Ready, Aim, Fire!
Let’s Pray Donny’s Parade of Hubris and Howitzers has a Really Happy Ending--for Us!
On June 14, President Donald Dipshit Dump turns 79. And what better way for the failing American empire to celebrate the slow mental decay of its grotesque orange mascot than with a multi-million-dollar military parade through the pothole-pocked streets of Washington, D.C.? After all, nothing screams “vibrant democracy” like tanks rumbling past boarded-up Chipotles while the Commander-in-Crackpot basks in the afterglow of his own festering narcissism.
According to documents leaked with all the discretion of a drunk intern, the U.S. Army has quietly been scheming a grand procession featuring 6,600 troops, 150 vehicles, 50 helicopters, and enough brass bands to give Goebbels an erection from the grave. The event, scheduled as part of the Army’s 250th birthday bash, just happens to coincide with Dump's own celebration of still being alive despite decades of fast food, Adderall, and unprocessed rage.
But let’s be honest: this isn’t about the Army. This is about Dump’s burning, unfulfilled dream of becoming a banana republic strongman with the world’s most expensive toy soldiers. Ever since he slavered over the Bastille Day parade in France back in 2017—sitting there like a toddler watching monster trucks crush sedans—he’s pined for one of his own. Now, finally, the stars have aligned. And so have the tanks.
What could go wrong? Well, let’s just dial our historical clocks back to October 6, 1981, when Egyptian President Anwar Sadat, beaming like a cat who’d just conquered the canary buffet, watched his own military parade in Cairo. That was until a troop truck pulled up, soldiers jumped out, and in a few chaotic seconds, they perforated the president with automatic gunfire right there on the reviewing stand. Live. On. Television.
Sadat had dared to make peace. Dump, on the other hand, dares the gods to strike him down every time he opens his fucking, lie-spewing mouth.
The symmetry is exquisite, isn't it? A delusional narcissist enthroning himself before military might, surrounded by sycophants and security, all while the country cracks like a porcelain clown mask. The difference is Sadat actually won a war. Dump? He’s fighting battles against windmills, shower heads, and the English language.
The official line is that this is the Army’s birthday. But let’s not kid ourselves—it’s Donny’s Victory Lap. That’s why he’s already begun renaming historical holidays, like some tyrant playing Scrabble with reality. He wants to rebrand Veterans Day as “Victory Day for World War 1,” and call May 8 “Victory Day for World War 2,” presumably because he finally realized there was no “World War Eleven.”
This isn’t a parade—it’s a security nightmare in waiting, a logistical aneurysm, a golden opportunity for the entire planet to watch America slip further into its self-parody phase. According to the plan, tanks will be shipped in from across the country (no word yet on whether they’ll be wrapped in gold leaf or QAnon bumper stickers), and soldiers from at least 11 divisions will march like obedient action figures in the sweltering June heat, while Donny, soaked in self-regard and hairspray, watches from a throne made of Diet Coke crates and classified documents.
Is this spectacle of steel and ego even legal? Barely. Is it safe? Debatable. Is it American? Tragically, yes. Because nothing says “land of the free” like a septuagenarian man-baby stealing the spotlight from the very soldiers he dodged serving beside.
Let’s hope he waves extra hard this year. Maybe, just maybe, there’ll be a brisk crosswind, a stumble off the dais, or a wayward Howitzer salute that knocks his comb-over into orbit. Hell, it worked for Sadat’s enemies. Maybe it’ll work for ordinary Americans.
But we don’t wish violence, no. We wish irony. Poetic, flaming, mustard-gas-scented irony. Like Dump pulling his hamstring while goose-stepping in front of the 3rd Armored Cavalry. Or forgetting the names of the wars he’s trying to rename holidays for. Or, best of all, giving a speech so unhinged even the tanks start slowly backing away.
Let the band play. Let the fireworks fly. Let the emperor dance naked before the legions one last time.
Because this isn’t a parade—it’s a prelude.
And somewhere, Sadat is rolling over in his grave, handing out popcorn.
Dane & Betty’s “Missing the Point” Podcast. Sponsored by the evil Alphabet Corp.
