The Republic of Razzmatazz

May 16

Let’s talk about Bruce Springsteen. The Boss. You remember him—he’s that guy who writes songs about working-class struggle while drinking wine with millionaires.

Yeah, that guy. So he goes to England—because of course, the revolution’s always safer from overseas—and he says some unflattering things about Donald Trump.

Now here’s where it gets fun: Trump hears about it and goes on this Truth Social tirade. He calls Bruce a “prune.” Not a has-been, not washed-up—a prune. That’s not an insult, that’s something your grandma takes to loosen her bowels.

You called him a dried-out prune, but coming from a man who tans like a yam and tweets like a parrot with a grudge, that’s rich—richer than your hair color.

Then Trump says Bruce “should keep his mouth shut until he gets back to the country.” Oh good! Now patriotism comes with a return ticket to Vaudeville McCarthyism.

And Trump—this cat, he goes off. Calls him a jerk, a prune, atrophied! That’s not a statement. That’s a bingo card of ego rage. He’s not mad Bruce is un-American, he’s mad Bruce didn’t do his bit in the skit. He missed the cue. And citizenship now, baby, it’s all a skit. It’s got blocking, lights, a two-act structure, and the lead’s gotta be loud, orange, and allergic to introspection.

This isn’t politics anymore, folks. It’s Las Vegas on C-SPAN.

It’s got costume changes, musical numbers, and a warm-up act named “Ron DeSantis.” You wanna be a good citizen now? Don’t vote. Applaud.

Citizenship? In my day, it meant voting and apple pie. Now it’s catchphrases and curtain calls! Ya don’t need a Constitution—you need a script doctor and a two-drink minimum!