Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Oh good — the circus has a new act. Donnie “Dumbass” didn’t just stumble back into his old gangster costume; he mailed the tux to the courthouse, handed the gavel a whoopee cushion, and instructed his lawyers to turn civil procedure into a holiday special. A federal judge ordered the administration to release full SNAP benefits for millions of Americans — and the White House promptly asked the higher courts to stop it. Translation: instead of fixing the problem, they’re filing appeals so they can keep the drama going. Delicious. 

Imagine the scene: a judge says “pay the benefits,” and the federal government responds like a temperamental nightclub owner whose bouncer just insulted his shoelaces — file an appeal, stall the payment, and watch people scramble. That’s not governance, that’s performance art where the props are hungry children and canceled prescriptions. The USDA even told states to undo any steps they’d taken to issue full benefits — because nothing screams competent leadership like a national memo ordering charity back into its box. Meanwhile, the administration asks the Supreme Court for a timeout so they can keep the tap trickling. If you wanted a live demonstration of “how to ruin a holiday,” this is the hands-on lab. 

And yes, let’s make it personal and petty: picture Donald on the phone, voice cracking with indignation, “Those are nice kids you’ve got there — shame if anything happened to their Thanksgiving.” Only it’s not some movie threat; it’s real-time policy theater. The states sued, attorneys general filed briefs, and courts ordered money released — and the administration answered by suing the court’s effect (through appeals) so families might literally go without their November benefits. It’s a Thanksgiving special entitled We’ll Appeal That Turkey Right Off Your Table. If cruelty had a PR campaign, this would be its billboard. 

Let’s be blunt: it’s not a budget debate. It’s ransom dressed up as “fiscal responsibility.” The script is the same: hold essential services hostage, demand more tax cuts for the comfortable, and call anyone who objects a nation-wrecking hysteric. The arithmetic is simple — stall the payments for tens of millions, make a spectacle of the court fights, then declare victory when the wealthy get their buffed tax cuts and the rest of the country gets lecture notes on austerity. If you want to know who counts in this ledger, follow the mailbox: palatial estates collect checks; pantry shelves collect dust. 

So go ahead, file the appeals, send the briefs, and let law clerks stay up late drafting polite ways to say “we paused hunger.” Call it judicial review or executive prerogative if you must — but the fallout is plain as gravy on mashed potatoes: families missing meals, SNAP cards with less and less, and a nation watching a president litigate Thanksgiving into scarcity. The satire writes itself: a would-be mob boss in a suit of statecraft, suing the very judge who told him to stop playing with people’s lives — because why fix hunger when you can headline it? Keep your receipts. Keep your anger. And for God’s sake, keep the cranberry sauce out of reach of the people running this show — they clearly prefer the taste of headlines to the taste of humility.