Breaking Up is Hard To Do.

The Billionaire Bromance Meets Its Inevitable End

*World War Douche has officially begun.

Not with bombs or battalions, but with two unmedicated billionaires—one shaped like a hemorrhoid in a wig, the other a glitchy serotonin firehose made of nootropics, delusion, and raw vanity—rage-posting from rival social media platforms they bought like midlife crisis Ferraris, each screaming into the void like it owes them alimony.

Yes, the most toxic bromance since Kanye and reality has finally collapsed in a glorious, pantsless fireball of spite and projection. Donald J. Trump—America’s most durable coagulation of cholesterol, self-pity, and criminal intent—is now publicly feuding with Elon Musk, a man who radiates the spiritual energy of meat jelly that taught itself to code and thinks empathy is a bug in the system.

And let’s be very clear: this was not a twist. This is not a shock. This was the Titanic after the iceberg, during the submersible implosion, while the band kept playing Nickelback. Oh, shocker—two nuclear-grade narcissists with the emotional range of a saltine couldn’t keep their deranged bromance from spontaneously combusting. Who could’ve seen this coming? Literally anyone who’s ever seen a toddler lose their shit when another toddler touches their dinosaur nugget. You don’t trap two egos this bloated—this high on their own unearned divinity—in the same ideological sandbox and expect them to share the shovel. This was never if. It was how loud the implosion would be, how many subpoenas would ricochet through the group chat, and who would start live-quoting the Constitution like a concussed YouTuber mid-meltdown.

And yeah, sure—it escalated fast. One minute it was polite public reach-arounds about “innovation” and “patriotism,” the next they’re flinging Epstein files and EV mandates like two malfunctioning air fryers having a turf war in a methy RadioShack. Anyone pretending to be shocked is either lying, concussed, or auditioning for a cabinet position. These two have been circling each other like territorial pythons on ketamine ever since Trump realized Elon is richer and Elon realized Trump would sell him for a six-piece nugget and a spray tan refill.

The “leader of the free world” and the “breeder of the free world” (hat tip The Daily Show) have turned on each other, and it’s messier than Mike Lindell’s sweatbands after a bender. What started as a whimper of “fiscal disagreement” has devolved into an unhinged battle full of budget meltdowns, Epstein name-drops, and not-so-subtle deportation fantasies. If this gets any more dramatic, the FCC’s going to slap it with a warning for graphic narcissism, psychological nudity, and extended scenes of billionaire brain leakage.

It’s like Alien vs. Predator—except the Predator was found liable for sexual abuse, and the Alien is so perpetually high on ketamine and delusion, it’s a miracle he hasn’t accidentally launched himself into low Earth orbit just to tweet about free speech from the stratosphere.

It began when Elon, America’s richest Reddit troll with a private space fleet and a martyr complex, decided to oppose Trump’s latest legislative monstrosity: the “Big Beautiful Bill,” which manages to blow up the deficit and boot millions off health insurance like a fascist buy-one-get-one special. Elon—who’s siphoned more government money than a defense contractor on molly—suddenly decided he cared about spending. He called the bill an “abomination,” said it would “bankrupt America,” and told people to call their senators—because nothing screams working-class hero like a guy who fired half of Twitter from the back of his private jet now urging civic engagement.

At first, Trump went uncharacteristically soft. He didn’t foam at the mouth or call Elon a traitor or a lizard. He said, “I’m disappointed,” which is Trump-speak for “I can’t attack you yet because you still know things I’d prefer don’t leak.” It had all the wounded gravitas of a dad whose son just quit the family grift to join the Peace Corps.

But then Elon kept tweeting.

He suggested Trump didn’t win the election without his help. Claimed he personally carried Trump’s bloated political carcass across the finish line. Said he made MAGA happen. Then—like he was ordering an oat milk latte—he casually implied that Trump is in the Epstein files and that’s why they’ve never been released. That’s not a disagreement. That’s napalming the group chat.

And then the deep-fried dam burst.

But not with one of Trump’s signature slur-and-ketchup tirades. No, this time he deployed his favorite lie-delivery setting: strained calm with twitching jowls—the same voice he uses when pretending he didn’t just try to strangle a Secret Service agent with a Big Mac wrapper. He said he was “disappointed,” that Elon had “gone crazy,” accused him of having “Trump Derangement Syndrome,” and then, in the most obviously-not-over-it tone imaginable, declared unprompted that he was “not thinking about Elon at all”—the political equivalent of saying “I’m fine” while standing in a flaming ballroom, holding a shredded prenup and an empty bottle of Adderall.

Which, of course, is exactly what you say when you’re lying in bed at 3 a.m. rage-refreshing his feed and naming your McNuggets after betrayal.

He also claimed Elon had “gone weak” and was just bitter about Trump’s decision to roll back the EV mandate for electric cars “nobody wants.” Which is fascinating coming from the guy who once turned the White House South Lawn into a full-blown Tesla showroom—complete with chrome-plated vehicles, bored interns in polo shirts, and a smug photo op that looked like Shark Tank crashed into a meth-fueled state fair. And now he’s out here complaining about the “stupid free Tesler” Elon gave him, like a divorcee trying to return the wedding blender out of spite.

It was classic Trump: pretending not to care while audibly foaming at the mouth, passive-aggressively breaking up with someone he absolutely still stalks online, and throwing away a free car out of spite like a toddler launching his Happy Meal into the sun.

And all the while, Elon was on the other end of the internet firing off tweets like ballistic missiles made of ego and screen time, saying Trump should be impeached and warning the GOP that without him—Elon Musk, CEO of white noise and father of electric chaos—the Democrats would win the House in the midterms.

We are now watching two sociopathic billionaires argue over who gets to kill the planet faster—and we’re expected to choose sides like this is Team Edward or Team Edward But Somehow Worse.

This isn’t a policy split. This is a gladiator death match between two egos that could block out the sun.

The worst people on the fucking planet are fighting with each other right now because they can’t agree on how much richer they should get and how much more everyone else should suffer.

Meanwhile, the MAGA cult is having a full-blown spiritual seizure. These are the same people who once praised Elon like he was Jesus if Jesus outsourced child labor to Singapore. But now that he’s accusing Trump of actual child abuse, suddenly he’s a deep state operative who drinks lizard blood. Their loyalty isn’t to truth, or values, or facts—it’s to whichever messiah is screaming loudest in that moment.

Charlie Kirk—who looks like someone tried to sculpt a frat bro out of wet drywall—is on Twitter whimpering about “unity,” insisting the Elon–Trump implosion is “just a little friction,” like it’s a harmless disagreement over playlist control at a book burning and not a digital civil war between two billionaires with nuclear-grade blackmail on each other. Charlie’s in full-blown hostage denial mode, like a Golden Retriever in a burning room insisting the barbecue smell is “probably fine.” These people would watch Trump and Elon slap each other with Epstein files and still say, “We’re stronger together.”

No, Charlie. They are not going to make up over chicken tenders and cry-laugh emojis. Trump has accused Elon of being mentally unstable. Elon has accused Trump of being a pedophile-adjacent, democracy-melting con artist. They are not patching this up over a group prayer and some vaguely racist memes.

And while this toxic slap-fight rages, the GOP is quietly moving a reconciliation bill through Congress that:

– Rips healthcare from 11 million people

– Guts housing and food aid

– Leaves vulnerable communities open to attack

– And quietly builds a taxpayer-funded MAGA army loyal to a man who thinks coups are just spicy press conferences

This is the real horror. The clown fight is loud. The cruelty is silent.

We are being distracted by flaming Tesla tweets while they sneak fascism in through the side door.

And yet… you have to laugh. Because otherwise, you’re just crying into your expired insulin while Elon and Trump tweet about “freedom” from opposite ends of a doomsday bunker made of stolen tax dollars and shrimp cocktail.

Elon is no one’s savior. He’s a glitchy meat algorithm cosplaying as a genius, stuffed with apartheid emeralds and startup pitch decks soaked in recreational anesthesia and ego. He named his child after a military drone and a CAPTCHA. He warns AI will destroy civilization—right before trying to install it in every school, car, and forehead. He’s a colonizer with a Tesla charger and a God complex, the kind of guy who’d gentrify the moon, fire the moon, and then sue the moon for “low engagement.”

Trump isn’t any better. He’s a radioactive ham stuffed into a polyester golf costume—an actual felon, a career conman, and the kind of guy who brags about assaulting women the way most people talk about fantasy football. He peddles knockoff Bible merch while quoting Corinthians like he lost a bet, and insists windmills are weapons of mass destruction. He’s not leading a movement—he’s just a wheezing monument to every dumb, cruel instinct this country never outgrew, lumbering through history like a port-a-potty in a hurricane.

They are not leaders. They are walking malware. And they are trying to burn down the country for retweets and revenge.

So yes—laugh. Laugh like your rent depends on it. Laugh until your ribs crack, your neighbors call the cops, and every last MAGA uncle blocks you out of shame. Mock them until they melt. Humiliate them until their veneers crack and their interns quit mid-post. Because that is resistance. These men aren’t gods—they’re bloated fail-sons in meat suits, two crusty rotisserie clowns slap-fighting to see who can gaslight the apocalypse harder. And nothing terrifies them more than being the joke instead of the punchline.

But don’t stop there.

Because laughter is a weapon—and in a country being gutted by liars in flag pins and billionaires with God complexes, we need every weapon we’ve got. Mockery strips them of the myth, the bluster, the fake gold aura they use to keep people hypnotized. It reminds the world they’re not invincible—they’re ridiculous. But we don’t just laugh at them—we laugh while organizing, protesting, voting, dragging their crimes into the daylight and forcing accountability with a smirk and a bullhorn. Humor doesn’t mean letting them off the hook. It means baiting them into the fire and then holding them there with both hands.

So laugh. Vote. Protest. Organize. Build. Fight like hell.

Because the ride is far from over. And the driver just threw up on the dashboard.

Trump and Musk are setting the world on fire not because they’re smart or strategic—but because flames make them feel important.

We are not doomed. We are pissed off. We are awake. And we are still here dammit.

So grab your memes. Grab your signs. Grab your neighbors. Grab your dignity, your rage, your sharpest wit and loudest voice.

Because they haven’t won. And we’re not done. Not even close.

So keep dragging.

Keep laughing.

And keep fighting.

Until every last one of these crypto-fascist lunatics is off the damn rollercoaster and we can finally start rebuilding this country from the wreckage they leave behind.

And if we can humiliate them in the process?

Even fucking better.

And with that, today’s song:

I love you guys! Stay safe, stay strong, stay smiling and stay as “sane(ish)” as you possibly can right now.

Love,

💙Jo

*thank you to the Daily Show

And one more meme just for the fuck of it.