Dwain Northey (Gen X)

The metaphors for the insanity of this current administration don’t just appear — they flood us, wave after wave, as if reality itself has become a grotesque satire that refuses to end. Each new act, each image, each tone-deaf gesture feels like a scene from a political horror-comedy that the country never agreed to star in.

Take, for instance, the swearing-in of a known racist on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday — an event so brazenly perverse it’s as if they were daring the universe to blink. It’s not subtle symbolism; it’s an act of open mockery. To commemorate the life of a man who died fighting for equality by elevating someone who rejects that legacy is not irony — it’s intentional cruelty dressed in ceremony.

Then comes the government shutdown, now so routine it’s practically become a seasonal event. But this one is special — because while the nation holds its breath, the administration feasts. Federal workers go unpaid, children lose access to food assistance, and yet the chandeliers of the White House still gleam over banquet tables groaning with excess. It’s governance as spectacle, empathy replaced by self-indulgence, and starvation repackaged as “tough fiscal choices.”

And yes, literally tearing down the East Wing — because nothing says “stability and leadership” quite like the sitting president turning part of the White House into his own demolition site. It’s hard to find a clearer metaphor for this presidency: the destruction of long-standing institutions, history itself reduced to rubble under the banner of ego and chaos. Every hammer swing is a policy statement: if it existed before me, it must be destroyed.

Meanwhile, their propaganda machine runs on full throttle. The ads proclaim, “We’re rounding up criminals,” while the footage and the reality tell a darker story — mothers torn from their children, teachers dragged from daycare centers in front of screaming toddlers, entire communities terrorized under the guise of “law and order.” The contrast between the words and the images couldn’t be starker. The cruelty isn’t hidden; it’s broadcast, sold as patriotism, and packaged in red, white, and blue.

And yet, even as the country crumbles under the weight of this farce, there’s a glimmer of poetic justice in the constitutional truth that’s now been laid down: in 2028, we will not be running against Donald “The Menace” Destructo Trump. Legally, politically, or morally — his time as an actual candidate has expired. But make no mistake: his shadow remains. He is the face of the GOP, the beating heart of Trump Republicanism, and his legacy infects every campaign ad, every speech, every policy proposal they put forward.

The tragicomedy writes itself now. The Republicans don’t even need scriptwriters — their hypocrisy, their cruelty, their unhinged devotion to a man who stands idly by as chaos unfolds around him does all the work. That image of Trump in the Oval Office, blank-faced and frozen as someone collapses nearby, isn’t just a photo — it’s a symbol. The world burns, the people suffer, and the supposed leader stands there, empty, waiting for applause that will never come.

This administration has become its own metaphor — one of destruction, delusion, and deliberate cruelty. Every act, every lie, every photo-op is a reminder that this isn’t leadership. It’s performance art for the morally bankrupt, and the rest of us are trapped in the audience, waiting for the curtain to finally fall.