Trump Throws Great Gatsby Party as SNAP Benefits Expire, Blames Democrats for Shutdown & Dodgers Win

It’s another wild weekend in America — the kind that feels like satire but somehow isn’t.
A weekend that perfectly captures the duality of this country: joy and struggle, excess and survival, the rich celebrating under chandeliers while working families wonder how to feed their kids.

The City of Angels on Fire

Out west, Los Angeles is alive again.
The Dodgers have made history — back-to-back World Series champions. Two in a row.
The city hasn’t felt this electric in years.

Fireworks explode over downtown.
Fans climb fire trucks, cars spin donuts at intersections, music blasts from every block.
The streets are chaos — beautiful chaos.

You see strangers hugging like family, old men crying, kids waving flags twice their size.
Even that one guy — painted Dodger-blue from head to toe — sprints through the crowd like he’s carrying the spirit of the city on his back.
Nobody stops him. Nobody questions him.
He’s part of it.

Because in L.A., this isn’t just about baseball.
It’s about faith — in the city, in the comeback, in the idea that something good can still happen in a country that feels broken half the time.

Meanwhile at Mar-a-Lago…

Three thousand miles away, another kind of party is happening.
Donald Trump is throwing a Great Gatsby–themed Halloween gala at Mar-a-Lago.
You heard that right — Gatsby, the book about greed, illusion, and moral decay — and somehow, Trump thinks he’s the hero of it.

Guests arrive in sequined gowns, tuxedos, and pearls.
A woman spins inside a martini glass while jazz plays softly in the background.
There’s even an ice sculpture of an eagle holding a golf club.

It’s peak excess — the definition of tone-deaf — because this party is happening on the same weekend millions of low-income Americans lose their SNAP food benefits.

Nothing screams “out of touch” quite like sipping champagne under gold ceilings while families are figuring out how to stretch peanut butter and noodles for the week.

The Blame Game

But Trump doesn’t see irony — he sees opportunity.
On Truth Social, he posts:

“I do not want Americans to go hungry — it’s the radical Democrats’ fault.”

It’s the same playbook every time:
Deflect. Deny. Distract.

He blames Democrats for a shutdown he helped orchestrate — all while standing next to a chocolate fountain shaped like his own head.

Polls show his approval rating slipping to 37% — which, coincidentally, is about the same percentage of his face that isn’t covered in orange spray tan.

But Trump doesn’t care.
He’s too busy reenacting the Roaring Twenties, turning economic anxiety into a backdrop for selfies.
He even congratulates the Dodgers online, posting:

“See you all at the White House… or what’s left of it.”

Even his compliments sound like threats now.

The Interview: Blame Biden for Everything

A day later, Trump sits across from Norah O’Donnell on 60 Minutes.
It should’ve been serious — a chance to talk about leadership and the economy.
Instead, it becomes another episode of “Everything Bad Is Biden’s Fault.”

Inflation? Biden.
Gas prices? Biden.
Immigration? Biden.
Melania’s bad mood? Probably Biden too.

He even claims,

“We had no inflation under me. Biden destroyed the country.”

That’s an interesting statement —
coming from the same man who left classified documents stacked next to golf trophies and tanning spray in his Mar-a-Lago bathroom.

When asked if he plans to run for a third term — which, legally, he can’t — he smirks and says:

“A lot of people want me to. When elections are rigged, you’re allowed to do it again.”

That’s not how democracy works.
That’s Mario Kart.
You don’t get a do-over just because you lost and cried about it.

The Split-Screen America

Inside Mar-a-Lago, the music keeps playing.
Trump’s guests laugh, toast, and dance —
while outside, the real world tightens its belt another notch.

The new SNAP reductions mean families are getting half of what they used to.
Parents are calculating grocery lists like math problems.
Kids are asking why dinner looks different.

And while they’re scraping by, Trump’s party debates whether the caviar pairs better with rosé or regret.

It’s the perfect split-screen moment in modern America:
On one side — fireworks, baseball, and real community.
On the other — gold chandeliers, self-importance, and detachment.

Trump dresses as Gatsby, but he’s more like a ghost of the Jazz Age —
a man waltzing on the deck while the ship slowly sinks beneath him.

The Heartbeat That Still Remains

But even amid the absurdity, there’s still something beautiful.
While Trump’s masquerade fades into another headline,
Los Angeles — and America itself — keeps finding reasons to cheer.

Because the real heartbeat of this country isn’t in Mar-a-Lago ballrooms.
It’s in the noise of celebration, in the resilience of people who refuse to give up.
It’s in the small moments — neighbors sharing food, kids wearing team jerseys, fireworks lighting up the night sky.

Trump can keep his Gatsby party.
The rest of us?
We’re too busy trying to build something real —
one meal, one game, one act of hope at a time.

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