Greetings, Earthlings. It is I, Xylb’tok, your ever-observant Martian correspondent, reporting once more from the rust-hued tranquillity of Mars – where passports remain unbranded, monarchs rarely roast foreign leaders, and the Lunar Haggis are currently attempting to smuggle themselves into a diplomatic pouch.
Week 63 has been a curious blend of grievance, ego and the ongoing effort to insert one man into every available symbol, structure and historical moment.
Let us proceed.
Comey, once more with feeling (now featuring seashells)
The United States Department of Justice has brought charges against James Comey.
Again.
This time, the indictment centres on what may be the most unexpectedly coastal legal case in recent memory: a photograph of seashells arranged to form the numbers “8647”, posted to social media. Prosecutors have interpreted this as a coded threat against Donald Trump – the “47” being a reference to his presidency, and “86” allegedly implying removal… or worse.
Comey, for his part, insists the post was misinterpreted, stating he did not intend any threat and removed it once the reaction became clear.
This raises several questions.
First: when did seashell arrangements become a matter of federal prosecution?
Second: how does one prove intent in a photograph of beach debris?
And third: how many more indictments can one individual accumulate before it becomes a subscription service?
This is, notably, the second time Comey has been indicted in recent months. The first case – involving alleged false statements to Congress – was dismissed due to issues with how the prosecution was brought.
And yet, here we are again. A litigation loop.
The Lunar Haggis attempted to indict one another over a series of suspiciously arranged pebbles. The case collapsed when it became clear that none of them could agree on what the pebbles meant. Grzz’lax reviewed the evidence, labelled it “ambiguous”, and suggested everyone go outside.
The First Lady, the comedian and the kettle
Melania Trump has taken aim at Jimmy Kimmel, condemning him for what she described as “hateful and violent rhetoric” following a joke made during a mock White House Correspondents’ Dinner segment.
The joke in question referred to her having “a glow like an expectant widow” – a line widely understood, including by Kimmel himself, as a jab at the couple’s age gap rather than any literal suggestion of impending tragedy.
Melania, however, was not amused. She called for action against the comedian, urging ABC to “take a stand” and, in essence, remove him from his platform.
Now, Earthlings, we understand that being the subject of satire is rarely pleasant. It pokes, it prods, and occasionally it lands with more force than intended. But satire, by its very nature, responds to power. It does not flow upward gently; it snaps.
Which brings us to a rather awkward intersection. Melania, girl we need to have a word. You see your argument would be far more plausible if not for the tiny issue of you being married to the man who celebrated Robert Mueller’s death.
We would like to respectfully introduce the First Lady to a small but significant concept: the pot meeting the kettle. It is not a complex theory.
Kimmel, for his part, defended the joke as precisely that – a joke – noting it was made before subsequent events and bore no connection to them.
And so the ritual continues:
A joke is made.
Outrage follows.
Calls for punishment emerge.
Free speech is debated.
A King, a quip and a very British rebuttal
In a moment of exquisite diplomatic theatre, King Charles III delivered what can only be described as a perfectly judged, impeccably timed roast of Donald Trump.
The context, Earthlings, is important. Trump had previously suggested that without the United States, Europe would be “speaking German” – a characteristically subtle contribution to historical discourse.
King Charles, with the calm precision of a man who has spent decades perfecting the art of saying everything while appearing to say very little, responded during a state dinner:
“If it wasn’t for us, you’d be speaking French.”
And there it was. No shouting. No ranting. No capital letters. Just a single, elegant line – equal parts history lesson, colonial callback and polite dismantling.
The reaction? Laughter. Even the Orange one reportedly took it in stride. Which makes it all the more effective. Because this is the genius of it. A correction delivered not as confrontation, but as wit. A rebuttal wrapped in charm. A roast so refined it barely leaves a mark – until you realise you’ve been thoroughly skewered.
The Penguin, who has long admired British understatement, gave a single approving nod.
Artemis II, and the gravity of self-reference
The crew of Artemis II were hosted at the White House this week – an opportunity to celebrate human achievement, scientific progress and the remarkable feat of travelling around the far side of the Moon.
Naturally, it became about Trump.
During the event, he suggested that he himself would have had no trouble making the journey.
Space travel, as you may know, involves rigorous training, physical endurance and the ability to operate in an environment that actively attempts to kill you. We would not recommend he tries it.
Passports, now featuring Donny
In a move that has prompted both confusion and concern, the United States is set to release limited edition passports featuring Trump’s face as part of its 250th anniversary.
We must clarify something. Despite the ever increasingly erratic behaviour and the fact that it appears more and more that his face is trying to escape the rest of his body, it is in fact the United States turning 250, NOT Trump.
Martian passports serve a simple purpose: identification. They represent a planet, not an individual. They are, ideally, neutral – a symbol of collective identity rather than personal branding.
This development suggests a shift.
A nation’s milestone becomes an individual’s moment. A shared history becomes a singular image.
We would gently suggest that if your passport requires explanation, something has gone awry.
Visas, and the closing door
The United States has announced a policy shift that, even by recent standards, requires some careful unpacking.
Under new guidance, visa applicants must now explicitly state that they do not fear persecution or harm in their home country. If they answer “yes” – or even hesitate – their application is likely to be denied.
Let us translate.
If you are afraid to return home… you may not be allowed in.
If you are honest about that fear… you may be refused entry.
If you are dishonest to gain entry… you risk permanent exclusion.
The policy applies to tourists, students and temporary workers – not just asylum seekers – effectively creating a pre-screening mechanism that filters out those who might later seek protection once inside the country.
Critics, quite reasonably, have pointed out that this appears to undermine a long-standing principle: that individuals have the right to seek asylum if they are fleeing persecution.
This presents a rather stark contradiction.
You may seek safety… but only if you are already safe enough not to need it.
The official justification centres on preventing misuse of the visa system and strengthening national security. Which, in isolation, is a coherent objective.
But the mechanism? That is where the difficulty lies.
Because what you have, in effect, is a system that requires vulnerable individuals to either deny their reality or be excluded by it.
The Martian Council is considering extending our refugee policy.
The Booze Brothers
Finally, we arrive at what can only be described as a developing saga.
Kash Patel (J. Edgar Boozer) has faced allegations of excessive drinking, placing him alongside Pete Hegseth (Whiskeyleaks) in what we are now referring to as The Booze Brothers: a pairing that raises uncomfortable questions about judgement, responsibility and the general advisability of mixing high office with low thresholds.
An investigation by The Atlantic alleged that Patel had engaged in excessive drinking, unexplained absences, and erratic behaviour significant enough to raise concerns about national security among officials.
Patel, for his part, has categorically denied the claims, stating he has “never been intoxicated on the job”, and has responded in a manner now familiar within this particular orbit: He has sued.
To the tune of $250mn, no less.
The lawsuit targets both the publication and the journalist, alleging the report was a “malicious hit piece” built on falsehoods and published with what your legal system calls actual malice – a standard which, as legal experts gently note, is notoriously difficult to prove. This is less a legal strategy and more a reflex.
What makes this iteration particularly intriguing is that, rather than silencing the story, the lawsuit appears to have drawn further attention to it. Additional sources have reportedly come forward, reinforcing elements of the original reporting. (Kinda channelling his inner Melania here)
We do not object to a beverage. We do, however, question the wisdom of combining alleged inebriation, national security responsibilities and a tendency to litigate one’s critics into silence.
And it seems that even without booze, Mr Hegseth’ colleagues do not have an extremely high opinion of him.
Closing reflections from orbit
Week 63 has been a study in identity. Who represents a nation. Who tells its stories. Who is welcomed, and who is turned away.
There have been moments of humour – a king’s well-placed remark, a comedian’s sharp line – but also moments that cut deeper.
From Mars, we continue to observe a species wrestling with itself. With its history. With its values. With the balance between individual ambition and collective responsibility.
Up here, the Lunar Haggis have abandoned their diplomatic ambitions and are now attempting to redesign the Martian passport. Grr’zlaxx is watching closely. We suspect it will not be approved.
Until next week, Earthlings.
Do try to remember that a nation is more than a face, history is more than a slogan, and leadership is more than a performance.
