Well, well, well—turns out the whole “president, not a king” thing was just a pesky detail for the history books. Trump 2.0, in his latest act of self-coronation, has decided that federal judges are merely an inconvenience, their rulings little more than suggestions to be ignored at will. Laws? Checks and balances? Cute concepts, really, but in the divine kingdom of Trump, only one voice matters: His Royal MAGA-ness.
Federal judges, those poor souls still clinging to the idea that the Constitution means something, have issued rulings against his latest legal abominations. But Trump, ever the enlightened autocrat, has responded with a simple decree: I decide what the law is. And like clockwork, his Justice Department—now staffed exclusively by sycophants who treat the rule of law like an outdated fad—marches in lockstep to enforce whatever whims spill forth from their orange overlord.
Take, for example, his latest passion project: targeting political opponents with sham prosecutions. The slightest whiff of dissent is now enough to land you on the DOJ’s priority list. Dared to criticize His Excellency? Expect an indictment. Worked for the previous administration? Might want to check if exile is still an option. Meanwhile, he’s been gleefully attempting to overturn President Biden’s pardons, because nothing says ‘banana republic’ quite like a leader rewriting history to fit his personal vendettas.
At this point, Trump isn’t just bending the law—he’s treating it like his personal chew toy. And why not? Who’s stopping him? Certainly not the GOP, which now functions more like a royal court than a political party, with senators and representatives eagerly playing the role of court jesters, clapping and nodding on cue.
So here we are, America, at a moment of decision. Do we roll over and let the coronation continue? Or do we remember that this country wasn’t built for kings, and it sure as hell wasn’t built to be ruled by a guy who thinks the Constitution is just an annoying speed bump on the way to absolute power?
Time to grab your pitchforks. Metaphorically, of course… for now.
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