THE GREAT AMERICAN SUGAR CRASH
A Short, Sweet Economic Metaphor
You go to a kid’s birthday party. The kind where sugar is basically a sacrament. Soda. Frosted cupcakes. Ice cream. Gummy everything. The kids—once well-behaved—go absolutely feral.
They're howling. Jumping off couches. Wrestling in the curtains.
One’s peeling bananas and hurling them like grenades.
The house looks like a Pinterest post that went through a paper shredder.
In the distance? A crash.
The cabinet of “do not touch” has been touched, trashed, and turned into a snack bunker.
Biologically? It’s textbook.
Blood sugar surges. Insulin floods. The body panics.
Short-term energy skyrockets. But there’s no nourishment.
Just chaos, followed by a crash—moody, sluggish, unstable, and dependent.
Now zoom out: That’s been our economy for decades.
Cheap credit. Government handouts. Printed money. Global outsourcing.
The least self-governed among us were fed the most sugar.
And the grown-ups? Often missing in action.
We built an appetite for dependency—on stuff, on stimulus, on foreign production.
Consumption replaced contribution.
Debt replaced discipline.
Feeling good replaced being well.
And then Trump walks in like a parent at the end of the party.
No, he’s not here to bring more cupcakes.
He’s pulling the plug on the sugar machine.
Tariffs? That’s him saying: “Stop relying on China for your Twinkies.”
Corporate tax cuts? That’s “Here’s a shovel—go plant your own food.”
Cutting back regulations? “Let people build again.”
Refusing to keep printing money? “You're not buying another toy on credit. Grow up.”
Yes, it’s jarring.
But like a kid screaming for a Snickers, we needed the tantrum to realize the addiction.
This moment—right now—is our national awakening.
A metabolic reckoning of the American soul.
We’re either going to step up, embrace discipline, produce again…
…or collapse under the weight of our own artificial high.
Trump’s economic vision?
Not magic. Not perfect. But it’s this:
From entitlements to empowerment.
From addiction to strength.
From dependence to self-governance.
If we want America to rise again, we have to stop eating like children and start building like adults.
Because eventually, the party ends.
And someone’s got to clean up the mess.
Enter the Enchanting World of Pigletsville!
Our Present-Day Plight Wrapped in a Fairytale
“The things I believed most then, the things I believe most now, are the things called fairy tales.” - G.K. Chesterton
Enter the Enchanting World of Pigletsville!
Our Present-Day Plight Wrapped in a Fairytale
“The things I believed most then, the things I believe most now, are the things called fairy tales.” - G.K. Chesterton
September, 2021. Lying in the intensive care unit, I could barely move. Or breathe. An oppressive omen lingered over me, painting the sterile walls in shades of death. I was in a void. Devoid of family or friends. Various beeps and mechanical sounds taunted me, discordant notes adding to an ever-growing cacophony orchestrated by some malevolent maestro waving his macabre baton over the planet. Wearing a crown. Pretending to be on the throne.
I became aware of the battle. And lived to tell about it.
This may be a fairytale, but don’t make the mistake in thinking it is not real. It is very real. And consequential. In the shallows you will recognize present-day political personalities and circumstances; in the depths you will encounter our common aspiration for authentic belonging and becoming. Which happens on a battlefield. Involving formidable forces. Not simply for the likes of passing presidents, but transcending all ideologies. I invite you to go there.
“You were there. As was I. And I am now here. And will forever be.”
- Whisper of the Unseen