If Trump, 1984, Brave New World, Farenheit 451, & Handmaid's Tale Fucked & Had a Kid

In the harsh glare of spring 2025, America isn't just flirting with dystopia—we're fucking married to it. The air feels different now. Heavier. Like you could choke on the silence that follows when someone mentions a "problematic" opinion at dinner. The metallic taste of fear lingers on the tongue when we pass the newly expanded detention centers on the outskirts of our cities. The texture of our democracy has changed, grown rough and jagged, cutting anyone who handles it without the government's approved gloves.

Three months into Donaldo Shitsburger's second term, and already the echoes of literary nightmares reverberate through our reality. Not one dystopian vision but four—Orwell's surveillance state, Huxley's pleasure-sedated masses, Atwood's religious misogyny, and Bradbury's book-burning anti-intellectualism—all melding into a uniquely American horror show.