I Have Three Phones and a Pitbull—Am I Ready for a Trump-onarchy?

Oh, honey, it looks like it’s finally time. We’re diving headfirst into the dumpster fire of democracy—or what’s left of it—and I need to ask a question that’s been burning through my Twitter DMs like a matchstick in a gasoline puddle: “Is THE JEFF prepared for a Trump-onarchy?” Let me break this down.

First off, let’s acknowledge the obvious: The second Trump administration isn’t exactly painting the town red with “normalcy.” Between the censorship bids, the suppression of dissent, and the eerie resemblance to a dystopian novel where the protagonist is a guy who thinks “Flock Camera Watcher” is an actual job title, it’s starting to look like we’re not just living in a reality TV show—we’re the writers of said show, and the plot twist is authoritarians getting lifetime passes to power. Cue the ominous trumpets (get it? Trump-onarchy?).

Now, let me address my own survival kit: three phones and a pitbull. Yes, THREE. One for work, one for “personal use” (read: tracking Elon Musk’s Twitter meltdowns), and one encrypted AF for when the FBI knocks. The pitbull? Let’s just say her name is Karen and she’s trained to bite anyone who says “globalist” within 10 feet. Am I ready? Well, my VPNs are tighter than a TikTok influencer’s waistline, but let’s be real—three phones and a dog won’t stop a regime.

The Signs You’re Living in a Trump-onarchy (And Why You Should Panic)

They’re Rewriting the Rules Like It’s a Google Doc

Remember when “fake news” was just a thing conservative trolls shouted into the void? Now, it’s official policy. News outlets are being blacklisted,Fact Checkers are being sued for existing, and suddenly, the Constitution is just “guidelines.” At this point, if you think “alternative facts”

isn’t code for “lies we’re all gonna believe because capitalism,” you’ve been sleeping under a rock with Karen the pitbull.

The Salute Is Real (But Probably Just for TikTok)

Sure, Trump’s campaign events have some folks giving a stiff little wave, but mark my words: When it becomes “mandatory optimism” and dissenters start disappearing into re-education camps (or at least being fired from TV jobs), you’ll wish you’d practiced that salute. Meanwhile, I’m over here practicing my escape route out of the country on my third phone’s GPS. Priorities.

One Pitbull Isn’t Enough

Karen’s got loyalty, but let’s be honest: Even the toughest dog can’t take down a squad of ICE Trumptroopers in tactical gear. Sure, she’ll bark at the mailman, but when the Secret Service shows up with subpoenas (or worse – cancellation notices), you’re gonna need more than a $500 breed you got at “Dogs For Less.” You’ll need a bunker, a stockpile of canned soup, and a VPN that can outrun the NSA and their quantum computers. Spoiler: My third phone is literally named “Fort Knox.” Oh, shoot. Now I gotta change the name.

My Survival Plan (Or Lack Thereof)

Here’s the truth: No amount of phones or pitbulls can fully prepare you for a Trump-onarchy. Sure, I’ve got a GoBag stuffed with protein bars, a taser, and enough CBD gummies to calm down a stampeding herd of buffalo. But deep down? I’m terrified. Because authoritarianism doesn’t just crack skulls—it cracks sanity. And if the world starts normalizing things like censorship, voter suppression, and “alternative facts,” where do we draw the line?

That said, I’m adapting. I’ve started learning Morse code (in case Twitter gets taken down), investing in Faraday bags (to protect my phones from electromagnetic pulses… or whatever conspiracy theory comes next), and training Karen to attack anyone wearing a MAGA hat and a Antifa Scum mask. Progress.

Final Verdict: Am I Ready?

Nope. Not even close. But here’s the thing about THE JEFF: I don’t need to be ready. I’ll figure it out as I go, just like I did when I accidentally booked a hotel in North Korea instead of Norway (long story). So if a Trump-onarchy does hit, know this: You’ll find me somewhere exotic, probably livestreaming from a hidden bunker, ranting about: how the Wi-Fi password can’t be “MakeAmericaGreatAgain2028”; and, Karen chewing through the power cables again.

Until then, keep your phones charged, your pitbull trained, and your paranoia higher than Trump’s hairline. And if you see me fleeing the country on a private jet? Don’t follow—I’m just going to Bali to drink margaritas and ignore the apocalypse.

THE JEFF OUT.