Well now. We’ve officially reached the part of the movie where the script runs off the rails, the hero starts speaking in riddles, and the economy clutches its chest and reaches for the aspirin.
The week began with President Trump pulling out his big, shiny tariff stick—slapping a 25% tax on imports from pretty much every country that still returns our calls. Canada, Mexico, the EU—friends, allies, folks we’ve fought beside in real wars. Boom. Tariffed. Just because.
Then China responded with all the subtlety of a frying pan to the face: 84% counter-tariffs and a chokehold on critical minerals the Pentagon needs to keep our war machines running. Not optional stuff, mind you—dysprosium, terbium, yttrium, tungsten—these are the four horsemen of modern weapons manufacturing. You can’t make jet engines, smart bombs, or radar systems without ‘em.
And just like that, the markets panicked like a goat at a barbecue.
From April 2 to April 7, the Dow dropped 2,290 points—a 5.5% plunge—while the Nasdaq fell 7%. That’s not just a bad day on Wall Street. That’s pensioners gasping into their morning coffee, retirees watching their savings swirl down the toilet, and small investors wondering if they just lost the rent.
But the White House? Calm as can be.
Trump gets up there and says, don’t worry folks, we’re hitting pause for 90 days. Not because of the market crash, not because the Pentagon’s sweating bullets over mineral shortages—no, sir. It’s because, and I quote: “people were getting yippy.”
Yippy.
Like we’re all a bunch of toy poodles getting uppity about the cost of groceries and maybe a global recession.
And just like that, they hit the brakes on the whole thing—except for China, which Trump hammered with a 125% tariff just to prove he’s still got the biggest club on the playground.
The Dow, confused but relieved, shot back up 2,962 points, like someone tossed it a bone and promised not to hit it again—for now.
Meanwhile, the same crew that spent all week preaching about “patriotic sacrifice” and telling us we had to “take the hit for America” are now doing a synchronized backflip, grinning like it never happened.
One day it’s economic nationalism, the next it’s just kidding, y’all were too noisy. And in the background, you can hear the ghost of Bruce Willis mutter: “Yippy-kay-ay, market volatility.”
Let’s be real. Tariffs aren’t toys. You don’t hurl them around because you woke up grumpy or want to juice your poll numbers. These decisions hit real people—not hedge fund cowboys, but veterans, retirees, small business owners, and working families.
And every time the White House changes its mind like it’s choosing toppings on a pizza, somebody’s savings account takes a punch to the gut.
So what have we learned?
That “yippy” now has an official place next to “covfefe” in the Presidential Dictionary of Economic Mayhem.
That Trump’s tariff policy is as stable as a three-legged bull in a bounce house.
And that if there ever was a plan, it’s written on a cocktail napkin floating in a Mar-a-Lago hot tub.
Mr. President, we’re too old, too broke, and too damn tired to keep chasing our tails or getting whiplashed to death while you bark at the moon.