DISCLAIMER: This is a satirical commentary in the style of George Carlin. If you’re DHS, OMB, or a MAGA rep still cashing your check while pretending to work—don’t worry, I’m not coming for your job. It’s already furloughed. If this makes you mad, congratulations: you might still be awake.

As I write this, it’s Day 21 of the shutdown. Three weeks since the lights went out in Washington and the roaches started redecorating.

The bullshit’s getting real now—SNAP benefits are about to vanish like decency at a Trump rally. Forty million Americans, most of them in MAGA states, just got the friendly little government postcard that says, “No money, no turkey, no thanks.”

The same folks who wear red hats and scream about socialism are about to find out what capitalism tastes like on an empty stomach. Spoiler alert—it’s not gravy.

But the beauty of this whole thing is the built-in alibi: See, Congress ain’t in session! They’re “on recess,” which is a polite way of saying “we left the building to avoid the consequences.”

Every MAGA rep out there gets to shrug and go, “Hey, I’d totally fix this, but you know, the Speaker won’t call us back!”

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. You broke the country, now you’re telling us you can’t glue it back together ‘cause the boss locked the supply closet.

Meanwhile, the regime’s cooking up plans to RIF furloughed employees—because why stop at starving civilians when you can also fire the people who make the government run? And of course they’re targeting “Democrat programs.” You know, the ones that keep Republican farmers fed, Republican seniors insured, and Republican kids breathing clean air.

But don’t worry, it’s not political—it’s patriotic cruelty. The kind of cruelty that comes wrapped in a flag and smells like Freedom Fries.

Now here’s where it gets fun: The Speaker of the House, Mike Johnson—FOTUS’s favorite ventriloquist dummy—has figured out how to commit treason by calendar. He’s done what no coup could do by force: he paused Congress. 

Not adjourned it, not ended it—just stopped it existing.

No sessions. No committees. No votes.

You can’t file a bill, can’t sign a petition, can’t even fart in the chamber without his permission.

The House is Schrödinger’s Legislature—it both exists and doesn’t, depending on whether Mike’s in town.

And guess what? He’s not.

This isn’t gridlock. This is governance by ghost town. By locking the doors, Johnson’s handed every ounce of legislative power to the guy drooling on the Resolute Desk—our dear leader, the Felon of the United States.

And FOTUS? Oh, he loves it.

No oversight. No leash. No coequal branch of government. He’s free to rule by Executive Order, like a toddler with a magic marker and no adult supervision.

You think it’s an accident he wants tariffs under his executive power?

Hell no. That’s his slush fund. His royal treasury. A revenue stream that doesn’t have to go through Congress—because Congress doesn’t exist anymore! He’s found the cheat code: dictatorship with paperwork.

And that’s the joke, folks.

This House ain’t coming back. Maybe not ever. They’ll hold a couple “emergency sessions” to pretend, but the real work? Dead. The Founders built checks and balances; Johnson built an off switch.

And while he’s busy embalming democracy in procedural amber, the Senate is sitting there polishing its image like Nero tuning a violin.

“Oh no, we can’t possibly end the filibuster—it’s tradition!” Yeah, so were human sacrifices.

If Thune wanted to, he could change the rule tomorrow and pass a budget with fifty-one votes. But no—he’s playing statesman while the Republic burns. He wants to look like the grown-up in the room, which makes him the Roman Senate watching the Republic fall apart and saying, “Maybe Caesar’s not that bad once you get used to the sandals.”

So what do we got now? 

An empty House, a neutered Senate, and a King with his hand in the till.

All the buildings are still there—the Capitol, the courts, the agencies—but they’re ghosts. Shiny marble mausoleums to a government that used to give a damn.

Welcome to America, 2025.

The lights are still on in the monuments, but the country they were built to honor has left the building.

And the only thing still functioning in D.C. is the goddamn souvenir shop.