In a world spiraling into chaos, Donald Trump stands at a golden podium—gleaming and gaudy, much like his promises. With his signature pout and the confidence of a man who thinks ketchup is a vegetable, he declares, “I’ve achieved the greatest peace in the history of peace. Tremendous peace. Unbelievable peace.” Behind him, the skies darken as bombs explode in the distance, their orange blooms almost mocking his bronzed glow. Cities crumble, borders bleed, and factions wage war in an endless loop of human misery. But Trump insists, “We’ve never been safer.”

Enter Elon Musk, the self-styled demigod of the heavens. With his fleets of satellites and rockets, he promised to transform low orbit into humanity’s safety net—a techno-utopia where wars would be monitored, threats neutralized, and, presumably, Teslas would float silently, advertising themselves. Instead, the sky has become a carnival of carnage. Drones, missiles, and rogue satellites streak across the heavens like deranged fireworks. Musk tweets, “Working on it!” but his starlinked empire proves about as useful as WiFi on Mars.

Still, the mantra blares from every shattered screen: peace and security. The words are hollow now, the anthem of a world eating itself alive. People cower under burning skies, afraid of everything above and below. The line between ground and heavens blurs as humanity realizes it has no gods, only salesmen.

This isn’t a descent into chaos—it’s a high-speed plummet, terminal velocity. And at the bottom? Nothing. No recovery, no redemption. Just the ashes of a lie, whispering, You’re safe.