Satirical Disclaimer: This is a work of political satire in the spirit of George Carlin—meaning if you’re offended, you were probably the target audience. No halos, no crowns, no loyalty oaths—just free speech, raw language, and uncomfortable truths. If you’re DHS, ICE, or one of those freshly deputized “Freedom Police” interns with a clipboard and a confused moral compass: this is a joke. If you’re a citizen watching your government cosplay monarchy—this isn’t.

You notice they’ve stopped pretending? They don’t even act like they like you anymore. Used to be, politicians at least bought you dinner before screwing you. Now they kick in the door, take your wallet, and piss in your lemonade on the way out.

Vote someone in? Too bad.

Adelita Grijalva wins an election—the people speak—and the MAGA monarchy says, “Nah, we don’t like her accent.” So she waits in the hallway like a kid who forgot her hall pass while the Speaker of the Sippy Cup plays King of the Sandbox. That’s democracy, 2025 style: we count the votes, then ignore the ones we don’t like.

Speak out? Boom—you’re under investigation.

Criticize the King? Indictment! 

Question authority? Subpoena!

 Use too many big words? 

Fuck it, treason! 

They’ve turned the Department of Justice into a medieval dungeon—just without the charm or the decent lighting.

And peaceful protest? Apparently that’s hate speech now.

Eight million people dancing in the streets, waving flags, singing “No Kings”—and what does His Royal Felony post?

A goddamn AI fantasy of himself in a fighter jet dropping digital shit on American cities. The President of the United States, folks—using taxpayer bandwidth to LARP as God’s septic tank. We’ve gone from “I have a dream” to “I have a drone that poops.”

And these guys love the image! Gold crown, sword, robe, halo—he’s not even subtle anymore. He’s basically saying, “Yeah, I wanna be a king—what are you gonna do, vote me out?” Well, you can’t! They’ll just unseat your representative, jail your journalists, and call it “election security.”

Meanwhile the House is on vacation, the government’s broke, the troops aren’t getting paid—so the Felon-in-Chief raids the R&D budget and calls it “creative accounting.” Yeah, creative like a toddler finger-painting with your tax dollars. “We had to take the money from research,” he says. Of course—God forbid we research why everything’s on fire.

And when you object? They call you un-American. Buddy, if objecting to authoritarian cosplay makes me un-American, then hand me a French flag and a guillotine—I’ll risk it.

This whole crowd doesn’t want citizens. They want subjects. They want a country where thinking is treason, compassion is weakness, and obedience is patriotism. And they’re almost there! They’ve got half the country cheering for their own humiliation—people waving flags while the King drops shit on their heads and calls it freedom rain.

But here’s the funny part—they still don’t get it. You can’t rule a country full of people who learned their history from rock lyrics and Reddit memes. 

We’ve seen this movie. We’ve got the signs, the frogs, the dinosaurs, the goddamn unicorns. And when the crowns start cracking, we’ll still be here, laughing our asses off in the rubble, yelling NO KINGS! until the last one chokes on his own propaganda.

Because this is America, baby. 

We don’t bow.

We boo.

And we’re really fucking loud.