Because this week, you’ve served us a five-course meal of geopolitical chaos with a side of nuclear garnish.
Two submarines parked just shy of Russia’s doormat.
A convicted sex trafficker shipped off to Club Med.
New tariffs slapped around like flies at a backyard BBQ.
Job numbers buried faster than the messenger who dared report them.
A $200 million ballroom being built by a man who might host his next party in a jumpsuit with an inmate number.
And a press secretary praised for her lips like she’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
All in one week. And somehow, this still doesn’t feel like the season finale.
Let’s start with the quote of the century:
“It’s that face, it’s that brain, it’s those lips—the way they move.”
No, not fan fiction—Trump describing Karoline Leavitt, the woman tasked with speaking on behalf of the United States. She’s the national press secretary, not a contestant on The Bachelor: Post-Democracy Edition. And yet here we are, watching a former president ogle through a teleprompter like it’s prom night at Mar-a-Lago.
Meanwhile, Karoline is handing out historical hot takes like expired Halloween candy. Europe should be grateful to America, she says, because otherwise we’d all be goose-stepping through history class. Subtle.
Back to actual news:
Trump ordered two nuclear submarines to silently drift within sneezing distance of Russia.
Because if there’s one thing that cools global tensions, it’s hovering war machines with enough firepower to erase time zones. NATO’s checking its insurance policy. The Baltic states are stress-baking rye bread. And Putin’s probably Googling “can submarines be evicted?”
Then there was the Tariff Tsunami.
Trump slapped new tariffs on over seventy countries:
35% on Canada—for crimes against pancake syrup, apparently.
50% on Brazil, for existing in the Southern Hemisphere.
India, Taiwan, Iraq, Laos, Syria—you get a tariff! You get a tariff! Everyone gets a tariff!
The U.S. now has its highest average tariffs since the Great Depression, which also describes the mood among economists.
And when July’s job report came in underwhelming—only 73,000 new jobs—the White House fired the official who made the announcement. Because nothing says “economic confidence” like punishing your own fact-checker.
And then there’s Ghislaine Maxwell.
Convicted sex trafficker. Now moved to a low-security prison that looks more like a wellness retreat than a penitentiary.
She’s journaling. Doing yoga. Probably running a book club on “Healing Through Manipulation.”
Justice system? Nope. More like “Spa Day for the Damned.”
And then—just to gild the dystopian lily—Trump unveils his plan to build a $200 million ballroom.
Because what does a man with 91 indictments, 44 gag orders, and three open trials really need?
A venue with chandeliers so expensive they could testify against him.
It’s Versailles by way of criminal arraignment. He’s not just running for president—he’s staging a royal comeback tour with confetti cannons and felony charges.
But wait! There’s more!
Trump once again claimed he was the victim of the “most unfair election” ever—because reruns of conspiracy theories are apparently his favorite show.
He threatened to sue Twitter and social media platforms for “censorship” like it’s a sport—and courts are already exhausted from the rematch.
Hosted a rally that doubled as a flex session for his ego, with policy mentions so light they might as well have been invisible.
Threw serious shade at his own party members who dared question his grip on power—because loyalty tests are mandatory now.
And, the pièce de résistance, suggested he should be reinstated as president without another election. Democracy, reimagined by reality TV.
So, to summarize this fever dream:
Nuclear brinkmanship? ✔️
Tariffs like candy at a parade? ✔️
Lip-based hiring practices? ✔️
Fired the truth-teller? ✔️
Spa time for sex offenders? ✔️
Golden ballroom for the indicted? Naturally.
Conspiracy reruns? Check.
Social media lawsuits? Check.
Rally ego boosts? Check.
Loyalty purges? Check.
Demand to be president without votes? Absolutely.
And Karoline? She’s still up there smiling, lips moving, offering revisionist history with the confidence of a student who didn’t do the reading—but brought snacks.
Meanwhile, we’re over here watching this transatlantic soap opera unfold with a drink in hand, wondering if this is foreign policy or America’s Got Indictments.
So yes, America—merci, dank u, danke schön.
We’ll be over here in Brussels: brewing real beer, eating fries with mayo, and watching your democracy cosplay as a Vegas residency.
