Trump vs. His Reflection: The Great Gaslight Gambit

Scene: Mar-a-Lago, early morning. Trump stands shirtless in silk boxers, glaring into the gilded bathroom mirror. The lighting is golden. The ego, even more so. Outside the mirror: aging skin, combed-over defiance. Inside the mirror: his reflection wears a smug smirk… and a tight white shirt that reads in bold red letters: “I ❤️ L.A.”

TRUMP: They were looting. Anarchy. People were terrified. It was like Mogadishu—only worse, because it was American.

REFLECTION (adjusting the hem of his shirt): Uh-huh. Except not. Most of the protests were nonviolent. Marches. Chants. Grandmas with hand sanitizer. The only thing on fire was your Twitter feed.

TRUMP (eyeing the shirt): What’s with the shirt?

REFLECTION: Oh, this? Just a little souvenir. You know—Los Angeles. One of those liberal hellholes that somehow didn’t burn to the ground, despite your nightly meltdown monologues. Peaceful protests, lots of solidarity, shockingly few Antifa ninjas.

TRUMP (squinting): It did burn. I saw fire. I felt fire.

REFLECTION: You felt a clip from 2020 Portland on loop and decided it was everywhere. You acted like the anti-ICE protests were some Mad Max reboot. Truth is, the worst crime in L.A. that week was a guy selling fake “TRUMP 2024” flags with better grammar than your tweets.

TRUMP (grabbing the counter): I deployed the National Guard. I brought order. I saved America.

REFLECTION (snorting): You saved your approval ratings. Or tried to. The Guard came in after cities had already calmed down. After you had already publicly thanked them, I might add. And could I remind you that it was you who sprayed tear gas at clergy, for a photo op with a Bible prop you held like it was radioactive. And refused to send in the National Guard while rioters were literally storming through Congress.

TRUMP: The people wanted strength.

REFLECTION (mocking): They wanted leadership. You gave them boots on their necks and conspiracy hashtags. Claimed “looters” were bused in by George Soros and sleeper cells of vegan anarchists. The truth? Most violence was isolated, and often sparked after ICE escalated.

TRUMP: But suburban moms loved it. They don’t want their Panera Bread burned down.

REFLECTION (grinning wider): Oh totally. Karen from Glendale definitely feels safer now that you tried to invoke the Insurrection Act over a sit-in outside an ICE office. Strong move, Generalissimo.

TRUMP (narrowing his eyes at the shirt again): You’re wearing that to mock with me.

REFLECTION (innocently): This old thing? Nah.

REFLECTION (loud and exasperated): Of course I am!

REFLECTION: It’s just that Los Angeles, despite all your fearmongering, didn’t collapse. Didn’t drown in Antifa bloodbaths. And guess what? No one wanted your troops or your tweets. They wanted justice, not tear gas TikToks.

TRUMP (muttering): They should thank me. I kept it from being worse.

REFLECTION: That’s the con, isn’t it? Light a match, wave your hands, scream “fire,” then claim credit when it burns less than expected. The only thing looted was the truth—and your ability to read a room.

TRUMP: I am the room.

REFLECTION: You are something.

Trump turns from the mirror. The TV in the background flashes muted footage—protesters handing out bottled water, holding signs, walking calmly past a line of camo-wrapped soldiers who look deeply unsure why they’re there. He doesn’t watch. But the reflection does. And smirks.

REFLECTION (softly, almost kindly): By the way… I ❤️ L.A.

Fade out.