Washington, D.C. — The President, resplendent in a cream-white suit and blue tie as wide as the Potomac, has declared an official end to boring governance. The Oval Office now spins—literally—with a disco ball the size of a small moon, shimmering with such intensity that aides have been seen donning welding goggles just to deliver memos.
It started, reportedly, after Trump watched Saturday Night Fever for the first time since 1978 and decided that democracy had, quote, “lost its boogie.”
“I said to myself—Donny, baby, why are we governing when we could be grooving?” The President told a confused yet obedient White House press corps, flanked by Secret Service agents in bell bottoms and what may or may not have been rhinestone sidearms. “Presidents used to be icons. Now they’re just influencers. We’re bringing showmanship back to the State of the Union. And if that means turning nuclear policy talks into a Soul Train line, then so be it.”
White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt, who spoke while holding a lava lamp and nervously chewing on a glow stick, explained, “The President sees this as energizing the executive branch. It’s about rhythm, not reason.” She then excused herself, citing the sudden need to coordinate outfits for the next NATO Funk Summit.
But not everyone in the newly-bedazzled administration is grooving to the beat. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth has reportedly moved his war room meetings to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building, citing “laser-induced vertigo” and an aversion to synth basslines.
“It’s hard to plan global strategy while the Village People are asking if it’s fun to stay at the Y.M.C.A.,” Hegseth grunted to reporters, shielding his eyes from a purple spotlight ricocheting off President Taft’s portrait.
Tulsi Gabbard, now serving as Director of National Intelligence and perhaps the only person in the room who understands both geopolitical nuance and chakras, gave a more measured take.
“There’s a lot of static electricity in the air. Could be dangerous. Could be transcendental. We’re monitoring it closely,” she said, before quietly humming “Macho Man” under her breath.
The soundtrack in the West Wing is now exclusively Village People, Parliament-Funkadelic, and Trump’s own spoken-word remix of the Constitution over a Kool & The Gang beat. The floor of the Oval Office has been waxed to within an inch of its life. One intern slipped during a coffee run and slid clean through three federal departments and into the Office of Management and Budget, which, if we’re being honest, was overdue for a wake-up call.
And so it goes. The country spins. The lights flash. Reality buckles slightly at the seams. Somewhere, James Madison is breakdancing in his grave while Nancy Pelosi is reportedly learning the Hustle just to stay relevant in this new political paradigm.
But you know what? Maybe this is who we are now. A nation of confused dancers, clapping offbeat but with enthusiasm, hoping the next policy memo comes with a beat drop and a fog machine.
Keep your eye on the glitter, America. The revolution will not be televised—it’ll be remixed.
