Hailey Welch, AKA The Hawk Tuah girl, is going to work for the White House. This is not The Onion. The girl who got her fifteen minutes talking about slobbing on that knob is now on Trump's propaganda council. We've firmly arrived in Hell. (This is what Buddyhead is reporting via Bloomberg.)
To just kick it up into full Kid Rock gear, Welch to be clear is someone who did a rug pull in the Crypto world and is being sued, sells tacky hats with her catch phrase emblazoned on them, but is now a part of our country's media machine in hopes to lure "the youth" into the shits in gold toilet while being an open fascist brand.
There is a full collapse of qualification, but instead of "vibe," and this leads us down a pitch-dark path, as seen in Idiocracy, which has been cited more than a million times when describing how America looks to the rest of the world. And why wouldn't it? We've officially entered the era where going viral for a blowjob joke could qualify you to shape national media strategy. Expertise is dead. Engagement is king, baby. The only credential that matters now is how many people shared your stupidity.
There are ways to cope with the horrors of the world. Nothing is a personal execution of thought, but really, we're sliding through the fires of Hell on roller skates. Smoke 'em if you got 'em. One day, it's people thinking you're a Liberal because you want to see the Epstein files drop. Then you're a stormy Liberal because you didn't make Biden give them over. Or maybe you're just a human who doesn't want a bunch of kid-fucking weirdos running the world. They're all in cahoots, and it's in plain sight. We're pawns in a chess match with no power.
Meanwhile, The Big Cheese is planning a 200-million-dollar ballroom no one asked for, while plenty of people need a hot meal or a place to live. His priorities are rooted in vanity, a cat dropping down the curtains, claws out. While he's measuring the drapes, Amazon's running a flash sale on survival buckets — 30 days of powdered eggs and hope for $199. Prime shipping, of course. And if you're lucky, you can drop your own dookie bombs in the bucket.
The hokum we live within is draining. We’re getting a UFC fight on the White House lawn, and the base is like, “Sick. When does Grave Digger crush a pile of cars? Will that be after the hot dog eating contest?” The Cult of Trump doesn’t care. He’s infallible. His cabal only sees a way to blame the other for their problems, and he’s the avatar. It’s exhausting to be present in the everyday. Some of us want to live in unremarkable times. But here we are, duking it out in Waffle Houses over men who wouldn’t cross the street to piss on us if we were on fire. And that long red tie? Freud’s got a whole rap on that.
The culture wars are a pyramid scheme. Someone on Fox or MSNBC screams about gas stoves, Target swimsuits, or beer cans with rainbows, and suddenly everyone’s fighting in the comments like their mortgage depends on it. Meanwhile, the people in charge quietly pass another bill gutting your labor rights. Every week, there’s a scandal, then another, then another, and then a drywall job to cover it up as shitty as possible — see Epstein, social issues. At the same time, Social Security gets gutted, or how the Big Beautiful Bill is wildly unpopular, but the cult will ruin a sane politician, and it’s all on front street. Every stump speech is a Norman Rockwell painting for an America that never existed: small-town diners, apple pies, and not a vape shop or titty bar in sight.
And let’s be real: have you been to a small town? All that’s there are Dollar General, Pizza Hut, and people complaining about how it sucks. Don’t believe me? Go to one and report back. The romanticization is a song lyric buried in to make people feel good about a myth. “Try that in a small town.”
THE NUMBNESS EPIDEMIC
Every day, we’re glued to our phones, watching horrors unfold by the war crimes. The sheer amount of information drills into us. How else would swaths of people not consider Israel a fascist state committing genocide? We doomscroll past a school being defunded, a rural hospital closing, while the demons of war stuff more money in their pockets. There’s a weird guilt in enjoying anything while the world dances in flames, just trying to exist. One second you’re watching a missile strike, the next you’re getting an ad for ranch-flavored hard seltzer.
The politicians love it. Do you honestly believe any of them care about the priorities of the populace? I’ll give you the upswing potential of Zohran Mamdani, but having AOC jump in his corner feels greasy considering she’s doing little in the way of progressive policy and a whole lot of fundraising. Mamdani is a public referendum on the bullshit we endure as the policy owners of America withdraw funding from our everyday lives. I want to be hopeful. Nothing feels real anymore except our crippling debt and loss of cultural nuance. As of August 2025, the U.S. national debt sits at roughly $36.93 trillion — about 121% of GDP — rising by $5.13 billion every single day.
SURVIVAL CULTURE
"Self-care" became code for "give up on changing anything." Everyone has to have an opinion on everything, and for those who don’t, the middle of the road is gone. Every outrage is just the warm-up act for the next one. They don’t care if we’re furious, as long as we’re scrolling. The Sydney Sweeney jeans ad is nothing but a cry for attention from desperate Liberals looking for something to be upset about when everything else in the dumpster fire feels out of their control.
And that works. It gives the Talking Heads plenty to muse on: outrage is currency. Nearly three-quarters of American teens have used AI companions, with 8% engaging in romantic or flirtatious interactions. There is relief in having someone to blame because the culture war is easier than the class war. We have manufactured our own chains. In the horror show of our everyday lives, it works. Once they figure out how to marry AI to a fleshlight, we’re doomed.
