Urgent Dispatch from the Glorious Trade War
Today’s editorial cartoon and humor column
My work is made possible entirely through voluntary support from readers. If you’d like to become one, look for any “upgrade” or “subscribe” button in today’s newsletter!
In honor of liberty, tariffs, and poorly-planned economic crusades, we now present, below, this exclusive dispatch to our brave and patriotic paid subscribers. Enlist today for full access — or risk missing history in the making!
A Letter from the Front: Dispatch from the Glorious Trade War
By Pvt. Donald J. Trump, 1st Tariff Brigade, Confederate States of MAGA
Dearest Melania,
I write you again from the smoky trenches of the great and noble Trade War, which I alone began and shall alone win. I trust you are well, though I cannot be certain, as your silence persists—eighteen letters and not a single reply. I choose to believe it is because my previous letters have been so perfect, so complete in their triumph, that you’ve naught to add.
Today, I bring news of a tremendous victory. A beautiful one. We have secured a massive and historic trade accord with none other than the United Kingdom! Yes, that United Kingdom. You may recall, darling, how I declared at the start of this war that I would forge 90 trade deals in 90 days. Now, 32 days in, I have completed the first. That is what generals call ahead of schedule. Many people are saying so.
The deal itself is so comprehensive, so bigly, that I cannot fit the details into a single letter—or indeed into any document yet written. Some say it’s sparse on paper. Lies! It’s just that the details are written in the very spirit of the agreement, which is the best place for them. Invisible ink, Melania. The ink of legends.
I stood alone on the field, tariffs in hand, while cowards trembled. They said I was surrounded, that allies were abandoning me, that our crops were dying and our factories empty. But these were tactical illusions, much like the time I convinced General Macron to surrender a cheese wheel at dinner. All part of the strategy.
Do you remember the China Campaign? The Germans? The Canadians who burned Washington (or something)? They all believed they had cornered me. But I let them believe that, because I was busy laying the groundwork for this day. The British have agreed—at least in spirit, if not in specifics—to something that may include goods, or perhaps services. We’re not sure. But it is a deal. And I made it.
The lads are rejoicing. We toasted with warm cola and canned beef—British delicacies—and spoke of the day we shall return home. I told them how you wait for me, draped in our flag (the one with the eagle wrestling a globe), tears in your eyes and perhaps a new line of luxury furniture ready for launch.
The swamp creatures back home—those ink-stained scoundrels with their “facts” and “timelines”—say the deal is less than nothing. That it might not exist. That it’s mostly a memorandum about exploring negotiations to perhaps one day trade dental floss. But what they don’t understand is that in war, perception is supremacy. I perceived a victory, therefore it exists. That’s how we won at Bowling Green.
Tell Barron his father is a hero, though he may not believe it until he reads about it in the official histories I’m currently ghostwriting. I await your response with a heart full of tariffs and a head full of strategy.
Your husband,
Pvt. Donald J. Trump
Tariff Commander and Sole Architect of the UK Deal,
Hero of the Invisible War
P.S. If you see Marco Rubio, tell him I said it’s safe to come out from behind the curtain. The British surrender is in effect.
