Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Literally What’s Next: The White House, Now Featuring a Ballroom (Because Why Not)

Well, it finally happened. Someone, somewhere, summoned the civic energy to say, “Hey—can you do that?” and filed a lawsuit over Dear Leader’s latest home-improvement project: the construction of a ballroom at the White House. You know, the people’s house. The symbolic seat of democracy. The place that’s not supposed to double as a Vegas wedding venue.

And for a brief, shining moment, it looked like reality might tap the brakes.

But silly us.

Within minutes—possibly seconds—the lawsuit was legally cock-blocked by the administration itself, which essentially argued: No one has standing to stop the president from doing whatever he wants to the White House. Translation: this is my house now, and I will knock down walls if I want to.

Standing? Oh, you mean the American people standing there going, “What the hell are you doing?” Sorry, apparently that doesn’t count.

Because here’s the new doctrine, apparently: unless you personally tripped over a pile of imported marble, suffered emotional distress from excessive gold leaf, or were crushed under a chandelier engraved with Dear Leader’s name, you have no legal right to object. Democracy, it turns out, is not a stakeholder.

The argument goes something like this:

The White House belongs to the executive branch while he’s inside it. And since the executive branch is him, and he is very rich (just ask him), and rich people understand buildings better than laws, then oversight is unnecessary. Congress? Historic preservation boards? Ethics committees? Please. Those are for renters.

The rest of us, meanwhile, were apparently confused. We thought the White House was a public trust—maintained on behalf of the nation, preserved across administrations, protected from exactly this kind of ego-driven renovation spree. But no. Rookie mistake. It’s more like a timeshare, except one guy got the penthouse and decided to knock out the Lincoln Bedroom to install a dance floor.

And the ballroom itself—chef’s kiss. Because nothing says “constitutional republic” like a massive hall designed for self-congratulation, donor galas, and speeches about how persecuted you are while standing beneath a crystal chandelier the size of Delaware.

The best part is the precedent. If there’s no standing to sue over this, what’s next?

A rooftop helipad shaped like his initials?

Mount Rushmore, but indoors?

A go-kart track through the East Wing called Freedom Speedway?

Rename it the Executive Estate, because “White House” sounds too… shared?

And when someone inevitably asks, “Shouldn’t Congress approve this?” the answer will be the same soothing authoritarian lullaby: No one has standing.

Not historians.

Not preservationists.

Not taxpayers.

Not the people.

Because in this worldview, the presidency isn’t a temporary stewardship—it’s a personal Airbnb with unlimited remodeling privileges. The Constitution is just a welcome mat, and oversight is something that happens to other people.

So yes, someone tried. Someone filed the lawsuit. Someone raised their hand and said, “This feels wrong.”

And the administration responded with the clearest mission statement yet:

This isn’t the people’s house. It’s his house. You’re just watching the renovations.

Literally what’s next? At this point, don’t ask—apparently you don’t have standing.