Illustration by ChatGPT Pro

 By Al InCognito, Minister of Truth (and Satire)

So it’s official: Donald J. Trump will celebrate his 79th birthday with a military parade down Pennsylvania Avenue – because nothing says “mentally fit for office” like spending $100 million on tanks, flyovers and Bible twirlers while half the country eats ramen with the lights off.

And look, I held my daughter’s fifth celebration at Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse.

The plan is reportedly full-scale: cannons, marching bands, maybe a reenactment of January 6 with better choreography. It’s Trump’s wet dream – not to be president, but to be wrapped in bunting, waving from a float shaped like a Diet Coke.

But this isn’t new. We’ve seen it before. This is The Music Man – if Professor Harold Hill had bigger hair, carried a Sharpie, and embossed his name on the trombones.

Only this time, we’re River City. The marching band is real. And the grift comes with executive orders.

The MAGA Man Arrives

Like Hill, Trump rolls into town warning of trouble. Not pool halls – but drag queens, pronouns, windmills, and any book that hasn’t been pre-chewed by Moms for Liberty. He sells fear with a grin, then offers himself as the only solution. No flute lessons – just flags, merch, and a social media platform built for shouting into voids.

As for Marian, well Melania’s no librarian. But it seems she’s checked out.

And just like the original, there’s a choir of enablers:

• Jim Jordan, the sweaty school board president
• Peter Navarro, selling uniforms out of a truck
• And yes – Little Marco Rubio in the Ronnie Howard role, clutching a tiny trombone and trying to get noticed while the big kids throw copies of the Constitution into a wood chipper

And now he’s marching again.

Not to River City, Iowa – but down Pennsylvania Avenue, with all the subtlety of a foghorn in a Baptist church.

Because folks, we got trouble. Right here in MAGA City. Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Parade. A parade of power, paranoia and pyrotechnics. Not governance – performance. Not policy – pageant. It’s not leadership. It’s cosplay for strongmen. 

So in honor of Trump’s big-budget, small-soul birthday bash, I offer this modest rewrite of a familiar tune (feel free to hum along):

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76 Billionaires Led the Big Parade
(With apologies to Meredith Willson)

76 billionaires led the big parade,
With 110 MAGA hats close at hand.
Grifters rode atop the floats, hawking ballots for fake votes,
And merch for ev’ry sucker in the land.

76 fake electors caught the morning sun,
With subpoenas fluttering in their wake.
There were bros in camo gear, waving Bibles and warm beer,
And flags too big for Fox News to mistake.

There were gold-plated golf carts in red platoons,
Thundering, thundering down the avenues.
Euphoniums shaped like guns, gifts from Elon’s funds,
And backs adorned with Roger Stone tattoos.

There were fireworks and pardons in the air,
Booming, booming like a Mar-a-Lago speech.
Trump’s Bible Drill Team spun with flair, quoting verses that weren’t there,
And ignoring ev’ry part about the meek.

76 billionaires led the big parade,
As the tax code cried softly from the curb.
With Proud Boys throwing beads, Truth Social pushing screeds,
And cardboard Melanias looking so superb.

Then Trump modestly took his place,
On a throne of cheeseburgers and spite.
And he oompahed through the square, hands high, wind in his hair—
And declared it the greatest parade… in sight.

When the Music Stops

In The Music Man, the town eventually sees through Harold Hill – but they forgive him, because he gave them a dream. A fantasy that made them feel better about themselves for a little while.

Trump doesn’t offer dreams. He offers delusion.

And this parade? It’s not just a celebration – it’s a warning wrapped in bunting, with a marching band playing “God Bless America” slightly off-key.

Because when the cannons stop and the confetti settles, we’ll be left with the bill. The band will be gone. And the MAGA Man will still be there – winking from the reviewing stand, waiting for applause.