The April Fools Parade

This April, we’re hurtling backward through the inky ether, sacrificing tossing fools into the void one by one. I trust you’ll join me in the zesty ritual chant of SHAME! SHAME! as they stumble past.....

First up, God.

“Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the résumé of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you'd expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would've been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say "this guy", because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.

No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he's at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn't give a shit. Doesn't give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.” -George Carlin.

George put it perfectly, it needs no embellishment. And likewise, how do you follow that, anyway?

A pickle I’m in now, damn.

AH!

Pickle, eh? The Everlasting Know-It-All™ has managed a blunder so profound it almost circles back to impressive—especially for THE omnipotent architect of everything…

Case in point: three meals a day.

Three. Daily. As if necessity wouldn’t outpace supply. As if scarcity wouldn’t creep in, sharpen its teeth, and make a sport of the vulnerable. An all-seeing mind, and that’s the system we get?

Here—let me patch the design real quick: one meal per month. Twelve a year. Not perfect, but suddenly the math breathes. Suddenly survival isn’t a constant negotiation with stark emptiness.

That took, what—less than a second for my feeble human brain to solve?

God. What an idiot.

Next we have a fool not born of a single moment,
but carefully cultivated over decades of spectacle, ego, and gold-plated delusion.
Donald J. Trump didn’t stumble into foolishness—he branded it, franchised it, and sold it back to the masses.
As he himself reminded us, “smart people don’t like [him].”
So, who’s buying this stuff?

This isn’t a new story. It’s a rerun. The boasts, the bluster, the reality-bending confidence in things that collapse under the lightest scrutiny—it’s all part of the act. And like any long-running show, the plot doesn’t evolve much. The character just gets louder.

What makes The Orange Monster remarkable isn’t the foolishness itself—it’s the scale.

A fool on a stage this large doesn’t just trip over his own ego; he drags entire narratives down with him, warping truth into something unrecognizable.

We’ve seen it. We’re seeing it. And long after the curtain falls, history will keep the atrocious receipts.

Oddly enough, this fool almost quite literally takes the cake.

We’ve known for ages that God’s a dunce—no revelations there. And the Orange Monster? Same circus, different decade. None of this is news.

But Officer Pound Cake? Now here’s a fresh fool!

A modern addition to the Hall of Fools, courtesy of Afroman and a botched raid that gave us something better than justice: Comedy!

In case you missed it, here’s the quick and ridiculous recap:

During a raid on Afroman’s home—prompted by suspicions that turned up absolutely nothing—officers tore through the place like they were chasing ghosts. Doors busted, drawers rifled, the usual theater of authority in full swing.

But the real masterpiece? It was all caught on his home security cameras.

Not just the corrupt chaos—the mundane. The aimless wandering. The casual fridge-checking. And one officer pausing before a lemon pound cake—fixating on it. Lingering. Looking at it lustily—not hunger, but something closer to raw desire—like the cake itself was calling to him, soft enough to make him forget the badge, the gun, the reason he made it into this video in the first place!

Naturally, Afroman did what any innocent, reasonable artist would do: he turned the footage into music videos, merch, and a public dragging of sorts. The raid found nothing—but it did give us a brand-new fool, immortalized mid-lust, caught in a moment where even the badge bent to cake.

Let us hope (former) Officer Shawn Cooley enjoys his “hundreds of pound cakes sent to [him] at work,” as he stated in the trial.

“Parade of Fools” by Djin