"The Nation Rejects Trump’s Invented Reality" As Trump floats through a fantasy economy only he can see, Americans are crushed by prices, chaos, and a president too delusional to notice the country slipping beneath him. Michael Cohen Nov 23 There’s an old saying from my days working for Donald: When reality knocks, tell security not to let it in. And folks, reality has been pounding on the door of Mar-a-Lago like an Amazon driver with a stack of missed-delivery slips. But inside? Inside, Donald is lounging in his alternate universe; Trump World, a place where everything is “GREAT,” gasoline is magically two bucks a gallon, and the only inflation that matters is his ego. This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Let me tell you: It’s a beautiful world. I mean really stunning. The kind of place where the birds sing show tunes, the oceans sparkle with gold leaf, and Trump’s cologne launches its own fragrance line. Meanwhile, back here; on the planet Earth where the rest of us live, Americans are paying 15% more for beef, 20% more for coffee, and apparently 6% more for a wrench. A wrench! Somewhere out there, a plumber is crying into a paper towel that also costs 5.5% more than last year. But Donald? No, no. In his world, he gazes out the window, sees a gas station sign that once reminded him of $2 a gallon, and decides it’s a national accomplishment. Facts? Numbers? Data? That’s loser stuff. That’s for people who read instructions before assembling IKEA furniture. Donald goes purely on vibes. And the vibes say “cheap gas,” even if the receipts say, “Nope.” And honestly, I can’t even fully blame the guy. Because he has enablers; an entire entourage, whose sole job is to keep the fantasy alive. They nod in unison, like bobbleheads powered by fear and ambition. You could tell him the price of bananas is up 7%, and he’d shrug. “Not in my experience,” he’d say. And his staff would scramble to reroute every banana shipment in Palm Beach so he never sees a real price sticker again. These are the same people who, when Donald says Americans can now only buy “a few dolls instead of thirty,” don’t ask, “Sir, who buys thirty dolls?” No. They say, “Sir, brilliant economic insight.” Now here’s the thing: Inflation has dropped. Really. It has from it’s height under Biden at around 9%. But prices haven’t. And that’s the part Donald refuses to accept. He thinks inflation is like one of his casino losses; just cancel the debt, deny the numbers, pretend it never happened. But once prices go up? They don’t politely walk themselves back down like stagehands striking at a set on Broadway. They stay elevated. They linger. They haunt. Americans know this. Donald doesn’t. Because he has never in his life experienced the thrill of finding a 50-cent coupon for paper towels. Meanwhile, the average family looks at their grocery bill and feels like the turkey themselves; stuffed, roasted, and picked clean. Sure, Thanksgiving is five percent cheaper than last year, but still thirteen percent pricier than before COVID. Imagine Donald hearing that. “Thirteen percent more? Impossible! Thanksgiving is tremendous. The best prices. People tell me all the time.” People? Sure, Mr. President. Whatever you say. And speaking of people; Republicans aren’t exactly singing his praises this time around. Consumer sentiment among GOP voters has dropped the most in eighteen months. Independents? Rock-bottom. Overall approval? Thirty-eight percent. Thirty Eight. Trust me, I know what it feels like to be underwater with the American people. That number is the political equivalent of a warning light on your dashboard that says, “Engine failure. Pull over now.” But Donald’s solution is always the same: throw more fantasies at the wall and see which ones stick. Tariffs make food expensive? Roll some of them back. Prices still rising? Claim you will be sending out $2,000 tariff-funded checks; essentially bribing Americans with their own money. Housing affordability collapsing? Introduce 50-year mortgages. Because nothing says stability like paying off your house in the year 2075 at the age of 90. He’s out here promising 6% economic growth like he’s pitching a timeshare. Even his own advisers are whispering, “Four percent would be impressive,” while the IMF gently taps him on the shoulder to say, “Two point one. Best of luck.” But here’s where the alternate reality becomes dangerous. Donald keeps saying the economy will explode “in a year” when the new manufacturing plants open. But I’ve seen this play before. I lived through the Foxconn fiasco. The great Wisconsin mirage. Trump cut the ribbon on a $10 billion promise for 13,000 jobs, which ultimately produced… a building, a handful of workers, and enough disappointment to fill Lambeau Field. He’s doing the same thing now with AI investments. On paper, it looks visionary. In practice, it might erase more jobs than it creates. But again; details are for losers. In Trump World, the robots love you, the factories hum, and everything is just around the corner. Yet Americans aren’t buying it. They want stability. Predictability. Results they can feel in their wallets; not in press releases or glossy White House announcements. And Donald? He still thinks tariffs are the answer. As if the rest of the world hasn’t started diversifying just to avoid being hit by another “Liberation Day” surprise. Investors are hedging. Corporations are cautious. The American public is tired. But in that alternate universe of his, none of that matters. The economy is perfect, the prices are low, and he’s the hero of the story. Full stop. Drop the mic! Back here in reality? We’re paying more for groceries, tools, rent, healthcare, and the occasional emotional-support latte just to survive the week. And the only world where the prices are truly great is the one Donald handcrafted inside his own head. Trust me; I helped build a few of those illusions. They were shiny, they were loud, they were fun, and for a moment, they even felt real. But illusions don’t pay bills, and eventually the check always lands on the table. And this time, it’s America left covering the tab for a dinner we never ordered in the first place. ____________________________________________________________________________ I’M COUNTING ON YOU! PLEASE SUPPORT INDEPENDENT JOURNALISTS… SUBSCRIBE. READ. LIKE. RESTACK. Yeah, I know; you’re tired. This shit is exhausting. Guess what? Me too. But I’ve spent the last 8 years throwing punches in the dark so truth could get a little daylight. And now I’m asking you to step into the ring with me. Because if you’re still reading this, you already get it: This isn’t just a newsletter. It’s a rally cry. A war drum. A line in the sand. We are not passive observers of the downfall. We are the resistance. We call out the liars. We drag corruption by the collar into the sunlight. We say the quiet parts out loud; and we don’t flinch. But here’s the truth: I can’t do this solo. Not anymore. The storm is already here. We are standing in it. And it’s wearing stars and stripes like camouflage, preaching “freedom” while it sells fascism at retail. So let me ask you: Are. You. In? Because this is not a scroll-and-forget read. This is a living, breathing, fire-breathing movement; and movements don’t move unless you do. We need to be louder than spin, tougher than propaganda, and impossible to gaslight. That takes more than clicks. More than likes. It takes skin in the game. So if you believe truth matters; if you’re sick of the bullshit, if you’re ready to stop screaming into the algorithm and start pushing back with purpose, this is your next step. HERE’S HOW YOU PUT YOUR FOOT ON THE GAS: Become a paid subscriber. Fund fearless, unfiltered journalism that hits back. Share this with the loudest people you know; the ones who never sit down and shut up. Build the community. Amplify the message. Be the damn megaphone. And yeah; Founding Members? The first 240 of you will get a signed, numbered, limited-edition Substack version of Revenge. That’s not just a collector’s item. That’s receipts. Proof you didn’t sit this one out. But let’s be clear: This isn’t about a book. It’s about backbone. It’s about calling out the gaslighters and refusing to be played. It’s about locking arms and saying, “Not. On. Our. Watch.” You want to make a difference? Then make it; right now. Because if we don’t fight for truth, no one will. But if we fight together? They can’t drown us out. Let’s be so loud, they wish we were just angry tweets. Let’s be unshakable. Unignorable. Un-fucking-breakable. Let’s go!