Nation Struggles as Elon Blows Up the Bipartisan Budget Bill
Imagine pulling up to Yellowstone, ready for a serene moment with nature, only to find a line of harried tourists handing out homemade maps they printed at the office supply store. “This way to the geysers,” says one guy in cargo shorts, pointing to a hand-drawn arrow that looks more like a dinosaur. Meanwhile, a bison ambles over to your car window, as if to say, “Welcome. Tips appreciated.”
Back in D.C., Congress tries to make up for the lost budget by hosting an impromptu dunk tank fundraiser on the Capitol lawn. A bipartisan lineup, each member in swim trunks emblazoned with their party’s mascot, dares you to aim for the bullseye. “Ten bucks a throw, fifty if you really hate my guts!” yells one senator as their intern towels off nearby.
Over at the White House, things have gone full crowdfunding. A GoFundMe titled “Keep America Running” pops up with tiers of rewards: donate $5 and get a “patriotic shoutout,” $50 gets you an autographed mug. At $1,000, the president himself promises to deliver a personalized pep talk straight to your voicemail.
Meanwhile, traffic lights across the nation throw in the towel. “Good luck!” flashes in red letters, as drivers honk and wave, turning intersections into low-budget demolition derbies. It’s a race to see who has better reflexes or a higher tolerance for chaos.
At the IRS, things have turned remarkably friendly. A banner on their website now reads, “Taxes? You do you!” A cheerful cartoon Uncle Sam winks while holding a piggy bank. It’s unclear if this is a temporary measure or the dawn of a laissez-faire fiscal revolution.
The USPS isn’t doing much better. Post office employees shrug as customers approach the counter. “Bring your own stamps,” they say. One entrepreneurial kid has started selling hand-drawn stick-figure stamps in the parking lot, fifty cents a pop.
And speaking of creativity, the Statue of Liberty has decided it’s time to earn her keep. A massive “For Rent” sign dangles from her iconic torch. Rumors swirl that Meta wants to turn it into a holographic ad space.
Monuments fare no better. With no staff to enforce rules, the Lincoln Memorial has become D.C.’s hottest wedding venue. Tourists step over scattered rose petals while a guy in a rented tux says, “I do,” under Abe’s stony gaze. Someone nearby starts blasting “Here Comes the Bride” on their Bluetooth speaker.
Even the White House security detail has downsized. Interns now guard the premises, wielding Nerf guns and oversized sunglasses, practicing their best intimidating stares. “Step away from the gates!” one yells, though it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt that says “Epstein Lives.”
And to top it all off, the FBI has resorted to a bake sale. Agents in suits sell cookies and brownies on the sidewalk, though their table is suspiciously well-guarded. “Try the surveillance cupcakes,” one agent says with a sly smile. “They’re delicious…and classified.” I noticed each cupcake was beeping. I’ll pass.
