The Trump Presidency Is Going Great

Trump’s deportation shock troops in Minneapolis tried the classic play: shoot a guy, invent a heroic battle story, and let the federal government rubber-stamp the charges against the immigrant who somehow made the bullets attack him. Unfortunately for ICE, the apartment building had this new technology called surveillance cameras, and the footage promptly turned their tale of a three-minute broom-and-shovel brawl into yet another episode of "actually, that’s not what happened at all".

This case against Venezuelan nationals Alfredo Aljorna and Julio Sosa Celis joins a growing pile of collapsed prosecutions where ICE officers swore they were bravely defending themselves, only for video to show something closer to "reckless, armed cosplay". It’s now the third Minneapolis shooting where recordings shredded ICE’s self-defense narrative, following the fatal shootings of Renee Nicole Good and Alex Pretti – events so blatantly awful they forced the White House to reshuffle DHS leadership just to staunch the political bleeding from Trump’s year-long blue-city deportation crusade.

In a plot twist no one saw coming, the new ICE director Todd Lyons isn’t immediately canonizing the shooters as patriotic martyrs. Instead, the officers are on administrative leave and facing possible firing or even criminal charges for lying under oath – which, as an ICE spokesperson helpfully reminded everyone, is technically still a crime in this country. Policy experts are calling it "baby steps" toward accountability, which is a generous way of saying that after years of impunity, the bar has been lowered so far that "we might investigate our own lies" now counts as progress.

The big question is whether this is a real turn toward transparency or just a PR rebrand for an agency that spent the last year treating Democratic-led cities like live-fire training grounds. For now, ICE’s strategy appears to be: keep deporting, keep shooting, but maybe stop getting caught on camera blatantly fabricating assault stories. Bold reform.

A federal judge had to put down his gavel and pick up a parenting voice to explain to President Donald Trump that, no, he cannot just knock down the East Wing of the White House to install his very own mega-ballroom like it's a new wing on a golf resort. U.S. District Judge Richard J. Leon — notably a George W. Bush appointee, not exactly Antifa’s in-house counsel — ruled that “no statute comes close to giving the President the authority he claims to have” for this little demolition-and-disco project.

Leon temporarily blocked any further demolition, excavation, or construction on Trump’s dream ballroom, allowing only work needed for safety and security, and then politely paused his own order for 14 days so the administration can appeal. He also felt compelled to write the civics lesson of the decade: the president is the “steward of the White House for future generations of First Families. He is not, however, the owner!” Translation: you’re a tenant, Don, not the landlord.

The judge made clear that unless and until Congress explicitly authorizes this fever dream of a donor-funded party bunker, the construction has to stop. Speaking of donors, Comcast — parent company of NBCUniversal, which reported this story — helpfully chipped in for the ballroom fund, because nothing captures the spirit of late-stage American democracy like media conglomerates helping finance an unauthorized presidential vanity construction project on a national landmark.

Fresh from his first term as president and already speedrunning the sequel, Donald Trump allegedly treated a private plane in 2022 like his own airborne Mar-a-Lago storage unit, reportedly whipping out a classified military map to entertain the passengers. Among the lucky guests: Susie Wiles, then CEO of his super PAC and now White House chief of staff, apparently starring in her second episode of "Donald Shows Me Top Secret Stuff". According to a Justice Department memo to Merrick Garland, prosecutors believed Trump had a classified map on board and showed it off like it was a golf scorecard instead of sensitive national security material.

The memo also notes that Trump had some of the most tightly restricted documents in government, including items previously accessible to maybe half a dozen people on Earth, and—what are the odds—some of them were "pertinent to his business interests". So yes, the guy who swore he was just a very neat archivist seems to have been sitting on top secret intel that also happened to be financially convenient. Prosecutors got as far as documenting it, then watched the case get slow-walked and eventually murdered in court by Judge Aileen Cannon, a Trump appointee who helpfully dismissed the whole classified-documents case and later barred the DOJ from even releasing the special counsel’s final report.

Now House Judiciary Democrat Jamie Raskin is asking Attorney General Pam Bondi—because of course it’s Pam Bondi in this universe—who exactly was on that flight, who got the map show, and what business-related secrets Trump was hoarding. He’s also gently inquiring whether the DOJ violated a court order by coughing up these materials, because in Trump’s America even trying to explain the crimes might itself be a crime. The special counsel, Jack Smith, tried to appeal Cannon’s ruling, but after Trump won a second term he dropped the appeal and resigned. The message is clear: classified information is sacred, unless you’re Trump, in which case it’s an in-flight entertainment option.

Gregory Bovino, the Hollywood-poster-boy of Trump’s immigration crackdown, is finally retiring, presumably to spend more time not testifying under oath. This is the guy who turned Chicago, L.A., Minneapolis, New Orleans, Charlotte and random Home Depot parking lots into his personal cosplay of a junta, then got demoted after two U.S. citizens, Renee Good and Alex Pretti, ended up dead at the hands of federal officers during his Minneapolis fun run known as Operation Metro Surge.

While serving as CBP commander at large and reporting directly to Kristi Noem and Corey Lewandowski (a sentence that already screams "constitutional crisis"), Bovino got famous for throwing gas canisters into crowds of protesters and using chemical agents in residential neighborhoods, even after a federal judge told him to knock it off. The same judge later dragged him back into court for repeatedly lying about supposed threats from immigrants and protesters, including a rock-throwing story that collapsed the second video evidence showed up. Shockingly, the rule of law did not thrive under the guy who treated perjury like a management style.

Before Minneapolis, Bovino was busy in Los Angeles staging workplace and residential raids, popping agents out of a rental truck in a Home Depot parking lot to grab day laborers, and sparking five days of protests so intense that Trump sent in the National Guard and Marines like he was rebooting "Fallujah: The Prequel." He’d already been sued in Kern County for tactics including pulling people from cars, slashing tires, racially profiling, and using trickery to push people out of the country — conduct that DHS blandly described as "highly targeted" enforcement while insisting any misconduct is immediately investigated. Apparently the investigation process ends with a retirement party and a full pension.

So now Bovino quietly exits one year before mandatory retirement, after years of gas, lies, lawsuits, dead citizens, and open contempt for court orders. No accountability, no admissions, just a gentle glide into the federal retirement system. The Trump administration keeps insisting it’s all about law and order; they just forgot to mention that the law is optional and the order is enforced with tear gas and fiction.

The Department of Government Efficiency — a name that ages worse than unrefrigerated shrimp — is back in the spotlight after a whistleblower says a former DOGE software engineer walked out of the Social Security Administration with copies of databases containing personal information on almost every living American. Because when you give Trumpworld bros "god-level" access to federal systems, what could they possibly do besides allegedly load your retirement into a thumb drive and brag about sharing it with their new private-sector boss?

Congressional Democrats and the Social Security Administration’s inspector general are now poking through the wreckage, trying to determine whether this ex-DOGE employee really retained the ability to edit SSA data at will, which is a totally normal sentence to say about a core pillar of the U.S. safety net. SSA’s anonymous spokesperson insists it’s all bogus and points out that the Washington Post couldn’t verify the claims — a bold defense that boils down to "trust us, the guy who allegedly had root access to your entire life definitely didn’t." Meanwhile, Americans get to play the fun new Trump-era game show: "Is My Government Check Real, or Did DOGE Patch Notes Delete Me?"

Pam Bondi looked at Alina Habba getting bounced for being illegally installed as New Jersey’s top federal prosecutor and thought: what if we did the same thing, but dumber? After Judge Matthew Brann ruled Habba was unlawfully serving because she never got Senate confirmation, Bondi responded by taking the U.S. attorney job, running it through a political woodchipper, and handing the pieces to three Trump-friendly lawyers – Jordan Fox, Ari Fontecchio, and Philip Lamparello – all without Senate approval.

The Justice Department’s galaxy-brain theory: if you slice the job into three, somehow the Constitution forgets the whole “advice and consent” thing. Brann, a Republican-appointed judge who still remembers how separation of powers works, issued a 130-page eyeroll, ruling that Bondi had zero authority to carve up the office or appoint her own mini-bosses to dodge confirmation. He politely noted that under DOJ’s logic, presidents would literally never need the Senate for U.S. attorney appointments again, which is a fun way of saying “this is how you get authoritarianism.”

The immediate fallout: thousands of federal prosecutions in New Jersey are now wobbling on the edge of a constitutional cliff because the administration insisted on running the justice system like a Mar-a-Lago staffing chart. Defendants are already asking to have their cases tossed, and Brann warned that the government’s obsession with unconfirmed loyalists could lead to exactly that. Meanwhile, Habba—now a senior adviser to Bondi, because of course she is—went on X to declare the ruling “ridiculous” and insist that judges don’t get to fire DOJ officials, only Pam and Trump do. The judge’s opinion says otherwise; the Constitution says otherwise; but the vibes in Trumpworld remain undefeated.

This is the second time in a week courts have had to explain to the White House that no, you cannot just appoint your friends and pretend the Senate doesn’t exist—see also Kari Lake’s illegal stint running the U.S. Agency for Global Media while taking a wrecking ball to Voice of America. The pattern is clear: if there’s a law, norm, or constitutional limit, this administration will test it, break it, and then scream “overreach” when a judge points to the actual text of the Constitution. Strong “we don’t need no stinking rule of law” energy.

Federal Judge Patrick Schiltz just dropped a 210-count indictment of vibes on the Trump administration, cataloguing hundreds of times where ICE and friends simply treated court orders like unsubscribe emails: annoying, ignorable, and definitely not binding. His Minnesota opinion lays out 210 orders in 143 cases that the administration shrugged off, often without even bothering to invent a fake legal excuse. Meanwhile, Judge Jeffrey Bryan is over here scheduling show cause hearings because the government couldn’t manage the complex legal task of ‘give the person’s stuff back like I told you’.

Trump, naturally, has decided that court rulings – like elections – only count if he wins. After the Supreme Court smacked down his unconstitutional tariffs, he accused the justices of being "very unpatriotic" and controlled by "foreign interests," because nothing screams devotion to the Constitution like attacking the branch whose job is to interpret it. Attorney General Pam Bondi joined the tantrum, branding Virginia federal judges "rogue" for noticing that the administration’s appointment of Lindsey Halligan as U.S. attorney was, minor detail, illegal.

Legal scholars call this strategy "legalistic noncompliance" – using the language of law as camouflage while ignoring the actual orders. Judges threaten contempt, then mostly blink, turning Article III into an elaborate suggestion box. The rare time someone like Judge James Boasberg found probable cause for criminal contempt over deportation flights, an appeals court rode in to rescue the scofflaws. Yet when Judge Laura Provinzino slapped a $500-a-day contempt fine on a U.S. attorney until an immigrant detainee got his ID documents back, the government miraculously complied within 24 hours. Turns out the executive branch can obey the law; it just prefers not to unless the alternative is paying cash.

For centuries, courts have had the power to jail or fine people – including government officials – who treat their orders like spam. The Trump team has essentially bet that judges won’t use that power against them, and so far, they’re mostly winning. If the judiciary doesn’t stop playing polite debate club with an administration openly testing how much law it can break before anyone does anything, we’re going to find out the hard way what a constitutional system looks like when one branch decides the rules are optional and the referees are too scared to throw a flag.

The Trump White House has apparently decided that if you’re going to run an authoritarian meme regime, you might as well drag Pikachu down with you. The administration posted an official meme using Pokémon imagery and a mini Pikachu to sell "Make America Great Again," prompting Pokémon Company International to clarify that no, actually, they did not sign up to be the cutesy mascot of ethnic cleansing and endless culture war. Spokeswoman Sravanthi Dev stressed that the brand’s mission is to bring people together, which is a bold contrast to an administration whose mission is to bring people together at ICE facilities.

This isn’t even their first offense. The same 30-year-old franchise already had to slap the Trump team’s hand for using the "Gotta catch ’em all" slogan over footage of border patrol arrests, because nothing says "family entertainment" like turning a deportation dragnet into a marketing crossover event. Now they’re apparently ripping art from the new game Pokopia, complete with MAGA text in a similar font, because why pay for ad creatives when you can just loot Nintendo like it’s a federal disaster fund?

White House spokeswoman Abigail Jackson proudly calls this "engaging posts and banger memes" that communicate Trump’s "extremely popular agenda"—which currently includes splicing war footage from Iran with stolen Call of Duty clips on official channels. Artists, comedians, and even Trump-friendly podcaster Theo Von are publicly telling DHS and the White House to stop using their work for deportation propaganda unless they’re going to, at minimum, cut a check. The administration, predictably, seems to believe that intellectual property law—like ethics rules, subpoenas, and international norms—only applies to other people.

Lindsey Halligan, the Trump-loyalist insurance lawyer who somehow speed-ran her way into pretending to be the top federal prosecutor for the Eastern District of Virginia, is now under investigation by the Florida Bar. The nonprofit watchdog Campaign for Accountability says she falsely claimed to be a U.S. attorney while pushing doomed prosecutions of James Comey and New York AG Letitia James — and, shockingly, the legal profession has some notes about that.

Two separate federal judges — including one appointed by Trump himself, because poetic comedy is not dead — found that Halligan operated without legal authority. One said she openly defied court orders, another said she misled a grand jury, and yet somehow she got described as merely "masquerading" as U.S. attorney, as if she’d just wandered in on Halloween wearing a "Federal Prosecutor" costume. The cases against Comey and James were tossed because her appointment was unlawful, she quietly left DOJ in January, and now the Florida Bar is investigating whether impersonating a U.S. attorney and wrecking prosecutions for partisan stunts is maybe, possibly, not what the rule of law is supposed to look like.