This Goddamn Clownshow
Trump's Tariffs. 500 words, 2 minute read. With Claude Sonnet.
The second hand on the DOGE headquarters wall clock ticked toward catastrophe. Elon Musk's phone still displayed the call log: "POTUS - 2m 47s."
"Ten minutes to fix the deficit," he muttered, sweat beading along his revitalized hairline. The president's demands echoed in his mind: Make me a list, Elon. The best list. Beautiful tariffs. Make those countries pay. I’m announcing in ten minutes. I swore I told you about this last week.
Musk scanned the room. The vast office stood empty, everyone gone home for the day. All except for Marcus Finley—a young man noted for his perfect blend of basic competence and complete lack of backbone. Truthfully, he’d been a nepotism hire, some senator’s cousin’s son. He hunched in the corner, scrolling Twitter with vacant concentration.
Musk crossed the room in quick strides. "You."
Marcus startled, nearly dropping his phone. "Sir?"
"The president needs a comprehensive international tariff plan. In ten minutes."
"But I don't—"
"I don't care what you don't know." Musk's fingers drummed against his thigh. "Find me a list of countries. All of them. Put numbers next to them."
Marcus's trembling hands opened Google. "China... tariff?" he typed.
Musk snatched the phone. "Google? Get that shit out of here. Use Grok. It's the only AI worth anything."
"I've never—"
"Eight minutes now," Musk said, shoving the phone back after opening the Grok application. "Ask it to fix the trade deficit via tariffs."
Marcus typed as the AI's interface pulsed with blue light.
Analyzing global economic data...
In reality, it was merely scanning text patterns, never trained on actual trade data, generating—or hallucinating—with artificial confidence.
A cascade of countries and percentages materialized: "China, 34%... Germany, 20%... Svalbard, 10%..."
"Good enough," Musk breathed, jabbing the print button.
Marcus squinted at the final entries. "Sir, what about these last few—Heard Island and McDonald Islands? I’ve never heard of—"
"Did I ask for your analysis? Grok is perfect. I designed it."
The East Room of the White House smelled of furniture polish and power. Camera lenses glinted like watchful eyes as the president approached the podium.
"Today, I'm announcing the strongest, most beautiful tariffs in American history," Trump began, unfolding the freshly printed list. "These countries have been taking advantage of us for too long. Now, it’s Liberation day."
"China, thirty-four percent." He nodded with satisfaction. "They know what they did."
Reporters scribbled notes as he continued down the list.
"Israel," Trump announced, hesitating slightly. "Seventeen percent tariff. Very cold to our negotiators. Very rude people."
A Reuters reporter who was reading ahead on the announcement quietly mouthed "Svalbardians?" to his colleague.
"British Indian Ocean Territory," Trump continued. "Ten percent. They're surrounding us with oceans, folks. Very wet situation."
Murmurs rippled through the press corps as a Washington Post reporter searched these territories on her phone, eyebrows rising.
"And the worst offender," Trump declared, voice swelling. "Heard and McDonald Islands." He jabbed his finger at the paper. "Ten percent tariff. These islands—not the good kind of McDonald's—have been flipping our trade deficit like patties on a grill. It’s horrible, absolutely horrible. They’re the absolute worst of the worst."
In the back row, an AP fact-checker whispered, "That's an uninhabited Australian volcanic territory near Antarctica. Mostly just birds."
A nearby reporter stood up, interrupting the President.
"So you’re imposing tariffs on penguins?"
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