Monthly Story for October 2025

“Same War, Different Tactics”

Tom Weiss sipped his coffee while watching the halfhearted rain sputter on the street below. Turning from the window, he walked over to his desk tucked into a corner of the living room. He sat down and opened his laptop and was soon on his blog Weiss Words.

Tom started a new post and titled it, “No more Trump stories.” After cracking his knuckles, he began typing.

In the months leading up to the 2024 Election, I was … cautiously optimistic because who would vote for that treasonous, lying, rapist, sentient shitstain? But I still “did my part” by writing stories I posted here on this blog. Such as

Tom stopped and opened another tab. He scrolled through his blog posts until he found the story he was looking for, and copied the link. Since he knew he’d need the links to other stories, he also saved them to use when needed.

“Bad Future,” where an inventor builds a device that lets him see one year into the future, but all he learns is that President Trump had declared war on France. Why France? Well, given all the shit he’s done in the past decade, why would you expect something rational? And really, if tomorrow Trump declared war on France, would you really be all that surprised?
Back in those better Before Times, my plan for 2025 was to work on and hopefully finish my novel Sable Memory. But after that dark November day, I decided to put that on hold and put all my writing energy into stories to help the resistance. For the most part, this took the form of stories that mocked the regime, such as “Le Petit Bone Spur” and “The Authoritarianism Will be Televised!” that hopefully helped the morale of the true patriots out there marching and documenting all the crimes. I’m sure even in the darkest days of WWII, there were people in the various resistance cells whose main contribution to the war effort was keeping the other fighters’ spirits up.

Tom sat back. He turned to glance out the window and saw that the rain had finally figured itself out and had started to fall with purpose. After a sip of coffee, he went back to the blog.

Now, almost a year after that dark day, I fear that I’m not doing enough. But there are limits on what I can do. If I felt my stories could change the minds of the hardcore magats and let them see the errors of their ways, I’d be writing stories like that. Of course, hardcore magats aren’t known for their reading, not to mention I’ve spent the last decade or so purging all the conspiracy nuts, racists, and general assholes from my social media, so if I did write such stories, it’s unlikely the people that need to read them would find them.
So I wrote dozens of stories showing the idiocy of Trump, and Musk, and other members of this so-called government, that I hoped would bring a smile to any true patriot and make the struggle easier to bear. I hoped that in that way, I at least did something to stop the destruction of a once … okay nation. And for the longest time, it was too easy to find ideas for stories. All I had to do was go online and find out what King Baby was whining about that day. But in the last few months, things have gotten harder. At first, I just figured it was a result of the pit of despair in me growing as I watched the collapse of America, but recently I’ve come to realize that a large part of it is I’m tired. All of my writing energy has been put into writing about the moronic/criminal things dipshit has done. But worse are all the stories I haven’t finished. I started writing a story that dealt with his bombing of Iran, but I couldn’t quite figure it out and I set it aside to go back to, but a hundred other things happened. Like, in the next week. I could go back to finish it now, but that was 1,415 scandals/embarrassments ago. Finishing it now would almost be as outdated as a movie where nobody has a cell phone.
About a month ago, I started a story where a writer goes up to her husband holding two bags and asks him to pick a slip of paper from each. He wonders if it’s a sex thing, but she says it’s for a story. The slips he picks are “bananas” and “Portugal.” She figures she needs to write a story about asswipe going to war with Portugal because they stop buying American bananas. Her reasoning is that in the never-ending avalanche of insanity/criminal/bullshit that is the Trump Regime, any crazy random story she wrote has a fair chance of coming true someday.
That was the final straw. I started writing it, but it just hit too close and my zest for writing just … evaporated. I started thinking about everything, and I just realized how tired I am. And I decided I’d stop writing stories about Trump.

Sitting back, Tom took a moment to listen to the rain. He finished off his coffee, then went back to typing.

If you’re wondering, no I did not “see the light” and think Trump is the bestest President ever. I maintain that he is the worst … everything. And no, I’m not worried some peace loving magat will Second Amendment me, I’m not famous enough for them to even know who I am. I’m stopping because I, we, need to get out of this cesspool.
So what will I be putting my writing energies to now? Instead of writing about the current dark days, I’ll be writing about better futures. I want to write stories that will inspire us to create the amazing future we could have. America could be so wonderful, but we’re letting a handful of assholes ruin everything for all of us. If my stories can show how much better things could be without those assholes ruining it, hopefully that will inspire us to defeat them. Winning the current battles is vitally important, but so is winning the war.

With a sigh, Tom sat back. After watching the rain for a bit, he reread the blog, fixing a couple typos and changing a few words. He went to click the “Post Blog” button, but stopped. He added a question mark to the end of the title, then posted it.