Welcome back to TGIF. Our events team says the local Free Press Meetups sold out fast—please tell us how they went! There’s no TG next week. Then we’re back with a fury in the new year. And we’re expanding the Where I TG game. It can be photos of you reading anything in The Free Press, not just TGIF. There’s so much good stuff, and I can’t hold you hostage. Email pics to TGIF@thefp.com.
→ I love Susie Wiles: Members of President Trump’s close team met with Vanity Fair at the White House. I don’t know why they did this, but that’s not my job. Among the interviewees was one Susie Wiles, Trump’s chief of staff, my instant favorite of the lunch bunch. She said Trump “has an alcoholic’s personality,” and that Elon Musk is an “avowed ketamine [user]” and an “odd, odd duck.” J.D. Vance? That old queen? He’s been a “conspiracy theorist for a decade,” says Suz. Talking to Susie Wiles sounds exactly like talking to about half a dozen older women in my life, like I swear to you if you called my mother-in-law today this what she would say about me. It’s as though all women, at a certain age, converge on an omnipolitics in which there is no left and right, there are only odd ducks, kooks, out-to-lunchers, and real sick puppies. Susie Wiles, please come over for dinner, you remind me of my Yaiya; your wisdom is deep, your judgment is final. The Trump team, after being absolutely roasted by Susie Wiles, all came out in support of her, saying she’s great and no one should overreact. Which is exactly what I would do to defend the grandmothers in my life, too. We stand with and for Susie Wiles. Please come roast The Free Press anytime.
→ Is that you, DOGE? The only thing that’s given me a glimmer of happiness in the last several years is the idea of DOGE. The dream of DOGE. That smart young people could make our government ultra-efficient, that America’s working class could get the same services while giving less of their paycheck to D.C., that we could have half the federal workers if they all just agreed to use email instead of fountain pens and couriers. We know how my dream turned out (shattered, bloody, ruined, false). But lo, what’s this?
This comes from an official Trump account, so it’s probably all fake data. I don’t know. You don’t know. But I dream a dream. Of paying normal taxes, and then in return getting someone who isn’t asleep in the FAA tower. This is the promise of America.
