Vanity Fear: Trump’s Halloween Ball and the Eternal Carnival of Stupidity

William Thackeray wrote Vanity Fair to mock the vain and the greedy. Two centuries later, they’ve rented a ballroom, called it a fundraiser, and billed the taxpayer for the hors d’oeuvres. The puppets keep dancing – and the strings are made of gold.

🎭 Vanity Fear: A Trumpian Masquerade

It was billed as a Halloween gala but felt more like an exorcism that failed the audition – chandeliers dripping gold, taxpayer funds disguised as hors d’oeuvres, and egos so inflated the fire marshal considered them a hazard.

First came Trump, dressed as a self-made man – a fantasy imported wholesale from Moscow.

Melania glided in as the Prisoner of Silence, accessorised with an expression that could sue for emotional neglect.

Don Jr. appeared as Daddy’s Approval – tragically, still missing.

Ivanka, ethereal in recycled NDAs, played The Spirit of Ethical Compromise.

Steve Bannon arrived as himself, and for the eighth consecutive year, won Most Disturbing Costume.

At midnight, Trump led a round of Pin the Blame on the Immigrant, followed by his signature dance, the Taxpayer Tango – one step forward, two steps offshore.

Giuliani oozed in as a bottle of expired hair dye, while Mike Flynn came dressed as a classified document. The crowd applauded when it turned out to be authentic.

The orchestra – unpaid interns in fright wigs – struck up Hail to the Cheat, while servers distributed hors d’oeuvres labelled fundraisers. Each bite cost democracy another point in the polls.

Outside, America pressed its nose to the glass, wondering when the fair would end. But as Thackeray might have sighed from the beyond:

“It appears the 21st century has improved upon the follies of mine own: where once we worshipped vanity, you have made it a religion.” (W.M. Thackeray, patron saint of exasperated narrators).

And inside, the puppets kept dancing, the orchestra kept billing, and the golden toilets kept gleaming – still, always, on your dime.

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