Monday Tiedrich

Donny Convict is bugfuck nuts.

you know it, and I know it — but do you know who else knows it? all the president’s flunkies. they have to continually come up with new ways to deal with his crazypants shit on a daily basis.

here’s a perfectly normal thing that happened with our perfectly normal president.

recently, Donny was acting so erratically while military leaders were planning a rescue operation in Iran, that big strong aides with tears in their eyes had to go up to him and say, ‘sir! sir! why don’t you go play in traffic?’

I shit you not. according to a report in the Wall Street Journal, Donny actually got banned from the command room.

Aides kept the president out of the room as they got minute-by-minute updates because they believed his impatience wouldn’t be helpful, instead updating him at meaningful moments, a senior administration official said.

that’s right: Donny’s handlers had to keep him far away from what was going on, because he was so out of control that they were afraid he would fuck everything up.

can you imagine any other president in recent memory getting eighty-sixed from the center of operations? no, you can’t. it’s practically unthinkable.

here’s how that shit went down. remember that Good Friday incident, when Iran shot down an American jet, and nobody knew what had happened to the pilots? it turns that when he was given the news, Donny shat a massive brick

It was Good Friday afternoon in a nearly empty West Wing soon after the president learned that an American jet had been shot down in Iran, with two airmen missing. Trump screamed at aides for hours.

because everyone knows that the best way to motivate your staff is to get right up into their faces and just fucking unload on them for hours on end. Donny really is the boss from hell.

am I the only one getting ‘Hitler in the bunker’ vibes from Donny’s meltdown?

oh my god, can you imagine having this colicky piss-baby screaming at you for literal hours? no amount of money in the world could be worth having the rancid fecal-breath of that malignant toad being blown in your face as you endured the latest in an infinite series of dressing-downs — not to mention all the hurled ketchup bottles one would eternally be ducking.

seriously, you couldn’t pay me enough. if it were me on the receiving end of one of Donny’s tirades, I’d be all ‘how about you go fuck yourself, Shouty Boy?’

do know why Donny completely lost his shit? because he was worried that news of a downed jet would make him look bad.

“If you look at what happened with Jimmy Carter…with the helicopters and the hostages, it cost them the election,” Trump had said in March. “What a mess.”

picture it: generals with actual combat experience are trying to figure out the best way to bring pilots back from behind enemy lines, and this fucking lunatic is screaming about Jimmy Carter and the price of gas, as if an entire rescue operation was all just some big plot to inconvenience him — because Donny always has to make everything about himself.

oh, and get a load of this.

At one point he even mused he should award himself the nation’s highest military honor, the Medal of Honor.

FOR WHAT? my god, everyone who had to sit there and eat Donny’s shit while he screamed at them without end, they’re the ones who deserve the Medal of Honor.

sorry, Donny — you don’t get a Medal of Honor. what you get is the Four Seasons Total Prancing About Like A Complete Unhinged Fuckface Prize.

just to remind everyone, here’s how a president is supposed to act during a critical military operation.

that was Obama, in the Situation Room while Osama bin Laden was being taken out. notice how he’s not screaming in anyone’s faces about GET THIS FUCKING THING DONE ALREADY. nor is he ranting and raving about how bad he’ll look if shit goes sideways. he’s just a calm, rational dude.

but now we’ve normalized crazy. Donny pulls this childish crap on a daily basis, making a mockery of sane governance, and everyone is all just ‘well, okay. that happened.’

here’s a fun thing for All The President’s Toadies to consider: if you can ban a president from a command room for being too much of a raging lunatic, you can 25th Amendment him from the presidency for the exact same reason.

this deranged fucking maniac is back to calling for the complete destruction of Iran’s infrastructure.

“We’re offering a very fair and reasonable DEAL, and I hope they take it because, if they don’t, the United States is going to knock out every single Power Plant, and every single Bridge, in Iran. NO MORE MR. NICE GUY!”

no more mister nice guy? when was Preznit Fuckwit ever a nice guy?

and oh look, now Donny’s doing his usual Sunday afternoon market manipulation, claiming out of the clear blue that he’s on the verge of another deal with Iran — and, once again, the press dutifully reports it without first bothering to ask Iran if it’s true.

spoiler alert: it’s not true.

all of this is bugfuck nuts. in the span of hours, Donny pinballs from threatening to blow everything sky high, to calmly announcing another imaginary deal.

none of this is normal — and all of it is insane.

here’s a serious question for Donny’s handlers: what’s the plan here? for everyone to just cross their fingers and hope Donny doesn’t eventually call for nukes? are they just hoping Donny somehow magically gets better?

free clue: Donny isn’t going to get better. dementia doesn’t magically cure itself overnight. neither does malignant narcissism, or delusions of grandeur, or compulsive lying, or the need to be worshiped, or any of the thousand pathologies and personality defects that Dear Leader suffers from.

he’s just going to get worse. today, it’s banning Donny from the command room. what’s Dear Leader going to need to be prevented from doing tomorrow?

so let’s go. 25th Amendment now. it’s the only rational solution to the problem of an insane chief executive.

we’ll take our chances with the furniture fucker.


happy Kash Patel is Suing The Atlantic Day to all who observe.

here’s Two-Drinks-Minimum Kash yesterday, shitfaced as usual on Maria Bartiromo’s show.

Maria Bartiromo: “the Atlantic Magazine is alleging that you have a drinking problem. what is your response this morning to this article?”

Krazee-Eyes Kash: “the results, I say, speak for themselves. if the fake news mafia isn’t hitting you personally with baseless information in Washington DC, then you’re not going you job. and it’s louder than ever, because this FBI, under President Leadership …”

Kash goes on to filibuster Bartiromo’s question for a solid two minutes without ever actually denying that any of his ahem alleged blackout-drunk escapades happened.

nice job of deflection, bro.

Kash says he’ll be filing his defamation suit against The Atlantic today. here we have some file footage of a definitely sober Kash, strategizing with his ace team of lawyers.

whoops! wrong footage.


and now, here’s your hero of the day: this fucking duck.

I have no idea what the duck did to deserve this, but remember: if you can 25th Amendment a duck from a store, you can 25th Amendment a lunatic from the presidency.


this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

Thursday Tiedrich

Screenshot

once again, everything in the news is so unbelievably stupid that I don’t even know where to start. so today, I’m just going to spin the Big Wheel of Moron™ and see where it lands. ready? here we go.

“as we all know, the natural habitat for the Earth is actually water.”

that was Donny Convict’s Secretary of Moneygrubbing, Soybean Scott Bessent, pooh-poohing the idea that climate change is bad. as Bessent tells it, no one should worry about the rapid melting of the polar ice caps, because ‘the natural habitat for the Earth is actually water.’

dear lord, this shitwit is seriously advocating for Waterworld, one of the dumbest fucking movies ever.

Scott Bessent is so smug and pompous — and supremely self-assured — as he farts out one of the most imbecilic things you’ll ever hear in your life.

do you know why Soybean Scott is so confidently idiotic? it’s because he suffers from the heartbreak of fuckbrainoligarchosis, a malady where just because a person manages to accumulate a pile of money, they imagine they’re super-geniuses about everything.

in that clip above, Soybean Scott was speaking at the Institute of International Finance, which is sort of a support group where those afflicted by fuckbrainoligarchosis can get together and share their delusions of intelligence.

basically, the Institute of International Finance is what would happen if Monty Python’s Upper Class Twit of the Year sketch became a real boy.

oh, and fact check:

apparently, water isn’t the only liquid on Soybean Scott’s mind these days.

“as President Trump said this morning that he thinks we’re nearing the end. the US kept their side on the cease fire. we’ve stopped firing. the Straits of Vermouth have not been completely reopened.”

the Straits of Vermouth! I fucking love that. that is a Freudian slip for the ages. I’ll bet that’s what Piss-Drunk Pete Kegstand calls it, too.

that’s not, however, what Preznit Fuckwit calls it.

“Italy gets a lot of oil from— the— Strait. you can call it the Strait of Hormuz or the— Hormuz Strait. I said ‘which is better?’ they said ‘either is okay, but you can call it either one. the only thing you can’t call it is the ‘Trump Strait.’ they don’t like that idea.”

wait a minute — who are ‘they’, who Donny’s been in deep conversation with about ‘what to you call that watery thing next to Iran’? has he been talking to the random shrieking noises in his head? or maybe the family of raccoons that live up there?

and believe you me, Sundowning Grandpa Befuddlepants is dead serious about wanting to call it the ‘Trump Strait.’ he doesn’t crack any smile whatsoever when he says it, and then he goes on to brag about —

“by the way, speaking of that, I did a thing that people like very much, except for Mexico. I took the Gulf of Mexico and we now call it the Gulf of America. it’s not bad.”

the deteriorating old shit can’t even focus for five second on the subject at hand — his disastrous don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran — without his demented mind wandering to his Glorious Victory in the Great Renaming War of 2025.

oh, and pro tip: it’s not the Gulf of America. it’s the Gulf of Release the Full Unedited Epstein Files, You Fucking Liar.

well, that was fun — so let’s take another spin on the Big Wheel of Moron™. here we go!

because Dear Leader is mad at the Pope, now the entire Presidential Ass-Kiss Industrial Complex has be mad at the Pope, too.

Holy Mike Johnson, the limpest dick in Congress, knows what I’m talking about.

“a pontiff or any religious leader can say anything they want, but obviously if you wade into political waters, you should expect some political response and I think the Pope has received some of that. you know, I was taken a little bit aback, just honestly, frankly, by something that was said, I think he said it several days back, something about ‘those who engage in war, Jesus doesn’t hear their prayers’ or something. you know, it is a very well-settled matter of Christian theology, there’s something called the ‘just war’ doctrine.”

oh look — just like Couchfuck McGee, Holy Mike Johnson knows more about popery than all the popes.

I have a question: what sick pleasure does it bring Holy Mike to neuter himself on a daily basis, in service of Dear Leader? it’s like the guy never allows himself a single independent thought. whatever Donny decides on any given day, that’s totes aces with Mike. doesn’t matter if it’s a complete one-eighty from whatever Commander Crazypants said yesterday.

hey, Holy Mike — is this you?

it’s so galling, watching all these hypocrites telling the Pope to zip his fool mouth about religion, if he knows what’s good for him. these are the people who have never once shut the fuck up about how there needs to be more religion in government. these are the same loudmouth zealots who are so horny to force their vision of prayer in the schools — and the Ten Commandments in every classroom — on We the People.

but the second the Pope is all ‘maybe sometimes war is bad and stuff,’they’re all WAIT A MINUTE, WE DIDN’T MEAN RELIGION LIKE THAT.

and so now — just because Pope Chicago Bob was mean to Dear Leader — suddenly it’s open season on Catholics in America.

The Trump Admin has abruptly canceled an $11M contract with Catholic Charities to shelter and care for migrant children who enter the U.S. alone, ending a relationship between the Catholic Church and the U.S. government dating back to the first arrivals of Cuban exiles in South Florida.”

lovely. Donny — the swindler who set up a bogus charity so he could steal money raised in the name of cancer-stricken children — is now punishing a legitimate charity that does actual good work, all because he’s a thin-skinned, vindictive piss-baby prick.

welcome to the United State of Eternal Fucking Embarrassment.

okay, let’s give that Big Wheel of Moron™ one final spin.


“we got these third-world people coming here, these Muslims. you know, they call it a religion. what religion do you know that says ‘if you’re not in our religion, we’re gonna kill ya. and we want you dead’? that’s not a religion. that’s a cult. they took over Europe. it’s gone.”

hey, Tom-Toms, you want to about a cult? because oh boy, do I have a cult for you.

‘the Muslims took over Europe, and its gone? what the fuck is Terminally-Concussed Tommy talking about?

now, because I’m a responsible journalist and everything, I googled ‘the Muslims took over Europe’ and this is what I learned.

In 711, a Berber-led army under Tariq ibn Ziyad invaded and conquered most of modern-day Spain and Portugal in a seven-year campaign. Muslim rule flourished there for nearly 800 years until the fall of Granada in 1492.

bro, relax. that was thirteen hundred years ago — I’m pretty sure Spain and Portugal came out of it just fine.


fuck all that noise, because it’s time for our hero of the day: New York’s Islamo-communo-marxo-anarcho-fascist Mayor, Zohran Mamdani.

yesterday was April 15th — and in honor of Tax Day, Mayor Mamdani posted this vid to social media.

“when I ran for mayor, I said I was going to tax the rich. well, today we’re taxing the rich. I’m thrilled to announce we’ve secured a pied-a-tierre tax — the first in New York’s history. this is an annual fee on luxury properties worth more then $5 million whose owners do not live full-time in the city. like this penthouse, which hedge fund CEO Ken Griffin bought for $238 million. this pied-a-tierre tax is specifically designed for the richest of the rich. those who store their wealth in New York City real estate, but who don’t actually live here. and most of the time, these units are sitting empty, since, again, they don’t actually live here.”

I fucking love Mamdani. he’s so charming and charismatic — and he’s so freaking good at messaging.

no wonder the oligarchy hates Zohran’s guts. boo fucking hoo, oligarchs.

the morbidly wealthy call this luxury tax a nightmare. I call it a good start — because taxing billionaires out of existence is one sure cure for the heartbreak of fuckbrainoligarchosis.


this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.

All fake. Just like everything else with Cankles.


as another stupid week comes to a close here in America, let’s look back at the dumbest fucking shit that happened.


monday: respect? they have an odd way of showing it

lord help us, noises are once again issuing from Fox News found object Jesse Watters’ lips.

“Trump talks like a Persian strongman. that’s the kind of language that they understand. strength, respect, honor.”

look, we know that Jesse Watters has eternally fantasized that his big, strong ‘daddy’ Donny would at long last take off his belt and tan his misbehaving hide. fine, whatever the fuck turns you on, Jesse. who are we to get all judgemental and shit?

but I’d love to know on what planet Donny is regarded as a ‘strongman’ who is ‘respected’ — because I’m sorry to burst Jesse’s bubble here, but Dear Leader is an international laughingstock.

Italian PM Georgia Meloni, can you think of a single world leader who ‘respects’ Donny?

yeah, me neither.

there’s no fucking way that Iran has any respect whatsoever for the diaper-crapping piss-baby in the Oval Bordello. has Jesse Watters not seen the videos they’ve been putting up on Elon’s Nazi Bar and Child Porn Emporium? yo Jess, check this out.

yup, that’s some industrial-strength respect for Preznit Teletubby, all right.

here’s another.

nd here’s a third.

and that only scratches the surface. Iran is laughing its ass off at Dear Leader, along with the rest of us.

oh, and because I’m a responsible journalist and everything, I wanted to know exactly what a ‘Persian strongman’ is, so I googled it. here’s what I got.

yeah, I think any single one of these homeys could take Donny apart.

you might need a new metaphor there, Jesse.


tuesday: buh-bye

pour one out for the proprietor of the now-shuttered Trump Truth Store in Crystal Lake, Illinois.

apparently,

sales plummeted when conflict with Iran began, with the owner saying business went “dead as a door nail”

okay, my friends, you know the drill — because now comes the part where we throw our heads back in laughter.

look at the crap that was being foisted on shoppers.

On March 26, Fleischmann revealed on Facebook that her MAGA-themed establishment, which retailed $25 T-shirts displaying, “GOD GUNS AND TRUMP 2024,” “ICE ICE BABY,” and “DEPARTMENT OF DOGE,” will be “closed until further notice.”

oh, so the customers of the ‘Trump Truth Store’ were totally fine with all the fascist ass-clownery being perpetrated by Dear Leader’s goons, and it was only when gas became expensive that wearing Donny-branded shit became toxic?

well then fuck all those fucking fucks.

maybe the Trump Truth Store needs to rebrand. I’d wear the shit out of a Flippy McCrushnuts shirt. you would, too.


wednesday: to see if wut?

christofascist Stew Peters seems nice

“I told you on Day One that young American men would be sent into the meat grinder on the ground to die for Israel. it’s imminent. it’s guaranteed. right now, the White House and the Pentagon are reportedly working on plans to send in American troops along with heavy equipment to steal Iran’s uranium — if they even have any. and while all of that is in the works, Lindsey Graham is on television calling for the expansion of the ongoing air campaign, for the United States to continue committing as many war crimes as possible. we should drop Lindsey Graham right off in the middle of Tehran — to see if these people really do throw queers off of rooftops.”

oh sweet baby Jesus in the manger. Stew was almost making sense there for a while and then it went so hard off the rails right there at the very end.

does Lindsey Graham have any idea that this is what people on his own side think of him? Lindsey? Lindsey?

holy shit.


thursday: let’s shed some light on the subject

Wednesday was a bit intense, so let’s lighten this shit up.

what the fuck happened to Naomi Wolf? she used be a garden-variety ‘wellness’ crank who dabbled in vaccine denial — but then she become a full-bore a full-bore conspiracy loon.

remember this?

“I endorsed Pres Donald Trump yesterday. Today all day my phone froze, the cursor on my computer started wandering around the desktop, and my wifi continually disconnected. All coincidentally.”

well, Dr. Wolf’s back, with a burning question about photos of the moon taken from the Artemis II spacecraft.

all that light is coming from space lasers, Naomi.

we Jews have a fuck-ton of them, Naomi, and we’re happy to have done our part to ensure that the Artemis II mission was a roaring success. you need the moon lit up? we’ve got that shit covered!

and while we’re on the subject, can we just revisit the all-time greatest dogwalking of Dr. Wolf? it happened just last week.

that is perfect. chef’s kiss. ten out of ten. no notes.


 

friday: the further adventures of Some Fucking Idiot™

some fucking idiot’s Friday started, as so many of them do, with him raving incoherently at six o’clock in the morning into his crappy app.

excuse me, but what is the ‘WORLD’S MOST POWERFUL RESET’? is that what the fucking idiot calls having his morning diaper changed?

for the third consecutive day, the fucking idiot’s handlers tried their best to keep him away from the press — but they couldn’t keep the fucking idiot from shitting his delusional batshittery all over social media.

Iran holds no cards? I’m pretty sure that any country who can shut down a major shipping route at will — and trick the fucking idiot into agreeing to it — holds a shitload of cards.

oh look, the fucking idiot is promising to use the ‘full economic might of the United States’ to prop up the failing economy of his depot bestie Orbán’s Hungary.

I have an idea: how about the fucking idiot use the ‘full economic might of the United States’ to help Americans? isn’t the fucking idiot always going on and on about ‘America first’?

and there’s no way the fucking idiot wrote that tweet himself. there’s no chance in hell his rotting fingers know how to type the accent in ‘Orbán.’

now here’s a fun thing we learned on Friday about the fucking idiot. apparently he’s promised to pardon anyone who’s come with ‘200 feet’ of the Oval Bordello.

as one does, when one’s entire administration is made up of corrupt criminal fucksticks. am I right, Tom Homan?

Tom Homan knows I’m right.

oh, and the one time on Friday that the press got managed to get close enough to the fucking idiot to ask him questions — as he was headed to his Florida golf motel — he proved to be as befuddled, out-of-touch and ill-informed as ever.

and, despite that one, brief window of opportunity, not reporter stood up to ask ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’

how fucking idiotic is that?


this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:

practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.

to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.

we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.


Photo by Quan Nguyen on Unsplash

The words Walter Reed showed up on my timeline over the weekend.

I confess that my heart fluttered, my spirit quickened, and I pulled out our corkscrew and put it on the counter, just in case.

A few hours later… false alarm.

Party postponed.

Humanity, still hostage.

Unfettered lunatic, still at the wheel.

Annihilation, still in play.

Hellscape, still fully ablaze.

While I would never wish anyone harm, I will rejoice the day he leaves the planet.

I feel no shame in saying this.

It would be disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

And I will be far from alone in my elation.

When he departs this mortal sphere, it will be an occasion of global jubilation, not unlike the passing of any of history’s previous monsters.

On that day, there will be a collective exhale that we haven’t experienced since the end of the Second World War.

Outside of all but a small, brainwashed faction of the population’s most cultic, human beings around the world, will break out in spontaneous celebration at the subtraction of a presence that has done incalculable damage to the course of humanity.

On that day, the messiah of the miserable will no longer be able to generate new nightmares for the rest of us. We will finally be freed from his nonsensical ramblings. He will be unable to pervert the truth, or bastardize the office, or stoke division, or murder the English language.

But I’m not foolish enough to believe that this will be the end of the nightmare.

His enablers will remain; those opportunistic, bottom-feeding hate-mongers, soul-auctioning political traitors, and armageddon-welcoming religious zealots will still all be here, rushing to fill the power chasm he will leave behind. They will devour one another trying to occupy the throne once it is empty.

And not only them, but the legion of his civilian foot soldiers, who carried him upon their shoulders.

These past 10 years have done irreparable harm to the sovereignty of our nation, to our systems of governance, to the relational connections between us, to the collective health of the planet.

But he hasn’t done this.

The people we share this country with have done it using him as their weapon of choice. Our family members. Our friends. Our co-workers. Our neighbors.

His departure will do nothing to undo all the evil that his now bruised hands have wrought, to erase every vile thing his presence has exposed as he ascended politically.

It will not rewind the years of those who lived in squalor and poverty in New York City, on whose backs he built his fraudulent, hollow empire.

His death will not bring financial restitution to the thousands of workers and contractors left abandoned by the many bankruptcies that emancipated him from responsibility.

It won’t give back wholeness and healing to the girls and women he violated in secret or maligned in public.

It will not reverse the irreparable damage he has done to a political party whose members individually and collectively abandoned every legal and moral expectation to fall prostrate before him.

It will not illicit repentance in a white Evangelical Church that parted ways with the compassionate, loving namesake of its faith tradition and fashioned a vicious, sneering, profane, God-mocking idol out of his antithesis and bowed down before it.

His passing now could not allow us to unsee the repugnant grievance cult he unleashed here; the historically hateful movement of miserable people who’ve spent the last decade reveling in an unrepentant ugliness because he gave them consent.

It will not remove the legion of incompetent, predatory, corrupt sycophants he poisoned our government with; people who have and will continue to dismantle and pervert our systems of care and legal oversight.

And his death, as much as it would feel like an initial reprieve from the chaos he has engineered and the suffering he has spearheaded, would do nothing to conceal the heart maladies he exposed within the people around us: the long-simmering racism, the scalding contempt for foreigners, the phobic hatred of human beings for their gender identity or sexual orientation.

Long after he has made his exit, we will be left with what we now know about our family members and friends and neighbors; about the people in our churches, about the parents of our children’s friends; about the pillars of our communities, about those we trust to govern us, to protect and serve us.

These people and the atrocities they co-authored, sadly, will all long outlive him.

He has merely been the symptom.

The hatred in the heart of his supporters is the sickness.

Even when he’s gone, they’ll still be here.

So, any celebration will be short-lived.

 

Trump Just Lost a War for America — No One’s Done That Since Nixon

From DAILY KOS:

This time we evacuate a gulf, not a country

TLDR

Trump loosed the dogs of war, screwed the pooch, and now gets to eat a dogshit sandwich. He won on day one and lost everything.  Iran’s regime literally changed — new Supreme Leader, wartime mandate, unified population — and the US is still bombing them for reasons it keeps changing. Iran’s gains include regional legitimacy, control of the straits, and a reset on a domestic crisis.  Now they can run out the clock playing victim, peacemaker, and reasonable adult while Washington circles the drain looking for an exit that doesn’t exist.


Iran is already using the perfect message frame: “The Regime Changed, But the West Hasn’t”.  This is the line that rewrites the entire conflict. The US stated objective was regime change. The Supreme Leader is dead. A new leader governs, but the bombs keep falling. Iran doesn’t need to win the argument — it just needs to keep asking the question: “What exactly are you still fighting for?”

Every day without an answer makes the war less defensible, less popular, and more expensive.


Meanwhile – if they’d STARTED the war– here’s what they’ve won:

    • Tollkeeper on the Strait of Hormuz. Iran now controls selective passage through 20% of global oil and LNG transit. Ships pass with Iranian permission. The US Navy no longer guarantees freedom of navigation.
    • Sanctions-proof oil revenue. Crude above $100/barrel, buyers desperate, sanctions architecture functionally collapsed. Iran went from struggling to sell oil to naming its price.
    • Domestic unity. The largest protests since 1979 disappeared overnight. The population that was in open revolt in January is unified behind the government by March.
    • Generational leadership renewal. Mojtaba Khamenei inherits with wartime martyr legitimacy instead of through a messy backroom succession crisis.
    • Regional military credibility. Demonstrated the ability to strike US bases across six countries and hold the entire Gulf at risk simultaneously.
    • Moral high ground. Attacked during active negotiations. Schools hit. Hospitals, research centers, and Red Crescent warehouses bombed. Iran doesn’t need propaganda — it needs cameras.
    • Coalition fracture. NATO allies — France, Spain, Italy — withdrew military support. France recognized Iranian authority over Hormuz by requesting passage. The Western alliance is splitting in real time.

Iran already has a great plan for victory terms to end the war they didn’t start; demands that age like wine, a fresh regional propaganda narrative, and simply running the clock favors them politically and militarily.

Iran’s stated terms — stop the bombing, lift sanctions, guarantee sovereignty, acknowledge the right to a peaceful nuclear program — are calibrated to sound ambitious on day one and obvious by day 60. Time itself converts Iran’s position from a wish list to common sense. They don’t need Washington to say yes today. They need the rest of the world to say “that seems fair” by summer. And the world is already moving in that direction.

Iran’s message to Saudi Arabia, UAE, Kuwait, Qatar, and Bahrain is lethally simple: “We didn’t bomb your country. We bombed the American base in your country. Remove the base, remove the problem.” That’s an offer disguised as a threat. It lands differently in Riyadh when Saudi civilians are catching shrapnel from a war they didn’t ask for, didn’t start, and don’t benefit from. Iran is telling the Gulf states they have a termite problem and the termites are American.

Every day the regime isn’t toppled, the premise of the war dies. A younger Supreme Leader with wartime legitimacy leads a unified population in a country that is battered but standing. The US has no theory of victory that survives contact with this reality. The military said “weeks.” The analysts said “months.” Iran says “forever if necessary.” Time favors the defender — always has.

Their plan is coming along just fine.  All three tracks point to the same destination: the US either negotiates on Iranian terms or just leaves. There is no middle ground that saves face for Washington.

The coalition is already fracturing — France, Spain, and Italy pulled military support. France sent a ship through Hormuz with Iranian permission, functionally recognizing Iran’s authority over the strait. NATO allies are drifting. Domestic pressure is building as gas prices climb and grocery bills follow.

Meanwhile Iran stands at the UN and says: “Our father is dead. Our schools are rubble. Our children are buried. The regime you wanted changed has changed. Why are you still bombing us?”

Nobody has a good answer. And the longer nobody has a good answer, the more Iran wins.

The Mojtaba Factor is their hole card- the ace that will win the game no matter how everything else shakes out.  This is the sleeper inside the sleeper. Mojtaba Khamenei holds two identities simultaneously and they complement perfectly.

Domestically — the martyr’s son, carrying the revolution forward under fire. Maximum legitimacy, zero succession crisis.

Internationally — the new face, unburdened by his father’s decades of confrontation. “I am not my father’s grudges. I am my nation’s future.” He can offer the world a clean slate narrative while the US is stuck explaining why it’s bombing a country led by someone it’s never dealt with before.

He is both continuity and change at the same time, and that is an extraordinarily powerful position for a wartime leader.

Iran’s only way to lose is overreach. If they escalate Hormuz to a permanent closure, the multinational naval coalition forms. If Mojtaba sounds like his father, the new-face narrative dies. If retaliatory strikes kill too many Gulf civilians, the whisper campaign collapses.

Restraint is the weapon now. Discipline is the strategy. And so far, they’re executing.

Iran didn’t win the war in the way wars are supposed to be won. They won it the way the weaker party always wins — by surviving, by making the stronger party’s victory impossible to define, and by being more patient than the country that attacked them.  What’s more, Trump’s incompetence handed them a veritable cornucopia of fringe benefits to offset all the physical damage.  Damage that can be repaired, from a moral high ground.

The regime changed. The West hasn’t. And that’s the ballgame.  Enjoy your sandwich, Mr. Trump.


**UPDATED**

hormuz_v3_kos.jpg
Iran has been doing quite well selling high priced oil since the war started

Trump Tax on oil-he’s sharing the sandwich

April 4, 2026

Going forward we all get a new Trump Tax on oil.  The price of oil just got permanently more expensive. Not temporarily. Not until the war ends. Permanently. There are three layers to this, and they stack. Every one of them lands at the gas pump. And none of them are coming back down.

Layer 1: The Strait Is Now a Proven Kill Zone

Before February 28, insuring a tanker to transit the Strait of Hormuz cost about 0.125% of the ship’s value. This fraction of a penny on every barrel was background noise.

Today it costs 5%. That’s a forty-fold increase. For a $100 million VLCC (Very Large Crude Carrier), that’s $5 million per transit — up from $125,000. Bloomberg reported premiums surged to roughly five times the level seen in the earliest days of the war, and an even larger multiple of pre-conflict rates. Lloyd’s Joint War Committee redesignated the entire Arabian Gulf as a conflict zone. Major insurers — Gard, Skuld, NorthStandard, the London P&I Club — cancelled existing war risk policies entirely and offered replacements at roughly sixty times pre-crisis rates.

And here’s the thing about insurance: it has a memory. A long one.

After the 1980s Tanker War, premiums in the Gulf never fully returned to pre-war levels. After the Red Sea crisis in 2024-25, Houthi attacks drove war risk premiums up 500% — and they stayed elevated even after the ceasefire. Insurance companies are not in the business of forgetting that ships got hit. Twenty-one confirmed attacks on merchant vessels. Mines laid in the strait. Tankers burning. A crew member killed. That actuarial data is now permanently in the model.

Even if peace breaks out tomorrow, even if the strait reopens fully, the insurance industry now prices Hormuz as a proven combat zone. Premiums will come down from 5%, sure. But they will never return to 0.125%. The floor just moved. Analysts estimate a permanent geopolitical risk premium of $8 to $14 per barrel — baked in, forever, on every barrel that transits the strait. Twenty percent of the world’s oil.

That’s Layer 1. It’s already here. It’s not going away.


Layer 2: The Tollbooth

Iran now controls selective passage through the Strait of Hormuz. France sent a ship through — with Iranian permission. Iran’s ghost fleet transits freely while everyone else asks for clearance off Qeshm Island. The US Navy, the most powerful maritime force in human history, is not guaranteeing freedom of navigation. Iran is granting it.

If this holds — and every week it holds makes it harder to reverse — Iran becomes the tollbooth operator on 20% of global oil. The country that was sanctioned into near-bankruptcy six months ago now sits at the cash register of the world’s most important energy corridor.

What does a toll look like? It doesn’t have to be a line item on an invoice. It can be preferential pricing for allies. Delayed clearance for unfriendly flags. “Administrative fees” for transit documentation. Selective enforcement of “safety inspections.” Iran doesn’t need to call it a toll. It just needs to control the clock on every ship that passes through.

Conservative estimates put even a modest transit regime at $1 to $3 per barrel. On 15 million barrels a day, that’s $15 to $45 million daily flowing to Tehran. That’s $5 to $16 billion a year — roughly what Iran was earning from all oil exports before the war.

That’s Layer 2. It stacks on top of Layer 1.


Layer 3: The Reparations

Iran’s schools are rubble. Over 600 education centers hit. Hospitals damaged. Bridges destroyed. Thousands of civilians dead. The infrastructure bill for rebuilding is going to be enormous — and Iran is going to want someone to pay for it.

Not the United States. Washington doesn’t pay reparations. Never has, probably never will.

But Iran doesn’t need Washington to write a check. It needs the strait.

If Iran embeds reconstruction costs into its transit regime — call it a “waterway maintenance surcharge,” call it a “regional stability contribution,” call it whatever makes the diplomats comfortable — that’s a third layer on every barrel. And unlike a negotiated settlement that gets paid once, a transit surcharge collects forever. It’s an annuity funded by the global economy.

Even a modest reparations layer — $1 to $2 per barrel — generates $5 to $11 billion per year. Enough to rebuild schools. Enough to fund a new military. Enough to make the war profitable in the long run.

That’s Layer 3. It stacks on top of Layers 1 and 2.


What It Means at the Pump

Let’s add it up.

    • Layer 1 (insurance): $8 to $14 per barrel, permanent
    • Layer 2 (tollbooth): $1 to $3 per barrel, if Iran holds the strait
    • Layer 3 (reparations): $1 to $2 per barrel, if Iran collects

Total: $10 to $19 per barrel in new, permanent costs on every barrel that passes through the Strait of Hormuz.

Every $10 increase in crude translates to roughly 24 cents per gallon at the pump. So we’re looking at 25 to 45 cents per gallon — baked in, structural, not going away when the war ends, not going away when the headlines fade, not going away ever.

On a 15-gallon fill-up, that’s $3.75 to $6.75 extra. Every time. For the rest of your driving life.

And that’s the optimistic scenario — the one where the war ends soon, the strait reopens, and things go back to “normal.” The new normal. The normal where the world’s most important energy chokepoint has been proven vulnerable, where insurance companies never forget, and where Iran learned that controlling four miles of water is worth more than any nuclear program ever was.

Let’s call it what it is — a Trump Tax on oil.  One the entire globe will be enjoying for many years to come.


Trump will be sharing that sandwich with the rest of us, long after he’s gone. The only question now is how big a bite you have to take every time you fill the tank.