Billionaires Urgently Discuss Finding Imploding Trump’s Successor. Will it Be Mitch McConnell?
By Paul Pundit, X-based political observer and part-time underwear model
The meeting was quiet.
Not secret—quiet. Billionaires don’t whisper because they’re scared. They whisper because loud sounds startle the mere eaters and poor people who far outnumber them. They fear being trampled to death.
The meeting was led by Bibi Netanyahu, who opened things with the tired calm of a master manipulator and serial blackmailer who has chaired many rooms full of powerful people who all think they’re the main character. He thanked everyone for coming. He reminded them to keep phones off. Then he got to the point.
Trump, he announced, has outlived his usefulness.
By Trump, he meant the tubby, increasingly senile bull goose loony who smashed rules, scared allies, bent courts, and made government feel like a vending machine for the billionaires themselves. Under Trump, life has gotten harder for normal people while life has grown easier for the morbidly wealthy. Under Trump, the U.S. has pulled away from the rest of the world, which means fewer questions and, going forward, fewer witnesses to the major and minor brutalities still necessary to the formation of the totalitarian state that is the ultra-wealthy’s common goal.
“Very useful,” Netanyahu graciously complimented Trump. “But now too loud. Way too loud and meshugá legamrei [batshit crazy] at this point.”
Everyone agreed. Trump is the wrecking crew. You hire a wrecking crew to knock things down. You don’t ask such a loose and grotesque cannon to manage the quiet, and final, smothering of democracy afterward.
For 2028, the billionaires agreed, they need someone new to stand on the rubble and call it stability.
Netanyahu made reference to the situation in terms even Trump, with all of his intensely burgeoning senility, could have still understood—were he present at this meeting, which, of course, he wasn’t: “We’ve got to build a big, beautiful resort over the dead bodies of the anti-Israel American leftists and all those putrid progressives,” he decreed. Everyone in the room nodded in agreement. Or compliance.
The first problem is the base, one of Netanyahu’s Mossad agent advisors explained. About 29 percent of American voters—the poorly educated and rabid racists—still love Trump. They don’t want plans. They want anger. They want someone who sounds mean and powerful. They want professional wrestling, not math.
Elon Musk spoke up. “The new candidate has to scare people—but politely. Loud enough to titillate the base. Quiet enough for donors.”
That ruled out JD Vance, Peter Thiel admitted—a major political development, since Vance is owned and operated by Thiel, who is now apparently willing to discard his Manchurian Candidate of a vice president as casually as he would a used tissue, or one of his boy-toy hookups. “Too shiny. Too practiced,” he added.
“Feels fake,” Mark Zuckerberg piped up, completely oblivious to the point that Thiel had already consigned his own boy to America’s political trash heap. “Like he learned to be mad from a book.”
The “Big Boy Assembly,” as Bill Gates called the group, also quickly ruled out Ted Cruz. In fact, the mention of Cruz got the biggest laugh of the meeting. With Netanyahu adding the serious footnote: “He apologizes. Strongmen don’t apologize.”
Netanyahu then steered the talk back to basics. “The offer to American voters hasn’t changed,” he said. “White men in charge. Women pushed back into baby-making and service roles. God used in speeches to explain why this is all ‘natural.’ Clear hierarchy. No arguing.”
Someone brought up the recently disgraced ICE “commander at large” Gregory Bovino, now cooling his fascist heels in some bumfuck California border town following his disgrace in Minneapolis. Bovino was briefly discussed as a possible key component of a system: The titular head of a post-Trump world where leaders aren’t exciting. Instead, they’re dull managers with holy excuses; women are turned into baby ovens; and sex becomes paperwork. All while power runs quietly and efficiently.
The room seemed to like that last part.
As more names were mentioned, a dark horse appeared: Paul Gosar, the ghoulish representative from Arizona who comes across like a walking, talking HR complaint.
The pros were clear. He is angry in a way that feels real. No jokes. No charm. The cons were also clear. “He’s a twitchy wingnut,” a donor complained. “He might start a war by accident. Or on purpose. Hard to tell.”
Most participants indicated they want someone calmer, more mainstream.
That’s when Netanyahu surprised everyone by placing a name on the table very gently. “Mitch McConnell,” he said.
No one laughed. Although later one wag was to quip, “Boy, Bibi was sure thinking outside the coffin, er, box on that one.”
To normal people, the ancient McConnell looks frozen. He stops talking for no apparent reason. He stares blankly. He sometimes completely powers down in public. He’s about 300 years old, and even more senile than Trump, though not as freaking crazy, which makes him easy to control—and to “alter with state-of-the-art computers and electronics,” Larry Ellison suggested. “It’s the 21st Century, after all.”
To billionaires, who all desperately want to live forever, McConnell’s obvious decay isn’t a problem. It’s an opportunity to illustrate their highly marketable plans for rejuvenation as a modern alternative to Christian salvation; and a McConnell presidency just might fit the bill among the Christian base, some of whom, like the Mormons, are used to being told what to do and how to behave by doddering old men.
“Low drama,” one said. “High control,” said another. “When McConnell stops—walking, talking, pooping, whatever—other people decide things for him,” Netanyahu observed. “That’s perfect.”
Most agreed.
But would the broader MAGA public accept him? The room, suddenly turning hopeful, thought eh, maybe. “MAGA doesn’t need joy,” Ronald Lauder said. “It needs targets. As long as someone keeps pointing at enemies, even an enemy as weirdly conceived as Greenland, or Venezuela, the leader’s voice can be quiet.”
Then the conversation got even stranger.
Tech came up. Aging came up. Hedge fund titan Paul Singer wondered aloud—“Purely as a thought experiment,” he said, “do leaders really need to be fully human anymore?” By that, he explained, he meant “Not robots. Just appearing exclusively on screen and mostly as part of an omniscient support system.”
When somebody said “cyborg?” That sounded silly, another pointed out. Instead they agreed to use the term “upgraded.”
“In that case, Iowa voters would go for an upgraded McConnell,” someone else predicted. “But for fuck’s sake, we couldn’t let social media begin calling him Big Brother.”
Not a problem, Ellison, a budding media mega mogul, responded.
The donors liked the McConnell idea. Not because of science, but because of the message. They generally agreed there might be a competitive advantage to an experienced leader who appears to have bounced back from the edge of death and no longer ages thanks to the wonders of quantum computing and advanced pharmaceuticals. He might be the perfect leader for an ostensibly democratic system that doesn’t appear to change, even as it’s being rapidly gutted in favor of the New Totalitarianism. For people who desperately want to live forever, McConnell would be like voting for hope itself, Ellison noted—proof that even impending death can be leveraged if you have enough money; or, more accurately, if you obey billionaire overlords who have much, much more than enough money.
Trump came up again. Useful, yes. But wild. He talked too much. He frantically craved praise. He couldn’t sit still. The next leader should sit very still. Like Mitch McConnell, it was agreed.
Before the meeting ended, one last topic came up. The Epstein files.
Would they ever be released?
The answer was simple: not anything important. Not the shit that would incriminate them. Not if they could help it. And so far that little suppression project had been going well, Bill Gates noted. He scratched his crotch nervously, having confessed to several of his peers that he’d caught the clap because he’d fucked a couple of Epstein’s Russian whores. No one had the nerve to tease him about it at this meeting, because they’d all done terrible, filthy things. The sheer delight of not being accountable is a temptation too great to ignore for people with inexhaustible supplies of money and power. Of course, Gates was now divorced, but his billionaire pals thought nothing of such a trivial consequence.
Of course, part of the reason they’re trying to hold the line on the files’ release is the annoying inconvenience of it all. Some billionaires don’t want their names next to words like “plane” or “island.” Not because anyone admitted anything publicly. Billionaires don’t do that. But because noise is bad for business.
The other reason was colder.
Several people described global sex trafficking the way they describe other ugly systems—as a business. Like sweatshops. Like mining. Terrible, yes. Profitable, also yes. “Hard to unwind,” someone muttered. As if the world doesn’t run on oil, but sexual predation.
Victims were mentioned.
“Victims should never be part of the equation,” Netanyahu lectured the room. “They’re losers and therefore useful only as sacrificial fodder.”
He launched into a somewhat manic discussion of how he’s handled victims during Israel’s latest blowback from its decades-long Palestine genocide he’s been entrusted with conducting since assuming power.
It appeared most of the billionaires tuned out during the 25 minutes of Netanyahu’s uncharacteristically emotional rant. They seemed embarrassed by his obsessive fixation on the matter—specifically, his exhaustive explanation of the ins and outs of the so-called Hannibal Directive. That’s the Israeli military doctrine allowing—or encouraging—extreme force to prevent the capture of soldiers, even if that force risks killing the captives themselves. The wholesale loss of civilian or friendly captives is treated as an acceptable risk under the doctrine.
“Bibi,” Jeff Bezos finally said gently, “Nobody cares about your personal demons. Let’s move on, dude.”
Netanyahu closed his binder and stared at his hands. The meeting had ended.
There was no final decision. That’s normal. Billionaires don’t rush to judgment. They assume the economy they’ve built and control will keep squeezing regular people while billionaire power will keep growing. A badly wounded America, thanks to Trump, will stay tired and keep turning inward for the next few years, several later assured me.
When the appropriate new candidate appears, they agreed, he will promise hope and order. He won’t shout. He’ll sound boring. Reliable. Inevitable. Like a new and improved Mitch McConnell.
That was the general consensus.
