DISCLAIMER: This is political satire in the voice of George Carlin. If you’re DHS, DOJ, or the Ethics Office—relax. There’s nothing to investigate; ethics resigned months ago. If you’re a voter who still thinks this is “draining the swamp,” congrats—you’re the swamp water.

So the Felon-in-Chief walks into the Oval Office last week—three lawyers, two crowns, and one functioning neuron between them—and announces that the United States of America owes him two hundred and thirty million dollars. 

Why? Because the government had the audacity to investigate him.

He says it straight-faced: “Yeah, I’m suing myself. I’ll say, ‘Give me X dollars,’ right?”

 And the Attorney General, the Deputy AG, and the FBI Director—each one a former Trump lawyer—nod like trained poodles waiting for a treat.

He’s the plaintiff, the defendant, the judge, the jury, and the goddamn paymaster. The man’s literally cutting himself a check with our money for the crime of being briefly inconvenienced by justice. We’ve hit the point in American history where corruption isn’t hidden, it’s streaming live from the Oval Office with commentary and ads for MyPillow.

But here’s the thing people keep missing: this isn’t about ideology.

He doesn’t give a rat’s orange ass about conservatism, Christianity, liberty, or any of that “God and country” crap. The only holy trinity in Trump’s religion is Me, Myself, and Mine.

He’s not trying to build a new America—he’s flipping the old one for parts. Project 2025 walks in with their little fascist wish list—ban abortion, end public schools, outlaw drag shows—and he’s like, “Yeah, sure, whatever, boys. You can have the Constitution; just let me keep the keys to Fort Knox.”

He’s never been a dictator in the ideological sense.

He’s a grifter with executive privilege. He doesn’t dream of empire—he dreams of compound interest. Every policy is a business deal, every law a negotiation for kickbacks, every crisis a brand opportunity.

You think he cares if the country burns? Fire’s fine—it raises property values if you own the ashes.

He calls it The Art of the Deal. But it’s really The Art of the Steal. Project 2025 promised him the crown, the throne, and the checkbook, and he said, “Deal.” He doesn’t even want to rule—he just wants the royalties.

He’s turned the presidency into the world’s most expensive merchandise table: Justice Department? Sold. Foreign policy? Licensed. Patriotism? Available in red, white, and bullshit.

And while the faithful chant about freedom, their king’s cashing out the franchise. He’s the first man to make kleptocracy look like a home-shopping network. “Order now, folks—freedom’s going fast, only $19.99 and your soul!”

The Founders warned us about kings. They never imagined we’d elect one who’d send us an invoice.