Even Elon Musk Thinks the New “Big Beautiful Bill” is a Joke

You know a bill is bad when even Apartheid Clyde — the meme king of capitalism and Trump’s former efficiency czar — calls it out.

Apartheid Clyde took aim at the Republican-backed “One Big Beautiful Bill Act,” (yes, that’s the actual name of the bill. No, I’m not shitting you.) It’s a monstrosity of legislation that somehow manages to combine massive tax cuts for the rich, bloated defense spending, Medicaid restrictions, and a fresh punch in the gut to clean energy. And just like that, Republicans have found a way to spend trillions while pretending they’re fiscally conservative.

Apartheid Clyde, who once led the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) under Trump, publicly slammed the bill for ballooning the deficit and betraying the message of DOGE. “It can be big or beautiful, not both,” Musk quipped, a rare moment of clarity from someone who once called himself a “free speech absolutist” while banning critics from Twitter (I’m still never calling it “X.”)

Let’s be real: Apartheid Clyde isn’t exactly a paragon of progressive virtue. This is the guy who spends his time playing CEO cosplay and beefing with journalists online. But when even he is sounding the alarm on a Republican spending bill, you know it’s not just ugly — it’s a Trojan horse stuffed with billionaire tax breaks and red meat for MAGA donors.

The Congressional Office Budget estimates this “beautiful” disaster will add $3.8 trillion to the national debt over the next decade. That’s more than the GDP of Germany, and somehow, the Republicans still claim we “can’t afford” student loan forgiveness or universal healthcare.

So why is Apartheid Clyde breaking ranks now? Simple. The bill fucks with his brand. It undercuts clean energy (bad for Tesla), bloats defense (bad for his whole “efficiency” thing), and makes him look like a sucker for ever aligning with Mango Mussolini in the first place. Self-interest is a hell of a drug.

Still, his critique opens a window: when even a techno-libertarian billionaire thinks the GOP has lost the plot, maybe it’s time to stop pretending they ever had one. The “Big Beautiful Bill” isn’t governance. It’s graft dressed up in patriotic drag.

If you’re pissed about this bill, don’t just laugh at Apartheid Clyde’s tweets. Organize. Disrupt. And remember: the people writing this legislation don’t care if you live, as long as they get paid.

I’m Not a Liberal, I Just Make Sense: Why Labels Fall Short

It happens all the time. I challenge right-wing talking points, call out capitalist exploitation, or support basic human rights, and suddenly — boom — I’m a “liberal.” As if that’s the end of the discussion. As if being anti-fascist or pro-worker automatically plants me squarely in the Democratic Party’s center-left garden.

Let me be clear: I am not a liberal. I just live in a country so far to the right that calling for universal healthcare, climate action, or labor rights feels like revolution.

Why people call me a liberal:

I argue with conservatives.
- Apparently, in the American binary brain, if you’re not parroting Fox News or defending billionaires, you must be a Democrat. The idea that there’s something to the left of liberals is unthinkable to many.
I care about people
- When you defend the poor, the unhoused, immigrants, or even the basic right not to die from lack of insulin, people assume you’re a part of the “bleeding heart” liberal crowd. As if compassion is a party platform rather than a moral baseline.
I don’t support Trump
- That alone gets you painted blue in some circles. Never mind that opposing authoritarianism, racism, or conspiracy cults isn’t a matter of party loyalty — it’s basic sanity.

Why I’m not a liberal

Liberals love capitalism. I want to overthrow it.
- Liberals think the system is mostly fine and just needs tweaks. I think the system is fundamentally broken and built on exploitation. We don’t need nicer capitalism — we need a new world.
Liberals believe in reform. I believe in rupture.
- Liberals put their faith in voting, committees, and incrementalism. I believe the change we need won’t come from polite asks or polished speeches. It’ll come from disruption, pressure, and direct action.
Liberals want to return to “normal.” I want to move forward.
- “Normal” gave us Trump, climate collapse, and a society that treats people as disposable. I don’t want to go back. I want something radically better.
Liberals apologize for empire. I oppose it.
- Whether it’s war, coups, or sanctions, liberals rarely challenge American imperialism. I do — because solidarity shouldn’t stop at our borders.

So what am I?

Call me a leftist. A socialist. A troublemaker. An anti-capitalist. A human being tired of being told the best we can do is Joe Biden or Kamala Harris with a side of despair. Just don’t call me a liberal.

Because I’m not here to make capitalism kinder. I’m here to make it history.

Without Empathy, We Don’t See People as People

I’ve been recently reading the book James by Percival Everett. It’s about the slave Jim from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. It’s gotten me thinking about empathy and the lack of it in humans. Empathy is not just a virtue–it’s the lens through which we recognize the humanity in others. Without it, people become objects, obstacles, or threats. History is soaked in the blood of empathy’s absence and the most chilling atrocities share a common root: the failure to see others as truly human.

The transatlantic slave trade didn’t just rely on violence; it depended on a systemic denial of empathy. Enslaved Africans were stripped of names, families, and identities. In the book I’m reading, Jim is just trying to get back to his family, but he is bought and sold by others in the book. Africans were branded, auctioned, and bred like livestock. This wasn’t ignorance, it was deliberate dehumanization. By turning people into property, slaveholders absolved themselves of guilt. Empathy would have made the cruelty unbearable. So it was repressed, silenced, replaced with pseudoscience and theology that justified oppression.

In Nazi Germany, Jews, Roma, disabled people, and others were targeted in a genocide that industrialized death. What made the Holocaust possible wasn’t just hatred–it was the meticulous suppression of empathy. People were reduced to numbers. Their names erased, their histories burned, their deaths cataloged in ledgers. The architecture of the Holocaust depended on millions participating–guards, secretaries, engineers–many of whom lived normal lives, compartmentalizing their complicity. Empathy had no place in the Final Solution.

But empathy’s absence isn’t just a relic of history. Under Trump’s administration, immigrants and asylum seekers are routinely described as “animals” or “vermin” or “invaders.” Children are separated from their parents and kept in cages, detained by ICE without due process, sometimes without adequate hygiene or comfort. The policy wasn’t a mistake; it was a strategy of deterrence through cruelty. To justify it, the administration relied on rhetoric that erased the humanity of migrants, calling them criminals, rapists, and threats to American “purity.” Empathy was a political liability, and it was treated as such.

Empathy is not weakness. It is an act of defiance in a world that profits from division and fear. To feel for another–to recognize a stranger’s suffering as real–is to refuse the machinery of dehumanization. When we listen, when we care, when we act in solidarity, we’re not just being kind. We’re fighting back against every system that says some lives matter less.

We don’t need more tolerance. We need more imagination: the kind that lets us picture ourselves in someone else’s place. Without empathy, history repeats itself. With it, maybe we can write a better one.

Trumpism vs Conservatism

Once upon a time, conservatism had a brand. You might not have liked it–hell, you might have hated it–but you knew what it stood for: limited government, free markets, family values, and a worship of Ronald Reagan that bordered on the religious. It was buttoned-up, corporate-friendly, and polite at dinner parties. Conservatism had talking points, a think tank for everything, and just enough moral panic to keep the suburban vote.

Then came Trump.

Traditional conservatism is like a country club: exclusive, outdated, and pretending it’s still 1955. It champions small government while bloating the military. It preaches personal responsibility while handing tax breaks to the wealthy. It’s a polished ideology, wrapped in American flags and “founding father” cosplay, with a Constitution in one hand and Ayn Rand in the other.

At its core, conservatism believed in institutions such as courts, constitutions, and capitalism. You could argue with it, debate it, but it had a script. Trumpism burned the script though.

Trumpism isn’t an ideology. It’s a vibe. A movement built not on principles but on performance. Trumpism is what happens when conservatism gets radicalized by reality TV, Twitter algorithms, and decades of right-wing media rage. It’s not about shrinking government. It’s about weaponizing it. It’s not about free markets, but about loyalty, tribalism, and the illusion of “winning.” Where conservatism says “let’s preserve tradition,” Trumpism screams, “Burn it down unless it worships me!”

Trumpism didn’t evolve from conservatism. It hijacked it. It slapped a red hat on it, handed it a flamethrower, and said, “Say something racist on live TV.” Suddenly, the old guard–McConnell, Bush, Cheney–look like moderates. Even Mitt Romney, the human embodiment of corporate power is now “too liberal” for the party he once led.

This isn’t a party shift. It’s a personality cult, draped in the decaying skin of the GOP.

If you’re hoping this ends with a return to “normal,” good luck. “Normal” is what built the staircase Trump descended. Conservatism laid the foundation. Trumpism built the casino on top and rigged every slot machine to spit out conspiracy theories and bootlicking.

But here’s the thing: we don’t have to pick between Reagan’s America and Trump’s circus. The problem isn’t just the flavor of right-wing decay, it’s the whole rotten system. Conservatism and Trumpism are two wings of the same vulture, circling the corpse of a world built on exploitation. So…

What if we stopped trying to salvage this system altogether? What if we built something beyond it? No billionaires, on bootlickers, no CEOs, no bosses. No political theatre where our choices are a condescending suit or a fascist clown. Imagine direct democracy. Mutual aid instead of tax breaks for mansions and yachts and private jets. Housing and food because you’re alive, not because you’re useful to a corporation. Community defense instead of bloated police budgets. Power, not hoarded at the top, but shared at the roots.

We don’t need Trumpism or conservatism. We need liberation. Burn the script. Burn the stage. Tear it all down and re-build something worth living in.

What Radicalized Me

I didn’t pop out of the womb swinging a red flag. I wasn’t raised by union organizers or taught to quote Marx before I could walk. Like a lot of Americans, I coasted on autopilot for a while. I figured the president—whoever they were—probably knew what they were doing. The system seemed fine, or at least functional. Corrupt, maybe, but stable.

Then came Trump.

That was the first crack in the illusion. Suddenly the office of the presidency wasn’t just some boring institution, it was a circus, a cult, a threat. It wasn’t just bad policy. It was kids in cages. Racist dog whistles cranked up to bullhorns. And half the country cheered. That’s when I realized the system wasn’t broken. It was functioning exactly as designed.

That’s when I started reading. Rand again, first. I loved her in high school—thought she was deep. Then I picked up Atlas Shrugged as an adult and felt like I’d been duped. It wasn’t philosophy. It was selfishness with a thesaurus. The heroes were sociopaths. The poor deserved it. The rich were gods. It clicked: capitalism doesn’t just tolerate cruelty. It requires it.

From there, I fell down the rabbit hole. Camus hit me like a freight train. The Myth of Sisyphus gave shape to something I’d felt but couldn’t name. This low, constant hum of absurdity. The rock rolls back down the hill, and we push it again. Not because it’ll change anything, but because we refuse to give up.

That absurdism became fuel. So did my misanthropy. Not in the “I hate everyone” kind of way, but in the “I don’t trust people to do the right thing unless they’re forced to” kind of way. I watched people defend billionaires like they were sports teams, as if Apartheid Clyde was going to show up and hand them a Tesla for their loyalty.

I started arguing online. Then organizing. Then donating. I joined the Democratic Socialists. I started lurking at meetings, listening more than talking. I wanted to shake things up, but not just with signs and chants. I wanted disruption. Chaos. Direct action. Guerilla organizing.

I kept reading. Kept pushing. Anti-natalism hit me hard—David Benatar, Cioran, all of it. The idea that no one consents to be born, and that bringing someone into this world is an inherently selfish act. In a dying planet, under a dying system, having kids felt like feeding bodies into the machine.

All of that coalesced into anarcho-communism. Because socialism wasn’t enough. The state isn’t neutral, it’s a tool of capital. Voting helps, but it’s a bandage on a severed limb. I believe in mutual aid, in decentralized power, in horizontal structures. I believe in burning down what doesn’t serve us and building something new from the ashes. Something where people matter more than profit. Where community matters more than hierarchy.

And yeah, I still own guns. Gifts, mostly. I don’t shoot much. But they’re there—”just in case” feels more relevant by the day.

What radicalized me? The cruelty. The absurdity. The lies we’re told about success, about work, about life itself. And the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, we can break the cycle. So I meme. I write. I organize. I fight. Because if this is a pyramid scheme called life, I at least want to go down pissing off the billionaires at the top.

Why I and People Like Me Hate Trump

People hate Trump for all sorts of reasons and they’re all valid. Why do I hate him? Well, I’ll tell you.

I hate that he represents the worst combination of arrogance, ignorance, cruelty, and power. He’s the embodiment of everything wrong with American politics–corruption, racism, greed, and narcissism–and he’s turned politics into a grotesque reality show. I see him not only as a bad president but a symptom of a much deeper rot in our system: capitalism run amok, cultish nationalism, and the glorification of stupidity.

He brags about things he should be ashamed of. He lies like it’s breathing. He panders to white supremacists, demonizes immigrants, mocks the disabled, and dodges accountability at every turn. And somehow, he became president.

I hate him because he made it clear that cruelty isn’t a bug in the system–it’s a feature. He ripped children from their parents and bragged about it. He treated a pandemic like a PR problem and let hundreds of thousands die while pushing bleach as a cure. He spent years dog-whistling to fascists until the whistles became bullhorns, and then claimed no responsibility when his mob stormed the Capitol.

He doesn’t just represent conservative politics–he represents a cult of personality built on lies, resentment, and fear. He’s not just a symptom of decline, he accelerates it. He made it okay for the worst people to say the quiet part out loud–open racism, misogyny, transphobia, conspiracy theories–he gave it a platform and a suit.

He’s everything people warned us about in history books, except with a golf course and a gold toilet.

And the worst part? Millions cheer him on because of this, not in spite of it. That’s what really makes my blood boil.

Trump didn’t break America. He just held up a mirror, grinned, and asked if we wanted to make it worse.

A Movie Star and Reality Show Star President

What does it say about conservatives that their two idols are Reagan: a polished actor who turned smiling while gutting social programs into an art form. He kicked off the modern era of trickle-down economics, mass incarceration, union busting, and “government is the problem” rhetoric. He was the velvet glove over the iron fist of neoliberalism.

Then there’s Trump: A brash, gold-plated conman who ditched the velvet glove entirely and wrapped the fist in a red hat. He turned politics into a circus, embraced open corruption, and fed white grievance politics with a firehose.

So what does it say that these two are the main idols of conservatives and the Republican party?

It says they worship aesthetics over ethics. Reagan sold the dream while hollowing it out; Trump hawks the nightmare as a feature. Together, they represent the conservative id: nostalgia, hierarchy, wealth worship, and cruelty–first dressed in a cowboy hat, then in a golf cap.

Reagan and Trump are less political figures and more myths–icons of conservative longing. But the values they embody reveal a lot about the psychology of the American right.

Conservatives idolized Reagan for what he symbolized:

A return to tradition after the upheaval of the 60s and 70s–code for putting women, people of color, and the working class back in their place. He was patriotic, optimistic, and deeply hollow. He gutted the social safety net, helped catalyze the AIDS crisis through negligence, and kicked off the war on drugs that became a war on Black communities.

His trickle-down economics, which conservatives still cling to like a religion despite 40+ years of evidence that it doesn’t work was sucked up and hoarded.

Reagan is idolized not because he helped people, but because he helped the right people–corporations, the rich, and white suburbia–feel good about stepping on everyone else.

Then you have Trump. Where Reagan was the polished actor, Trump is the reality TV boss–all ego, rage, and spectacle. His rise didn’t replace Reaganism it revealed what was always beneath it:

Open authoritarianism instead of coded dog whistles.

Grievance politics centered on the loss of white, male, Christian dominance.

Blatant corruption celebrated as “winning” by his followers.

What do these two say about conservatives as a whole? They value dominance over democracy. Both reinforced hierarchies: racial, economic, gendered, and that’s the point. The conservative movement today isn’t about ideas, it’s about keeping their group on top.

They prioritize feelings over facts. Reagan made conservatives feel safe. Trump makes them feel powerful. The results don’t matter. It’s vibes all the way down.

They replace accountability. Reagan dodged responsibility for Iran-Contra. Trump dodges it for everything. In both cases, the base cheers the escape, not the truth.

They long for a mythical past. Reagan promised a return to a golden age that never existed. Trump promised the same only louder, meaner, and with more gold plating. Both feed the same nostalgia machine that keeps people looking backward instead of forward.

Worshiping Reagan and Trump isn’t about policy. It’s about identity, fantasy, and fear. One sold the myth with a smile. The other screamed it into a megaphone. Either way, it’s about clinging to a dying order and pretending it’s salvation.

They’re not ideologically consistent heroes, they’re mascots of the decline.

Why I Am Against Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians

I’ve been stating that I am a socialist. I am a member of various groups on Facebook and when I attack Trump, I am called a “socialist Democrat.” I am not a Democrat. Democrats are capitalists just like Republicans, but the public is uneducated and don’t know the distinction. I used to think I was Libertarian, but they’re just extreme Republicans. I thought I’d lay out why I am against the Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians.

Republicans

Republicans are capitalism’s biggest defenders. Their pro-corporate, anti-worker policies directly clash with my goals. As someone who leans toward libertarian socialism, the GOP’s obsession with deregulation, tax cuts for the wealthy, and union-busting infuriates me. Trump, especially is a major problem, and Republicans have embraced him fully. I think they have split off into two factions: Republicans and MAGA. MAGA is just Republicanism pushed to the extreme. MAGA is a natural enemy to what I’m against. On another note, Republicans push policies that promote population growth, and being an anti-natalist I am wholeheartedly against this. It completely goes against my ethics

Democrats

My opposition to Democrats comes from their failure to actually challenge capitalism and make meaningful change. While they talk about fairness, they ultimately uphold the same capitalist system I want to disrupt. They’ll tweak the edges, sure, but won’t challenge the core of the problem. They campaign on progressive ideas but rarely follow through in ways that matter. Medicare for All? Green New Deal? They talk big, but cave to corporate interests. They also take money from the same corporations and billionaires that Republicans do. They talk about progressivism but won’t truly take on the rich. Furthermore, even as Republicans become more extreme, Democrats often respond with weakness instead of fighting back aggressively. Their strategy of “let’s be reasonable” isn’t working.

Libertarians

Libertarians are more defenders of capitalism and they are against collective action. They worship the free market and want fewer regulations which make things worse for the working class and the environment. They reject collective solutions in favor of “personal responsibility,” which is useless when fighting systemic problems like wealth inequality or climate change. While I’m an anti-natalist and don’t give a shit if there are future generations, you’d think they’d give a little more of a shit about their future generations. I’ve said before that I used to worship Ayn Rand, but I learned the error of my ways. I saw through her selfish philosophy, but Libertarians never grew out of it. I especially hate their rejection of solidarity.

In summation: Republicans openly serve the rich, push corporate control, and embrace authoritarianism. Democrats pretend to care about change but protect capitalism and avoid real action. Libertarians worship the free market, reject collective solutions, and would let corporations run wild.

At the core, all three prioritize profit over people and resist the kind of radical change I believe is necessary.

5 Reasons Trump is a Cunt

Trump, I think, is one of the most divisive Presidents we’ve ever had. I remember Bush being popular after 9/11 but immediately losing popularity after he decided to invade Iraq. Someone can correct me on that if I’m wrong, but that’s just how I remember it. I was in high school then and don’t remember much because I didn’t pay attention to the news like I should have. I didn’t start paying attention to the news until the 2016 elections when it started to seem like Trump had a good chance of winning.

Once Trump won I remember officially giving up on us as a species. I wasn’t fond of us before then, but that sealed the deal for me. We’re idiots and we deserve whatever catastrophic events come our way. Plague? Nuclear holocaust? Plague and then a nuclear holocaust? We deserve whatever nature or a foreign enemy tosses our way for the outcome of that election. It was a culmination of the stupidity of a culture that came together — a culture that’s too wrapped up in reality television, viral videos, and being famous just for being famous.

Someone online posed a question, not understanding how people can be so anti-Trump. I stay out of political arguments these days because they don’t do anything except lead to insults and broken friendships. Since I don’t care anything about this person’s friendship I decided to chime in with my reasons for not liking the moron:

1. He does not have the temperament for the job.

2. He is too vain for the job.

3. He can not tolerate a negative comment about what he says or does.

4. He immediately tries to discredit or attack anyone or organization that does such a thing. You can’t be in his position and throw a tantrum any time someone says something negative about you. That just comes with the territory of being president. People are going to make fun of you. If you didn’t want that to happen then you shouldn’t have signed up. I think he’s used to surrounding himself with “yes” men and since we’re not a nation of “yes” men he doesn’t know how to handle that so he lashes out.

5. I don’t like children. That includes 73-year-old children.

But what do I know? I’m just someone with an opinion and internet access. No one cares what any of us think anyway.

Kafkaphony for President 2020

I’m no doctor by any means so don’t take this as an official diagnosis, but does anyone else believe that Trump may have dementia? I’m asking as someone who saw his grandfather suffer from it and now his grandmother suffers through it. I have to help my mother take care of her, and some days it’s all I can do to keep from screaming. She wasn’t helping my own mental issues. With the help of my new meds and — let’s be totally and completely honest — weed, I’ve found her more manageable.

I don’t know how Trump acts in his daily life when he’s not on camera, but I’ve read a few books that discuss how he’s prone to just leave a room in the middle of meetings or briefings. My grandmother is one to just up and wander off if she gets distracted or bored.

Does anyone remember when Trump was running and people were saying how much they liked him because he “spoke his mind”? My grandmother does the same thing. As we say, “Whatever words come up, come out.” She’ll say anything that pops into her head whether it makes sense or not. An example being my mom and I discussing her visit with the doctor and my grandmother chimed in, “Who doesn’t like ice cream?” That was currently what was on her mind, but I wouldn’t give her the nuclear codes if I had them.

She has no idea what tact is anymore, which is fine in some cases because don’t we all want more honesty? We don’t and I’ll get into that with a future blog, but people were saying how Trump’s lack of tact was something to be admired. I know we want our politicians to be more honest, but there are also times where speaking your mind is inappropriate. You can’t tell your boss to go fuck himself. You could, but you’d be on your ass in the street before you were able to get the last syllable out of your mouth. You can use every profanity under the sun in a church, but it’s not the respectful thing to do.

“President” is supposedly a title that deserves a certain amount of respect and couth, but when the President himself shows neither of those things for his title then why should anyone else?

If you’re going to label me as a “libtard” then spare yourself the embarrassment. I’m no more a fan of liberals than I am conservatives. Can’t a guy just not like Trump and smile with glee while imagining him choking on one of those McDonald’s burgers he loves so much?

Since “telling it like it is” is such a virtue to so many people, and I enjoy speaking my mind, I’d like to run on this platform:

TRUMP IS A CUNT.

KAFKAPHONY 2020