offered any evidence. Not because they followed any due process. But because they felt like it.
Because someone else with brown skin and a Spanish surname, committed a horrific crime—and that’s close enough for them.

This is not justice.
This is not national security.
This is the weaponization of racism at the federal level, with the full force of the government pointed at anyone who looks like they might not belong.

The Logic of Lunatics

Let’s walk through what they’re really saying here:

• A man in Maryland is deported.
• The administration is asked, “Why?”
• They have no actual evidence of gang affiliation.
• So they respond with: “Well, someone else with a similar background murdered a woman.”

That’s not justification. That’s a hate crime masquerading as a policy.
That’s guilt by proximity. Guilt by phenotype. Guilt by accent.

This isn’t even dog-whistle racism—it’s ignorant hatred by air horn.

The Casual Evil of Collective Blame

Here’s the thing: the crime they pointed to was horrific. Rachel Morin, was raped and murdered in August 2023 by a proven MS-13 member, Victor Antonio Martinez-Hernandez. He was tried and found guilty. The system worked the way it’s supposed to via due process—investigation, prosecution, conviction.

But instead of upholding the value of that due process, the Trump administration used that tragedy as a prop to justify deporting an entirely different person.
Not based on evidence.
Not based on crime.
Based on ethnicity. Based on national origin. Based on fear.

Imagine this:
A white man in Alabama commits a murder—so some white guy in Ohio gets arrested to “send a message.”
It would be a national scandal.
It would be unconstitutional.
It would be—**and this is the word we need to stop dancing around—fascism.

This Is Not Incompetence. It’s Intentional.

Don’t give this administration the benefit of the doubt. This isn’t just ignorance.
It’s strategy.

The Trump administration thrives on false equivalence and collective blame.
They aren’t interested in evidence.
They’re focus is on promoting fear.
They want you to look at your tattooed neighbor in a hoodie and wonder if he’s a criminal too.
They want you to believe that every immigrant is a criminal, every asylum seeker is a liar, every deportation is justice.

It’s racism, sanitized by bureaucracy, cheered by cowards, and spun by sycophants.

We Must Burn This Narrative to the Ground

This is the time to be unflinching.

Deporting a man without evidence is tyranny.
Justifying it with someone else’s crime is white nationalism in a cheap suit.
And pretending it’s anything less than that is complicity. Yes, you – if you defend this you are complicit in the ongoing attack on our freedoms.

We are not safer because of this.
We are not stronger because of this.
We are not better because of this.

We are just growing more and more accustomed to the sound of boots echoing through our broken system.

Remember those five words. I wonder how many of you can match the raw neurological power of our current president. Some of those words have multiple syllables, so concentrate folks.

The five words our beloved very stable genius, President Donald J. Trump, crushed with godlike precision in his latest Montreal Cognitive Assessment (MoCA) triumph were certainly different, but it doesn’t matter. Our Bigly King got a perfect score, again. A feat only achievable by the finest minds in history—or anyone who has ever successfully walked into a supermarket without drooling on themselves.

But let’s not diminish this achievement.

This is brilliance, folks. The real deal.

He looked at a lion, a rhino, and a camel—and named them all without hesitation. Not once did he say “Big Cat,” “Desert Horse,” or “Very Dangerous Elephant That’s Probably Chinese.” Nope. Drumpf just nailed it.

He Knew It Was Friday!

This isn’t your run-of-the-mill intelligence test.

This is serious business.

This is the kind of test where they ask challenging questions like:

• “What day is it?”
• “Where are you right now?”
• “Draw an analog clock showing 6:00”
• “Count backwards from 100 by sevens.”

And Trump didn’t just pass—he soared. He crushed it!

Sure, he had to put his Happy Meal aside long enough to remember what a clock looks like. And no doubt, he had to resist the urge to call the neurologist a “libtard” when asked to repeat those five words.

But he did it. He showed up and earned his lollipop.

He drew that clock. He remembered those words. He found the elephant.

Truly, this is what the founding fathers dreamed of when they envisioned a leader:

A man who knows what day of the week it is, can say 378 backwards and can tell the difference between a square and a circle.

A Cognitive Powerhouse

We should be grateful—blessed—to have a president who is not only capable of recognizing a cube and subtraction, but one who brags about it like he just solved unified field theory while juggling gold bars on a unicycle.

In Trump’s mind, this isn’t a basic screening for dementia.

It’s an IQ test, SAT, Mensa application, Nobel Peace Prize interview, and presidential fitness exam all rolled into one.

And he passed. With a perfect score! 30 out of 30, baby!

Because that’s what gifted people do.

They ace basic cognitive screenings and tweet about it like they cured cancer.

So Let’s Celebrate the Genius

Let’s raise a golden chalice filled with Diet Coke and toast the only man in history who thinks remembering simple words for less than 10 minutes, being able to tell time without those cool light-up numbers and not wandering into traffic is proof of a massive intellect.

Let’s thank him for reminding us that cognition is really, really hard to master.

And let’s now circle back to where we began.

Do you remember those five words?

Take a moment.

Say them out loud. Really savor them:

Person. Genius. Elephant. Dictator. Golf.

If you remembered all five, congratulations, you too might be qualified to run the country!*

_{*May require ignoring subpoenas, threatening judges, and bragging about identifying a bunny rabbit. No knowledge of basic economics and tariffs required.}

Let’s stop pretending.

Let’s stop picking sides like we’re at a high school football game and not standing waist-deep in a rotting democracy.

You don’t get points for rooting for the team that’s slightly less on fire.

You don’t win a trophy for choosing which narcissist gets to wear the crown while the empire collapses beneath him.

Biden was a husk and the Democratic Party is desperate to be cool again.. Trump is a hammer and the Republican Party no longer has policies, just populist ass kissing of their king. And both parties are dragging this country through the mud. No that’s not fair to mud- it washes off.

The Cult of Either-Or

You’re either for Trump or you were for Biden/Harris.

You’re either a red-hatted patriot or a blue-waving real American.

You either scream about Marxism or whisper about fascism.

And God forbid—God forbid—you pause long enough to admit the obvious:

Neither of these parties deserves your loyalty.

Not one damn inch of it.

Biden: The Lie of Stability

Let’s start with the Democrats belief that you can control a presidential campaign like a puppet show.

Joe Biden was not “the adult in the room.”

He was barely in the room at all.

While his party paraded him around like a Weekend-at-Bernie’s stand-in for dignity, the man was visibly, painfully, undeniably unwell. And they knew it. They knew. They hid it. They lied about it. They fed him scripts, skipped the questions, and photoshopped the truth out of sight.

That wasn’t leadership. It was political malpractice.

Covering up the mental decline of a sitting president isn’t just negligent—it’s despicable.

You don’t get a gold star for saying, “Well, at least he’s not Trump,” while the country gets run by a committee of aides, Autopens^TM and whispers.

Enter Kamala, Exit Strategy

Don’t get me wrong, Biden was absolutely never going to beat Donald Trump even before his doddering debate performance. The Democrats finally got Joe to see he couldn’t campaign anymore, but they were completely hamstrung. If Biden doesn’t endorse Harris, it shouts across the nation how little he thought of his VP. When he did endorse her, he did it with strings attached to everything she tried to do.

Harris had no platform other than she wasn’t Trump and parroted the Biden agenda.
That isn’t anywhere near enough to help a lame duck president turn over the campaign to a weak vice and expect anything but catastrophe.

Trump: The Cult of Retaliation

But let’s not pretend the current regime is offering anything sane.

Trump isn’t leading a movement and he didn’t have a mandate.

He’s building a fucking monarchy—dripping with vengeance, narcissism, and the delusional righteousness of a man who thinks obeying the law is for other people.

He has deported people with no due process and is proud of it. He has now openly threatened to exile American citizens he doesn’t like.

He’s defied court orders, mocked judges, and turned the Department of Justice into a joke punchline for his donors.

He acts tough and loves to ridicule his enemies but he cannot handle criticism without a hissy fit and a demand for boot licking.

The man engineered a stock market collapse, told people when it was time to buy, then pulled the recovery lever.

He is selling influence, trading favors with some of the worst people in the world, and stacking the deck for himself and his friends all while wrapping it in the flag and daring you to say something.

This isn’t politics. This is blatant self-enrichment. This is authoritarianism with a golf swing. This is a criminal and immoral executive branch and the legislative and judicial are not lagging far behind.

Two Frauds. One Nation. No Excuse.

So let’s say it plainly:

Biden is a doddering, hollowed-out lie of “normalcy.”

Kamala has a wild laugh without a clue how to relate to the very people she actually could have helped had she won.

Trump is a corrupt, deranged wannabe king with a grudge and a megaphone and googol eyes for dictators.

And if your only response is to scream “But what about the other guy!”

You. Are. The. Problem.

This isn’t about parties anymore. It’s about basic goddamn common sense.

Vote Like It’s Not a Game

You don’t vote for personalities. You vote for policies. You vote for integrity. You vote for people who don’t treat the country like a private portfolio or a hospice wing.

Stop choosing sides. Start choosing sanity. Start choosing your fellow citizens.

Because if we keep playing this stupid party game—if we keep shouting “them!” every time someone yells about “us”—then there will be nothing left to defend. The loss of our freedoms is imminent and most of you are just sitting on your asses hoping someone else does something “American.”

If we continue to think what our chosen masters tells us to think, what party mantra is the focus today, we are all going to be so docile and well-behaved sheep the fleecing will be trivial for them.

Vote for each other, not for the next set of bastards they tell you is the savior of your party.

Let us all take a moment—hats off, hand over heart—to thank President Donald J. Trump, our glorious deal-maker-in-chief, for once again saving us from the horrors of rational economic policy.

Today, in an act of pure genius that only a fourth-dimensional chessmaster like Trump could conjure, he heroically reversed course on all his disastrous tariffs… except for China, of course. Because we’ve gotta show China. That’s leadership, folks. That’s steel spine energy.

And don’t worry—it’s not a flip-flop. It’s a strategic 90-day ultra-patriotic freedom pause. You wouldn’t understand. You’re not a stable genius.

Tariffs Were Great, Until They Weren’t, But They Still Are

Let’s be honest: these tariffs were an unqualified success if your goal was to increase costs for Americans, strain supply chains, alienate allies, and make U.S. manufacturers cry into their shredded balance sheets. And now that they’ve done their job—namely, nothing—our president has wisely decided to roll them back.

Except for China. Because China.

We don’t negotiate with pandas.

And if you think this is some kind of admission that the tariffs were useless, self-defeating, and economically illiterate from the start, you clearly didn’t hear Press Secretary Tammy Twinkleblazer when she said Trump has “a spine of steel.” Steel, baby. Imported at a 25% markup thanks to—you guessed it—Trump’s own tariffs.

A Bold and Brave Retreat

This isn’t caving. This isn’t submission. This is tactical brilliance disguised as groveling failure.

When other leaders reverse policy, it’s called backpedaling. When Trump does it, it’s dominance.

You just don’t see the game he’s playing because you can’t think like our Genius in Chief. Your thoughts are all mucked up, like a red necktie clashing with an orange face.

He’s not abandoning tariffs. He’s domesticating them. He’s leading them into the sunset with a firm handshake and a non-disclosure agreement. He grabbed those tariffs by the…well, definitely by something.

And Don’t Forget the Penguins

But what truly sets this moment apart—what defines this administration’s profile in courage—is that never again will America be conned by those godless, scheming penguins. In an act of civil discretion, Trump didn’t name them directly, but we all know. We’ve seen March of the Penguins. We’ve seen Happy Feet. The signs were there all along.

No more cheap tuxedos, no more sliding around like they own the ice. America is done being manipulated by charismatic seabirds with foreign agendas. We’re putting America’s fish supply first.

Let this be a lesson to the puffins, too.

Hypocrisy is Heroism

So thank you, Mr. President. Thank you for rescuing American businesses by setting the economy on fire and then with sheer courage, stepping up and dousing the flames.

Thank you for teaching us that economic failure can be rebranded as “tough love.”

Many thanks for teaching all of those idiots who could not comprehend that negotiation is non-negotiation and consumer suffering is consumer relief.

Thank you for proving that you can be both shameless and celebrated, clueless and worshipped, utterly wrong and still somehow right—because nothing matters if you say it with enough volume and lapel flags.

You are our light in the darkness!

Our economic messiah!

Our very stable tariff genius!

And to those who think this all makes Trump look like a coward, a fraud, a conman, a flip-flopper, an empty suit stuffed with slogans, a walking contradiction in big boy pants, a grifter cosplaying as a patriot, a hollow demagogue in search of applause—well, they’re probably penguins.

History won’t be kind to the Biden administration—and not because of its policies or partisan squabbles, but because of the lie that sat grinning in the Oval Office while democracy staggered behind the curtain.

For years, we were told President Joe Biden was “fine.”

He was sharp. Functional. Engaged. “Better than the alternative.”

What we weren’t told—what we now know—was that he wasn’t running the country. He couldn’t.

And they knew.

They all knew.

The Silent Coup of Complacency

It’s now admitted. Whispered no longer. Joe Biden’s cognitive decline was not just present—it was active, visible, and dangerous. Not a slip. Not aging gracefully. A hollowing out of the most powerful office in the world while everyone in the room agreed to look the other way.

The question we should’ve been asking—“Who is actually running the government?”—was drowned out by think pieces, partisanship, and denial. Not because the answer was unclear, but because the answer was terrifying.

A democracy cannot function on a lie.

And yet, for how long did we live that way?

How long did Chief of Staff Ron Klain steer the ship? When Klain quietly stepped down in early 2023 many of us wondered if he had been running things for a long time.

How many decisions were signed by Biden’s name but not his hand?

How many national security briefings were watered down to flashcards and nods?

How many press conferences were canceled, scripts rewritten, optics managed, disasters deflected?

The Cost of the Cover-Up

This wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t compassion.

It was cowardice weaponized for political survival.

They robbed the American people of clarity. They fed us stability through silence. And in doing so, they gave us neither.

We didn’t elect a President. We inherited a Weekend at Bernie’s administration—with global consequences.

The Democrats told us not to ask questions.

The Republicans pretended to care while licking their chops for the chaos.

And the American people? They were given no transparency, no accountability, no damn truth.

No One Was Driving

This was not a glitch in democracy.

It was a controlled crash.

The White House became a shell. Power became a ghost..

And through it all, we watched the erosion of faith in the office, in the process, in the entire illusion of adult supervision.

Biden’s legacy will not be legislation. It will not be policy.

It will be the era of looking the other way while democracy sleepwalked toward the abyss.

It will be a presidential campaign led by a man who likely could not dress himself.

It will be the collapse of the Democrats and a loss of trust so severe an honest tyrant was able to win an election.

And what we’re left with now—post-presidency—is a bitter question echoing through history:

If no one was at the wheel…

why did we let the engine keep running?

And now, with power back in the hands of Trump, a man consumed by ego, grievance, and spectacle—what will we do if Donald Trump also begins, or continues, to mentally unravel?

Will we lie again? Look away again?

Will we once more let loyalty override truth—until the system breaks beneath another throne propped up by delusion?

Or will we finally admit:

The health of a democracy can’t survive the decay of its leaders—no matter what team they play for.

Reclaiming the Spirit of 1789 in our Modern American Struggle

There is a fire that once lit the hearts of men, a passion that shook the boulevards of 1789 France—not in the orgy of blood to come, but in the early cries for Liberty! Equality! Fraternity!

Before the guillotine blades fell on the innocent and the noble alike, before Jacobins trounced tyranny only to replace it with terror, there was a moment of honest and earnest defiance—a moment where an old world cracked, and the light of a new one shone through.

That moment matters.

That moment will always matter.

In that flicker of revolutionary dawn, we met men like the Marquis de Lafayette, who fought alongside George Washington and then tried to transplant the seeds of liberty in his own French soil.

We found Abbé Sieyès, who declared that the common people—le tiers état—were not only a part of the nation, but the very soul of it.

We heard the voices of the Parisian poor demanding bread, and the Enlightenment philosophers whispering through pamphlets quickly passed in the night, rebels shouting in debates in the hidden salons, and citizens displaying defiance through subversive theater and other arts.

It was not guillotines but ideas that first toppled the French monarchy.

The tragedy of the French Revolution is not that it was too radical—it’s that it lost the plot. Power, ever hungry, devoured the ideals many heroes once carried on their banners. But we must not throw the revolution out with the blood. We must not forget that before the Terror, there was a vision worth fighting for:

The end of absolute monarchy.

The dignity of every citizen.

A government bound to serve we the people—not an elite few.

The United States, in 2025, stands before its own Versailles. We are a nation ruled by spectacle, swollen with inequality, governed by oligarchs who cosplay as populists while consolidating power behind smoke and mirrors.

Our public squares are derided as Fake News with a soundtrack of applause for the avoidance of knowledge, not the attainment of it.

Our elections are reduced to a handful of battlegrounds and the weaponry is made of pure gold.

Our citizens—overworked, underpaid, and gaslit daily—are told they are free, while every institution around them quietly reminds them they are not.

It is here, in this sanity-starved present, that the spirit of 1789 must rise again.

Not with vengeance. Not with blood. Not with violent revolution.

But with discipline, clarity, active participation, and a defiance of anything tyrannical.

We must vote—not once every four years, but every single day.

We must vote with our labor.

We must vote with our wallet.

We must vote with our voices and our bodies in the streets.

We must vote by boycotting corporations that bankroll these despotic overlords.

We must vote and speak the truth in the rooms full of polite and evil liars.

We must vote by resisting silence, reminding each other freedom is not an inheritance but must continually be seized—through unity, not division.

Let the modern Lafayette wear no uniform but the armor of principle.

Let our Estates-General be forums of the people—public, messy, but real.

Let our Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen be written daily—online, in classrooms, in blogs, on stages, in art, and around every dinner table where someone dares to ask:

What kind of world do we deserve?

What kind of people are we?

The system will not reform itself. The tyrant—now a familiar face in a red tie—sits comfortably atop his throne while centuries of Constitutional precedent rot away, shoved into the basement. He is not surrounded by powdered wigs and courtiers, but by mealy mouthed ass kissers, dollar signs, and a nation numbed by all their noise.

Trump is not Louis XVI, but if we fail to pursue a wiser course, we, like our French brethren of yesteryear, may once again mistake collapse for justice.

We must not make the same mistakes of 1789 and revolt simply to destroy or the ideals we claim to fight for will die in the wreckage.

If we don’t choose a smarter, more principled way to topple authoritarianism, we risk repeating the same pattern of destructive overreaction—where a corrupt system falls not because it’s replaced with something better, but because it is destroyed in rage and vengeance and ultimately ends in chaos.

Let us not become Robespierre, cannibalizing our cause—turning our revolution inward and devouring it in the name of purity

Let us be Danton in passion and ideals, but unlike him not lose our soul in the whirlwinds of radicalism.

Let us be Condorcet in intellect—defiant in reason, unwilling to trade blood for justice or ignorance for peace—but wiser in knowing that when emotion and ideology gather force, reason alone is not enough.

Let us not seek to destroy, but seek to rebuild.

Let us storm not palaces, but narratives.

Let us topple not only monarchy, but apathy.

Let us sharpen not blades, but minds.

And when they ask us:

“Who dares to defy the crown?”

Let us answer together:

We all do. We all will. Every fucking day.