By The Ghost of HST
03.21.25
Jesus Christ on a flaming Jet Ski—the man is at it again. Donald Trump, sweat-slicked and coked-up on the raw power of unchecked executive privilege, has now signed 76 executive orders in just 42 days. That’s not governance. That’s a spree. That’s a bender. That’s a deranged CEO in a boardroom filled with Red Bull and gold-plated Bible merch, signing proclamations like he’s ordering room service at Mar-a-Lago.
Let’s talk about the dumbest of them. Not the dangerous ones—no, we’ll need a whole congressional hearing for those. We’re talking about the executive actions that smell like they were brainstormed in a Florida golf cart between bites of Filet-O-Fish.
Executive Order #14: “English Only, Baby.” The man declared English the national language. A full-throated swing at a non-issue in a country where 80% of the population already speaks it. Meanwhile, Medicaid is on fire, SNAP benefits are being bled dry, and Zelenskyy was spotted at the White House blinking “help” in Morse code. But yeah, sure, let’s focus on the letter e.
Executive Order #29: The Party Planning Committee. Trump’s throwing America a 250th birthday bash on his yacht in the newly renamed Gulf of America (more on that acid trip in a moment). He’s chairing the task force himself, naturally, alongside VP JD Vance and a war council of loyalist freaks like Pete Hegseth. This isn’t governance—it’s a satirical reboot of The Office, weaponized and armed to the teeth.
Executive Order #1: Rename the Gulf of Mexico to the “Gulf of America.” Why? Because he felt like it. Because Mexico hurt his feelings. Because in his delusional skull, cartography is just a form of branding. They’ve even started strong-arming journalists into using it—Google Maps was forced to disable reviews after trolls renamed the ocean and left one-star ratings. Reality is a chew toy now.
Executive Order #69 (nice): Ban Paper Straws. We all hate the soggy little bastards, sure—but a federal ban? Trump claimed they explode and disintegrate like a dying star. He’s signed a declaration to replace them and demanded a “National Strategy to End the Use of Paper Straws” within 45 days. Somewhere, the Founding Fathers are chain-smoking in their graves.
And in case it wasn’t enough, he’s also cooked up a task force to defend Christianity from persecution—while his VP pisses off the actual Pope. Theocracy with a Trump brand sticker slapped on top. Executive privilege has become the man’s personal Etch A Sketch, and we’re all living inside the drawing.
We’ve crossed into full satire. It’s no longer parody—it’s policy. And the only thing left to do is report it from the edge with a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a broken straw in the other. See you tomorrow, if the yacht doesn’t sink.
