Trump Lit the “Tariff” Fire, and Now He’s Mad the Firefighter Didn’t Bring Marshmallows: In Defense of Jerome Powell

Jerome Powell is not the arsonist setting the economy on fire; he’s the firefighter getting hosed down by Trump’s reckless trade wars while still trying to save the house. In other words, if Jerome Powell is guilty of anything, it is trying to apply economic CPR while Trump is out there gleefully choking the patient with his own tariffs.

If scapegoating were an Olympic sport, President Trump would be breaking world records. As America’s economy stumbles closer to a cliff’s edge, Trump is already setting up his safety net — not to catch the fall, but to catch a culprit. And poor Jerome H. Powell, the honorable Chair of the Federal Reserve, has been marked like a bullseye at a county fair. As a statistician and economist, I see this circus act clearly for what it is: an outrageous attempt to make the Fed the whipping boy for Trump's tariff-triggered disasters.

President Trump’s chaotic tariff war is backfiring like a rusty old musket. When he slapped a 145% tariff on Chinese imports this year, he didn’t just bruise Beijing; he sucker-punched American businesses and consumers. Shipments from China are collapsing faster than a cheap folding chair — down over 60% — and entire industries like fireworks, textiles, and electronics are gasping for breath. Even the iconic July Fourth celebrations could go dark because American suppliers can’t get basic goods. Prices are shooting up, layoffs are looming, and critical materials are drying up like puddles in the Mojave Desert.

Instead of admitting he has lit the economic barn on fire, Trump is setting up Jerome Powell to take the blame. He calls Powell a "major loser," slanders him on social media, pressures the Fed to slash interest rates, and even flirts with firing him — though deep down, he knows he can’t legally do it without starting a constitutional crisis bigger than his hairdo. Trump’s strategy is as old as time: when the ship starts sinking, don't fix the leaks — blame the captain of the rescue boat.

Let’s be clear. The Federal Reserve was created to operate independently from political clowns, kings, and chaos agents. Its job is to make data-driven decisions to protect the economy from inflation, deflation, and foolishness. Jerome Powell is trying to do exactly that: steer the monetary ship through dangerous waters without crashing into the rocks of political gamesmanship. But Trump, the ultimate backseat driver, keeps grabbing the wheel and shouting nonsense about cutting rates — ignoring that such cuts won't magically undo the destruction caused by his tariff tantrums.

The proverb says, "He who throws stones at others should not live in a glass house." Yet here we are. Trump's glass house of economic fantasy is cracking under the weight of reality, and instead of fixing it, he’s hurling stones at Powell. History tells us that political meddling with central banks has always ended badly. Richard Nixon pressured his Fed Chairman Arthur Burns in the 1970s, demanding easy money to boost his re-election. The result? Rampant inflation that haunted America for a decade. Trump is dusting off that same rotten playbook — but with even more reckless swagger.

The Federal Reserve, under Powell’s leadership, has been walking a tightrope with no safety net. Inflation is down from its pandemic-era highs, but it’s still stubborn in critical areas. Meanwhile, consumer confidence is shaky, housing markets are squeezed, and corporate investment is drying up faster than a riverbed in Texas. Powell has resisted cutting rates prematurely because he knows the inflation monster is still lurking under the bed. Trump’s push to flood the economy with cheap money now would be like throwing gasoline on a grease fire.

As America inches closer to a recession, a reckoning is coming. Trump’s economic house of cards, built on tariffs, tweets, and tantrums, is starting to sway in the wind. When jobs are lost, when prices soar, when farmers go bankrupt because they can’t sell soybeans to China anymore, Trump will need a villain to blame. Jerome Powell, the calm, gray-haired steward of monetary policy, fits that role perfectly in Trump’s melodrama. Never mind that it was Trump's tariffs, not Powell's policies, that started this bonfire. Never mind that undermining the Fed’s independence risks turning a bad recession into a full-blown depression. Trump needs a fall guy — and Powell’s face is already on the wanted posters.

I say this loud and clear: President Trump must leave Jerome Powell alone. The Fed Chair is not his economic butler. Powell does not work for Trump's ego. He works for the American people, and for the stability of the U.S. economy. The last thing we need is a Fed that dances to the tune of a politician who can’t tell the difference between a stock market rally and a sugar rush.

The story unfolding right now is as old as Aesop's fables: the fox loses his tail and blames the trapper. Trump’s trade war trap has snapped shut on the American economy, and now he’s limping around, screaming at Powell instead of admitting his own foolishness. If Trump wants someone to blame, he should look in the mirror — but we all know he’s too busy practicing his thumbs for another Twitter rant.

America’s economy deserves better than being a pawn in one man's re-election gambit. Monetary policy should not be dictated by campaign slogans or populist bluster. It should be guided by sober analysis, long-term thinking, and a deep respect for facts. Powell is trying to play the long game, protecting the economy from both inflation and political insanity. Trump, meanwhile, is trying to rig the short game, even if it wrecks the whole casino.

There's an old Nigerian proverb that says, "The monkey who tries to pull down the tree forgets that he is also sitting on it." President Trump is yanking at the tree with all his might, blind to the fact that he, too, is perched precariously on its branches. If the tree falls — if the economy crashes — it won't be Powell's fault. It will be Trump’s legacy, carved into the tombstone of economic history.

At the end of the day, no amount of finger-pointing will change the numbers. No amount of name-calling will hide the consequences of a reckless trade war. And no amount of shouting at Jerome Powell will save Trump from the hurricane he summoned with his own hands. But if he insists on making Powell the villain, Trump might just find that even scapegoats know how to kick back — and that karma has a way of hitting harder than any tariff ever could.

After all, when you keep blaming the smoke detector for the fire, don’t be surprised when the whole house burns down while you’re still arguing with it.

 

When Peace Talks Smell Like Putin’s Perfume: Trump’s Jelly-Legged Ukraine Plan

President Trump calls Zelensky ‘inflammatory’ while licking the boots of the man who lit the match—Putin. In plain English, Trump’s peace plan isn’t diplomacy; it’s a dirty backroom deal between a real estate hustler and a KGB thug, with democracy as collateral damage.

When a man walks into a peace negotiation carrying a carrot for his friend and a stick for the victim, don’t be shocked when the peace plan collapses like a house built on Jell-O. That’s exactly what’s happening with President Donald Trump’s so-called peace plan to end the war in Ukraine. For someone who bragged he could end the war “within 24 hours,” Trump’s first hundred days have produced nothing but political flatulence—loud, offensive, and devoid of substance.

Let’s not beat around the Crimean bush: Trump’s peace plan is a disaster because it started from the wrong premise. Rather than approaching the war as a brutal invasion by Vladimir Putin—a man who launched missiles, buried towns, bombed children’s hospitals, and orchestrated a trail of war crimes—Trump strutted onto the world stage treating Putin like an old golf buddy. Worse still, Trump threw Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky under the diplomatic bus, calling him “inflammatory” for daring to assert his nation’s right to territorial integrity. That’s like blaming a woman for screaming while she’s being mugged.

The core of Trump’s “peace” proposal looks less like a negotiation and more like a clearance sale on Ukraine’s sovereignty. Trump is reportedly peddling a plan that includes recognizing Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea (a crime committed in 2014 under the barrel of a gun), permanently barring Ukraine from joining NATO, and removing sanctions placed on Russia for its 2014 and 2022 invasions. Ukraine, in this twisted logic, gets to stop bleeding—if it agrees to stop fighting and let the robber keep what he stole. There are no real guarantees for Ukraine’s safety, no firm promises of military support, and no punishment for Putin’s continued aggression. Instead, Russia is trusted to “keep its word.” That’s like asking a fox to guard the henhouse because it promised not to eat anyone this time.

Trump’s defenders claim the plan isn’t all bad—it doesn’t formally recognize Russia’s 2022 grab of four Ukrainian provinces, and it doesn’t limit Ukraine’s future military size. But that’s like applauding a thief for robbing only half the bank. The fact remains: the plan rewards aggression, forgives crimes, and punishes the victim.

Even Trump’s own vice president, J.D. Vance, has hinted that Trump may soon “walk away” from the process. That’s rich coming from a man who said he could end the war in a day. Now, with zero results in nearly 100 days, Trump’s walking away like a cheap magician who forgot the trick. The damage, however, might last much longer. If he ends arms supplies to Ukraine, or cuts off intelligence sharing, or blocks Europe from getting Patriot air-defense systems—Ukraine will be left holding a wooden sword in a tank battle.

And let’s talk about Trump’s envoy, Steve Witkoff, the luxury real estate mogul turned amateur diplomat. His mission? To schmooze Putin into accepting the deal. This is the same Putin whose regime murdered political opponents, invaded two neighboring countries, and tried to assassinate dissidents on foreign soil. Sending Witkoff to Moscow is like sending a matchstick to extinguish a forest fire. It’s all optics, no substance.

President Zelensky, understandably, isn’t buying any of it. He has flatly refused to legitimize Russia’s seizure of Crimea or surrender his nation’s NATO ambitions. His country has paid the price in blood and rubble, yet Trump calls him “inflammatory.” That statement alone reveals the grotesque imbalance in Trump’s view of the conflict. The invader is treated like a misunderstood businessman, while the defender is scolded like a naughty schoolboy.

The reason Trump’s plan is collapsing is simple: it is fundamentally immoral. It is built on the belief that rewarding the aggressor will bring peace. That is not peace—it is surrender dressed in a tuxedo. History offers countless proverbs for this: “A snake never forgets its fangs.” “When you sleep with the devil, don’t expect sweet dreams.” Or as Winston Churchill once put it, “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile—hoping it will eat him last.”

Trump’s critics aren’t just Democrats or Europeans. Even many conservatives are quietly appalled. Military leaders, diplomats, and foreign policy experts across the board know that lifting sanctions on Russia without holding Putin accountable is a recipe for further war. The sanctions weren’t decorative—they were penalties for crimes against international law. Removing them now, with nothing in return, isn’t diplomacy—it’s betrayal.

And let’s not forget the lives lost while Trump plays chess with only black pieces on the board. Since 2022, over 500,000 people have been killed or injured in the war. Millions of Ukrainians have fled their homes. Children now learn their ABCs in bomb shelters. And yet, Trump dares to speak of “peace” by offering Putin the spoils of war. It’s not just tone-deaf; it’s morally deaf.

What’s most tragic is the missed opportunity. Had Trump approached the conflict as a neutral broker—one who condemned the illegal invasion, demanded withdrawal of Russian troops, and called for justice for war crimes—we might have seen meaningful dialogue. Instead, Trump entered the room with a velvet glove for Putin and a closed fist for Ukraine. He didn’t build a bridge to peace; he built a diving board off a moral cliff.

The irony of it all is that Trump still insists he’s the only one who can fix it. This from the man who openly praised Putin’s “genius” during the 2022 invasion and called NATO “obsolete.” This from the same president who withheld military aid from Ukraine in 2019 unless they investigated his political rival. This from the man who looked Zelensky in the eye and saw not a leader defending democracy, but a pawn in his political game.

Peace is not bought with cowardice. It is earned through justice. No amount of charm, threats, or fake deals will erase the fact that Ukraine was invaded, not the other way around. And as long as Trump starts with the wrong premise—that Putin is misunderstood and Zelensky is the problem—his plan will never bear fruit. It will rot from the inside, just like his friendship with Putin.

As for the future, one can only imagine what else Trump will trade for Putin’s approval. Alaska? NATO itself? Or maybe just a nice golf course in exchange for letting Europe burn a little longer. If Trump’s diplomacy were a dish, it would be borscht served cold—with a side of betrayal and a Putin-shaped cherry on top.

The Art of the Heel: How Trump’s Team Made Betrayal a Foreign Policy Doctrine

Marco Rubio skipped peace talks not because of "logistics"—but because the only map he follows is the one that keeps him out of Putin’s bad books and deep in Trump’s favor. Meanwhile, JD Vance treats Ukrainian territory like spare change in a poker game with Putin—because to him, war crimes are just inconvenient headlines, not human tragedy.

Putin’s bombs are falling, but Trump’s team is busy dropping diplomatic duds. What should be a bold stand for global democracy has turned into a pathetic spectacle, starring dumb Marco Rubio and JD Vance playing ventriloquists to Donald Trump’s hollow foreign policy. These men are not representing American strength—they’re repackaging cowardice as strategy. Instead of standing with Ukraine, they’re shaming it. Instead of confronting Putin, they’re courting him.

Rubio skipped the London peace summit, citing “logistical issues,” but nobody’s buying that ticket. The real issue is moral logistics—he doesn’t know how to show up for what’s right. His absence reduced a serious international meeting into an awkward coffee break. Meanwhile, JD Vance, ever the loudmouth, was in India delivering ultimatums like he’s the godfather of bad deals: “Take the offer or we walk.” That’s not negotiation. That’s mafia theater with a passport.

How did we get here? How did the country that stood firm against Hitler now shrink from holding Putin accountable? Trump’s team is asking Ukraine to show “enthusiasm” for peace. Enthusiasm? That’s like asking a cancer patient to smile for chemo. Ukraine is bleeding, burying its children, and rebuilding its cities in the dark. But Trump, Rubio, and Vance are playing PR games, blaming the victim like it’s a communications issue, not a war.

They’re peddling a “peace plan” that looks more like Putin’s wish list. Trump’s envoy, Keith Kellogg, offers up Crimea on a platter and suggests freezing the war along current battle lines—as if Ukrainian land is just real estate up for auction. That’s not diplomacy. That’s appeasement in a suit and tie. The last time we let a tyrant nibble away at Europe’s borders, we got World War II. Have we learned nothing?

What’s worse is how gleefully they pressure Ukraine. They hound Zelensky to concede. They paint him as the roadblock to peace, not the man who’s kept his country alive through relentless bombardment. Meanwhile, Putin gets VIP treatment—envoys, proposals, negotiations—like he’s just another statesman. He’s not. He’s a butcher with a flag, and the fact that Trump can’t see that—or worse, doesn’t care—says everything.

While Britain and France try to steady the diplomatic boat, Trump rocks it with threats and pity offerings to Russia. Macron and Sunak want peace too, but they don’t want to reward genocide. Trump does. He calls that “smart power.” I call it what it is: surrender.

And let’s talk about JD Vance, shall we? This man reduces sovereign land to a bargaining chip. He suggests “territorial swaps” like he’s talking about baseball cards. There’s no empathy. No recognition of what Ukrainians have sacrificed. Just cold, transactional rhetoric designed to please the Kremlin. Crimea isn’t negotiable. It’s occupied. It’s stolen. And any deal that doesn’t start with “Get out” isn’t peace—it’s capitulation.

This isn’t leadership. It’s betrayal in a business suit. Every statement they make pushes the narrative that Ukraine should settle, should give in, should just stop fighting. What they ignore is that Ukraine isn’t only fighting for itself. It’s fighting for every small nation that could one day be swallowed by a bully with a bigger army. Ukraine’s fight is a line in the sand for the free world. And Trump wants to erase it.

This week alone, nine people died when a Russian drone struck a bus full of Ukrainian workers. Families shattered in an instant. Meanwhile, in Washington, Trump’s team argues over ceasefire terms like they’re debating tax policy. They act like war is just noise in the background. But for Ukrainians, it’s the soundtrack of survival.

Trump has turned American foreign policy into a joke—a tragic one. He sees Putin not as a threat but as a deal partner. A kindred spirit. And Rubio and Vance, rather than speak truth to power, parrot the party line like trained parrots in a golden cage. They’re not leading—they’re following. And the trail leads straight to Moscow.

The truth, of course, is simple. Russia invaded. Ukraine resisted. Full stop. But under Trump, that clarity gets twisted. Suddenly, Ukraine is “not cooperating.” Suddenly, Putin is “open to talks.” It’s revisionist diplomacy—gaslighting on a global scale. It’s like blaming a burning house for not handing over the deed fast enough.

Rubio and Vance have chosen their role in this dark drama. They are not statesmen. They are the spin doctors of surrender. They’ve aligned themselves not with justice but with expedience, not with law but with leverage. They will go down in history—not as peacemakers—but as enablers.

And let’s not forget Trump’s obsession with “winning.” But what exactly is he trying to win here? A pat on the back from Putin? A legacy as the president who sold out an ally to look “strong”? The only trophy he’s earning is the shame of watching liberty fall while he polishes Russia’s boots.

But history doesn’t forget. Ukraine’s resistance will be remembered long after Trump’s tweets fade into irrelevance. And the world will remember who stood with them—and who stood in their way. No amount of spin, no parade of envoys, no red-faced rants at rallies will erase the simple fact that under Trump, the U.S. stopped standing up to bullies and started negotiating with them.

Let them keep drafting “frameworks.” Let them circle tables and talk about “lines of control” and “realistic solutions.” None of it changes the truth on the ground: Ukraine is the victim. Putin is the aggressor. And the Trump team? They’re just the middlemen trying to close a sale that should never be on the market.

And the people? They’re not fooled. They see through the charade. They see the bodies, the bombs, the broken promises. They know this isn’t peace. It’s a payoff.

The bad news is people are dying. The worse news is they’re being betrayed by men who pretend to serve freedom but only serve fear. The good news? Not even Trump’s diplomacy can save Putin. Because no matter how gilded the cage, the tiger inside eventually turns. And this one? He’s been biting the hand that feeds him. His days are numbered—because even the devil’s contract has a deadline.

The Queen of Glass Houses: Letitia James and the Great Mortgage Scam

Letitia James spent years hunting Trump like a bloodhound, but now that the scent of her own mortgage fraud fills the air, she’s pretending she’s the victim of a witch hunt — classic case of the pot calling the kettle black.

When you spend your life throwing stones at others, don’t be surprised when one finally boomerangs back and knocks out your own teeth. That’s exactly the scene unfolding for Letitia James today. After years of misusing the legal system as her personal baseball bat against Donald Trump, James is now tangled up in a scandal so big it could flatten her entire political career. Karma didn’t just pay her a polite visit—it pulled out a sledgehammer and knocked the front door off the hinges.

Letitia James is now facing serious allegations of mortgage fraud. This isn’t political fiction; it’s federal reality. The Federal Housing Finance Agency (FHFA) officially referred her to the Department of Justice, alleging that she lied on mortgage paperwork by claiming a Norfolk, Virginia home she purchased in 2023 would be her “primary residence.” Meanwhile, back in New York, she kept prancing around as Attorney General, conveniently forgetting that elected state officials are required to actually live in the state they serve. You don’t need a courtroom full of jurors to see it—this wasn’t just a little white lie. She didn’t bend the truth; she sent it to the emergency room.

And just as the walls started closing in, what did James do? She started rattling her tin cup, launching a desperate fundraiser asking for up to $18,000 per donor to fuel her 2026 re-election. Nothing screams “I’m guilty as sin” louder than passing around a collection plate while the feds sharpen their knives. In my view, it smells less like campaign fundraising and more like a political GoFundMe for future bail money.

What makes this downfall even more delicious is that Letitia James is being gutted by the very tactics she used to lynch Donald Trump. She forgot the simplest rule they teach you in kindergarten: if you live in a glass house, don’t throw stones. For years, James paraded around as New York’s avenging angel, promising to “get Trump” not based on evidence, but out of pure personal and political vengeance. She didn’t wait for facts. She didn’t wait for law. She campaigned on Trump’s head being her trophy before the voters even pulled the lever.

When she finally dragged Trump through court, her case was so flimsy even veteran legal analysts were shaking their heads. Yet through a biased system, she managed to slam Trump with a $454 million judgment, now ballooning over $500 million. But here’s the cosmic punchline: while she accused Trump of playing funny games with property valuations, she was allegedly doing the exact same thing herself—only worse, because unlike Trump, she had a legal duty to maintain a residence in New York.

And it's not just one shady property on her record. Reports reveal that her Brooklyn property, purchased way back in 2001, had its own paperwork magic tricks. The city’s Certificate of Occupancy called it a five-unit building—a commercial property that demands a commercial loan with higher rates and stricter terms. But abracadabra—when it came time to fill out mortgage documents, James's paperwork said it was a four-unit residential building, letting her skip off with a cushy residential loan. Houdini would've applauded.

Pierre Debbas, a leading real estate attorney, didn’t mince words: falsifying information on mortgage documents is straight-up fraud. Banks don’t offer better loan terms out of the goodness of their hearts—they do it based on risk, and primary residences are low-risk. When you lie and say you’ll live there just to snag a better deal, you’re committing mortgage fraud. Letitia James wasn’t bending technicalities; she was plowing through them like a wrecking ball through wet tissue paper.

Now James’s defenders are scrambling for excuses, trying to say that some separate paperwork indicated she wouldn't live there full-time or that no formal "primary residence requirement" existed. If you believe that, then I have beachfront property in Kansas to sell you. The mortgage world operates on clear categories: primary residence, second home, investment property. No mortgage fairy flies down with a special exemption for ambitious politicians. If you lie on those documents, you are committing fraud. Period. No commas. No footnotes.

James spent years crowing that "no one is above the law." But the moment she found herself in the frying pan, she suddenly remembered her lines from Drama Club: playing the victim, claiming political retaliation, and pretending she’s a martyr being unfairly persecuted. The same woman who launched nearly 100 lawsuits against Trump’s administration now wants us to believe she’s just a humble public servant being harassed. Give me a break. If hypocrisy were an Olympic event, Letitia James would be draped in gold medals right now.

The reality is this: James set the standard. She turned aggressive real estate practices into felony-level crimes when it suited her political narrative against Trump. Now that the same measuring stick is being pointed at her forehead, she’s crying foul. Sorry, Tish—you built this guillotine. You don't get to whine when the blade swings your way.

Her pathetic fundraiser just proves it. She’s not fundraising because of public service. She’s fundraising because she’s desperate. She’s fundraising because she knows that legal bills are coming, political allies are ducking for cover, and the smell of scandal sticks to a career like cheap cologne. She’s fundraising because once this mortgage mess fully blows up, her political brand will be as worthless as a check signed by Bernie Madoff.

James’s downfall is a lesson to every stone-throwing politician drunk on the sound of their own moral superiority. When you hunt your enemies with a flamethrower, don’t act shocked when you get burned. Letitia James thought she could hurl accusations, ruin reputations, and walk away untouched. Now she’s learning that the law she twisted into a weapon against Trump is the same law curling back like a whip to lash her to the post.

And while she tries to spin, dodge, and dance around the facts, I’ll be here, front row, large popcorn in hand, watching the inevitable implosion. Because when a so-called "justice crusader" falls from grace under the weight of her own corruption, it's not just satisfying—it's karmic payback served piping hot.

From Maryland to MS-13: How Senator Van Hollen Chose Criminals Over Citizens

Senator Chris Van Hollen didn’t just cross the border — he crossed a moral line when he chose to rescue an MS-13 thug instead of comforting a Maryland mother. Meanwhile, President Trump builds walls to keep real monsters out while Democrats roll out red carpets for them.

When a senator packs his bags to rescue a gangster instead of grieving families back home, you know the circus has come to town — and the clowns are running the show. Senator Chris Van Hollen should be ashamed of himself. I can’t believe this is even real: Van Hollen flew 3,000 miles to El Salvador to personally free Kilmar Abrego Garcia, a man Homeland Security identified as a verified MS-13 gang member deported under President Trump’s lawful crackdown on criminal illegals. A U.S. senator, paid by American taxpayers, boarding an international flight not to help Americans, but to hug a criminal illegal immigrant. Meanwhile, Rachel Morin’s mother—whose daughter was murdered by an illegal alien in Maryland—couldn’t even get a lousy phone call.

Tell me, what happened to the old saying, "charity begins at home"? Because for Van Hollen, charity begins in Salvadoran prisons and ends with betrayal right on Maryland’s doorsteps. His top priority was bringing back an alleged gang member, not comforting the family of a Maryland citizen whose daughter was butchered by another illegal. It’s like we’re living in a bizarro world where criminals get roses and victims get the cold shoulder.

The facts are not up for debate. Abrego Garcia was deported during President Trump’s administration as part of a broader operation aimed at cleaning house and keeping America safe. Homeland Security flagged him based on clothing and other standard indicators connecting him to MS-13 — one of the bloodiest and most notorious gangs on the planet. MS-13's motto isn't "Live and Let Live." It’s "Kill, Rape, Control." They don't bake cookies; they behead teenagers and terrorize neighborhoods. Yet somehow, Senator Van Hollen thinks this is the man worth fighting for?

Senator Van Hollen wasn’t just sightseeing in El Salvador. He was cozying up with criminals, staging photo ops, and apparently sipping margaritas while Maryland families cried themselves to sleep. President Bukele of El Salvador even mocked him, posting images of Van Hollen and Abrego Garcia together, sarcastically noting how "miraculously" the gang member was now enjoying "paradise" with a U.S. senator. It was like a dark punchline in a bad joke—except Maryland families weren’t laughing. They were mourning.

And who paid for all this foolishness? I want to know. I demand to know. Because it better not be one red cent of my hard-earned tax dollars. We are footing the bill while our so-called leaders act as Uber drivers for criminal illegal immigrants. How is this anything but a betrayal of the American people?

Rachel Morin’s murder wasn’t just a tragedy; it was a flashing red warning that our immigration system, under Democrat mismanagement, is broken beyond belief. Victor Antonio Martinez-Hernandez, her killer, was an illegal immigrant with a violent past, yet he was roaming free. And what did Senator Van Hollen do? Nothing. Not a word. Not a call. Not even a lazy tweet. But when Kilmar Abrego Garcia—an alleged MS-13 thug—is in a Salvadoran prison where he belongs, Van Hollen turns into Captain America, racing across the globe on a self-appointed mission to "rescue" him.

Meanwhile, President Trump continues to show real leadership. He understands that American lives matter more than illegal criminals’ feelings. It was Trump’s policies that cleaned up MS-13 hotspots, built stronger border protections, and made it clear that American citizens come first. Democrats, on the other hand, are so head-over-heels in love with criminal illegal immigrants that they’d probably offer frequent flyer miles for every gang member they personally escort back to U.S. soil.

The Democratic Party has officially hit moral rock bottom. They don't just turn a blind eye to the suffering of Americans; they actively prioritize foreign criminals over their own voters. They're running a twisted charity drive—“Adopt an MS-13 Member: Get a Hug and a Margarita!” It’s sickening. While American mothers bury their children, Van Hollen and his comrades are busy trying to win humanitarian awards from the criminals who destroy our communities.

Let’s not forget: MS-13 was formally designated a transnational criminal organization by the U.S. Department of the Treasury. They are not misunderstood teenagers needing therapy. They are ruthless executioners, and President Trump was right when he called them "animals." Yet here is Van Hollen, acting like they’re innocent schoolboys wrongly accused of stealing cookies.

And the icing on this toxic cake? Van Hollen’s little “rescue” stunt only encourages more lawlessness. It sends a crystal-clear message to every gangbanger, cartel member, and human trafficker out there: commit crimes, get deported, then have a U.S. senator personally fly down and beg for your return. If that's not an open invitation for chaos, I don't know what is.

The moral compass of the Democratic Party isn’t broken—it’s been sold at a yard sale. Today, helping a suspected MS-13 gang member is considered noble, but calling a grieving mother to offer condolences is too much to ask. Rachel Morin’s life was cut short, but her senator couldn’t spare five minutes for her family. Yet he could spare international airfare, hotel stays, security details, and media shows for a man tied to a gang that has terrorized countless Americans.

President Trump has proven he is the only adult left in the room. While Democrats play house with felons, Trump is rebuilding the walls—literal and figurative—that keep America safe. He isn't distracted by sob stories carefully crafted by leftist lawyers and activists. He understands that American blood is priceless, and he refuses to sacrifice it on the altar of political correctness.

Senator Van Hollen has betrayed not only Maryland but America itself. His actions are not just disgraceful; they are anti-American to the core. If this is the future Democrats envision—an America where criminals get limousines and victims get ignored—then God help us all.

At the rate the Democrats are going, pretty soon they’ll be offering a BOGO deal: "Buy One Deportee, Get One Senator Free!"

The Great Canned Heist: President Trump Watched as Putin Raided America’s Company

Putin can steal canned meat from Americans, and President Trump still treats him like a five-star chef instead of the international thug he is. Trump promised to 'Make America Great Again,' but all he’s done for Putin is make Russia’s pantry great—one stolen American company at a time.

When you let the fox guard the henhouse, don’t act surprised when the chickens start disappearing. Russia’s latest stunt—seizing an American-owned company to feed its starving troops—is a wake-up call that even a deaf man should hear. I hope President Trump is reading this: Russia is planning to feed its soldiers using a company stolen from an American citizen, Leonid Smirnov. I hope Trump is truly savoring what his “best friend” Vladimir Putin is doing to an American company. If President Trump refuses to take any punitive action against this clear act of aggression, then he owes the American people an honest explanation about where his heart and loyalty really lie: is it with Americans, or with Russians?

The facts are too loud to ignore. In October, the Kremlin stuck its greasy fingers into Glavprodukt, a major producer of canned meat and vegetables founded and owned by Leonid Smirnov, an American who fled the Soviet Union in the 1970s. Now under the sweaty grip of Kremlin-appointed management, Glavprodukt has one clear mission: produce food not for the hungry civilians of Russia, but for Putin’s military thugs and the National Guard, a militarized force that reports directly to Putin himself. Reuters broke the story wide open, revealing how Moscow’s desperation led them to confiscate the company’s assets in March, after Russian prosecutors accused Smirnov of allegedly moving billions of rubles out of Russia.

And what a coincidence—only after Putin’s cronies took over did the company suddenly switch to military production. Before that, not a single meat can went into the hands of the Russian army. This isn’t business; it’s piracy wearing a cheap suit.

The excuse for this daylight robbery? Russian authorities accused Mr. Smirnov of illegally moving 1.38 billion rubles—roughly $15 million—out of Russia between 2022 and 2024. Smirnov called the charges what they are: a “Russian-style corporate raid.” Anyone with half a brain and a memory of Cold War shenanigans knows this trick. Whether it was Stalin’s property seizures or Brezhnev’s forced nationalizations, the KGB playbook is as familiar as an old, smelly coat—and just as rotten.

Meanwhile, where is Trump? He’s acting like a cat got his tongue. While Senator Marco Rubio, now Secretary of State, mentioned in passing that the seizure might come up in talks with Russia, Trump himself is quieter than a graveyard on Christmas night. The man who can rage tweet about light bulbs and windmills suddenly can’t find 280 characters to defend an American citizen whose $200 million business is being gutted like a fish.

Leonid Smirnov is practically screaming for help, begging Trump to step in and save Glavprodukt. “Save my company, save all other American companies,” he cried out to the media. Yet Trump acts like he didn’t hear a thing. Maybe he’s too busy playing golf at Mar-a-Lago to notice that Putin is picking his friends’ pockets while smiling in his face.

This silence isn’t new. Trump’s record with Putin has always smelled fishier than a Moscow seafood market. At the infamous Helsinki summit in July 2018, Trump stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Putin and said he saw no reason to believe American intelligence reports about Russian election interference. This wasn’t leadership—it was kowtowing so low you’d need a shovel to find it.

There’s a proverb that says, “When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you.” But when the man inside the White House won’t even lift a finger to defend Americans from Russian thievery, you have to wonder if the enemy already set up camp inside the Oval Office.

The good news though is that Putin’s days are numbered. When a dictator has to seize a company just to scrape together enough food to feed his soldiers, it’s a sure sign that his empire is rotting from the inside out. Strong leaders build. Desperate ones steal canned peas and call it patriotism.

History’s junkyard is filled with the broken bones of rulers who could no longer provide for their armies. Louis XVI couldn’t supply bread to the French people; he lost his head. Nicholas II couldn’t feed his soldiers during World War I; he lost his throne and his life. Hitler’s armies starved when the Allies cut off supplies; he shot himself in a bunker. Now Putin is raiding food companies just to keep his tin soldiers from fainting on the battlefield. If that’s not a giant neon sign flashing "The End Is Near," then I don’t know what is.

If Trump thinks ignoring the Glavprodukt theft will make it go away, he’s fooling no one but himself. Every day he stays silent, the American people are left to wonder whether his idea of “America First” secretly means “America Last” whenever Putin comes knocking.

And when it comes to Trump’s refusal to even call a spade a spade, especially when it involves Putin, the picture becomes painfully clear. He can bark at NATO, snarl at Canada, and bite at Mexico, but when it’s Putin twisting an American's arm, Trump acts like a neutered puppy.

As for Putin, let him keep playing king of the canned meat aisle. Every jar he steals is another crack in the Kremlin’s walls. His country’s economy is shriveling like a raisin in the sun, his army is depending on looted lunch meat to keep marching, and his people are watching the circus with growing anger. Sooner or later, even a starving dog bites its master.

When Trump finally leaves the stage, history might just write that he was the first American president who mistook a robber for a "genius" and applauded while an American company was stripped clean to feed the thugs of a dying dictatorship. After all, when you dine with the devil, you better bring a long spoon—or else you’ll end up eating canned lies for dinner.

When Regulators Hate Winners: Why Facebook’s Wins Are Legal—and the FTC’s Case Is Laughable

If buying your competition is a crime, then every successful American CEO should be sitting in a cell next to Zuckerberg—with Harvard degrees as their mugshots. In plain English, calling Facebook/Meta a monopoly while TikTok eats America’s youth alive is like accusing Burger King of food dominance while McDonald’s is handing out fries on every corner.

Meta’s antitrust case is a joke dressed up in a suit, and the punchline is the FTC. What’s unfolding in court isn’t a defense of competition—it’s a political theater, with the Federal Trade Commission suddenly waking up from a regulatory coma, possibly stirred by Trump’s vendetta-induced morning wood for Mark Zuckerberg. Yes, that’s what it looks like when the FTC tries to reverse its own signed deal years later, as if they're now allergic to ink.

Let’s lay it out bare: Facebook, now Meta, legally purchased Instagram in 2012 and WhatsApp in 2014. Both acquisitions were greenlit by the FTC itself. There was no ambush, no deceit, no regulatory sleight of hand. But fast forward to 2020, and suddenly these deals are being portrayed like criminal conspiracies. That’s like a landlord approving your lease, cashing your rent checks for a decade, and then kicking you out for moving in. Ridiculous doesn’t even begin to describe it.

What exactly is the FTC’s new gripe? That Meta has a monopoly in something they’re calling “personal social networking.” But let’s break that down—because it smells fishier than a tuna salad in a sauna. They say Meta only competes with Snapchat and MeWe. Not TikTok, not YouTube, not Reddit, not X, not LinkedIn, not Pinterest, not even Truth Social. Really? That’s like saying Coca-Cola only competes with RC Cola while ignoring Pepsi, Sprite, and Red Bull. It’s not a narrow definition—it’s a dishonest one.

Even a blindfolded man on a unicycle can see that TikTok alone has bulldozed the social media landscape, grabbing more than a billion users globally and stealing hours of screen time like a digital Robin Hood. TikTok has changed how people post, how they view, how they dance, how they sell—and yes, how they compete. Meta had to reinvent parts of Instagram and Facebook just to keep up. But somehow, according to the FTC, TikTok doesn’t count. How convenient.

Let’s not forget the current state of the market. We’ve seen a flurry of startups rise—Clubhouse, BeReal, Bluesky—even Trump’s own Truth Social. Some fizzled out like cheap fireworks, but they still prove that the social media space isn’t closed; it’s hyperactive. Meta isn’t blocking the gate—it’s just winning the race. And last time I checked, winning wasn’t a crime. It's only a problem if you’re the one losing.

Besides, if users hated Meta’s products so much, why do they keep coming back like it's a social media crackhouse? Reports show nearly half of mobile screen time is spent on social platforms. People are glued to these apps like toddlers to tablets. It’s not about ads or privacy or even competition. It’s about addiction—and guess what? Nobody forced them. Consumers vote with their thumbs, and they’ve chosen Meta over and over again.

As for innovation, Meta didn’t buy Instagram and WhatsApp to kill them. They supercharged them. Instagram’s camera features, stories, reels, and integrations with Facebook made it explode. WhatsApp, once a niche texting app, became the encrypted global messaging beast it is today. Meta didn’t bury the competition—it fertilized it. If that’s monopoly, then every successful American business should stand trial.

The FTC’s argument about internal emails discussing “buying over building” is another clown act. That’s called strategy, not sabotage. Every company considers whether it’s better to build from scratch or buy something that works. That’s not illegal—it’s MBA 101. If planning to beat the market is now a violation, we might as well declare capitalism a crime.

What makes this case even more absurd is the irony surrounding it. While the FTC claims Meta has no competition, TikTok, Meta’s biggest rival, is itself dangling in legal limbo thanks to government bans. We don’t even know if TikTok will be around by the time this trial wraps. So how can any court judge the level of competition when the playing field keeps changing based on political whims?

And here’s the real kicker: the FTC already approved these deals. This isn't a missed red flag—it’s a forgotten memory. Now they want to retroactively punish Meta for playing by the rules they set? It’s as if the referee joined the game ten years later, blew the whistle, and called offside. That’s not justice—that’s regulatory dementia.

Some say Meta grew too powerful. But that’s like blaming a tree for growing tall after you planted the seed and watered it daily. Meta invested, built, acquired, and innovated. The FTC stood by the entire time, clapping along the way. Now that Meta’s towering over the competition, they want to swing an axe at the roots?

This isn’t about protecting consumers. It’s about punishing a company because it succeeded under rules that are now politically inconvenient. And let’s not pretend this has nothing to do with Trump’s obsession with Zuckerberg. From the Mar-a-Lago dinner photos to the billion-dollar platforms, Trump’s shadow looms large. The sudden regulatory fever from an agency that snored through the original deals seems all too coincidental. It’s like watching a soap opera where the ex comes back to sabotage the wedding.

The court should treat this case like yesterday’s memes—recognize it for the noise it is and swipe it up and away. Facebook/Meta should not only win this case—they should be applauded for giving Americans platforms they use, enjoy, and can’t seem to live without. The FTC should focus on future frauds, not rewrite history to settle old political scores.

And if the regulators still insist on dragging this nonsense to court, maybe it’s time we investigate the FTC for impersonating a watchdog while actually being a lapdog with a Twitter account.

Exporting Sanity, Importing Chaos: Trump’s Trade War and the Death of Common Sense

Calling a trade deficit “theft” is like accusing your grocery store of robbery because you walked out with food and they kept your money—Trump economics is theater, not policy. Also, the president’s obsession with imports makes about as much sense as blaming oxygen for breathing problems—he’s waging war on the very lifeline of American industry.

Trump’s trade war isn’t just a bad deal—it’s a full-blown fire sale on common sense, where logic is sold off by the tweet and economic strategy is marked “Made in Confusion.” President Trump’s tariff war is based on two ridiculously wrong premises. The first one is his belief that if the U.S. runs a trade deficit with any country, then that country is, by his definition, ripping the U.S. off. That’s not just a lie—it’s economic lunacy dressed up in a red tie.

Take Brazil, for example. Brazil is the coffee king of the Americas. The United States doesn’t grow coffee. Never has. But Americans drink coffee like it’s the national fuel. So we buy billions of dollars’ worth of coffee from Brazil. Naturally, that creates a trade deficit with Brazil. And by Trump’s cracked crystal ball of trade logic, that means Brazil is our economic enemy, stealing our money and running wild. That’s not just wrong—it’s idiotic. It’s like saying your barber is robbing you because you don’t cut your own hair.

Let’s look at Germany next. Germany makes world-class cars—Mercedes, BMW, Audi. Americans love them. The U.S. doesn’t produce these brands, and our car industry isn’t built to compete with German luxury engineering at that level. So we import. That causes a trade deficit. But to call Germany a thief for selling us what we willingly buy is like blaming Amazon for your impulse buys at midnight. Americans choose these imports. There’s no gun to the head. There’s just a preference for quality and performance.

Now, Japan. That country sells us electronics, medical equipment, auto parts, and high-end machinery. These are not the result of some global heist. They are the products of innovation and efficiency. Japan is not “ripping us off.” We’re just not making these things competitively enough to keep up with our own demand. If you want a smart TV or a hybrid car, Japan often makes the best ones. If we didn’t import them, we’d be sitting in the dark with gas-guzzlers. That’s not trade theft; that’s global market economics.

The second big fat fib in Trump’s tariff tantrum is this fantasy that imports are somehow bad. No, Mr. President. Imports are not a virus eating away at American greatness—they’re the backbone of our consumption and production. America is a massive consumer economy. We import clothing, electronics, food, vehicles, industrial parts, and raw materials because we don’t make enough of them, or don’t make them cheaply enough, or simply don’t make them at all.

Want to build a solar panel? You’ll probably need rare earth minerals from China. Want to manufacture smartphones? You’ll need precision parts from Korea. Want your morning cereal? Chances are you’ll be pouring milk from cows fed on soybeans imported from Argentina. You can’t chant “America First” while banning the very stuff America relies on. That’s like burning your own house because the electric bill came from Canada.

Imports allow American companies to lower production costs, innovate faster, and expand job creation in other sectors. When a car factory in Michigan imports parts from Mexico, it doesn’t kill jobs—it helps keep the assembly line running. Slapping tariffs on imports makes those parts more expensive, forcing American factories to either raise prices or lay people off. And we’ve seen that happen already. Trump’s steel tariffs led to higher prices for manufacturers who use steel—like car companies and construction firms. Thousands of jobs were lost because their input costs exploded.

Let’s not forget how many American farmers got burned. China retaliated by slapping tariffs on U.S. soybeans, pork, and dairy products. That caused U.S. agricultural exports to China to drop sharply. The Trump administration had to roll out a $28 billion bailout for farmers—a subsidy that even conservative think tanks called a desperate political Band-Aid. So Trump’s trade war hurt farmers, raised consumer prices, and scared off investors. All for what? To satisfy his hallucination that trade deficits equal theft?

And then there’s the car crash of foreign policy. Slapping tariffs on Canada—our next-door neighbor and most reliable trade partner—wasn’t just petty. It was stupid. The same applies to tariffs on European Union goods. Trade wars don’t build bridges; they burn them. Trump turned economic allies into trade adversaries overnight, pushing some of them into new partnerships that don’t include the U.S. While he was playing whack-a-mole with tariffs, China signed the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership with 14 other Asia-Pacific countries—the largest trade agreement in history. That deal excludes the United States, and it happened because other countries lost faith in us as a stable trade partner.

History won’t forget that Trump started this fire. But we must remember the flames spread because no one in his inner circle knew how to use a hose. His advisers stood by while he insulted allies, punished consumers, and dismantled decades of careful diplomacy with all the finesse of a bull in a Walmart aisle. A real leader listens to economists, trade experts, and global partners. Trump listened to his gut—and his gut speaks nonsense.

He called himself a “Tariff Man.” Well, America paid the price for his costume. A Brookings Institution study showed that manufacturing job growth slowed significantly during the trade war. Foreign investment in U.S. industries also dipped. That’s not winning. That’s wounding your own economy to teach imaginary enemies a lesson. It’s like breaking your own leg to make the other runner feel guilty.

And as for the claim that China blinked? They didn’t. China took the long view. They diversified their imports, turned inward for tech innovation, and locked in trade deals elsewhere. Meanwhile, American farmers went bankrupt, and U.S. businesses postponed investments because they didn’t know what new tariffs would hit them next. The uncertainty killed momentum. The damage is real.

So yes, President Trump, your advisers on trade and international finance have failed you. But more importantly, you have failed the American people who trusted you to understand how global markets work. You need to fire your entire economic imagination and hire someone who’s passed at least one high school economics class. You need people who will tell you the truth—that trade deficits are not national robberies, that imports are not demons in disguise, and that tariffs are not toys you use to win Twitter fights.

This isn’t The Art of the Deal. This is The Folly of the Tariff. And if your plan is to keep swinging a wrecking ball at the global economy while calling it construction, don’t be surprised when the only thing left standing is the pile of rubble you’re sitting on, still tweeting about your victories.

From KGB to OMG: How Zelensky’s Tech-Savvy Troops Blew Up Putin’s Empire Dreams

Ukraine’s drones do more damage in minutes than Russia’s outdated tanks can manage in months, proving that brains beat brute force when freedom is on the line. Indeed, if justice wore boots and spoke truth, it would sound like President Zelensky and march like the Ukrainian resistance—relentless, righteous, and ready to make tyrants tremble.

Putin’s latest power play is less a strategic masterstroke and more a tragic game of musical trenches—except the music stopped months ago, and his soldiers are still dancing in the mud. His dream of grabbing more Ukrainian land before begging for a ceasefire is as doomed as a rusted T-72 trying to climb a hill without tracks. I’ve always said it: Putin’s days are numbered. And now, even the numbers are laughing at him.

The truth is, Russia's war machine is running on fumes, fantasy, and funerals. Despite Putin massing troops near Sumy and Kharkiv, his army isn’t positioned for success. It's positioned for slaughter. Ukrainian intelligence and military experts are warning that Russia lacks the hardware, the manpower quality, and the battlefield competency to pull off anything beyond small-scale nuisance attacks. And even those are getting swatted down by Ukrainian drones faster than you can say “Soviet nostalgia.”

Let’s not forget: since this full-scale invasion began in 2022, Russia has lost around 3,000 tanks and 9,000 armored vehicles. Entire storage depots are being emptied, not because Russia is on the march—but because they're scraping the bottom of the barrel. Even those reserves are barely serviceable. At this rate, Moscow will soon be sending tractors to the frontlines with machine guns bolted to the hood and calling them “innovation.”

This is not a war of strategy. It's a meat grinder run by a butcher who’s run out of seasoning. Putin’s latest draft of 160,000 poor Russian souls proves one thing: his only plan is to drown Ukraine in bodies. These new conscripts get less training than a fast-food cashier and are rushed to the front with boots too big and hope too small. Some are trained for mere days before being shoved into the fire. They’re not soldiers—they’re statistics in the making.

Meanwhile, Ukraine under President Zelensky has not only endured but adapted. Ukrainian forces have turned drone warfare into an art form. Their ability to strike swiftly and disrupt enemy movements has made it almost impossible for Russia to mass troops without being exposed and destroyed. Russian commanders now fear the buzz of drones the way vampires fear sunlight. And with more Western support pouring in—billions of dollars’ worth of missiles, radars, and defense systems—Ukraine is proving it’s not just fighting back. It’s learning, evolving, and winning.

Even experts in the West are no longer pretending Putin has a winning hand. They say the recent surge in Russian attacks is more about optics than outcomes. Small assault groups, often as little as 100 men, are thrown at Ukrainian positions with little to no armor support. Why? Because they’ve run out of armored support. It’s like sending pawns to storm a fortress and wondering why they all end up face-down in the moat.

And yet, the Kremlin keeps pumping out propaganda like it’s 1984 and Orwell’s ghost is on the payroll. They want the world to believe there’s progress on the ground. But on the battlefield, there’s only regression, confusion, and destruction. Ukrainian officers on the ground describe Russian advances as chaotic and unsustainable. Any minor gain comes at the cost of equipment, morale, and often entire platoons. That’s not winning. That’s losing loudly.

Putin’s hope now hinges on Sumy and Kharkiv—regions he believes can shift the negotiation table in his favor. But the facts say otherwise. Even if he grabs a few villages or crossroads, Ukraine’s strategy is clear: deny him the ability to consolidate, counterattack where it hurts, and hold the line with brains, not just brawn. Putin wants to zone in; Ukraine wants to zone him out.

Let’s be honest. Putin isn’t a grandmaster playing chess. He’s a gambler who thinks if he keeps throwing dice, he’ll eventually hit a miracle. But every roll drains his resources, exposes his lies, and alienates his few remaining allies. His military is fractured. His generals are frustrated. His soldiers are either dead, demoralized, or deserting. And his dreams of imperial restoration are turning into a bureaucratic nightmare.

Even the supposed “peace overtures” coming from Moscow are laughable. They whisper about ceasefires and negotiations while launching missiles and bombing hospitals. That’s not diplomacy—it’s desperation dressed up in military camouflage. The moment Ukraine shows strength, Putin talks peace. But the moment there’s an opening, he strikes like a coward with a knife in the dark. This is not a man of vision. This is a man clinging to the past, dragging his country into the grave with him.

Meanwhile, the world watches. And while some voices—mostly the usual Kremlin parrots—still talk about “Russian resolve,” the reality on the battlefield tells a different story. Ukraine is bruised but not broken. Its people are determined. Its soldiers are experienced. And its president, Zelensky, has become not only a national symbol of resistance but an international one. He doesn’t beg for pity—he demands justice. And that terrifies Putin more than any missile ever could.

The great Russian bear, once feared across continents, is now tripping over its own tail. Putin's war was meant to be a blitz. Instead, it's become a black hole—sucking in resources, respect, and relevance. The world has changed. But Putin is still stuck in a KGB fantasy, believing he can redraw borders with bullets and lies.

And so here we are. A war that should never have started. A dictator who should never have been empowered. A people who refuse to be conquered. I say it again, and I say it without hesitation: Putin’s days are numbered. He thought Ukraine would fold in days. Instead, it has turned into the anvil on which his empire is breaking.

When this war is over, historians won’t remember Putin as a master strategist or defender of Russia. They’ll remember him as a man who started with tanks and ended with tractors, who promised glory and delivered graves, who built his legacy out of ashes and lies—only to be buried beneath them.

Because at the end of the day, even dictators can’t dodge karma forever. Especially not the kind that comes in the form of a Ukrainian drone.

Dead Kids, Silent Tweets: The Cost of Trump’s Jelly-Made Peace Plan

Trump’s refusal to sanction Russia proves his so-called peace plan is nothing but a Kremlin-approved script written in American ink.

Trump’s tariffs came down like a hailstorm—but somehow, not a single drop touched Russia. Funny, isn’t it? While China, Europe, and Mexico got roasted on the grill of the so-called "Liberation Day" tariffs, Vladimir Putin was left sipping tea in the rain of blood and fire raining down on Ukraine. Did anybody paying attention notice this? Putin launched missiles at playgrounds, while Trump launched tariffs at everyone except the man turning Ukraine into a cemetery. It’s not just a double standard—it’s a diplomatic joke written in jelly.

Let me say it clearly: Putin has continued to kill women, children, and innocent civilians in Ukraine. A few days ago, 18 people were killed in a Russian missile attack on Kryvyi Rih—nine of them were kids. Another 56 were injured. A restaurant and a playground were turned into rubble. The scene looked like a horror movie set. Meanwhile, Trump's response? Not a single word of condemnation. Not a whisper of anger. Not even a lukewarm tweet. Nothing. The silence is as loud as the explosion that tore through those Ukrainian streets.

You’d think that a man who calls himself the master negotiator would have at least pretended to be outraged. But no. His version of peace is basically Putin’s playbook—just with American flair. Trump’s “peace deal” for Ukraine is less of a strategy and more of a PR stunt. It’s flimsy, wobbly, spineless—a plan written in jelly, wobbling in the sun while children’s bodies lie in the dirt. There is nothing strong or respectable about that. It’s cowardly. It’s shameful. And it’s dangerous.

Trump has gone out of his way to avoid punishing Putin. While Russia continues its war crimes, the so-called “Dealmaker-in-Chief” is playing footsie with a tyrant. Where are the sanctions? Where are the consequences? The excuse is that U.S.-Russia trade is already low. That’s like saying you won’t jail a murderer because he already lost his job. The logic is twisted, the priorities are broken, and the people of Ukraine are paying the price in blood.

Even Zelenskyy, a man under daily attack, called out the weak response from the U.S. embassy. When Russia bombed a playground and killed children, the U.S. reaction didn’t even name Russia. Zelenskyy asked, “Are you afraid to say the word Russian?” And I ask the same of Trump: Are you afraid to say Putin’s name? Or is your tongue too tied from all the secret deals and handshake diplomacy?

Trump’s team says they're "waiting to see" if Moscow is serious about peace. Really? While they wait, more drones drop, more missiles strike, and more lives are lost. Russia has already violated the partial ceasefire deal that the U.S. helped negotiate. They bombed Kharkiv. They struck an energy facility in Kherson. They hit residential areas. Every Russian promise ends with a missile. But Trump still thinks this war can be ended with a hug and a handshake.

Putin sent his investment envoy Dmitriev to Washington last week. Why? To peddle the same empty words wrapped in lies. And what did Trump’s people do? They smiled and asked him to “take a message back to Moscow.” What message? That America is watching, taking notes, and doing nothing? That’s not diplomacy—that’s delusion.

Trump says if Russia launches a big offensive, then we’ll know they’re not serious about peace. But what about the bombs already falling? What about the children already dead? What more does he need—an RSVP from hell?

Let me make it plain: Trump’s peace plan is not a peace plan. It’s a political stunt. It’s a lie wrapped in the American flag. A real peace plan demands pressure. A real peace plan calls out the criminal and protects the victim. A real peace plan doesn’t shake hands with a warlord while ignoring the blood on his palms.

It gets worse. While Russia keeps firing at Ukraine’s energy facilities, Trump keeps selling the dream that he can “end the war in 24 hours.” That’s not policy. That’s a used-car salesman pitch, and the car is already on fire. His peace deal has no spine, no strength, no strategy. It’s a circus act, and the ringmaster is asleep.

And now, as Congress begins talking about new sanctions, Trump plays the role of the middleman. He warns buyers of Russian oil that they might face tariffs. But even that comes with a wink and a shrug. China and India—the biggest buyers—aren’t shaking. They know the game. They know that Trump talks loud but punishes selectively. If the goal is to stop Russia’s war machine, then someone should remind Trump that sanctions aren’t optional—they’re essential.

Let’s not forget history. Putin’s war in Ukraine began in 2014 with Crimea. In 2022, it turned into a full-scale invasion. Since then, thousands have died. Millions have been displaced. Cities have been destroyed. And through it all, Trump has treated Putin like a poker buddy, not a war criminal. He even praised him as “savvy” and “smart” at the start of the invasion. That wasn’t just bad judgment—it was an insult to every family hiding in basements while bombs fell from the sky.

There’s an old proverb: “He who sups with the devil should have a long spoon.” Trump not only supped with Putin—he seems to have handed him the menu. His refusal to punish Russia with tariffs is not just a policy choice—it’s a betrayal of justice, decency, and global stability.

Zelenskyy is right. We must call a spade a spade. We must call Russia what it is: a terrorist state waging war on the innocent. We must put real pressure on Putin. And if Trump won’t do it, then the American people must ask why. Why is he afraid of punishing the man responsible for so much pain?

Because right now, it looks like Trump’s peace plan is less about peace and more about pleasing Putin. And if that’s the case, we might as well call it what it is: Putin’s Plan, made in America, endorsed by the “Jellymaker-in-Chief.”

No Wallet, No Woman: Stop Dating If You’re Broke

A man relying on his dad’s credit card shouldn’t be pursuing women—he should be pursuing a job and a clue. The truth is, modern women aren’t heartless—they’re just tired of dating boys who come with dreams but no direction, ambition but no bank account.

When broke men talk about love, it’s like trying to fill a gas tank with pocket lint—ambitious but pointless. Let’s be honest here: women don’t like broke guys. That’s not a dig, it’s a fact, a social law as old as romance itself. If a guy can’t afford to pay for the first date with his girlfriend, or if he’s swiping his dad’s or mom’s credit card to impress her at Applebee’s, then he shouldn’t be in a relationship. It’s that simple. No money? No honey.

I’ve seen guys strut around like peacocks on payday, yet collapse like wet tissue paper when the bill arrives. Let’s get one thing straight: women aren’t asking for Bentleys or yachts; they’re asking you not to pay for their sushi with your mother’s Discover card. And if that’s too much to ask, you’ve got no business being in the dating game. Love isn’t a welfare program. No woman signed up to be your unpaid therapist, financial coach, and personal sponsor.

This idea that women don’t like broke men isn’t new, and it’s not even controversial in the real world—just on the internet where broke men gather like mosquitoes to whine about gold diggers. But go back as far as the Bible, and you’ll see the trend. Ruth didn’t pick the poorest man in the field—she married Boaz, the landowner. Women have always gravitated toward men who provide security, stability, and sanity. And in modern times, that translates into a stable income, a working debit card, and preferably no roommates named “mom” and “dad.”

There’s a Nigerian proverb that says, “No matter how sweet love is, it cannot be used to cook soup.” In other words, feelings don’t pay bills. We live in a world where adult responsibilities matter. You can’t love someone properly when you’re dodging debt collectors and hoping your date orders from the appetizer menu. A man who’s financially unstable is not ready for a relationship. He’s barely ready for himself.

Let’s bring in some facts, not fantasies. Surveys from the last couple years show that over 50% of women say financial stability is the number one trait they look for in a partner. Another study found that nearly one in three millennials and Gen Zers have broken up with someone over financial stress. These are not bougie women with unrealistic expectations—they are working women who don’t want to carry another grown adult on their back like a backpack full of unpaid bills.

And don’t get it twisted. This isn’t about materialism; it’s about maturity. If you can’t hold down a job, stick to a budget, or even afford your own car insurance, you’re not ready to carry the weight of another person’s emotional needs. Relationships cost money—dates, gifts, emergencies, the whole package. Trying to build a relationship while you’re flat broke is like trying to build a house during a hurricane with no tools and a prayer. It’s doomed from the start.

Some men think it’s romantic to say, “I don’t have money, but I have love.” That’s not romantic. That’s reckless. Love is not a substitute for rent. If you love her, the least you can do is not drag her into your financial mess. Imagine a guy proposing to a woman and saying, “Will you marry me—and help me consolidate my student loans?” That’s not a proposal. That’s a cry for help.

And don’t come with the exception stories. Yes, some broke guys end up with women who believed in their potential. But those stories are rare, like lottery winners. For every broke man who became a millionaire, there are thousands who stayed broke and dragged someone down with them. Michelle Obama didn’t fall in love with a broke Barack because she loved struggle; she saw vision, purpose, and potential backed up with action. The difference is, Barack had ambition and direction, not just vibes and excuses.

It’s crazy how so many broke men expect loyalty from women they can’t even afford to take to Wendy’s. You want her to stick around while you “figure it out”? That’s not a girlfriend, that’s a babysitter. And even babysitters get paid. The bare minimum for being in a relationship is being able to stand on your own two feet financially. If your idea of a good date is splitting a $10 pizza and sitting in your mom’s basement watching free YouTube videos, stay single. That’s not a relationship, that’s a recession.

And let’s talk about emotional consequences. Financial stress is one of the leading causes of arguments and breakups. Broke men bring more than empty wallets—they bring anxiety, stress, and drama. A relationship built on broke bones can't stand. It's not romantic, it's tragic. Women don’t want to play counselor every night because their man overdrew his checking account buying Jordans.

Now don’t get me wrong—nobody’s saying a man has to be a millionaire. But he should at least be able to carry his own weight. If you need your parents to fund your dating life, maybe they should go on the date instead. If you can't afford gas to pick her up, why are you picking women up at all? You can’t pay for Netflix but you’re out here trying to chill. That’s delusional.

The truth is, the dating market is a competition, and broke men are entering with flip-flops and hope. Hope doesn’t pay for brunch. Hope doesn’t keep the lights on. Hope is not a financial plan. If you want a girlfriend, get a job first. If you want love, learn how to budget. Until then, your only real relationship should be with your hustle.

So to all the broke guys out there thinking love will save them: wake up. This ain’t a fairy tale. Women want a partner, not a project. And if you can’t even afford your own dates, then no—you can’t afford a girlfriend. Period. Try loving yourself first. It’s free, and it won’t call you out for forgetting your wallet again.

Because if women are gold diggers, then broke men must be buried treasure—hidden, unclaimed, and completely worthless in the market.