😴“Nap Time” Edition

President Trump began Tuesday’s Cabinet meeting with his usual warm-up routine: calling Joe Biden “Sleepy,” assuring reporters he himself was “sharper than I was 25 years ago,” and insisting The New York Times was full of jealous dullards who simply couldn’t comprehend the radiant brilliance of a 79-year-old man who posts on Truth Social before sunrise like an overcaffeinated Minion.

His Cabinet sat before him like a collection of animatronic Hall of Presidents figures, each eager to deliver its pre-programmed praise sequence. Howard Lutnick kicked things off, hailing Trump’s trade wars as if they were Disney attractions.

But almost immediately, the president’s eyelids began their slow descent, like heavy, velvet curtains closing at an off-Broadway matinee no one bought tickets for. One blink. A slower blink. A blink that lasted so long the Secret Service briefly considered checking his pulse.

Housing Secretary Scott Turner offered glowing words about Trump’s “vision.” Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins praised him for “feeding America.” Each sentence floated upward and landed softly on the president’s motionless face, where no signs of life stirred except for the occasional micro-nod: possibly agreement, possibly the gravitational bobbing of a man drifting into REM cycles.

As Treasurer Scott Bessent spoke, Trump’s head tilted forward at a 12-degree angle, the precise angle used by pigeons before they fall asleep on power lines. The Cabinet continued, unbothered, like worshippers praying at the altar of a snoring volcano.

By the time RFK Jr. spoke, Trump had entered a new phase of consciousness: the “Ancient Pharaoh” mode. Eyes closed. Shoulders squared. Completely silent. A stillness so total that JD Vance nearly stood up to announce he was ready to assume the powers of the presidency.

And then came Marco Rubio.

Rubio, seated right next to the president, bravely delivered a monologue about ending wars, winning wars, preventing wars, and occasionally confusing war with football. He ended with a joke about the College Football Playoff, a harmless line meant to lighten the mood.

Trump did not respond. Trump did not blink. Trump did not move. Trump achieved a state of physical inertia so complete that physicists watching on C-SPAN quietly updated the laws of motion. Rubio, undeterred, nodded at the unmoving president like a man congratulating a wax figure for its stillness.

Later, the White House press secretary insisted Trump had been “listening attentively,” which was interesting because at one point he appeared to attempt astral projection. She also called the three-hour meeting a “marathon,” as though staying awake during one’s own Cabinet meeting should earn a medal and a Mylar blanket.

Of course, this wasn’t Trump’s first public Nap Quest. The last one, in the Oval Office, lasted so long that analysts estimated he spent nearly 20 minutes trying to defeat the biological need for sleep through sheer force of will, like a raccoon trying to fight a sedative.

The cosmos, naturally, finds this all hilarious. For years, Trump insisted Biden’s dozing proved he lacked “enthusiasm and belief.” He declared that real presidents never fall asleep. He claimed, “you’ll never see me sleeping in front of the camera.”

And yet here we are: the cameras rolling, the Cabinet praising, and the president attempting to knit a dreamcatcher inside his own eyelids.

The universe has delivered a punchline so perfect, so symmetrical, that the laws of satire have collapsed under the pressure. Reality has become absurd. Absurdity has become real. And the Cabinet meeting… well, the Cabinet meeting continues.

Because no matter how long the president naps, the animatronic chorus must keep singing.

Matt Davies - Andrews McMeel

Drew Sheneman - Substack and Tribune Content Agency

Jack Ohman - Substack and Tribune Content Agency

Michael de Adder - cagle.com/de-adder

Matt Wuerker - Andrews McMeel

Peter Kuper - cagle.com/kuper

Scott Stantis - Tribune Content Agency

Ted Rall - Andrews McMeel

Bill Bramhall - Tribune Content Agency

In his latest experiment in turning official government meetings into open-mic night at a white nationalist convention, President Trump awoke from his Cabinet slumber long enough to call Somali immigrants “garbage,” declare that Somalia “stinks,” and suggest that 80,000 American residents in Minnesota should basically pack their bags and go fix a country they no longer live in. It was less presidential rhetoric and more the kind of thing shouted by a man arguing with a mall directory.

The rant, conveniently timed, landed just as his administration is reportedly mobilizing “strike teams”—yes, strike teams, not even trying to hide the militarized theater—to descend on Minneapolis and round up Somali immigrants with final deportation orders. ICE is apparently flying in 100 agents like they’re auditioning for a dystopian remake of Fargo.

The right, meanwhile, has seized on a handful of fraud cases—years old, involving a minuscule fraction of the population—and used them as a political cudgel to smear an entire community. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent joined the chorus, solemnly announcing an investigation into whether Minnesota tax dollars were secretly funnelling money to Al-Shabaab. The evidence? A single story from a fringe outlet.

While the administration was busy auditioning for a xenophobic reality show, Minneapolis officials responded like actual adults. Mayor Jacob Frey told the Somali community the city stands with them, police reaffirmed they won’t help ICE, and local leaders warned the obvious: When you target people based on appearance, “mistakes will be made,” and “American citizens will be detained” simply for looking the wrong kind of Muslim.

Meanwhile, Trump’s comments about Ilhan Omar, a U.S. citizen, elected by Minnesotans, sworn into Congress, were so unhinged they made his “send her back” chant look subtle. Calling her “garbage” and insisting Americans shouldn’t “keep taking in garbage”? It was a return to 2016 form, back when saying something racially explosive every 48 hours was considered a hobby rather than policy.

Minnesota, home to the largest Somali population in the U.S., now finds itself bracing for a week of federal agents prowling neighborhoods while the president publicly dehumanizes their friends, coworkers, neighbors, children, and elected representatives.

If there’s any small comfort in all this, it’s that Trump has finally answered the age-old question, What happens when the leader of the free world goes full 8chan message-board troll during an official Cabinet meeting?

Answer:

Exactly what you’d expect. The insults get louder, the scapegoats get darker, and the policy gets uglier.