The Gold-Dipped Absurdity We Can’t Ignore
The unexpected bromance between two history-drenched men with misconceptions so ridiculous they’d probably incinerate toast to cinders has given us a book no one wanted but everyone must read. In comes Trumputin Krasnov, political Frankenstein’s monster that not only remained in the lab but danced his way to the presidency. Seriously? If Mary Shelley lived to see this, she’d be going, “I did this to scare you, not inspire you!”
Trumputin is our baffled mystery we can’t help but so christen him. Pineapple on a pie, room-temp water drinker, he makes you roll your eyes yet you can’t look away. Why? Gall? Bedlam in a parade? Nor maybe that gold-plated holster of indefensibility society self-willing bestowed upon him? Seriously, who said, “The world needs this: a moving, speaking oxymoron with a side of surprise factor”?
This is the punch.Trumputin doesn’t exist; he generates offspring. This guy’s like party glitter that builds parties. No instant sooner are you aware of him than he’s everywhere, and no scrubbing effort can brush him loose. One instant he’s performing maneuvers that are politically considerate and practically systematic.It’s like some reality show where you’re questioning whether it’s rehearsed and precisely planned and produced or fabricated and sentSoaring through production offices.
And you can’t help but wonder, are we drawn to his craziness through some repressed fascination with masochism? Or are we holding our ground due to that old-fashioned reason that pandemonium wasn’t this fun? Either way, no one’s flipping the dial to off. Not through inability, but unwillingness to do that.
I mean, in all sincerity, did social collective self-control ever really become our strength?
From Gilded Cradles to Gold-Plated Thrones
We are told that Trumputin didn’t climb like all of us did. Trumputin’s Moscow penthouse welcomed him to the world and not sanitised room with antiseptic preparations. There are champagne fountains and overkill winking and handshakes that are indicators of his unsavory personality. His golden hamburgers were in plates with “The Best Deal Ever” because he will not bet on stable tactics. Each second-guessing observer that will bet that this individual maybe indeed knows what he is doing.
Then things got strange. Trumputin’s visit induced general shock in people. The “golden boy” (literally) slept in a nuclear-capable baby bed since one tantrum short of WWIII is a healthy childhood activity. His diet? Cold borscht and Big Macs were fed to the toddler. Pre-bedtime he listened to stories that sounded more like
His playroom? No teddy bears and trucks. Little Trumputin sent his men-in-black stuffed animals to plot in “playroom takeovers” in play rituals. Age five and he drew installations with helicopters’ touchdown spots. Age six and he must’ve hidden gold bars in camouflage wrappers of toys. A playdate that’s serene? Forget about it.
Yes, it was too much. Each potential leader starts his journey with doubtful feeding habits and advanced speaking skills, and covert toy alliances. If not, are they even going about it correct
The world to this day remains in doubt whether destiny consisted of champagne fountains and gold burgers or of cold borscht throughout.
When Deals Become Theater
His philosphy in his life was to display “Why negotiate when you can dominate?” He hoped to make his victories moments of great social events and not look sungular achievement. All of his business transaction was playlike situations which was acted out in stage lights with single beam spotlighting his
He walked through the doors of the UN campus with proper stride as if he had his own victory party to attend to. He carried a glossy brochure for the Moskva Tower Resort & Casino which would be a decent business but appeared to be a complex scam. He carried a dossier which bore the caption TOTALLY NOT BLACKMAIL in his other hand. It introduced itself with the same degree of dramatic mystery that a surprise plot twist episode of Netflix would embark upon. That smile? His cheeky face tone became his affirmation of his Monopoly cheating
His diplomatic meetings were absolutely one-of-a-kinds. Those meetings took the shape of high-level social parties where he intertwined hostage negotiations with appetizers and fake grins. The public called him ”Trumputin” since he made deal-making into
I find it difficult to rationalize whether this act came from some deliberate plan or momentary thought process. This leaflet took my entire attention.
Campaigns That Could Put Coachella to Shame
The political spectacular of Trumputin Krasnov’s “Make Empire Great Again” (MEGA) platform went even further than understatement through being so theatrical that one would end up watching the whole episode after episode of telenovela act plays without end. Red caps worn with preposterous mottoes? Of course. Rally background music married Russian symphonic classics with Fourth of July fireworks
Did Trumputin really employ a eagle trainer
Did the eagle attack a reporter? And yes.
Was this the picture that dominated all social newsfeeds for months?
In his rallies Trumputin put on a political production that was like a Vegas act. There was a real chariot with bears pulled by its oxen that rode into the stadium. During the event someoone bragged with pride that one of the bears came from a zoo. The grand moment of the rally was when he pulled out a drone skydive and waved a flag that strangely looked like a $100 bill like a hyperkinetic action hero. The crowd transformed their dazed reations into memes that spread quicker than the
And then there was the anthem. Oh, the MEGA theme song. The hook-laded anthem penned its way into your head where it waltzed a crazed waltz through tundras and deserts before winding up in orbit. Your lightly tipsy down-in-town uncle sings the song at the local karaoke and harmonizes his voice with a 5,000-member choir. The rally established a wacky cultural sensation where people gathered.
The Undisputed Champion of Confusing Speeches
The speeches of Trumputin were ambiguous pieces of art. His speeches became speeches plus because he released hypnagogic stages that robbed audiences between their clapping and their existential fear feelings. He constructed his flattery from his insults in the manner that he seasoned with ambiguous threats and accompanied with a winking charming side motion. The event was like having a cultivated meal that became served with a Frisbee
He’d make these pronouncements in biggest possible gestures
“I’ve constructed the finest democracy. Better than your democracy. The system developed so far that citizens can no longer even recognize it with democracy. Revolutionary? Gen”
The audiences members responded to his statements with mixed emotions. Audiences clapped with some awkward laughs and others with bewilderment appearing to ask if they took some topic of social studies. Ambiguous response from audiences caused wild debate in ”Totally-Not-Twitter” that was the fashionable platform of philosophical users of
The commentators were completely fascinated with him. Some even referred to his boutable personality “next-level trolling” but others complimented him with making chaos into dangerous pieces of art. Trumputin dismissed all the commentary with the reason that he kept his focus on staying popular. His consideration was that having influence was preferable to knowing what was happening.
Gold-Plated Fashion Statements
The style battlefield war wasn’t the plan, but Trumputin was prep’d. This is a universe in which style wars against order and kills all that’s sophisticated. Trumputin came down to the parade like a game-less style-waring general but with unlimited willpower. His closet? Oh, work of destruction. Army coats with Swarovski crystals encrusting them that glimmered like a disco ball in the midst of a funeral mass. Floor-sweeping fur coats that doubled as a wildlife sanctuary—I mean more ”escaped zoo display” than catwalk fashion. And the piece de résistance? Neckties so long and untamed that they looked like they’d
Wait, we must talk about hats. Do you. feel emotions regarding hats? Well, Trumputin didn’t pose; he made statements. Go-to piece? A red ushanka that shone more radiantly than the Moscow skyline, adorned with diamond-studded hammers and sickles that emblazoned, “I am the Supreme Style Tsar!” Did French Vogue weep that day? We can’t be sure, but one tear coursing down Anna Wintour’s cheek seems
If boldness equated to style currency, Trumputin’s fortune would be equivalent to Bezos’. But let’s be serious, how you recover from the human version of “chaos, but make it fashion”? Honestly, we may never know.
Master of PR (Propaganda Relations)
The whole story was Trumputin’s playpen since he was the story. He didn’t merely run it; he lived it, he wrapped it in propaganda, and re-sold it to us with a smile so smug that it’d feature on a toothpaste adverts campaign. Prime Trumputin made farce his oeuvre, posing in front of Mount Rushmore with a self-satisfied grimace that’d curdle milk, and even photobomb the moon landing with green screen. One small step for mankind, one giant leap to his self-esteem.
And his weekly “State of the Alliance” addresses? No speeches—massive farces that made Broadway plays look like productions in community theater. Highlights included his unveiling his skyscraper towers in the shape of missiles that he described his personal creations. Why make a real object when you can make fiction?
And there was the bear-wrestling bout. Legitimate bear-wrestling bout. Imagine a 600-pound bear, perhaps merely wanting to be left in peace, having to be beaten in some sham that blended medieval tournament combat-jousting with absurdity from reality-TV. Trumputin, of course, came out shirtless and muscles tensed like a catapult of testosterone in flesh incarnate. Wrestling bears, we are to understand, seems to qualify one to make foreign policy credits.
And his grand finale? His “metaphoric strength” paragraph. That’s where the magic went down. He went through a wincing ten minutes in monologue describing his physical strength, with live coverage backing and joining in him of his biceps in action in all their glory. Those biceps appeared screen-friendlier than some Oscar winners.
And the critics? If you ever dared to criticize the circus, you received a one-way pass to the “vacation zones.” Sounds nice, until you’re told they were more “disappear off the face of the earth” spots. Weeks after “disappearing” in this manner, critics reemerged in Trumputin-themed hoodies and raining praise upon him to great heights like they just returned from a fancy resort. “The accommodations were great, 10/10 would book! Dictatorial chic!”
And now, at this juncture, I wouldn’t be surprised if Trumputin said he discovered the existence of coffee, the internet, and gravity. If history’s taught us anything, it’s that Trumputin doesn’t just blur reality—he plows reality under, dances on its grave, and declares it a national holiday.
Economic Policy… or Roulette?
The Trumputin economic agenda was a stuttering game show formula that made all parties involved unwilling cast members. The picture illustrated one with both a free bottle of vodka and a coupon redeemable for a Big Mac due to the fact that burger coupons are signs of economic security. The masses cheered with equal fervor as they had just been given tickets to Beyoncé’s concert. Champagne socialism? Fast-food nationalism was the true economic
The pièce de résistance? The stock market functioned like a giant roulette wheel during his administration. Prez laughed that Wall Street featured more gambling potential than Las Vegas. “When the house comes out ahead, YOU win!” Economists collapsed to the ground. Common citizens watched in disbelief as businessmen and women held their pearls and said this wasn’t the manner of capitalism in action. Taxpayers bet their tax refund on either side of Trumputin-brand slots and saw the public display. Win or lose? No citizen in the public observed the end outcome
The “nationalization program” was a complete letdown. Securities and industries vanished at a pace faster than in Houdini’s trick escaping act. It was more like a Narcos–Apprentice season crossover but no one looked away from television. Governance process was more like a dystopia reality television show than actually executing policies.
The documentary title needs to be Vodka, Big Macs, and Roulette Economics since it accidentally describes this situation.
His Legacy (or What’s Left of It)
Listing Trumputin Krasnov’s rule so far like this appears to be trying to recall specifics of a deranged fever dream. Was he this shadow puppeteer of darkness with manipulatives in the background? Some farce punchline that was handed the keys to the kingdom? Some flesh-and-blood equivalent of a James Bond villany tripped up in power in his desire to rule the kingdom of TikTok? Shoot it to you straight, he was likely all these and we still can’t understand to this day.
This dude did not make the front page; he made space lines (if that isn’t a term, it should be after this, because that’s exactly what they are), with a chain of golden skyscrapers that blazed so bright you’ll see ’em in space. We all heard about the TikTok videos, either—viral barely begins to describe ’em. They were more or less infectious, overwhelming our timelines with awkward dance and that certain smirk that screamed, “I know what I’m doing. or maybe not?”
And let’s not even mention that government-backed movie he did that was his biography? Some work of cinematic brilliance that bucked the odds and swept through award season, bagging prizes left and right and center. Here’s the kicker, though: there wasn’t even any pretense of competition going on. None. Zero. Zilch. This was like having an election and he was the sole candidate running and still “winning by a landslide.”
Krasnov made no dent; he made his mark in the galaxy. If you are his weathers forecast leader, farce comedian, or that man that won the world’s longest-running party in a dress in error, you will see him nod in approval to the assertion that he knew one more thing than any other soul did: how to be unforgettable. Or, inignorable, certainly.
Satire or Psychological Survival Mechanism?
The fictional character Trumputin Krasnov exists only in imagination (thank heavens). But imagine he did exist. A maniacal cocktail of ego, propaganda, and sheer absurdity squeezed into one inflated, self-adoring character. The peacock-megaphone hybrid would produce a cartoonish villainous puddle after mating. The fictional nightmare exists only in the realm of safe imagination.
For now.
Satire enables us to confront uncomfortable realities which otherwise would pass unnoticed in everyday life. The distorted mirror reflects reality in a distorted way to reveal its slightly absurd nature while making everything clearer. I am creating ”The Adventures of Trumputin Krasnov” because the world requires this entertaining chaos in television series format.