Back in May 2017—ah, the wild early days of the Trump administration—I found myself pounding the keyboard, filled with that urgent conviction, that jittery sense of “something’s gotta give.” I trotted out the big guns of constitutional crisis, yammering about the 25th Amendment like it was the magic spell that’d fix this wacky chaos. Spoiler alert: It didn’t pan out like that. Turns out, chaos was sort of Trump’s brand, and to our collective surprise (or horror, take your pick), things kinda chugged along. Stable enough, I guess? The economy didn’t implode; foreign policies weren’t all train wrecks. Heck, some folks were so charmed they looked back with a tinge of longing in the Biden days. Who saw that coming?
This Trump saga’s been a rollercoaster, a test of patience, a warning to never assume an end before it’s here. Every time you think the train’s derailed, it’s more like a rollercoaster doing another loop-de-loop without letting us off.
So here’s me, next round, trying to learn a lesson in slow-pour panic. I swear, no more flinging around disaster sermons in his return gig—not in the first act, anyway.
But holy moly, this week nearly shattered my calm. If you stack up calamities, none of Trump 1.0’s shenanigans seem as spicy as his colossal trade debacle. We’re talking seriously risky business — dance-with-recession, maybe lose-our-global-seat kinda stuff. Even with the tariff truce, the vibe out here’s economic uncertainty times ten. And Trump’s vibe? Riding those economy-high-waves, and this feels like… well, a tidal wave, but not the fun kind with surfboards.
My December musings, ya know, hoping for some magical matrimony between Trump’s crowd-pleaser antics and Musk’s techno-fairy tales, were a swing and miss. Instead of harmonious chaos, we got trade wars and government gut-jobs, a recipe for the unhappiest sorta synergy.
The Trump show seems hellbent on alienating everyone that’s not waving a MAGA flag. Deportation ops go hardcore, snubbing NATO with sneers, dabbling in absurdities like Greenland grabs… Not cool, guys. And lopping off science and humanitarian bread on top of that? It’s like eating icing-less cake. Dry and unsatisfying.
Despite Trump’s Houdini-like survival skills, this feels like a nasty plot arc. He’s got flatterers high-fiving his every move, cocooned in his own mythos of Great Historical Dude (not all of which have happy stories to tell, by the way). Anyway, tiny windows open when you least expect ’em. Reevaluation moments, where all could U-turn with the right steering.
Recession? Not here yet. Unpopular? Trump’s not drowning yet. So change his path before it’s all chaos and pitchforks.
Sure, slap tariffs, but ease up on the Liberation Day fever dream. Deport if you must, but keep decency and the Supremes in mind. Slash bureaucracy with purpose, not just for dramatic, headline-grabbing fun. And yes, sir-loving yes-men aren’t all bad—as long as one or two can whisper “maybe cool it” now and again.
Shoot for Greenland all you like; just put the invasion plans away.
Trump’s had this knack for pounding through the storm by the skin of his teeth, driven by a freaky-solid survival instinct. If he’s got an inkling of that left, now’s the time to use it. Remember, fickle fortune might still favor you… for now, but nemesis is always lurking, waiting for her turn at bat.
