Dwain Northey (Gen X)

If delusion were an Olympic sport, Donald John Trump wouldn’t just win gold—he’d declare himself the inventor of the Olympics, claim a 92% approval rating among ancient Greeks, and insist that Zeus himself endorsed his candidacy. Because when you’re the self-declared greatest president in the history of ever, facts, history, and basic reality are just optional accessories… like reading briefings or respecting the Constitution.

Let’s begin with the 92% approval rating—an absolutely spectacular number pulled straight from the Mar-a-Lago Statistical Institute (which operates out of the golf cart parked closest to the snack bar). Never mind that no reputable poll shows anything remotely close to this; in Trump’s world, the entirety of America—minus the “traitors,” “losers,” “piggy” journalists, and anyone who can read above a 4th-grade level—adores him. And why wouldn’t they? After all, he’s convinced himself that if he ran head-to-head against George Washington or Abraham Lincoln, he would crush them. Not just beat them—humiliate them. George Washington? “Overrated. Poor branding. Bad posture.” Abraham Lincoln? “Low energy. Weak on projection. Terrible hat.”

Of course, while he’s busy rewriting presidential history, he’s also hosting murder-defense club meetings in the Oval Office, defending Mohammed Solomon—an accomplice in the killing of a journalist—as though it’s just another day of “protecting very fine people.” When asked about this by the press (the press! the audacity!), Trump reacts with all the grace of a cat thrown into a bathtub. Suddenly everyone becomes “fake,” “enemy of the people,” or just a convenient target for one of his preschool-level nicknames. Because nothing screams strength like screaming at reporters for doing their jobs.

Naturally, the meltdown doesn’t end in the Oval Office; no, it continues on Truth Social, his personal digital bouncy castle of rage. There, he threatens members of his own government for posting the unforgivable sin of reminding the military that they swear an oath to the Constitution—not to the guy angrily mashing his phone in Palm Beach. To Trump, this is treason. High treason. Death-penalty treason. Because in his mind, the president is not just commander-in-chief—he’s the sun, the moon, and the Mar-a-Lago resort gift shop.

It doesn’t matter that the military is literally required to reject unlawful orders; if they don’t goose-step behind Trump’s every whim, they’re disloyal. And disloyalty against Trump is disloyalty against America because, in his mind, he is America. Not metaphorically—literally. Forget “government of the people.” Trump’s vision is “government of the Trump, by the Trump, for the Trump,” preferably with a crown, an orb, and a new holiday: Donaldmas.

But fear not—he assures us all this is for our own good. After all, what’s a little authoritarian fantasy between friends? Just because he talks like a wannabe king, acts like a wannabe king, and demands the deference of a wannabe king does not mean he wants to be a king—no, no, perish the thought. He just wants absolute loyalty, zero accountability, total immunity, and the power to punish anyone who questions him. A perfectly normal American request.

So here we are, watching the Megalomaniac-in-Chief cosplay monarchy in a country literally founded to avoid having one. And somehow, he thinks he’s the sane one.

God bless America. It needs it.