When Stupidity Met Desperation: The Zelenskyy Summit of Absolute AssFuckwittery

You know what really grinds my gears: A sitting president can't stop making shit up during a war summit and we're all supposed to pretend this is normal governance and not the deranged fever dream of a narcissistic dumbass.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." - Often attributed to Edmund Burke, though disputed in origin, this quote captures the essence of what happens when we normalize presidential incompetence and accept the systematic dismantling of democratic institutions as mere political theater.

The air in that room must have been thick enough to chew on—a suffocating mixture of geopolitical desperation, performative stupidity, and the kind of cognitive dissonance that makes your brain feel like it's being wrung out like a wet dishtowel. Donkey Trumpkins shuffled into that meeting like he owned the place, which, to be fair, he technically does own buildings in like twelve countries, but that's beside the fucking point. This wasn't a negotiation. This wasn't a strategic alignment of wartime allies. This was theater so goddamn incompetent it made me want to puncture my own eardrums with a rusty fucking toothpick.

Zelensky showed up in his signature military green, looking lean and tired in that jacket that cost more than Donkey Trumpkins' spray tan maintenance budget. And what did the sitting president of the United States focus on? The fucking clothes. Not the war. Not the millions of displaced Ukrainians. Not the strategic implications of a Russian invasion that has fundamentally altered the global order. No. He wanted to talk about the goddamn outfit, like he was a fashion blogger reviewing the latest runway collection at Milan Fashion Week. "He looked very beautiful in his jacket," the man said. The. Fucking. Jacket. I felt my soul leave my body in that moment.

As Michel de Montaigne once wrote, "When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract positive thinking"—and here we were, watching fantasy replace policy in real-time, watching the gift of delusional thinking substitute for actual leadership.

The meeting lasted about 35 to 40 minutes, and in that time, Donkey Trumpkins managed to compress more bullshittery into a single conversation than most politicians produce in an entire presidency. It was like watching someone play international affairs on hard mode with a controller that had half the buttons broken—everything coming out was either nonsensical or actively dangerous, and sometimes, horrifyingly, both.

First, there was the railroad comment. A Democrat senator who wants to build a railroad from the mainland to fucking Hawaii. Not a tunnel. Not some advanced transportation system. A goddamn railroad, as if we're still in 1887 watching Cornelius Vanderbilt carve empires across the continent with iron and ambition. I sat there, skin crawling, wondering if this came from an actual conversation or if Donkey Trumpkins had just snorted some particularly potent line of fantasy that morning. The claim was so preposterously dumbass-faced that it sounded like something a kid would make up to impress his friends at lunch, except this dumbfuck said it to the president of a country engaged in an existential war for its survival.

Then—and this is where my blood pressure genuinely spiked into the danger zone—he said Putin should have won this fucking war in a week. In. A. Week. While standing next to Zelensky. While the Ukrainian president watched him advocate for Russian victory. Straight-up pro-Russian propaganda vomited directly out of the American president's mouth like he was possessed by some Cold War demon, like his brain had been hijacked by Kremlin hackers and this was the most efficient way to transmit Moscow's talking points. The shitcock energy of that moment was absolutely transcendent in its awfulness.

Zelensky's face in that moment—the slight flicker of disbelief, the micro-expression of someone realizing they're talking to a fundamentally broken individual—that was worth documenting for posterity. That was the look of a man watching his last military aid evaporate before his eyes, replaced by praise for the enemy committing war crimes against his people.

As Bertrand Russell argued, "Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric"—but there's a goddamn difference between eccentric and catastrophically treasonous, and Donkey Trumpkins was operating in a territory so far beyond eccentric that Russell himself would have needed a fucking map.

The thing about Donkey Trumpkins is that he mentions Biden twice and Barack Obama three separate times in this meeting. Three. Separate. Times. In a room with a wartime ally. The obsession was so thick you could have bottled it and sold it as a psychological case study to every university in the Western Hemisphere. He couldn't even engage with the present crisis without dragging his predecessors into the room like invisible ghosts haunting every second of conversation. It was the conversational equivalent of taking a shit at a dinner party and then blaming people who attended parties forty years ago.

A reporter—a woman with an accent—asks him a question, and his response is to ask where she's from. When she says Ukraine, he says "ah okay," like she'd just revealed she'd been sent by aliens. This wasn't the first time he's done this dance. Every female reporter with an accent gets the same dumbass interrogation, the same "where are you really from" vibe, like there's a surveillance apparatus running in his skull constantly checking immigration status. The ass-dickery of that particular tic is almost meditative in its consistency.

Zelensky gets asked what the difference in leadership is between Donkey Trumpkins and Biden. Here's a man in the middle of an existential conflict for his nation's survival, and the best he can muster is "Biden isn't president anymore. He can't do anything about this." It's the kind of diplomatic burn you deliver when you realize that your conversation partner is genuinely broken at the foundational level.

But Donkey Trumpkins? He says one of them is "extremely competent" and the other is "grossly incompetent." I'll let you guess which side of that horseshit he put himself on. The self-regard was so staggering, so completely divorced from any measurable reality, that I felt like I was watching someone live in a parallel dimension where up is down and competence is measured by how much you talk about yourself.

Here's where it gets truly scumbag-level absurd: Donkey Trumpkins accuses a Ukrainian reporter of being a plant, pre-planned by Zelensky, like there's some elaborate conspiracy to ask legitimate questions. The paranoia is so thick you could use it as drywall compound. He's standing next to a fucking wartime president and his brain is immediately running through scenarios where everyone is lying, scheming, orchestrating against him. It's the thought process of someone whose internal reality has been so completely hollowed out by narcissism that every interaction becomes a potential threat, every question a hidden attack.

Then he starts talking about Melania and missing children in Ukraine like he's reading from three different scripts simultaneously. He mentions Melania "getting eight kids back"—which is such a vague and profoundly dumbass statement that I had to read it twice to make sure my brain wasn't malfunctioning. And then he conflates the lie about 300,000 kids off DACA rolls with supposed missing Ukrainian children, dragging out some number like 20,000, then immediately dropping it down to 300, like he's just checking random numbers from a lottery machine to see which one lands better. The cognitive fuckery required to mix those narratives together is honestly impressive in its incompetence.

As Peter Singer once noted, "The capacity for sympathy is central to ethics," and here we have a president with such a profoundly shattered capacity for sympathy that he can't even maintain internal consistency when discussing missing children. The shitass energy of exploiting human suffering for talking points is just jaw-droppingly contemptible.

Donkey Trumpkins claims we only recently started studying drone warfare because of Ukraine, conveniently forgetting that America has been obliterating wedding parties in the Middle East with drone strikes for approximately thirty goddamn years. That's three decades of "collateral damage," three decades of standardized child-vaporizing technology, and he's sitting there acting like it's some novel development born from Ukrainian conflict. The way he rewrites history is like watching someone take a perfectly good tapestry and set it on fire while insisting it's actually becoming more beautiful.

B-52 stealth bombers. That's what he calls them. Except B-52s are not stealth bombers. They're ancient, lumbering dinosaurs that have been flying since before most of us were born. Stealth bombers are B-2s, completely different aircraft. But Donkey Trumpkins is too busy being a dumbass-faced fuckwit to remember which strategic aircraft system he's supposed to be praising, so he just smooshes them together and hopes nobody notices. Spoiler alert: we noticed. Everyone fucking noticed. It's the conversational equivalent of calling a Ferrari a Honda because they both have wheels.

The tariff commentary is where the bullshittery reaches its absolute crescendo of ass-baggery. He claims China has been on a one-way street of taking from America for decades, conveniently forgetting that his entire fashion empire was literally manufactured in China. His hats. His ties. His suits. All of it. Coming from the same country he's ranting about. It's hypocritical to the point of comedy, except nothing is funny when you're watching someone in charge of nuclear weapons engage in this level of conceptual incoherence.

He wants 150% tariffs on China come November 1st. One hundred and fifty percent. Do you understand what that even means? If you do, you're ahead of Donkey Trumpkins because the motherfucking tariff math doesn't work the way he describes it. He thinks tariffs function like some magical value-adding tax, when they're actually consumption taxes that get passed to consumers, making goods exponentially more expensive for regular Americans. But facts are the enemy of narrative, and his narrative requires tariffs to be miracle weapons that drain Chinese coffers while American wallets remain full. The dumbass-faced energy of that economic illiteracy is almost refreshing in its consistency.

Donkey Trumpkins gets fucking thirsty about Nobel Prizes. Just absolutely parched for international recognition. He mentions that if Zelensky can solve the next war, he'll get a Nobel Prize. Then he immediately pivots to how he himself never got one, even though he "solved one war." A woman got one—"very nice woman," he says, though he has no fucking clue who she is—and apparently that ruins everything for him. This isn't even international diplomacy anymore; this is a man-baby with an international megaphone complaining that someone else got a toy he wanted.

The submarine moment is where it pivots from incompetence to potential war crime territory. A reporter asks about survivors on the boat Donkey Trumpkins extra-judicially blew up—and yes, that's a fucking war crime, by the way—and Marco Rubio's response is to invoke an "ongoing investigation." But Donkey Trumpkins? He's literally posting videos of the explosions on Truth Social like he's reviewing his Call of Duty highlight reel. The cognitive dissonance between "we can't discuss this" and "look at this cool explosion video" is so absolutely cock-wobbling that it destroys your faith in even the basic functioning of the executive branch. He's simultaneously claiming investigative secrecy while publicly documenting the evidence like some proud little kid showing off a mud pie.

Simone de Beauvoir wrote, "One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman"—and similarly, one does not become a war criminal through singular incidents but through a pattern of choices, through the normalization of atrocity, through the public celebration of extrajudicial killing. And here it is, crystallized in real-time, in a goddamn Truth Social post.

When Donkey Trumpkins finally addresses what happened in Alaska—thousands of indigenous people displaced, multiple deaths, more still unaccounted for—his response is to talk about a road and minerals. Not the human suffering. Not the environmental catastrophe. Not the violation of indigenous sovereignty. Minerals. And a road. Because in his brain, everything reduces to commodity extraction and infrastructure that serves his vision of American dominance.

Then—and I want you to really grasp this moment because it's where we've officially entered completely unhinged territory—he asks Zelensky how he'd feel about building a tunnel between Russia and Alaska. A tunnel. Between Ukraine's active enemy and an American state. While the war is happening. While Putin is conducting war crimes. While Ukraine is actively fighting for its survival. The shitbag-faced incompetence of even proposing this to Zelensky reveals a mind so fundamentally broken that it barely registers as operating within the same reality as the rest of us.

Zelensky, to his credit, says he wouldn't be very happy about it. That's the diplomatic equivalent of politely saying "absolutely fuck off with that idea," which is probably the most measured response you could give to a president suggesting infrastructure that would directly benefit your enemy.

"War is really interesting," Donkey Trumpkins offers at one point, "with war and peace." This is a direct quote with no fucking context because there is no fucking context. It's a statement that approaches meaning the way a fish approaches philosophy—with no mechanism of comprehension and no fucking chance of success. John Dewey believed that "education is the most powerful tool for changing the world," and I'm genuinely starting to believe that what Donkey Trumpkins missed wasn't just education but several fundamental levels of cognitive competence that most humans take for granted.

The final statement—the absolute cherry on top of this catastrophe—is that Putin "offered everything" and "doesn't want to fuck around with the United States." That's the president of the United States speaking with obvious admiration for a dictator actively committing war crimes, spoken in the presence of that dictator's victim. It's not a gaffe. It's not a misstatement. It's a clear articulation of preference, a verbal genuflection to authoritarianism, broadcast live to the fucking world.

As Isaiah Berlin noted, "To realize the relative validity of one's convictions and yet stand for them unflinchingly is what distinguishes a civilized man from a barbarian"—and what we're witnessing is the inverse: a man with no conviction beyond self-aggrandizement, no understanding of democratic principle, no capacity for the very civilizational commitment that separates functioning societies from dumpster fires.

The meeting was 35 to 40 minutes of unfiltered, balls-out incompetence. A wartime summit reduced to vanity, narcissism, and the systematic dismantling of American credibility with every incoherent syllable. And the most terrifying part? About forty percent of Americans probably watched this and thought it was strong leadership. That's the real war crime here—not what was said to Zelensky, but what it reveals about a substantial portion of the American electorate that sees this and nods along approvingly.

Welcome to the end times. Apparently, they're livestreamed and filled with rambling tangents about railroads to Hawaii and Nobel Prizes that will never come. The dumbass-faced stupidity is no longer anomalous—it's become the operating system.