Warning: The following rant contains high doses of sarcasm, disbelief, and economic nausea. Not safe for markets, allies, or common sense.

🎤 Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the Great American Ego Tour, starring Donald J. Trump as the Foreign Occupant of the United States—FOTUS! That’s right, folks, the man with all the subtlety of a toddler in a tiara and the diplomatic skills of a chainsaw on fire!

This week, the orange overlord decided America wasn’t isolating itself fast enough, so he whipped out his Sharpie, a keyboard, and a grudge the size of Greenland, and started slapping tariffs on entire countries like a pissed-off eBay seller blocking buyers for "bad vibes."

Why? Because Brazil had the gall—the unthinkable gall—to prosecute his BFF Jair Bolsonaro for trying to do a little coup-coup. So what does Trump do? Tariffs! Fifty percent! Boom! Take that, BRAZIL! How dare you not bend the knee to the Mar-a-Lago monarch!

Oh, but he wasn’t done. No no no. He scribbled out form letters to countries he can’t even find on a map—Moldova, Brunei, Algeria, Sri Lanka—telling them they’ll be tariffed into submission unless they send flowers, candy, and maybe a statue of him riding a bald eagle bare-chested. You know, for diplomacy.

But it’s not about trade. Hell no. It’s never about trade. It’s about feelings. Trump’s foreign policy is like your drunk uncle’s Facebook rants, but with nuclear codes and interest rates.

Remember when Zelensky didn’t say “thank you” loud enough? Suddenly, air defense data goes missing and Ukraine’s out in the cold. Why? Because Daddy wasn’t feeling validated. And when Netanyahu dared to shake hands with a Democrat? Oh boy, Israel got ghosted like a bad Tinder date. Because under FOTUS, foreign policy isn’t national interest—it’s personal injury court for his ego.

And now, he's threatening tourism. Tourism! Americans pay more for flights, avocados, and washing machines because King Combover doesn’t like being left on read by Canada. Europe’s hedging its bets. Asia’s forming new alliances. BRICS is basically the cool new club and we’re stuck at home yelling at the doormat.

All the while, FOTUS is calling this “leadership.” But this isn’t leadership—it’s revenge porn with tariffs. It's petulance in power, rage with a podium, a one-man pity party with 330 million hostages.

And the worst part? He’s doing it under the banner of patriotism—waving the flag like it’s a damn apology for his feelings being hurt. The only “deals” he’s delivering are IOUs on American credibility. The only “greatness” he’s restoring is in the minds of people who think trade wars are just spicy Monopoly.

So here we are, America.

 Stranded in the world’s group chat.

 Blocked by friends.

 Ghosted by partners.

 And being billed extra by every nation we ever high-fived.

Because one man with a fragile ego and a marker believes America is his therapy session. And unfortunately… we’re all footing the bill.

Mic drop.

 Tariff that.