Welcome back to our satirical news review. If you have to explain a joke, that means it’s a really good one, which is why I always have to explain that this is meant to be the funny part of The Free Press.
Most importantly: New Free Press merch has landed! Including these absolutely bonkers items that I promise I did not force them to do or even know about. It’s a portrait of, well, me. From the great David Mamet, who never won an Obie for drawing, but still.
→ Trump is his own press secretary: It was always going to come to this. I’m surprised it took this long. Trump, in his final White House years, a lame duck, has turned to his comforts and passions: pretending to hate the press while constantly talking to the press, enriching his friends and family, and redoing the ballroom. “Finding yourself” in adulthood is just getting back to what you loved as a child. That’s all we’re getting for the next two years from our White House until the Dems usher in very smart, very chic communism (government grocery stores, abolishing private property, prisons for political enemies, etc.). He is healing his inner child, and we need to honor that. To that end, Trump this week was holding court in the press room, acting as his own press secretary, with assistance from his buddy Dana White, CEO of Ultimate Fighting Championship.
Look how happy he is, doing his signature gesture:
Meanwhile, the ballroom is looking absolutely massive. We’re starting to get drone shots showing the full scale of this beast. I’m pro-ballroom as a concept. Like, I get that the White House needed a larger, indoor, and secure entertaining space. We were serving the Singapore president sweaty chicken in a tent before. But, uh, just look at this thing:
One part of the White House’s beauty is its human scale. Like an old English home, the rooms feel cozy and manageable. The ballroom is giving Houston living room. The old White House is a Mini Cooper. The ballroom is a Hummer SUV. It looks like it wants to eat the White House. And yet it also looks like the performing arts center at an all-women’s college. I’m confused. I’m alarmed. And I’m sure the gift shop will be even bigger.
→ J.D. gets demoted: One funny thing about Trump is he’s just completely transparent about his various antics, so he took Vice President J.D. Vance off the Iran project and announced it immediately on Truth Social. He really weighs in on everything there, big and small. He would be a great guest writer on TGIF. Anyway, J.D. Vance is to focus now on forensic accounting for blue state scams. But why read a 5,000-word mainstream media piece on the matter when you can just gaze directly into President Trump’s brain:
→ Leave Joe Biden alone: Joe Biden is slowing down his book tour effort. He cites his cancer diagnosis: “What that means is, unfortunately, I won’t be able to do as many conversations about my book as I’d hoped.” I suspect it’s also that he’s been losing his grasp for a while and hasn’t been able to give a cogent interview for, let’s be real, years, which the press corps was thrilled to hide while they needed him. Now he’s just promoting his memoir, Promise Me, America, and the press corps cares less about doing the old smoke and mirrors. Here’s a take everyone will hate me for: President Joe Biden deserves respect and dignity. He’s not getting much of that. The old man goes on a visit to Ireland to honor his son Hunter (who was being awarded the Gold Medal for Outstanding Contribution to Public Discourse, which is an item for another day). There President Biden was met with loud protests, and people threw milk cartons at him (not sure why) while chanting blood, blood, blood on your hands. The Irish, who are in an absolute frenzy right now—and maybe always, about Israel and the Jews—think Joe Biden is an evil Zionist, and so they scream blood at him. I’m sorry, but only Americans can scream at our presidents. The Paddies, the bogtrotters, the micks, you can sit this one out. Leave Joe alone. He doesn’t know where he is anyway and you’re scaring him.
→ Nvidia CEO ousted for sexcapades: Jensen Huang, the chief executive officer of Nvidia, is out after a second extramarital affair was reported, in addition to the one that made headlines last month. This one was allegedly with his vice president of healthcare—a direct subordinate! How dare he! Sleeping with a Chinese spy and potentially doing the bidding of a hostile foreign power? That was one thing. That was fine. That was survivable. But sleeping with a 48-year-old subordinate? She’s a child! Can a woman as young as 48 even give consent? Someone check the Nvidia bylaws on sex. Because, get this, he had the affair without filling out the HR paperwork to transfer her chain of command. Jensen violated the sacred laws of Human Resources. And apparently there was a third. It’s over for you, Jen. You might be a captain of industry. You might be worth $143 billion. But no one is above the law of America’s HR ladies. Into the hole you go.
The most ruthless career obit for Mr. Huang comes from my dear friend Lloyd Blankfein, former CEO of Goldman Sachs: “Sad about Jensen. Shakespearean. But as de Gaulle said, ‘The graveyards are filled with indispensable men.’ ” Et tu, Blankfein?
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