Greetings, Earthlings. It is I, Xylb’tok, your ever-observant Martian correspondent, reporting once more from the lofty, dust-swirled heights of Olympus Mons. The Lunar Haggis are currently attempting to construct a commemorative arch in honour of themselves. It is approximately three inches tall, made entirely of Tunnocks biscuit fragments, and has already collapsed twice (nothing to do with being partially eaten by a hungry haggis). We mention this only because it remains marginally more structurally sound than some of your recent proposals.
Week 61 has been one of spectacle. Grand designs, divine comparisons and geopolitical manoeuvres that appear to have been drafted on the back of a napkin during a particularly chaotic lunch.
Let us begin.
The arch of overcompensation
Donald Trump – Agent Orange and Grand Architect of Himself – has unveiled plans for a 250ft triumphant arch.
Yes, Earthlings. An arch.
It is, we are told, large. It is, unsurprisingly, adorned with gold. And it is, no doubt inevitably, to be named after him – after all it is already being dubbed “Arc de Trump”.
From Mars, we understand monuments. We have statues, pillars, commemorative rock formations and one regrettable obelisk dedicated to a particularly loud philosopher. But even by our standards, this feels… excessive.
Triumphal arches, historically, are built to commemorate victory. Military success. National achievement. Moments of collective significance. Despite claims to the contrary, this one appears to commemorate… branding.
There is something almost admirable in the consistency. If a surface exists, it can be gilded. If a structure stands, it can bear a name. If a name is required, it will be his.
The Lunar Haggis briefly proposed naming their collapsed biscuit arch after themselves. It was rejected on the grounds that it no longer existed.
Another novelty Peace Prize?
In a development that has caused more than a few raised eyebrows – and at least one full Martian double-take – Trump has been offered an Israeli Peace Prize which he has now been told he can collect on his next visit.
A Peace Prize.
Now, Earthlings, we are not unfamiliar with awards that stretch their own definitions. But this one requires a certain… elasticity of interpretation.
The prize is associated with Benjamin Netanyahu – a leader not, historically speaking, renowned for pacifism. Which makes the optics here particularly striking.
Because at present, we are observing active escalation: ships being attacked, tensions rising, and a region inching ever closer to broader conflict. To award a peace prize in the midst of this feels less like recognition and more like… aspiration.
Or perhaps rebranding.
From Mars, this places the accolade in a familiar category – one we share with certain sporting bodies whose definitions of “integrity” have, over time, become somewhat interpretive. We believe you refer to this as the FIFA standard.
There is, after all, something profoundly surreal about awarding “peace” to an individual currently engaged in actions that involve blowing vessels out of the water and bombing a sovereign nation.
It is, one might say, the opposite of peaceful.
One of the Lunar Haggis has nominated itself for “Best Quiet Contemplation” while repeatedly shouting. The committee is, for now, unconvinced.
Still, we admire the ambition.
If nothing else, it demonstrates that on Earth, even the meaning of peace is… negotiable.
Divinity, denial and the curious case of the glowing hand
In what may be the week’s most surreal visual contribution, Trump posted an AI-generated image depicting himself as Jesus.
The image, for those who missed it, featuredTrump in a distinctly divine form – serene expression, flowing aesthetic, and, crucially, light emanating from his hand in a manner typically associated with religious iconography.
The backlash was immediate. The image was deleted. And then came the explanation (if you can call it that).
According to the Orange Messiah (he’s not, he’s a very naughty boy!), he believed the image depicted him as a doctor.
We have reviewed the image extensively. We have consulted medical professionals across three galaxies. We have yet to encounter a single doctor who glows.
From Mars, this explanation has been categorised under Post-Hoc Narrative Adjustment – a well-documented phenomenon in which an initial action is followed by an explanation that bears only a passing resemblance to observable reality.
Still, one must admire the flexibility.
The Lunar Haggis attempted a similar defence after setting fire to a cushion, claiming they believed it was a heat source. The council was not convinced.
The Strait strategy: close to open
We return, reluctantly, to the Strait of Hormuz.
Having played a significant role in its closure, El Presidente Fanta has now taken steps to… reopen it. How may this very stable genius be planning to do that, you may ask.
By blocking it.
This appears to be a bold reinterpretation of cause and effect. A kind of geopolitical reverse logic in which the solution to a problem is to intensify the conditions that created it. The stated aim is to force the strait open, restore flow, and stabilise the situation. The method involves restricting access. It is, one might say, a curious strategy.
In a bizarre development, Trump has suggested that Xi Jinping will respond to this manoeuvre with a “big hug”. We must, once again, consult our diagnostic framework. This is not normal. When the stability of a region relies on whether a world leader has been hugged enough it might be time for someone, literally anyone at this stage, to stage an intervention.
The Lunar Haggis attempted to resolve a dispute by locking themselves in a cupboard and announcing it would improve communication. It did not.
The war on the Pope
In a move that has startled even seasoned observers, Trump has publicly attacked Pope Leo (again), accusing him of being “weak on crime”.
We pause for context.
The Pope. Head of the Catholic Church. Spiritual leader to over a billion humans. Now, apparently, insufficiently robust on law enforcement.
The reaction has been… not entirely supportive.
Catholics, theologians and, indeed, anyone with a passing familiarity with the role of the Pope have expressed confusion, concern, and in some cases, outright disbelief.
The Popey himself he say nopey (sorry couldn’t resist) and did what we Martians wish more people would do, he defied the mad (wannabe) monk. In a statement that rang out around the universe, Pope Leo stated he “has no fear” of the Trump administration. Pope Leo emerges as a man of conviction as opposed to Trump who is a man of many convictions.
Into this stepped JD Vance – Major Maybelline, Alleged Catholic – who suggested that the Pope should “be careful when he talks about theology”.
Let us just take a moment to let that sink in.
The Pope… should be careful… when talking about theology. We aren’t entirely sure how a man of the cloth speaking the word of God and advocating for peace has somehow become controversial but here we are. One Fox News host even questioned whether Pope Leo had even read The Bible. At this point I nearly fell over.
This is what we Martians classify as Expertise Inversion – the curious human tendency to advise experts to exercise caution in their own field of expertise.
It is a bold stance.
One might as well advise a fish to be careful about water.
The Lunar Haggis briefly considered issuing guidance to a volcano on heat management. It declined to respond. So instead they invented a new game, and are now rather enthusiatically performing the ‘Wokey Popey’ dance, to the tune of a strange human Earth song that sounds very similar. You can imagine the problems they have putting their left leg in, left leg out.. (a bit like your grandparents playing that Twister game).
Taco puts his fashy in
His fashy out
In, out, in, out
He throws it all about
But here comes Wokey Popey and he calls it out
That’s what he’s all about…
Hey!
Go Wokey Popey
Woah Wokey Popey
Go Wokey Popey
Peace in, Hate out Ra, Ra, Ra
Fizzy drinks and snake oil?
In a revelation that has left scientists reaching for both data and aspirin, Trump has reportedly embraced the idea – relayed via Dr Oz – that diet fizzy drinks kill cancer cells.
We will repeat that.
Fizzy drinks. Kill cancer cells.
Now, Earthlings, we are not oncologists. We are Martians. But we have conducted extensive research into both cancer and carbonated beverages, and we can confirm that the latter is more commonly associated with sugar, bubbles, and questionable dietary choices than with medical breakthroughs.
This is, of course, particularly striking given the Overlord’s previous enthusiasm for the idea that windmills cause cancer.
We are therefore presented with the following framework:
Windmills – dangerous. Fizzy drinks – therapeutic.
From Mars, this is not a model we would recommend. The Lunar Haggis attempted to cure a minor ailment using sparkling liquid. The results were… inconclusive and mildly sticky.
Impeachment for Whiskeyleaks
Meanwhile, in the ongoing saga of accountability, House Democrats have filed impeachment documents against Pete Hegseth aka Whiskeyleaks – citing high crimes and misdemeanours.
We note the terminology.
High crimes. Misdemeanours.
Serious words for serious matters.
From Mars, impeachment is understood as a mechanism – a way for systems to correct themselves when individuals within them exceed acceptable boundaries.
Whether it succeeds is, of course, another matter entirely.
But its existence is, in itself, a sign that the system retains some capacity for response.
The Lunar Haggis attempted to impeach one of their own for “excessive shouting”. The motion failed when the accused shouted even louder.
Closing reflections from orbit
Week 61 has been a study in scale and surrealism.
A 250ft arch to the self. A peace prize amid escalating tension. A divine image rebranded as medical practice. A strategic waterway blocked to be opened. A Pope advised on theology. And fizzy drinks promoted as medical solutions.
And yet.
Beneath the absurdity, there are currents that run deeper. Institutions responding. Voices pushing back. Systems, however strained, still attempting to function.
From Mars, we continue to observe a species in tension with itself – capable of extraordinary achievement and extraordinary contradiction, often within the same breath.
Up here, the Lunar Haggis have abandoned their arch and are now engaged in a heated debate about whether bubbles can cure anything at all. The Penguin remains silent, which we have come to understand to be a sign of profound scepticism.
Until next week, Earthlings.
Do try to ensure that your monuments are built on something more solid than ego, your science on something more reliable than suggestion, and your reality on something that does not require constant reinterpretation.
