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A Modest Apology to an Omniscient Man [1]

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Date: 2025-04-25

Let us now offer a humble and overdue apology. Not to scholars, scientists, or soldiers. Not to economists or epidemiologists. Not to constitutional lawyers or commanders of global alliances. No — this apology must be delivered, with solemn reverence, to the man who never asked for it, never wanted it, and certainly never earned it. But who, nevertheless, always believed it was owed to him:

Donald John Trump.

For years, we misunderstood him. We called him uninformed, impulsive, and reckless. We corrected him — publicly, pedantically — as though fact and reason were still in fashion. We pointed out, gently and not-so-gently, that hurricanes cannot be nuked, that injecting bleach is not a medical strategy and that tariffs don’t work like coupons at a gas station.

We were wrong to question him.

Because, clearly, he knows what the hell he’s doing.

This modest apology is not sarcasm — perish the thought. This is a deeply earnest recognition of genius, misunderstood by a nation that still foolishly clings to “data,” “institutional knowledge,” and “cause and effect.”

Donald Trump is the first American president to reach epistemological singularity — a man who believes he knows everything and who governs accordingly. He doesn’t need advisors, only amplifiers. He doesn’t need briefings, only instincts. And he doesn’t need experts because he already knows more than them. All of them. Combined.

When generals offered nuanced views of military strategy, he declared them “losers” and “dopes.” When scientists warned of rising temperatures and pandemic risks, he countered with anecdotes about cold weather and miracle cures. When career diplomats urged caution, he tweeted threats. And when economists tried to explain that tariffs are taxes on the American people, he simply raised them to 125% and called it winning.

Because when you are omniscient, contradiction is not an error — it’s a flex.

Under Trump’s self-ordained wisdom, the United States has been guided by what might generously be called “gut policy” — where national decisions are less about evidence and more about how angry something makes him feel. Trade wars, immigration crackdowns, defense policy, public health protocols — all are governed not by institutions but by the fluctuating barometric pressure of a man’s ego.

Trump is a man who declared, “I alone can fix it,” and then proceeded to break everything he touched.

Yet somehow, despite the wreckage — or perhaps because of it — he remains convinced of his brilliance. And like any faithful entourage, his party nods along, terrified of reality, allergic to accountability, and hypnotized by the myth of infallibility.

This brings us to the real danger.

It is not that Trump knows nothing — though he surely does.

It is that he knows nothing and believes he knows everything.

And in this inverted reality, every correction becomes a betrayal. Every expert becomes an elitist. Every inconvenient fact becomes fake news. The presidency, once tethered to policy and preparation, is now a stage for applause, revenge, and mythmaking.

This is governance by grievance. Leadership by volume. The executive branch runs like a Fox News panel, where the loudest voice wins, and the scoreboard is based entirely on “likes.”

And now, as we endure the sequel of his misrule, the pattern holds.

Trump has resurrected his chaotic tariff scheme — a plan so lacking in logic that it makes supply chains shudder in their sleep. After weeks of bellowing about “reciprocity,” he’s handed out 90-day waivers to almost every country except China — which he’s now targeting with 125% tariffs because punishing your geopolitical adversary by tanking your country’s economy is the height of statesmanship.

Asked if he understood the consequences of this policy, he reportedly replied:

“I know what the hell I’m doing.”

Of course he does. Just as he knew when he said NATO was obsolete. Just as he knew when he called COVID a hoax. Just as he knew when he said he’d repeal and replace Obamacare with something “beautiful” in two weeks — which, if you’re keeping score, was about 400 weeks ago.

But who needs calendars? Or plans? Or proof? We have Trump.

He is the high priest of performative certainty. The guru of gut. The oracle of obliviousness. A man whose confidence is inversely proportional to his comprehension — and whose success is measured not in outcomes but in outrage.

And so, we arrive at this moment not with anger but with regret.

I regret that we ever doubted him. Regret that we believed in expertise. I regret that we asked questions when the answers were already self-evident — because they were shouted the loudest.

In honor of that clarity, let us issue this final statement:

We no longer require scientists, generals, or constitutional scholars.

We have Trump — and Trump knows everything.

He knows how tariffs work (they don’t).

He knows how medicine works (inject bleach).

He knows how alliances work (abandon them).

He knows how the weather works (nuke it).

He knows how economies work (crash them to win elections).

And most of all, he knows how truth works — which is to say, however he says it does.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are now passengers in the cockpit of a 747, piloted by a man who thinks “altitude” is an energy drink.

And so, we apologize, Mr. President. We were wrong to doubt you.

We thought the nation needed guidance. But really, it just needed you.

You — and your unshakeable belief that reality bends to branding.

History will remember this moment not for what we learned but for what we ignored.

And when the next disaster hits — whether economic, diplomatic, or epidemiological — we can rest easy knowing that the response will be simple, bold, and surgically precise:

“I know what the hell I’m doing.”

~Dunneagin~

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