Welcome to Fantasy Island

The $2 Trillion Dream

Originally published in “The Leading Indicator” blog. Please subscribe and leave your comments or questions there, especially if you want them answered. Many thanks.

The seaplane buzzes low over the cerulean waters, its engine sputtering triumphantly as it arcs toward the lush shores of Fantasy Island. Waiting at the dock, arms crossed in his signature “visionary” stance, stands Elon Roarke, the enigmatic steward of the island, his crisp white suit gleaming in the sun. Beside him, practically vibrating with enthusiasm, is Tatu Ramaswamy, gesticulating wildly at the descending aircraft.

“De plane! De plane!” Tatu cries, hopping on the balls of his feet.

Elon Roarke, his piercing eyes hidden behind a well rehearsed smile, faintly chuckles. “Yes, Tatu, our guest has arrived. A man with a dream—or a fantasy—depending on how delusional you think he is.”

As the plane touches down, none other than Donald Trump steps out, his red tie flapping in the breeze like a ceremonial flag. He adjusts his MAGA hat with a flourish, scanning the landscape as if looking for a golf course.

“Welcome to Fantasy Island, Mr. Trump,” Roarke says with a slight bow. “I understand you’ve come to fulfill a bold fantasy. You wish to cut $2 trillion from the federal budget. An admirable dream.”

Trump puffs out his chest, his face beaming like a man who just declared bankruptcy and got away with it. “That’s right, Elon. The government’s too fat. It’s inefficient. Bigly inefficient! I want less waste, fewer regulations, more winning. And I hear you’re the guy who can make it happen.”

Tatu chimes in, flashing a toothy grin. “At Fantasy Island, every dream is possible, Mr. Trump. But as you know, every dream comes with a cost.”

Act I: The?Forest of Red Tape

Roarke and Tatu lead Trump through the?Forest of Red Tape, where bureaucratic vines twist around ancient government buildings, each labeled with the names of federal agencies: “Department of Education,” “Environmental Protection Agency,” “FDA.” The air smells faintly of printer ink and coffee left out too long.

“Here we house the discretionary spending programs,” Roarke explains as they step over piles of tangled regulations. “Defense, education, transportation. All ripe for cuts.”

Trump claps his hands together. “Perfect! Let’s chop, chop, chop!”

“Patience, Mr. Trump,” Roarke cautions. “The island doesn’t bend to simplistic solutions. Look deeper.”

He gestures toward a towering oak tree, its bark etched with the phrase?Mandatory Spending.?“Entitlements like Social Security and Medicare are the true titans here—65% of all government spending. If you wish to save $2 trillion, you’ll need to fell this tree.”

Trump recoils. “What? No way. Social Security? Medicare? Those are untouchable. I campaigned on protecting them! That’s like—like taking fries away from a burger. You can’t do it.”

Tatu raises a finger. “Ah, but Mr. Trump, without addressing mandatory spending, you’ll have to cut nearly every other program to the bone. Or worse, to nothing.”

Roarke leans in closer, his voice soft but commanding. “The island listens, Mr. Trump. It hears your intentions. But it also knows the limits of your ambition.”

Trump grumbles, adjusting his hat. “Fine. Let’s look at the other stuff.”

Act II: The Discretionary Desert

The trio arrives at the?Discretionary Desert, where mirages of tanks, schools, and bridges shimmer in the heat. Each mirage represents a budget item, glowing faintly with its price tag:?$874 billion – Defense,?$137 billion – Transportation,?$68 billion – Education.

Trump points at the defense mirage. “I’ll cut that!”

“Bold,” Roarke replies. “You’d be the first president to pull it off. But defense spending is… sticky. Touch it, and you’ll find your fingers glued to an army of lobbyists, contractors, and voters who think you’re weak on national security.”

“And Space Force!” Tatu adds enthusiastically. “Can’t forget Space Force! Didn’t you call it your ‘big, beautiful baby’?”

Trump waves dismissively. “Fine, leave defense. What about… the EPA? They clean stuff up, right? Can’t we cut that?”

Roarke arches an eyebrow. “Certainly. But consider this: millions of Americans rely on the EPA to manage lead contamination, clean water, and pollution. The island will ask, Mr. Trump—do you value clean air and water?”

Trump shrugs. “I’ll tweet something about it. Blame Biden. Next!”

Act III: The Cavern of Conflicting Interests

The mood darkens as they descend into the?Cavern of Conflicting Interests, where stalactites drip with glowing subsidies and federal contracts. In the dim light, Trump notices Tesla logos glowing ominously.

“Hey, Elon,” Trump says, narrowing his eyes. “Aren’t those your contracts? NASA? Defense? How much government money are you getting, anyway?”

Roarke, ever composed, smirks. “Fantasy Island has its ironies, Mr. Trump. Yes, my enterprises benefit greatly from federal contracts. Nearly $15 billion, in fact. But you see, that’s the genius of the island. It forces us to confront our hypocrisies. Could you really cut government spending without cutting programs you yourself created?”

Tatu laughs nervously. “The island doesn’t like easy answers, Mr. Trump. It loves irony.”

Trump, for once, is speechless.

Act IV: The Chinese Puzzle Garden

The final stop on the tour is the?Chinese Puzzle Garden, a maze of bamboo and mirrors. The deeper they go, the more distorted their reflections become. Trump stumbles upon an image of himself, flanked by Elon and the Chairman of the CCP, shaking hands in the shadow of Tesla’s Shanghai factory.

“What’s this?” Trump demands.

Tatu speaks softly. “China controls half of Tesla’s production, Mr. Trump. Their influence on Elon’s empire is significant. Should they choose, they could shut it all down. The island reminds us that no one is free of entanglements.”

Elon, now visibly sweating, tries to lighten the mood. “It’s all part of the fantasy, right? A little… creative tension?”

Trump mutters under his breath. “I don’t like this place anymore.”

Act V: Judgment Day, or The End of the Party

As the sun sets, the three men gather on the beach. The waves lap at the shore, and the plane waits in the distance.

“So, Mr. Trump,” Roarke says, his tone unusually serious. “Have you found your $2 trillion solution?”

Trump looks down, fiddling with his tie. “Maybe cutting government isn’t as easy as I thought. But hey, at least we tried, right?”

Tatu chimes in, ever the optimist. “It’s not about the destination, Mr. Trump. It’s about the journey—and what you learn along the way.”

Roarke chuckles softly. “Indeed, Tatu. Every guest on Fantasy Island leaves with a lesson, even if it’s not the one they hoped for.”

As Trump boards the plane, he looks back at Roarke and Tatu, a rare glimmer of humility crossing his face. “You know, Elon, maybe you’re not so bad after all. And you, Tatu… keep an eye on this guy. He’s dangerous.”

The plane roars to life, taking off into the twilight. Roarke watches it disappear, hands clasped behind his back.

“What’s next, boss?” Tatu asks eagerly.

Roarke smiles faintly. “The island never rests, Tatu. There’s always another fantasy to fulfill—and another lesson to teach.”

Take-Aways from the DOGE Manifesto

Musk and Ramaswamy’s Razor:?DOGE isn’t a government agency—it’s a budget-slashing Austerity Cult disguised as a think tank, spearheaded by Elon Musk and Vivek Ramaswamy under Trump’s watch.

$2 Trillion or Bust:?The mission? Ax $2 trillion in federal spending, targeting bloated regulations and inefficiencies. The problem? Most of the fat is marbled into mandatory programs like Social Security and Medicare, which account for 65% of the federal budget.

The Untouchables:?Tackling Social Security and Medicare is like detonating a political grenade in a nursing home. Everyone agrees reform is needed, but no one wants to pull the pin.

Musk’s Double Game:?Critics are sharpening their knives over Musk’s conflicts of interest, with $15 billion in government contracts and subsidies flowing through his companies, plus his deep ties to China. Can the butcher cut himself out of the carcass?

History Isn’t Encouraging:?The Grace Commission, Thatcher’s efficiency reforms—sure, waste has been trimmed before, but not without blood, protests, and political martyrdom.

Doom or Discipline?:?Supporters hail DOGE as a necessary fiscal intervention; detractors warn it could dismantle critical services. The truth? Probably both.

Small Wins, Big Blind Spots:?Musk has Twittered about minor inefficiencies—misused office chairs, redundant agencies—but the trillion-dollar elephants remain untouched.

The Real Battle:?DOGE’s success hinges on surviving an onslaught of lobbyists, political egos, and institutional inertia while delivering real cuts without torching the republic.

DOGE isn’t just a cost-cutting experiment—it’s a high-stakes game of financial Jenga, and the tower’s already leaning.

? adrian dyer, 2024