In a move that White House aides described as “less National Guard, more dad voice,” Donald Trump has dispatched his human bulldozer, Tom Homan, to Minneapolis with a simple mission: babysit the clowns, clean up the mess, and turn the city’s political funhouse back into a functioning municipality.
According to sources, Homan arrived carrying a clipboard, a coffee the size of Lake Minnetonka, and an expression that said, I’ve already counted to three. The targets of this field trip? Minnesota’s own ringmasters, Tim Walz and Jacob Frey, who have spent the last several years insisting everything is “mostly peaceful” while the city quietly auditions for a reality show called America’s Next Urban Meltdown.
The Babysitter Arrives
Homan reportedly convened his first meeting in a Minneapolis conference room still decorated with inspirational posters reading Feelings Are Policy and Words Matter More Than Outcomes. He removed them one by one, replaced them with a whiteboard, and wrote three rules:
- Law enforcement exists.
- Arson is not a form of speech.
- If you break it, you own it.
Witnesses say Walz attempted to raise a hand to ask a question, only to be shushed by Homan’s stare alone—a gaze so powerful it has been classified by the Department of Energy as a renewable source.
Clown Car Politics Meets a Bulldozer
Mayor Frey, sources say, tried to explain that Minneapolis’s problems were actually the result of “vibes,” “historical trauma,” and “Trump tweets from 2018.” Homan reportedly nodded politely, then asked a radical follow-up: “Okay, but who’s in charge?” The room fell silent. A city intern Googled “leadership.”
Walz then unveiled a flowchart entitled Community-Led De-Escalation Through Interpretive Dance. Homan flipped the chart over and drew a simple picture of a house. “This,” he said, tapping the drawing, “is what you don’t let burn down.”
Cleanup on Aisle Minneapolis
By afternoon, Homan was allegedly touring the city like a stern home inspector. “This block?” he asked. “Clean it.” “This policy?” he said, holding it up between two fingers. “Trash.” “This press release?” He paused. “Comedy.”
Local reporters noted a sudden and alarming change: streets were being cleared, orders were being followed, and officials were speaking in complete sentences. One resident said, “I don’t know what’s happening, but things are… quieter. Is this allowed?”
Walz and Frey Adjust
Walz later held a press conference insisting the deployment was “collaborative,” while Frey described it as “a learning moment.” Neither could explain why Homan had confiscated their megaphones and replaced them with a to-do list.
When asked how long he plans to stay, Homan reportedly replied, “Until the adults remember they’re adults.” He then tightened his tie, checked his watch, and reminded city leaders that Minneapolis isn’t a think piece—it’s a city.
As of press time, Minneapolis was last seen returning borrowed shopping carts, reattaching street signs, and remembering that laws are not optional. The clowns remain under supervision. The bulldozer is still idling.
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