Dwain Northey (Gen X)

If you ever wondered what happens when you hand the nuclear codes and a Sharpie to a man who thinks “scale” is just something lizards use to shed their skin, look no further than Donald Trump’s sudden geopolitical romance with Venezuela. It’s like watching two people play the board game Risk without realizing the board isn’t to scale—and one of them is actively drawing new territories with a magic marker.

Apparently, Trump and Pete Hegseth have discovered a new Venezuela—one that is mysteriously only a few nautical skips from Miami. Yes, in their alternate universe, the northern coast of South America must have done a dramatic plate-tectonic shimmy right up toward Florida. Who knew continental drift could be accelerated by Fox News segments and sheer presidential willpower?

Because in our universe—the boring, reality-based one—Venezuela sits a couple thousand miles from the U.S. coastline. You know, the kind of distance only achievable by a plane, a ship, or perhaps a trained dolphin wearing a jetpack. But in Trumpworld? A cartel speedboat apparently goes full Marvel Cinematic Universe, skimming thousands of miles nonstop like it’s powered by Tony Stark’s arc reactor.

But of course, maps—real maps—have never been Trump’s strong suit. This is the same man who, when confronted with a hurricane forecast he didn’t like, simply improved it with a Sharpie. Meteorology by Crayola. Geography by Crayola. National security by Crayola. Truly a renaissance man.

So naturally, Trump and Hegseth have now Sharpie-adjusted the Caribbean Sea itself. Presto! Venezuela is now basically offshore of Tampa. If they could draw a dotted line from Caracas to Miami like a treasure map, they absolutely would. “X marks the fentanyl that doesn’t exist!”

Because let’s take a moment to appreciate the pièce de résistance of this whole panic: not one ounce, not one pill, not one grain of fentanyl comes from Venezuela. Zero. Zilch. Nada. But don’t let facts ruin a perfectly good fear-mongering narrative. No, sir. Because according to Trump’s press secretary, the former president has bravely saved “300 million” Americans from fentanyl deaths.

Which is quite a miracle, considering the actual population of the United States is about 340 million. By their math, virtually every person in the country has been personally dragged back from the brink at least once.

But who cares? What matters is that Trump’s imaginary Venezuela—now positioned somewhere between Cuba and Disney World—is apparently mounting a fentanyl invasion with imaginary drugs on imaginary boats from an imaginary distance to kill imaginary populations.

It’s like watching a toddler play army with plastic dinosaurs while insisting the dinosaurs are “very real” and “very dangerous” and “nobody knows more about dinosaurs than I do.”

And in the end, that’s what makes this the biggest, dumbest game of Risk ever played. Except in Risk, players at least look at the board before declaring war.

Trump just redraws it with a Sharpie and calls it strategy.