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Over a decade ago, I remember hearing that Donald Trump was running for president
and genuinely thinking the internet had made it up.
Not because I believed in the integrity of American politics,
but because the whole thing sounded too on-the-nose.
Like satire written by someone with no subtlety.
Last night I learned the White House wants to host a UFC fight
to celebrate 250 years of freedom.
Freedom apparently meaning:
blood under stadium lights,
sponsored patriotism,
pay-per-view nationalism.
Somewhere in Washington they are designing a golden ballroom
while elementary school teachers rehearse barricading classroom doors with children.
The irony is lost on every adult
who jumps at loud noises in movie theaters
but votes against gun control
then tells six-year-olds to hide under desks
like the bullet might become confused and leave politely.
Now there is talk of a “golden dome,”
which sounds less like policy
and more like something predicted on “The Simpsons”
right before the episode ends with the town on fire.
I think the strangest part of living here
is how quickly absurdity becomes décor.
How fast we adjust to chaos.
How a reality television host becoming president
went from punchline
to historical event
to background noise.
The whole world laughs at us,
and sometimes I laugh too,
because the alternative feels biologically impossible.
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