Dear Taco,

Because that’s what everybody is calling you now, and you can’t stand it. So we’ll say it again: Taco.

Dear Taco,

(🌮 Because that’s what everybody is calling you now, and you can’t stand it. So we’ll say it again: Taco. 🌮 )

Congratulations. You finally sent in the Marines. You did the thing every dictator fantasizes about — turning the armed forces of a so-called free country on its own people. You saw peaceful protesters and decided the appropriate response was flash-bangs and camo. You watched democracy tremble and thought, Finally, some peace and quiet.

Taco style.

But here’s what you don’t get, Taco. You can’t drone strike dissent. You can’t deport resistance. You can’t audit the First Amendment out of existence. And you sure as hell can’t drown the truth in tear gas and expect the rest of us to go blind.

You are the worst kind of coward: the kind who mistakes fear for strength, silence for loyalty, and chaos for control. You think power is something you hoard. But real power — the kind that builds instead of breaks — has never been something you understood. You’re too busy tweeting threats and ducking consequences to notice that the world is laughing at you behind your back and bleeding because of you up front.

You have Marines circling Los Angeles like it's Fallujah. National Guard on the ground. ICE agents playing war games in immigrant neighborhoods. All to protect what? Your ego? Your image? Your fantasy of what America should look like — white, obedient, afraid?

You're not the strongman in this story, Taco. You’re the punchline.

And we know you hate the nickname. That’s why we’re going to say it louder.

Taco. 🌮

Taco who always chickens out.

Taco who can’t finish a sentence without lying.

Taco who runs from subpoenas, hides from veterans, panics over typos, and gets outsmarted by middle schoolers with cardboard signs.

You love walls because you’re scared of mirrors. You can’t handle seeing yourself the way we see you: bloated on power, constipated by cowardice, gripping a Sharpie like it’s a sword.

You want history to remember you as the one who “took action.” It will. But not the way you think.

They’ll remember Taco 🌮 — the tin-pot tyrant who deployed troops on his own citizens for daring to hold signs.

They’ll remember Taco 🌮 — who called the press the enemy until one of his foot soldiers shot a journalist, and he still didn’t blink.

They’ll remember Taco 🌮— who spent so long barking about greatness he never realized he was the smallest man in the room.

So here’s your legacy, Taco:

You tried to burn the Constitution and accidentally lit a fire you couldn’t control.

And we?

We are the fire.

Signed,
Closer to the Edge

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