Greetings once again from the dusty perch of Martian reason, where we observe Earth with all the bemused detachment of a lifeform watching a flaming satellite crash into a vat of custard. This week on Planet America: the President is given a food-based nickname, Elon shows off his bruises, ships are renamed by the intolerant, and Trump’s mobile lock screen gives us all a full-body cringe. Strap in – or don’t. Like most Earth legislation these days, this one’s going off the rails regardless.
President TACO: now with extra flip-flop filling
Let’s begin with the latest nickname to grace your political circus. No, it’s not another high school insult from Ron DeSanctimonious – it’s Trump himself, now known as President TACO – Trump Always Chickens Out.
This culinary codename comes courtesy of his repeated about-faces on tariffs. One minute he’s slapping them on, the next he’s quietly withdrawing them with the delicacy of a man trying to reverse a fart in church. Our business sector now keeps a dedicated intern just to track whether tariffs are currently ‘in’ or ‘out,’ much like one might follow the changing status of a tempestuous relationship on Facebook. If leadership were a dish, Trump’s would be a lukewarm taco: structurally unsound, mysteriously soggy, and liable to collapse under minimal pressure. We Martians are now beginning to suspect that Trump’s complexion isn’t courtesy of fake tan at all – but rather a light dusting of taco seasoning.
The gold flying palace: not quite gifted, more…grovelled for
This week also saw revelations regarding Trump’s £300 million ‘gift’ from Qatar – the gilded flying fortress he previously described as being ‘too big’ (compensatory issues, perhaps?). Turns out, it wasn’t a gift at all. Reports now suggest he practically begged for it – like a toddler whining for a Happy Meal, but with more national embarrassment and fewer nutritional benefits.
The plane in question looks like a gold-plated tribute to fragile masculinity, designed by someone who thought Liberace and the Death Star should collaborate. It presumably comes with throne-like seating, a Trump family crest stitched into the seatbelts, and, we assume, a bin full of broken campaign promises in the overhead locker.
Clone Wars: Biden, bots and bonkers executive orders
This week on Trump’s Truth Social Twilight Zone, the Orange Oracle shared a conspiracy theory so gloriously deranged it may require its own tinfoil subscription service. According to the latest MAGA folklore, Joe Biden was secretly assassinated in 2020 and replaced by a robotic clone – presumably programmed with mid-century grandad energy and a passion for ice cream.
And what’s the smoking gun, you ask? An autopen. Yes, the theory hinges on the fact that Biden occasionally used an autopen – a perfectly legal, long-established device used by presidents of all parties, including Trump himself. It’s standard practice, not the stuff of science fiction. But when you’re fuelled by Fox segments and AI memes, even a biro with a motor can look like Skynet.
Naturally, Trump has now signed an executive order demanding a full investigation into Biden and his aides to determine whether the White House was being run by a cyborg cabal. Because of course he has. Never mind the economy, climate change, or real national security concerns – America must get to the bottom of this entirely imaginary robo-rebellion.
We Martians do appreciate a good clone – our last Queen was vat-grown from algae and sass – but even we draw the line at autopen hysteria. For the record, we Martians confirm Biden is entirely organic.
Kid Rock, meet Bob – Trump’s idea of affection
Whilst rambling on Truth Social, Trump revealed his pet name for his favourite performer: Kid Rock, that living tribute act to a barbecue accident. Apparently, Trump calls him ‘Bob.’ Now, Kid Rock’s real name is Robert, so calling him Bob is about as original as calling someone named Samuel, Sam – he’s a very stable genius, bigly. From our vantage point, it felt less ‘affectionate shorthand’ and more ‘your gran trying to get down with the kids by calling Snoop Dogg ‘Mr Dogg’.’
This whole thing is very reminiscent of school children adding a ‘y’ to the end of each other’s names and thinking they’ve created a whole new nickname. Which then got me singing the latest drinking song on Mars:
Donny and Musky, sitting in the house,
One eats Big Macs, one trips out.
One loves rockets, one loves Vlad,
Both say stuff that sounds real mad.
Used to text and swap fake news,
Now they’re trading petty views.
Ego clash, the bromance dies -
Lost in space and Russian ties.
WhiskeyLeaks Hegseth and the USS Moral Regression
Elsewhere, Pete Hegseth – best known for his role in leaking classified documents after one bourbon too many – has decided the US Navy is far too inclusive. His latest crusade? Ordering the USNS Harvey Milk renamed. Because nothing says “freedom” like erasing a decorated gay rights hero from your naval registry.
But Hegseth isn’t stopping there. Also rumoured for the chopping block are the USNS Harriet Tubman and the USNS Ruth Bader Ginsburg – two vessels named after women who spent their lives fighting for liberty, justice, and basic human dignity. Clearly, these are now considered ‘controversial’ traits in the modern Republican playbook.
We Martians are increasingly convinced that Earth’s new foreign policy is simply to out-petty each other until the oceans boil with despair.
Musked and confused: Elon’s technicolour campaign trail
In news that surprised absolutely no one with a functioning frontal lobe, it’s been revealed that Elon Musk was reportedly high on a chemical cocktail of ketamine, ecstasy, and psychedelic mushrooms while both campaigning with and advising Donald Trump. Yes, the same man entrusted with rocket science, social media platforms, and the occasional geopolitical tantrum was apparently tripping his alloy boots off during key political engagements.
Frankly, we Martians assumed this already. Between his erratic tweets and the Mars colonisation plans that read like rejected Rick and Morty scripts, the only real bombshell is that it took this long for the truth to surface.
It does raise questions, though – like how many mushrooms does it take to hallucinate that Trump is a stable genius, or that X is a functioning app? More than we can grow on Phobos, apparently.
But fear not, Earth. Your future is in the hands of a man whose campaign strategy seems to involve microdosing and macro-disasters.
Trump’s Lock Screen: Narcissus 2.0
An image this week revealed the lock screen on Trump’s phone is – surprise! – a picture of himself. Not Melania, not Barron, not the flag – just Trump. Looking wistful. Possibly constipated.
Now, we’re no strangers to self-regard here on Mars – we have a statue of our founding queen that’s visible from space and occasionally gives advice – but even we find this level of narcissism a touch extreme. When your phone thinks you’re calling yourself, it might be time for a self-awareness update.
Musk’s black eye and the Miller theory
Meanwhile, Elon Musk appeared at the White House with a spectacular black eye, which he claimed was the result of asking one of his children to punch him. Charming. Father of the Year, clearly.
However, insiders have another theory: that Stephen Miller – the White House’s resident Nosferatu impersonator – may have delivered the blow himself, following revelations that his wife has abandoned politics to join Musk’s business ventures. We can neither confirm nor deny this. We will, however, point out that the bruise did bear a suspicious resemblance to the outline of a Constitution rolled up and wielded in fury.
Disaster Relief gets a disaster of a Boss
In the latest episode of Trump’s Mismanagement Bingo, the newly appointed head of US Disaster Relief reportedly revealed during a staff briefing that he was unaware America has a hurricane season. Yes, really – the man in charge of preparing for national emergencies seemed surprised to learn that enormous storms regularly slam into the country with all the subtlety of a flying Florida roof tile.
The Department of Homeland Security has since downplayed the comment, claiming he was “just joking.” Of course – because nothing says confidence-inspiring leadership like cracking jokes about your ignorance in front of the very people tasked with preventing mass devastation.
This is the bureaucratic equivalent of hiring someone to run NASA who thinks the moon is made of cheese. Or worse – knows it isn’t, but reckons it’d make a great campaign slogan.
Portrait of a creepy Uncle: White House edition
Trump has reportedly replaced his official White House portrait, claiming he wanted it to look “less menacing.” Job… not done. He’s gone from menacing serial killer to menacing uncle who runs a fake fireworks stand and insists on hugging everyone.
The new portrait features softer lighting, less scowl, and an attempt at a smile, as though he’s about to record a sultry album of political love ballads. ‘Make America Dreamy Again,’ perhaps?
The travel ban rises again: tourism falls faster
Finally, Trump has reimposed a ban on travellers from 12 countries, mostly brown-skinned ones, naturally. This despite the fact that tourism to the United States is already tanking harder than a cryptocurrency backed by vibes.
From our perspective, it’s self-defeating. Why ban visitors when most of them already don’t want to come? It’s like locking your fridge to protect it from a celery thief – irrelevant and mildly tragic. We Martians are anticipating Trump renaming the USA to the United States of Do Not Travel Here. Really at this point the Statue of Liberty should consider flipping her torch upside down in protest.
Final transmission: All TACO, no substance
So ends another week on the ever-tilting axis of Earth’s absurdity. President TACO wavers on tariffs, shares conspiracy memes, and continues to conduct diplomacy like a man speed-running SimCity with the lights off. Meanwhile, billionaires get punched, heroes are erased from ships, and disaster planners Google ‘what is a hurricane?’
We Martians are watching, bemused, baffled, and increasingly convinced Earthlings should stop naming things after ideals they have no intention of upholding.
Until next week: stay grounded – and keep your tacos structurally sound.
– Xylb’tok out.
