Q Report; World War Trump
I woke up to the sound of the world dry-heaving. We all knew it was coming, just not when.
That’s the noise now. Not sirens, not bombs, just the low, omnipresent gag reflex of a planet that keeps being force-fed Donald Trump like foie gras geese. Every morning it’s another headline that makes The Onion irrelevant. Another “unprecedented” event. Another “stunning revelation.” Another chorus of idiots explaining why this time it’s actually the crisis of our age. For reals, this time.
Yesterday it was whispers and headlines and jittery anchors talking about sovereign borders like they’re suggestions, about heads of state like they’re personalities, about American power like it’s a prank reality show that forgot the cameras weren't rolling. Kidnapping, extradition, justice, pick your preferred euphemism. The word “law” is dragged out back and beaten with a hose either way. And somewhere Donald Trump is smiling like a toddler as Steven Miller changes another massive diaper (the most adult thing about them).
This is what World War Trump looks like. Not mushroom clouds. Not tanks rolling into Times Square. It looks like this, a forced reality show so stupid it destabilizes the nervous system. A constant drip of authoritarian improv, where each move is less about strategy than revenge, and far less about outcomes than applause at gun point. It’s foreign policy as stand-up performed for the dumbest people in history so far.
Let me be clear, because I’m done pretending confusion is innocence: Trump is not the disease, he is a symptom that learned to monetize. The real infection is staff. The enablers. The supporters. The apologists. The grinning, nodding, boot-licking chorus of elected officials, donors, media goblins, and high-dollar ghouls who saw the fire start and rather than intervene decided to sell marshmallows.
People should know better. That’s the sin. The useful idiots at the bottom at least have the excuse of being functionally illiterate. But the ones in suits? The ones who use words like “norms” and “frameworks” and “law and order” while spraying gasoline onto the fire? They are not mistaken, they are complicit. They are allowing a man to treat the world like a Risk board he’s already flipped several times, and instead of stopping him, they’re getting him a Diet Coke and a nap. Would Donnie like some undeserved groveling praise before bed?
Trump doesn’t need ideology. He doesn’t need consistency. He doesn’t even need reality. He needs permission, and he gets it by taking it without asking. Thus every time one of these enablers goes on TV to say “well, let’s wait for the facts” while the facts are actively screaming, that permission slip gets signed in blood-colored imperial ink.
This is how collapse becomes terminal. Not through fear, but through normalizing. Through the sense that nothing is strange anymore. That laws are jokes, borders are one way, and order is whatever the orange man with the microphone says it is today. Markets twitch. Allies sweat. Strongmen everywhere take notes. The message is simple and devastating: if America does it with a shrug, why shouldn’t we?
Trump supporters clap like trained seals on red herring day, braying about strength, about winning, about how scared everyone else must be. They mistake terror for respect the way a mugger mistakes silence for admiration. They don’t understand that the world isn’t impressed, it’s alarmed. The adults in the room aren’t nodding along; they’re quietly moving their children towards the door.
What kills me, what really drives the knife in, is how avoidable this all is. How predictable. Of course he escalates. Of course he frames chaos as genius. Of course he profits. Of course the media packages it like a sporting event with odds and chyrons. Of course his supporters treat it like lore, another collectible story in the MAGA Saga. They don’t care what it does to global stability, to refugees, to people whose lives get crushed under the treads of “bold action.” They care that their guy looks big on the screen. It isn’t leadership, it’s a hostage situation where the negotiator is on vacation. Just keep giving him everything he wants and eventually he'll stop asking for things.
World War Trump doesn’t require competence. That’s the most dangerous part. It runs on impulse, grievance, and applause. It doesn’t march forward; it stumbles. It doesn’t conquer; it destabilizes. It turns every problem into a spectacle and every solution into a revenue stream. It is the permanent war of ego without any signs of consequence.
When it finally collapses (and it will) it won’t be Trump standing in the rubble pretending he never knew any of this would happen. It will be the enablers scrambling to launder their legacy, insisting they were just playing along, that they thought the guardrails would hold, that no one could have predicted the thing everyone predicted.
I see you. We see you. All of you. The cowards, the climbers, the parasites, the true believers with dollar signs in your eyes. History will not be confused about you. It never is. History will abide and you won’t get to hide behind stupidity after you cashed the checks.
The law may fracture, borders may fail, institutions may bend, but consequence has a longer memory than power. I’ve seen the future. It isn’t glorious. It’s exhausted. But at least it's finished pretending this is normal.
Q
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