Tag: Trumpism

A baroque, maximalist digital composite in the style of a satirical political cartoon meets high-church iconography. Donald Trump sits enthroned at the head of a long gilded mahogany table, rendered in soft AI halo-light — the kind of beatific glow normally reserved for Renaissance altarpieces. He wears both a business suit and a suggestion of papal vestments, loosely layered. Around him, courtiers in military medals and tech-bro stubble genuflect, arms outstretched. Eagles, American flags, and a faint suggestion of dollar signs float among the golden light. The composition deliberately mimics Last Supper staging. Background hints at a gilded ballroom-temple with crystal chandeliers. Colour palette: deep crimson, imperial gold, and sickly angelic white. The mood is equal parts reverent and grotesque — Rubens meets Mad magazine. No text overlay.

Trump is not The Messiah, just a very Naughty Boy

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When Donald Trump posted an AI-generated image of himself as a divine healer — haloed, beatific, hovering over the sick like a Sistine saviour — the cult of self had finally annexed the cult of Christ. A satirical dispatch, written in homage to Martin Amis, from the gilded ballroom-temple of the Trumpian court: where the joke is on all of us.

Satirical editorial cartoon showing a dancing monkey in a gold tie on a Middle East map, flanked by two organ grinder figures – one in a Western suit, one in Gulf robes holding a bone-saw. A burning oil tanker sits on dark water behind them. A dragon watches from above. A small applauding figure stands in the corner. Illustration in the style of George Grosz and Gerald Scarfe.

Don’t blame the organ-grinder; the monkey had a choice.

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Trump didn’t stumble into the Iran disaster alone. Every catastrophe has its infrastructure – the courtiers, the flatterers, the transactionalists, the true believers, and the merely opportunistic who supplied the scaffolding. Bibi and MBS worked the organ grinders’ handles with professional dedication. But the monkey chose to dance. And in the corner, a daggy bloke from Cronulla was clapping.