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Donald, Marco and Pete's Excellent, Bro-Culture, Press Conference Adventure [1]

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Date: 2025-06-25

It was one for the ages: Our aging, narcissistic President, flanked by his made-for-TV-cameras Secretary of Defense and his “low-energy” Secretary of State and Whatever Else Trump Tells Him to Do, facing the media in the Hague. Trump is clearly, actively campaigning for the Nobel Peace Prize right now, and is infuriated that initial intelligence reports were leaked showing that US military strikes on Iranian nuclear sites may have only set back their nuclear program by several months.

Of course, Trump wasted no opportunity to say that was incorrect, that Iranian nuclear capacity was “obliterated,” the war between Israel and Iran was over for good (because he said so), and that the media hated him, the country and the New York Times. And then (impeachable offense warning)…

Trump had to own it all. Everything. So he told the world that he gave permission for the Iranian government to fire their missiles at US air bases in the region. I might add that Pete Hegseth grabbed his moment at the podium attacking everybody from the Democrats, to the media, to all of the world’s insects for attacking the troops that participated in that mission. Besides, said Pete “Look I Got the Tequila Worm” Hegseth, if the bombs hit their targets, that means the whole thing got destroyed (it’s really hard to understand physics and science and let them get in the way of all of these testostoronic “bro-feelings.”

And there were lots and lots of “bro-feelings.” Trump had been calling on the reporters he recognized with his usual performative shtick — attacking them before they even asked any questions. But they form the aggressive type of banter he wants, and a platform for his bizarre and completely dishonest talking points — so that’s typical. It was after that, when he declared that he would take only one or two more questions, that our Sexual-Assaulter-in-Chief must have noticed the cadre of younger women journalists from around Europe and the world (women he did not know) screaming out his name and waving their hands (as reporters at a press conference usually do) — that he was getting adoration that he must have been looking for his entire life. “Donald the Rock Star” took questions from one after another. He asked them who they were and where they were from. He was nice to them all — even a woman from Bloomberg news that he didn’t recognize). He feigned sympathy for the BBC reporter from the Ukraine based in Poland whose husband was in their army (Donald wouldn’t know sympathy if it fed him Big Macs all day). He answered their questions without whining, complaining, bloviating or attacking them. It was almost as if he thought he might get some phone numbers so he could ask them out later (and it wouldn’t shock me if he tried).

Not to mention the fact that the head of NATO apparently called Trump his Daddy — which Trump had to love.

Now he’s on his way home to the “big, beautiful, bill” that is stuck in the US Senate, the reality of intelligence briefings about Iran for the Gang of Eight, and a policy toward immigrants that continues to have the Trump government lurching toward fascism. So things are about to get rough again: But for Donald, Marco and Pete? They’ll always have their press conference at the Hague!

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