MARSHA MELLOW

Trump swore he wouldn’t touch the White House, and now he’s out here swinging a wrecking ball like Miley Cyrus with a trust fund. Baby, he’s demolishing history to build a ballroom so tacky it makes Mar-a-Lago look like Versailles on a coupon. You know you’ve lost the plot when the nation’s most iconic home starts looking like a Vegas buffet in gold leaf.

When I stay at a B&B, I don’t start construction because I know I’m leaving. I don’t bulldoze the backyard and install a disco ball. But Trump? He’s gutting the place like it’s one of his bankrupt casinos, grinning while democracy gets drywall dust in her hair.

That money could’ve gone to veterans, teachers, hospitals, hell, even a national fund for therapy to deal with this man’s endless chaos. But no, Mr. Spray Tan Versailles is pouring taxpayer dollars into his ballroom of broken dreams, waiting for someone to crown him prom queen of delusion.

And if you honestly think he’s leaving in 2028, sugar, I’ve got beachfront property in Oklahoma to sell you. He’s not redecorating. He’s moving in. He’s the cockroach that survives the apocalypse, and he’s already picking out curtain fabric for the bunker.

“You can’t spell White House renovation without narcissism, glitter, and gall.”

Put this in your back pocket for when the comments get cute. Save it. Tag the friend who lives for a clapback.
“Next time you want to come for me, pack a lunch.”

“Every drag queen you’ve ever seen has a story they survived to get there.”
The wait is almost over.
Unforgettably Yours: The Marsha Mellow Chronicles, a brutally honest, wickedly funny, and unapologetically heartfelt journey by Steven Tilotta — is coming soon.