Trump Took a Phone Call From Putin and Forgot Which Fucking War He Was In.

Folks, we've reached the part of the timeline where the malfunctioning meatloaf cannot remember which country he's currently bombing on any given Tuesday. This Fucks Fully COOKED!

Trump Took a Phone Call From Putin and Forgot Which Fucking War He Was In

Folks, we’ve reached the part of the timeline where the malfunctioning meatloaf cannot remember which country he’s currently bombing on any given Tuesday.

Picture the scene. Putin rings up. They have a chat. Trump emerges from the call, walks straight to a press scrum, and proceeds to describe Iran’s military destruction at length while insisting he’s talking about Ukraine. Jared is there. Jared just nods. Nobody in that room has the cognitive function or moral spine to lean over and say “Donald mate, that’s the wrong war.”

Here’s the actual fucking quote. I am not making this up. This came out of his mouth in front of cameras:

“Ukraine militarily they’re defeated, OK, you wouldn’t know that by reading the fake news, but militarily look there, maybe, so they had 159 ships. Every ship is right now underwater.”

159 ships. Underwater. Ukraine.

Ukraine. The country with a coastline on the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov, whose entire navy was famously scuttled or seized back in 2014 and has been operating with sea drones and borrowed dinghies ever since. That Ukraine. With 159 ships. At the bottom of the ocean.

That’s Iran’s navy he’s describing. That’s Operation Epic Fury talking points. That’s the IRGC fleet his own Pentagon spent 6 weeks bragging about sinking. He has confused the 2 wars on live television and Jared is just sitting there nodding like a $400 million bobblehead.

It gets worse. Listen to this:

“OK, now they have an Air Force. Every one of their airplanes has been shut down or has been decimated. They have missiles about 82% are gone, and they have drones and most of them are gone. Most of the factories are mostly gone.”

Every airplane shot down. Missiles 82% gone. Drone factories destroyed. Mate, that’s not Ukraine. That is a verbatim recital of the Pentagon’s Iran damage assessment. The same numbers. The same phrasing. He has rolled the 2 countries into one big bombed-up smoothie inside his fried walnut of a brain and started slurping.

And then, and I swear on my mother’s life this happened:

“Their economy is crashing. They uh, as you know, their money, they’re, they go with their money, they don’t have a name for it. Their money is valueless.”

They don’t have a name for their money.

The Ukrainian currency is called the hryvnia. It has been called the hryvnia since 1996. It is on every banknote, in every bank, on every receipt, in every news article ever written about the Ukrainian economy. The tangerine-tinted talking yam has been the President of the United States twice and he does not know what Ukraine’s currency is called.

Here’s the kicker. Iran’s currency is the rial. He doesn’t know that one either. He’s confused about 2 currencies in 2 different wars at the same time. The man cannot keep 2 facts in his head simultaneously and one of them is which country he’s currently bombing.

Now let’s talk about the Putin angle, because this is where the comedy curdles into something darker.

Putin rang Trump and offered to “be of help” with Iran. Read that again slowly. Vladimir fucking Putin, whose country is Iran’s largest strategic partner, whose air force has flown joint exercises with the IRGC, whose drone supply chain runs through Tehran, has offered to help the United States against Iran. And Trump apparently said yes.

Either Putin just sold Iran out for a chocolate frog and a free pass on Ukraine, which would be the diplomatic event of the decade. Or, and this is my working theory, Putin is playing Trump like a busted accordion at a Russian wedding and the KFC-glazed dementia patient with launch codes is too cooked to notice he’s the punchline.

“I’ve known him a long time. I think he was ready to make a deal a while ago. I think some people made it difficult for him to make a deal.”

“Some people made it difficult for him.” Some people. You mean the ones who didn’t want Russia to invade and annex a sovereign democratic nation? Those people? The ones who view tanks rolling across borders as kind of a problem? Those difficult, difficult people who keep harshing Vlad’s vibe?

This is the President of the United States parroting Kremlin talking points within minutes of getting off the phone with Putin. Live. On camera. While simultaneously describing the wrong country’s destruction. There is no longer any pretence. The man is reading copy that was handed to him by an FSB officer between bites of his Filet-O-Fish.

Meanwhile. Halfway across the world. While Trump is busy demonstrating that his memory has the structural integrity of a wet Kleenex.

The new Supreme Leader of Iran, Mojtaba Khamenei, the bloke whose father Trump personally vaporised on day 1 of this war, the bloke the United States insists is either dead, disfigured, or doesn’t exist, has popped up to issue a written statement on National Persian Gulf Day. And brother, did he bring the fucking receipts.

“If they have a place, it will be deep down in the water of the Gulf.”

That is a son whose father got incinerated by an American bomb telling the American president to drown. Publicly. In writing. On a national holiday. There is no diplomatic ambiguity here. Mojtaba is not sending mixed signals. He is not feeling the situation out. He is openly inviting the United States Navy to consider the Persian Gulf as a permanent place of residence at depths the Australian government would file under “marine grave.”

He went further:

“We will defend our country, the Islamic Republic of Iran today through controlling the strait of Humus.”

Iran is closing the Strait of Hormuz. The blockade is in place. 20 per cent of the world’s oil is sitting in tanker queues outside Hormuz right now, fuel prices are doing kangaroo impressions across every petrol station from Sydney to Stuttgart, and the man whose entire economy depends on someone, anyone, brokering a deal here cannot remember whether he’s bombing Persians or Slavs.

And then Mojtaba twisted the knife:

“These countries on the Gulf will get revenues.”

Translation: Saudi, UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, you will all do better economically once the Americans are gone. We’re not just kicking them out, we’re paying you to celebrate it. Iran is doing strategic outreach to the Gulf states while Trump is in Washington describing Russian-occupied Mariupol as if it was Bandar Abbas.

The Iranians are running circles around the White House. Mojtaba has not been seen in public once since taking the chair. Not a single video. Not a single voice recording. Just written statements landing like Patriot missiles every few days. Trump keeps saying “we don’t even know who’s in charge over there” while Mojtaba keeps publishing the daily homework. The decapitation strategy didn’t work. They killed the father and got a son with nothing left to lose, a missile inventory the size of a small country, a controlling stake in the world’s most important shipping lane, and an apparently functional cerebral cortex, which is several rungs higher than the fossilised pumpkin with abandonment issues currently squatting in the Oval Office.

So let’s tally up where we are. The American president cannot remember which country he’s at war with. He has just taken policy direction from the Russian president regarding the Russian president’s own ally. His son-in-law is sitting in the corner like a mannequin in Kushner cosplay. The Iranian Supreme Leader, who Washington claims is dead or doesn’t exist, has just issued a Persian Gulf Day statement that reads like an “eat shit and die, Donald” greeting card. The Strait of Hormuz remains closed. Australian fuel reserves are 34 days deep and our 2 remaining refineries are running on vibes and prayer.

And the man with the launch codes thinks Ukraine has a navy of 159 ships.

If you needed any more proof that the geriatric is fully cooked, the script gone, the props gone, the venue gone, the audience gone, the entire fucking theatre demolished, this was it. Putin called, and the President of the United States walked out of that conversation describing the wrong war, parroting Kremlin lines, naming a currency that doesn’t exist, and asking his son-in-law for confirmation like Jared knows fuck all about anything other than which fork to use at a Riyadh dinner.

Mojtaba is laughing. Putin is laughing. Xi is laughing. The only people not laughing are the Americans whose retirement funds are bleeding red, the Australians queuing for petrol vouchers, and the Ukrainians who just watched their commander-in-chief’s biggest patron go on television and forget they exist.

But sure. Tell me again how Trump is “playing 4D chess.” The man is playing fucking Hungry Hungry Hippos and losing.

IFLA ~ Gman

IFLA Aussie-to-Yank Glossary

For our American readers, who keep emailing asking what half these phrases mean. We are slowly translating the dialect for you. Stick around, you’ll be fluent in working-class Australian by Christmas, just in time to need it.

spit the dummy. To throw a tantrum. A “dummy” is what you call a pacifier. So when an adult man “spits the dummy,” we are openly comparing him to a furious toddler who has just hurled his pacifier across the playground. Applies to roughly 80 per cent of Trump’s press conferences and 100 per cent of his Truth Social binges.

chuck a wobbly. Synonymous with spit the dummy but more theatrical. To “chuck a wobbly” implies the meltdown is also poorly coordinated and visually embarrassing. The legs go funny. The voice goes up. There may be a hat thrown. Also useful for press conferences.

dog’s breakfast. A complete chaotic mess. The reasoning here is that dogs eat anything, in any order, with no regard for presentation or hygiene, and what comes out at the other end is therefore a disgrace. So if something is “a dog’s breakfast,” it is chaotic, ugly, and should not be examined too closely. Current US foreign policy is a dog’s breakfast. So is Trump’s working memory.

fried. Cognitively cooked. Brain no longer functioning. Can be used for someone on drugs, someone on no sleep, or someone whose synapses have simply quit the union and walked off the job. “He’s absolutely fried” is the medical diagnosis you’d give Trump after watching this Putin presser.

cooked (expansion entry, building on prior). We’ve covered cooked before but it earned the deeper treatment today. “Cooked” is the all-purpose Australian term for something that has gone catastrophically wrong, and it scales infinitely. A late train is cooked. A hangover is cooked. A geriatric American president confusing 2 wars on live television after a phone call with the Russian dictator is so cooked he has gone past well-done and come out the other side as charcoal.