It’s in their genes.
In the loud, gold-plated corner of a not-so-big political realm—think oversized rallies, branded steaks, and endless tweets—there strutted The Donald, the ultimate master of fake bravado.
He was evolution’s loudest proof that humans and animals share the same ancient cheat code: puff bigger than reality, roar louder than necessary, then pivot when the real heat hits.
The Morning Ritual
Every sunrise The Donald hit the balcony—or the microphone—chest out like an over-caffeinated gorilla.
“Nobody’s bigger than me!” he boomed.
“I alone can fix it! Tremendous!”
Crowds cheered on cue. Free hats helped.
His real forces? Loyal fans, some lawyers, and a few guys who just liked the show.
Yet he talked like he commanded armies that had never quite materialized.
Fake Bravado 101
Just like the frilled-neck lizard flaring its ridiculous ruff and hissing at shadows, The Donald wore the gaudiest suits and slapped his name on everything.
Golden letters. Fake battle stories. Zero actual battles he finished.
He threatened. He promised. He called everyone losers.
All while hoping the other side would fold first.
The Neighbor Dispute
The sensible neighbor across the border wanted a simple deal.
The Donald exploded like a startled cuttlefish.
“Disaster! Invasion! I will tariff you into oblivion!” he roared, waving tiny hands.
“My beautiful wall will make them cry!”
His inner circle nodded like bobbleheads on a dashboard.
The crowd chanted. A random supporter yelled “USA!” at the wrong time.
When Reality Knocks
The neighbor sent one calm response.
Just one.
The Donald’s lizard brain lit up red.
Chest deflated a notch. Voice got tweetier. Roar turned to “we’ll see.”
By midweek he declared “a tremendous strategic win for peace.”
“See? They feared my art of the deal!” he told the cameras. Ratings were yuge.
The farmers just shook their heads and kept planting.
The Merchant Meltdown
When business types grumbled about the new fees and chaos, The Donald went full bear bluff.
Huffing! Puffing! “Fake news! Treason! I will crush you!”
A few quiet boycotts and lost sponsors later, he folded faster than a cheap suit.
“I have always loved the merchants. The best merchants. Tremendous people,” he announced with a straight face and a new slogan.
His accountants quietly fixed the books. Again.
Festival Fake-Out
Big annual rally brought visitors from places that actually got things done.
A no-nonsense ambassador sat through the usual routine without cracking a smile.
“Impressive show,” she said, eyebrow raised like a border wall.
“Now can we drop the theater and talk real deals?”
The Classic Pivot
The Donald’s fake bravado popped like a cheap balloon.
But biology is merciful to showmen. In one smooth move he spread his arms wide.
“A brilliant test! You passed with flying colors! This deal is the greatest ever—totally my idea from the beginning!”
The actual terms leaned heavily the other way.
He spent the night bragging about the biggest victory in history.
Supporters cheered anyway.
Biology of the Bluff
Late-night pundits over cheap drinks got it right.
“He’s just the school bully with better branding,” one slurred.
“All roar until someone swings back. Same as the cat hissing at the vacuum then diving under the couch.”
The octopus jets away in a cloud of ink.
The grizzly charges then swerves into the bushes.
The Donald? Same software, louder tie.
Why Bluffing Wins
Real fights cost money, votes, and actual work—total nightmare.
Fake bravado costs nothing but airtime. Look scary, scare the weak, negotiate when the strong push back.
Evolution rewards survivors, not martyrs.
Cheap signals beat expensive scars every single time.
The Eternal Show
The Donald kept going for years.
Bluffs stayed enormous.
Achievements stayed… flexible.
Crowds kept showing up for the spectacle.
His team smiled through the chaos.
His realm stayed loud, flashy, and perfectly consistent in one thing only.
Because in nature’s great sarcastic joke, the bluff is king.
Until someone refuses to blink.
Then the wise animal—and the wise fake-brave dealmaker—quietly finds the exit ramp and starts rehearsing tomorrow’s roar.
And the show rolled on. Loudly. Ever after.
Footnote: The man who would be Cyrus.
Cyrus is the man who defeated Israel’s enemies and gave the holy land back to the Semitic tribes.
This was news to Cyrus. Being an atheist and a man who could care less about religions of any kind, his wiping out of the indigenous population of Judea could hardly be considered a gift from God… that is, unless you’re a cave dwelling scroll writer.
But to the millions of people who follow the litany of Cyrus’s that have emerged over the last 2,600 years in western and middle eastern theology, believing in God, any God hardly matters. God’s laws matter less.
No matter what you want, you’ll find a page in a holy book that gives it to you. But first you have to find a Cyrus that has no scruples, no morals and no values to take it from someone else.
