The American Circus
Welcome to the Show at the Edge of Sanity
The President of the United States posted a picture of himself with glowing hands, healing the sick. He was wearing a white robe and a look of serene divinity. The image was, of course, fake. A fever dream cooked up by an AI generator and posted for his followers on Truth Social.
It was a masterpiece of American blasphemy. The man in the robe was not just any savior; he was a savior in front of an American flag, surrounded by soldiers and eagles. It was nationalism and narcissism fused into a new, digital religion. And for a few hours, it was his profile picture.
The reaction was swift, even from his usual defenders. It was “disgusting and unacceptable.” It was “blasphemous.” It was, for a moment, a bridge too far, even for a movement built on crossing lines. He eventually deleted it, telling reporters he thought it was a picture of him as a “doctor making people better,” a transparent lie that everyone saw right through. But the image was already out there, a digital ghost haunting the internet.
You would think that would be the end of it. A moment of madness, a quick retreat back to reality.
You would be wrong because it’s 2026. This is reality.
Two days later, he was back. This time, the AI image was of him and Jesus, temple to temple, eyes closed, in a tender, loving embrace. Jesus had an arm around his shoulder, a hand on his chest, like a proud father comforting his son. The caption read: “The Radical Left Lunatics might not like this, but I think it is quite nice!!!”
This isn’t a mistake. This isn’t a joke that people don’t understand. This is a man who, when told he can’t be Jesus, simply posts a new picture of himself being best friends with Jesus. It’s a new, digital religion, and he’s its only prophet and its most devout follower.
And this whole digital crusade kicked off less than an hour after he was on his phone calling the Pope “WEAK on crime.”
The Pope he was attacking wasn’t just any Pope. He was Leo XIV, a Chicagoan, a man who grew up on the same American soil as the President himself. Leo’s crime was calling the administration’s war in Iran “a discourse of death” and a “delusion of omnipotence.” He dared to suggest that invoking God to justify bombing people might not be what Jesus would do.
For this, the man who plays Jesus on the internet called the real Pope “weak on crime” and “terrible for Foreign Policy.”
(I don’t have the lexicon for how bonkers all this is but I’m trying.)
But the real showstopper came from the Vice President. JD Vance, a man who carries a rosary and wears his Catholic faith like a political shield, was asked about the Pope’s comments. He looked straight at the cameras and suggested that His Holiness should probably stick to “matters of morality” and leave the serious business of waging war to the politicians.
(And honestly, what a missed opportunity for the Pope. Imagine if Leo XIV just excommunicated Vance on the spot? Like right then and there. That would have made my week.)
The sheer, galactic stupidity of that statement is enough to make your head spin. The Pope, the spiritual leader of over a billion people, was being told by a politician to stay out of the moral debate on war. It’s like telling a firefighter to stay out of a burning building because it’s a “private property matter.”
In the American circus, morality is for churches, and war is for cable news. And never the two shall meet.
And now we are at war with Iran. Because, the administration explains, they might get a nuclear weapon, and we can’t have that. It’s a matter of national security, a threat to the world.
This is the part where the universe splits in two. In one timeline, there was an agreement called the JCPOA that Iran signed in 2015 under the Obama administration. It was a painstaking, multi-year international deal that boxed in Iran’s nuclear program, put their enrichment under lock and key, and was, by all accounts, working just fine.
In 2018, President Trump tore it up. He walked away from the table, declared it a “disaster,” and blew the whole thing up.
Now, in 2026, his administration is using the very fallout from that decision—the fact that Iran is no longer constrained and is once again advancing its program—as the justification for a catastrophic war.
It’s the arsonist showing up at the fire, axe in hand, and screaming, “WHY ISN’T ANYONE STOPPING THIS FIRE?!” It’s a logic so twisted, so perfectly, maddeningly circular, that it could only exist in the funhouse mirror of the American circus.
But while we were all staring into this dystopian funhouse mirror, the world outside kept turning. The adults were still in the room. You could feel them starting to leave us behind.
In Hungary, a nation that had been suffocating for fourteen long years under the autocratic rule of Trump’s buddy Viktor Orbán, the people went to the polls and voted him out. They chose Europe. They chose democracy. They chose to breathe again. It was a collective, national exhale.
(I’m so happy for Hungary and only 30% jealous.)
In Canada, the very country the President is trying to strangle with a trade war, the people just handed their Prime Minister, Mark Carney, a massive majority government. Carney, a former head of the Bank of England, is a global finance genius who now has a clear mandate to stand up to the chaos. He’s the adult in the room, and he just got the keys to the house.
It sucks. As an American, you can feel it. It's awful and gut-wrenching, like being the only sober person at a party that's spinning out of control, and you can't leave because it's your house. You're watching your friends and allies slowly edge toward the door, not wanting to make a scene, but you can see it in their eyes. It’s the terrible, sinking feeling of watching them turn away and move on without us. They’re not waiting for the circus to end. They’re forming new alliances, making new plans, and building a future that doesn’t include us.
No AI images. No fights with the Pope. No illegal wars or political cover ups. Just boring, competent, reality-based governance. The rest of the world doesn’t have time for the American circus. They have countries to run. We’re not invited.