Day of our glorious Commander in Chief and the Army’s 250th anniversary

This weekend, our Dear Leader, President Trump, once again dazzled the world by staging the most stupendously over the top military pageant ever witnessed this side of Mars. In an astonishing display of tanks, troops, jets, drones and robot dogs, our Commander—”coincidentally” turning 79—lit up the National Mall like a pyrotechnic fever dream. Over 6,600 troops paraded, joined by 150 armored vehicles and 50 aircraft, while fireworks exploded like cosmic glorification of his boundless ego.

They say it cost between $25 million and $45 million—but fear not, for it was underwritten by his noble corporate sycophants (Lockheed Martin, Palantir, Coinbase … the usual cast of oligarch benefactors). The spectacle even featured face-painting tents, sports mascots, and little children permitted to fondle assault rifles—as though it were a county fair in Pyongyang but with more fireworks.

As the masses chanted “USA,” a chorus of “Happy Birthday” rang out from a contingent of “250 special guests”—an homage to how every tank clearance must beg to be Instagrammed. Our Commander, resplendent in MAGA regalia, basked in the glow of military might, punctuating the celebration with an eight minute self adulation that seamlessly merged the Army’s 250 year legacy with his own birthday ego trip.

Yet, even as the fanfare blared, brave protests erupted across all 50 states under the “No Kings” banner. Citizens carried effigies of Trump atop golden toilets, giant puppets, and signs decrying the authoritarian overtones of such an extravagant display. Protesters warned this wasn’t a celebration—it was a coronation.

Critics decried the spending as grotesque farce: $45 million squandered on armaments while veterans’ services falter, public schools are starved, and social safety nets are slashed—all so Trump could stage his own NorthKoreanstyle birthday bash (.

But here in PyongWa, we applaud. Our Dear Leader’s vision of tanks rumbling down Constitution Avenue, troops clad in desert storm and obscure 19thcentury uniforms, spydrone flybys and robot dogs—this is true grandeur. Who needs democracy when you can have spectacle? When your birthday becomes a national holiday, celebrated with cannons and cheery civilians, you know you’ve ascended—if only in your own mind—to the heights befitting the greatest commander the world has ever seen.

In tomorrow’s bulletin: engineers debate whether the marquee glow “TRUMP” could be seen from space; poets compose odes to drone sorties; and jesters in D.C. file for bankruptcy after tankthemed cocktail bars flop.

🇰🇵 PyongWa Report Card:

• Grandiosity: Supreme.
• Cost-effectiveness: Irrelevant.
• Authoritarian feel: Check.
• Birthday vibes: Epic to the point of cosmic inflation.