A Day at DOGE

I walk down Pennsylvania Avenue at 6:03 a.m. The surrounding streets are still and silent and nary a pedestrian's in sight.

Presumably this is because everyone in D.C.'s a pampered globalist pussy who's never worked an honest day in their life. Of course, people could be sheltering at home due to the Deep State media's constant fear-mongering. They claim there's another Ebola outbreak in Bethesda. Or was it polio again? Measles? Who can keep up with their lies?

In the lobby of the U.S. Treasury nobody's guarding the security turnstile – something about downsizing due to a Crypto Crash. I dutifully swipe my badge anyway. Mr. Musk says only the hardest of the hardcore will earn their place in the DOGE Hall of Champions. I dropped out of Georgia Tech a few months ago and I've been working twenty-hour shifts ever since to prove I'm worthy of such distinction.

I traverse the spartan lobby and ascend three flights of stairs – elevator's broken – and settle at my desk. I choke down a Soylent and pop open a Red Bull and log in to my computer.

Per protocol, I activate my laptop camera and record myself reciting the DOGE pledge of allegiance:

The Anglo-Saxon brain is the biggest and strongest brain.

The Anglo-Saxon penis is the biggest and strongest penis.

The Anglo-Saxon race is the master race.

I email the video to Mr. Musk via Starlink and suddenly my mind is clear and my mandate is urgent: I'm fighting for the future of Western Civilization.

I'm balls deep in the bloated federal budget when Chad taps me on the shoulder. He says, "Hey Brownie, you ever feel uncomfortable reciting the pledge?"

Another test, I assume. All the other DOGIES are pure bloods and think just because my parents immigrated from India my commitment to the cause is in question.

"History has repeatedly shown White makes right," I say. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm eliminating taxpayer-subsidized lunches from 'inner city' schools."

Chad smiles and pats me on the back and says, "You know, Brownie, I just wish more people like you shared our values."

"I couldn't agree more," I say.

Chad scampers off. I return to the budget.

According to the doctored statistics compiled by the Congressional Budget Office, during FY2024 the three largest line items were Social Security Benefits ($1,448 billion), Medicare ($870 billion), and Medicaid ($618 billion). Together they accounted for 43.5% of total government waste last year.

When I first got started at DOGE I told Mr. Musk the solution to eliminating wealth maker exploitation was obvious: liquidate all the old and poor people.

He said he'd love nothing more, but claimed the "optics" of such a program would be challenging. Apparently the stability of the POTUS-45/47 administration relies upon the tacit cooperation of poor White people, old White people and, most important of all, apathetic White people.

"These idiots need to think we're helping them," Mr. Musk said. "Besides, there are laws in place I haven't figured out how to skirt yet. Just cut everything we can blame on wokeness and DEI, got it?"

I understand his reasoning, but such ludicrous constraints make my otherwise simple job difficult. I already gutted the Department of Education ($268 billion) and the FDIC ($37 billion) and the Food and Nutrition Service ($147 billion). In the process, I destroyed countless subhuman lives – which was awesome – but I only took a chainsaw to 6.7% of FY2024 federal expenditures – which was not.

Veterans Affairs ($325 billion) and the Department of Defense ($826 billion), which combined for 17.0% of last year's budget, continue to look juicy, but Mr. Musk continues to tie my hands.

"Jingoism and imperialism are the central pillars upholding the myth of American Exceptionalism," Mr. Musk explained. "Also, I'm working on a plan to terminate existing defense contracts and I think I can divert the appropriated funds to my own holding companies. For now, do not touch anything related to the military industrial complex."

I spend hours brainstorming ways to further deconstruct the administrative state – without solving any actual structural problems – to no avail. My arms and back are stiff and my tummy's rumbling. I grab a package of Pop Tarts from the kitchenette – supposedly the cafeteria's closed due to a nationwide salmonella outbreak – and I head outside for some fresh air.

Sitting on a park bench, I place the Pop Tarts in my lap and commence my DOGE-mandated stretching exercises. These are designed to prevent joint and muscle stiffness and ensure all DOGIES operate at "maximum efficiency."

With my palm facing the ground, I bring my right hand to my solar plexus and then thrust my arm outward at a forty-five degree angle. I repeat the process nine more times then switch to my left arm. My elbows and shoulders loosen and I immediately feel light as a feather. This motion, which is said to mimic "throwing your heart to someone," really works!

Refreshed and re-energized, I chomp into my first Pop Tart and gaze at the smog-filled sky. In the distance two jumbo jets collide in mid-air and create a breathtaking fireball. The sound waves arrive a few moments later. I should be astonished and scream something like: "Jesus tap-dancing Christ!"

But I'm not, and I don't. I've witnessed three mid-air collisions this month and the novelty's wearing thin. Considering I single-handedly killed the TSA and the FAA, the real shocker is people still fly commercial.

I start on the second Pop Tart and open the Substack app on my iPhone. Cool – new posts from my favorite independent historians! I devour each article in quick succession and I'm pleased to learn two facts the anti-free speech left has suppressed for decades.

1. The Holocaust was a publicity stunt designed to help the Jews seize control of the media and the global financial system.
2. Africans willingly agreed to be the New World's slaves and South and East Asians welcomed European colonizers with open arms. Hard scientific evidence confirms there's a direct correlation between melanin concentration and an intrinsic desire to be subjugated.

After another round of DOGIE stretches I head back inside and bury my face in my monitor.

Net interest on public debt ($949 billion) comprised 14.1% of the FY2024 budget. That's a lot of money, I think, and – perhaps due to trace amounts of mercury in my Pop Tarts – I begin hallucinating. My mind conjures several radical ideas for how DOGE could reduce the size of the federal debt and bring those interest payments under control.

For example, DOGE could propose:

• Increasing marginal tax rates on personal income to post-War, pre-Reagan levels
• Cracking down on off-shore tax avoidance by collaborating with national governments and creating a global, independent, non-partisan financial watchdog
• Increasing corporate tax rates, eliminating corporate tax subsidies, and closing corporate tax loopholes
• Dramatically curtailing defense spending and reigning in foreign policy hawks keen on empire-building abroad
• Rooting out regulatory capture and eradicating crony capitalism
• Reforming the for-profit U.S. healthcare industry by nationalizing all payments and aggressively eliminating fraud and inefficiency
• Developing a non-partisan immigration framework and integrating non-U.S. citizens into the formal economy, thereby raising wages, improving living standards, and increasing the tax base
• Investing in K-12 education, core scientific research and development, and domestic manufacturing capabilities to on-shore critical new technologies, expand the labor force, create economic opportunities for more Americans, and organically grow government revenues

My fever breaks and my temporary bout of insanity subsides. Just because the neoliberal consensus led to an explosion of unsustainable public debt and catalyzed the rise of a new cohort of unaccountable Robber Barons doesn't mean it's the root cause of America's economic and political malaise.

I rack my brain for solutions.

There's got to be another way to cut this superfluous spending and inflict as much pain as possible on as many parasites as possible as quickly as possible.

Finally, like a shot of adrenaline, the answer arrives. I'm too excited to jot anything down and instead call Mr. Musk's cell phone.

"What now, Brownie?" Mr. Musk says.

"I have it!" I say enthusiastically. "I know how we can cut Medicare entitlements without cutting Medicare entitlements."

"Go on."

"Nationwide clerical error," I say. "We change the date of birth for every single U.S. citizen to April twentieth, nineteen ninety-nine."

"You mean four-twenty?!"

"Yes!" I say. "First, four-twenty is Hitler's birthday. Second, four-twenty-ninety-nine is Columbine Day. And third, by adjusting everyone's birth year to nineteen ninety-nine, every Medicare-eligible recipient will be too young to receive benefits. The payment system will decline all claims and the federal government can stop wasting money on these worthless wealth takers."

"Brownie – that's brilliant!"

"And here's the best part: We can say the system was hijacked by Libyans who hacked into Hilary's private email server and stole all the government's passwords."

"Benghazi strikes again!"

"Obviously the Democrats won't do anything," I say, "because they're weak and pathetic and complicit and, frankly, super bad at politics."

"Outstanding work, Brownie," Mr. Musk says. "Way to think outside the box." I hear him take a long drag on his joint, then he says, "You know, Brownie, I just wish more people like you shared our values."

Tears of pride well in my eyes. "I couldn't agree more."