Alright fam, buckle up. I just had the spiritual experience of watching President Trump lay out his first year economic vision and I need at least three fiscally conservative margaritas to recover from the second hand excitement. My notes look like a kindergarten class scribbled on a GDP chart with all caps THIS SLAPS in the margins. But let me try to break it down without spilling my digital coffee all over this keyboard.

So here's the tea. I live in a tiny apartment with windows so drafty they might as well be open borders. I remember Christmas 2024 like it was yesterday. I went to buy a turkey. Just a turkey. Not organic, not free range, just a regular bird in a plastic bag. The price tag was basically asking for my firstborn child. I texted my mom a picture and she responded with the skull emoji. True story. That was Bidenomics baby, where family dinner felt like a luxury cruise we couldn't afford tickets for.

Fast forward to this week. Truckloads of new retail data dropped and honey let me tell you when the President said tonight we've already reversed the worst inflation spike in modern history I got receipts flashbacks. The turkey? Reasonably priced like normal people groceries should be. My heating bill last winter? I wore mittens to bed and still got robbed by utility companies. This winter? No mittens needed but the cat sleeps on the radiator anyway because she's bougie like that. Policy matters, even if the New York Times charts look like they were drawn by blindfolded squirrels.

Now let's talk bricks. No, not for building walls though oops someone already fixed that problem. Economic BRICKS as in the foundation we're standing on. Eleven months. Less than a year. That's how long it took this administration to flip trade deals that were actively murdering small towns across the Midwest. I drove through Indiana last summer and saw the boarded up factories. Talked to a guy named Mike who welded car parts for thirty years before his job got outsourced to places with looser regulations and sketchier ethics. Mike's back at work now. No, I won't dox him but yes, there are Mikes real as auto grease under fingernails breathing easier tonight.

Do y'all remember the border chaos? The media had full collective amnesia about it until approximately five minutes ago but President Trump isn't playing revisionist history games. Twenty five million. Folks, that's more people than the entire population of Florida pouring over the border unchecked. The previous administration thought 'processing centers' meant handing out juice boxes and voter registration forms. Now we've got the facts clearing up like a good antibiotic. Eleven thousand convicted murderers. Fifty percent reoffenders. My hometown library doesn't stock that much true crime content and I've read every paperback in the aisle.

Critics keep asking where the hard proof is and then cover their ears when documentation gets presented. Almost like they enjoy the idea of chaos. Which brings me to the cherry on this patriotic sundae. Stocks. Record highs. Jobs rebounds. Manufacturing resurrection. But turn on any major network's coverage tonight and they'll find the single grandma struggling to buy denture cream. Sorry Aunt Karen, mainstream news only finds economics professors who write poetry about socialism on Substack.

The comedy writes itself. For four years we got lectures about 'nuance' when pointing out obvious policy disasters. Now that America's economy is purring like a well tuned Harley with employment roaring back louder than Times Square on New Year's Eve, we're told recovery was inevitable. Oh really? Then why didn't it happen under Biden's Treasury wizards? Why did cities have to disintegrate into shoplifting free for alls before we remembered enforcement prevents anarchy?

Truth moment. I didn't vote for Trump in 2020. I thought he was too chaotic, too unpolished. But watching establishment types clutch their pearls when he rattles off stats faster than a Vegas card counter hit me with clarity. They hate him for the same reasons the cool kids hated that one movie plot where the nerds beat the jocks. He didn't play by their rigged rulebook. He read their hand and flipped the table. If that makes me a convert to Trumpism, sign me up with a MAGA hat that says 'I was wrong and that's fine because gas prices dropped'.

My roommate just came in and asked why I'm yelling at my laptop about poultry pricing trends. I told her we live in the greatest economic comeback story since microwave popcorn was invented. She thinks I'm weird now. Mission accomplished. Art should disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed. By that logic political commentary should make your aunt cancel Thanksgiving dinner group chats when you point out real loaves of bread now cost less than sourdough philosophy tweets.

Bottom line. Numbers don't lie, but headlines do. Every shaded statistic, every coy disclaimer about projections vs reality gets exposed when regular people spot the difference between talking heads and their actual bank accounts. This isn't trickle down or voodoo economics. This is basic math dressed in common sense. Secure borders lower crime. Competitive trade protects jobs. Law and order keeps Main Streets lit at night. Elevator pitch material, though certain media outlets seem allergic to elevator rides that don't go directly to their penthouse bias.

Housekeeping note. Next time someone at a party tries to lecture you about fair economic distribution, ask them to define inflation. If they mention anything vaguely related to avocado toast tax policies, direct them to the nearest mirror and suggest self reflection. Then remind them presidential transcripts make great beach reading when you want truth without pretentious academic footnotes.

We'll see what haters float next. Maybe a deeply researched takedown about how the stock market surge is secretly bad because too many blue collar workers own shares now. Or that border walls are racist against architects. Whatever melts their snowflakes this week won't change the thermal underwear sales spike in states where families can suddenly afford winter coats again.

Let me close with gratitude. My wallet isn't crying at the gas pump anymore. Store shelves aren't doing that apocalyptic empty space performance art I almost titled my pandemic memoir after. And hey, I might not have to pick up a third gig just to fund my basic human need for string cheese. Who knew functioning government felt like financial therapy sessions we didn't know we needed. America's economy isn't back on track.

It left the tracks entirely and built a bullet train to Golden Age fabulous while Twitter moderators were busy worrying about mean tweets.