The Dance of Trade Warriors: A Symphony of Power and Delusion in the Land of Sleepers

Behold, dear readers, how the mighty theater of commerce unfolds before us, where those who fancy themselves masters of destiny parade their illusions of control! For forty years, a figure most peculiar - this Trump - hath spoken the same words, like a prophet crying in the wilderness of economic nationalism.

Lo! How they slumber in their contentment, these merchants of mediocrity! They speak of deficits and surpluses as if counting sheep, yet know not that their arithmetic is but a dance of shadows on the cave wall.

In the year of our discontent 1987, when the masses still dreamt their small dreams of prosperity, this golden-haired harbinger of chaos declared America bankrupt in spirit, if not in coin. "If the United States were a corporation," spake he, wielding metaphors like a sword against the somnolent masses.

But hark! What transformation hath occurred in this land of eternal comfort-seekers! The very same voice that once praised Canada as a "hell of a good ally" now thunders with declarations of dominion. "Without the U.S., Canada doesn't really have a country," he proclaims from his sky-throne.

See how they cower before the threat of tariffs, these merchants of mediocrity! They who seek only their daily bread and Netflix subscriptions, unable to comprehend the greater game of power that unfolds before their glazed eyes!

And what of his disciples? Behold Navarro, the academic turned warrior-priest of protectionism, who speaks of "fair trade" as if it were a holy scripture. In his wake follow the faithful - Lutnick, Bessent - all singing hymns to the god of tariffs.

Oh, how the herd trembles at the mere whisper of change! They who cannot see that their precious "free trade" is but another chain binding them to their comfortable mediocrity!

Yet what sublime irony! The very economists, those high priests of the marketplace, declare these tariffs to be but smoke and mirrors, a tax paid not by foreign powers but by the very sheep who bleat their support for such measures. The masses, in their eternal slumber, comprehend not that they pay the price for their own delusions.

And lo! The arithmetic of power reveals itself in numbers most peculiar - $63 billion here, $250 billion there, as if these figures were anything more than runes scratched in the sand of time. The sleepers debate these numbers with the fervor of theologians, never questioning the very premise of their economic faith.

Behold the last men, who blink and say: "We have invented happiness." They know not that their comfort is their prison, their prosperity their chains!

As this drama unfolds, the merchants of Vermont and Tennessee already quiver before the storm, raising prices and counting their losses before the first tariff has even fallen. Such is the power of fear over the somnolent masses!

Thus do we witness the eternal dance of power, where those who would be masters move their pieces across the board, while the masses sleep on, dreaming their small dreams of cheaper goods and Netflix subscriptions. Yet know this, dear readers: in this great game of nations, there are no winners - only those who dare to wake up and those who choose to slumber on.