When the Prolapsed Trump Bottom Falls Out

You know what keeps me up at night: How do you maintain the fiction of strength when your own promises are the hammer destroying your credibility—and who’s making money while you drown?

The smell hits first—that specific reek of desperation mixed with lies, like spoiled meat left rotting in a dumpster behind a failed steakhouse. It’s the odor of approval ratings in freefall, the stench of economic promises curdling into inflation receipts, the acrid funk of campaign pledges decomposing into policy disasters. Donaldo Fartfisted sits at 42 percent approval, down from 46 just weeks ago, and you can practically taste the panic sweat beading on his saggy jowls.

This is what collapse looks like when it wears a red tie and screams about winning.

The numbers don’t lie, even when the liar-in-chief does. Fifty-five percent disapproval. Only 38 percent trust him on the economy—the exact fucking issue he rode into office promising to fix. A mere quarter of independents still believe his bullshit. And here’s the philosophical anchor that matters:

But what happens when the man who demanded all the responsibility now drowns under the weight of his own incompetence, while the machinery of disaster capitalism churns profits from the wreckage?

Let me paint you a picture of how this shitshow metastasizes from campaign rally to economic catastrophe to profit center for vultures.

Inflation creeps to 3 percent. Grocery bills don’t just rise—they fucking explode, ripping holes in household budgets like shrapnel through tissue paper. Rent crushes families into smaller spaces, into debt, into desperation. The tariff wars Trumpty MouthAnus launched to “punish foreign competitors” ricochet back onto American consumers and businesses with predictable, devastating accuracy.

Treasury Secretary Bessent—that vacant-eyed fuckwit—deflects blame to “the service economy,” as if the problem is where people work rather than the dumbass policies making everything unaffordable.

THE RECEIPTS DON’T LIE:

ECONOMIC APPROVAL:

The disconnect tastes metallic and sharp—like biting down on aluminum foil while someone lies to your face. Voters trusted Donny TurdChomper to fix the economy. He promised them prosperity. Instead, he delivered tariff-induced price hikes, inflationary pressure, and economic anxiety that grinds in their guts every time they check out at the grocery store.

But here’s where this gets truly nauseating: while working families choke on rising costs, someone is profiting. The wealthy shitheads who understand how to leverage economic chaos are making fucking bank.

Disaster capitalism doesn’t sleep. When grocery prices spike, food commodity traders win. When rent becomes unaffordable, corporate landlords consolidate properties. When small businesses collapse under tariff costs, private equity swoops in to buy assets at fire-sale prices. The chaos isn’t a bug—it’s a profit center for those positioned to exploit it.

Here’s where my stomach turns itself inside-fucking-out: the immigration enforcement Donald ShriveledEmptyNutsack promised would target “violent criminals” has metastasized into racial profiling operations that sweep up families, workers, and anyone brown enough to trigger ICE’s increasingly aggressive tactics.

The numbers tell the story of betrayal:

You can hear the boots on pavement, the pounding on doors at dawn, the crying children separated from parents who committed the sin of existing while undocumented in a country that suddenly decided cruelty was policy.

I’m not endorsing the Marquis, but he understood something about institutionalized cruelty that applies here: once you legitimize it, once you make it policy, it doesn’t stay contained. It expands. It finds new targets. It becomes the point.

But here’s the part nobody wants to examine too closely: Immigration enforcement isn’t just cruelty theater—it’s also an economic engine. Private prison corporations profit from detention centers. Defense contractors sell surveillance technology. Consulting firms rake in millions advising DHS on “efficiency improvements.” The immigration industrial complex generates billions in revenue while destroying lives.

The same pattern appears: manufactured crisis, public suffering, private profit.

Translation: Your fear and pain are commodities, and the market is fucking booming.

The Dumping Donald claims, repeatedly, in all-caps Truth Social screeds, that he has “THE HIGHEST POLL NUMBERS.” Mission accomplished. Winning bigly. Everything’s “really Rockin’.”

Except—and I cannot stress this clusterfuck enough—he’s currently sitting at 42 percent approval with 55 percent disapproval, hemorrhaging support among independents, losing ground with Latinos, and watching his core campaign promises become the exact issues sinking him.

THE ACTUAL RECEIPTS:

From Fox News polling (his own propaganda network can’t even spin this turd):

This isn’t struggling leadership. This is catastrophic failure wrapped in delusional boasting, and it requires either such profound narcissism or such calculated deceit that I genuinely can’t tell which is worse.

But the myth serves a purpose for those profiting from the chaos. As long as Trumpington De ShittyGobhole keeps claiming victory, his base stays engaged, the media cycle churns, and the distraction provides cover for the real story: who’s making money while you suffer.

The synthesis is fuck-all clear: We have a system where economic pain is both policy outcome and profit opportunity, where manufactured cruelty serves as both political theater and revenue stream, where the same asshole who promised to fix your problems is the one making them worse—while his wealthy buddies cash in.

Not “economic anxiety.” Not “political polarization.” A deliberate extraction economy that profits from your suffering while telling you everything’s great.

These same fuckwits who promised to make America great are the ones auctioning it off piece by piece:

The irony tastes like ashes and desperation: Donny Caligulump won on economy and immigration, the twin pillars voters trusted him to fix. Now those same issues drag him underwater. But while he drowns in his own incompetence, the vultures are feeding.

What does it say that we’ve built an entire economic ecosystem that requires your misery to function profitably?

That smell from the opening—spoiled meat and desperate lies—it doesn’t dissipate. It settles into fabric, into skin, into the historical record.

Tomorrow, Donald BukakkeVictim will post another delusional screed about poll numbers. His enablers will nod along. Treasury Secretary dipshit Bessent will blame “the service economy.” ICE will conduct more raids. Grocery prices will climb. And the same goddamn disaster capitalists will extract more wealth from the wreckage while telling you this is freedom.

But that’s not how it has to be. That’s just how it is when we accept the premise that someone else’s profit is worth your pain.

The question isn’t whether Farty Donaldo can turn his approval numbers around. He can’t. The damage is done, the promises are broken, and the voters can taste the betrayal every time they buy milk.

The question is whether we’ll finally recognize that the cruelty, the inflation, the raids, the manufactured chaos—all of it serves an economic function for those positioned to profit from disaster.

And whether we’ll decide that’s no longer acceptable.

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