What else is there to write about in the age of Donald Trump’s Washington?

Honestly, in this strange world of ours, what is there to write about except, of course, Donald Trump?

Oh, well, as a start, I could write about my country’s war with Iran and the way the militaries of the two countries are going after each other’s naval vessels. Oh, wait, that couldn’t be a more Trumpian subject, could it?

So, maybe I could write about great white sharks, which would certainly be cooler to see than “our” president. But what do I know about great white sharks? (I’m sure you won’t be surprised to learn that, the moment after I wrote that, I put “Trump, Great White Shark” into my search window and promptly came up with a set of pieces beginning with the Palm Beach Post‘s “President Trump Misses Great White Shark Visit to Mar-a-Lago Waters” and the Guardian’s “Trump Is ‘Obsessed’ and ‘Terrified’ of Sharks — But His Fears Are Excessive.”

Or maybe, I could write not about the present disaster of a war in the Strait of Trump-muz, but the next one my country is likely to face, undoubtedly with Turkey — or do I mean Indonesia, or maybe Turkmenistan, or even perhaps Turkwomenistan (a country still to be created, of course, but that’s no reason not to go to war with it)? And all of them could be turned into Trumpific countries. Still, that’s so boringly unpredictably predictable, don’t you think? I mean, as the old line went, war, what is it good for? And the classic answer (if only!): Absolutely nothing! But in the era of Pete Hegseth and crew, that would need to be changed to: Absolutely everything!

Or maybe I could write about the odds that the president might be peached — that is, covered in overly ripe fruit, since in a historic first (or do I mean second?), he’s already been impeached twice to distinctly little effect. So why not try that instead? It makes him sound delicious, don’t you think?

Or perhaps I could focus on the future of mail-out voting, since the president is already distinctly (and yes, I just can’t help using that word again) determined to severely limit, if not outright do away with, the mail-in version of the same. Or maybe instead, I could deal with his administration’s likely urge to wipe out any chance of the future creation of an Antarctic Report Card about the second fastest-warming (and melting) area on this planet (and its ice sheet that has existed for a mere 30 million years or so), since his crew has already gone after the latest report on the fastest-warming place of all, the Arctic, by — yes, of course! — ending its funding.

Or, hey, how about if I focus instead on the fate of the U.S. military’s privates, since Secretary of War Pete Hegseth has been taking superior care of its leaders who have been endlessly in the news. After all, he’s already fired or blocked the promotion of more than 80 generals and admirals, or about 10% of its high command (and I don’t have the slightest doubt that he’s just getting started). Sooner or later, when all the generals and admirals are gone, he’ll have to move down the ranks, right? I can’t help but believe that, in the end, he and the rest of his crew in Washington will be eager to fully privatize the military and turn themselves into the missing generals and admirals, or do I mean privates first class?

Or, come to think of it, since Donald Trump (labelled by The Guardian‘s Marina Hyde as this planet’s “most tireless freelance cartographer”) has had the urge not just to rename Lake Ontario and the Gulf of Mexico as Lake America and the Gulf of America, but to dub the state of New Mexico as “New America,” how about if I spend a little time on what I’m sure will be his future renaming efforts. I mean, he could go on to rename New York City (where he, like the author of this piece, was born so long ago) Old Trumpian City; and California as Trumpifornia (and, perhaps, its governor as Gavin OldTrump); and North and South Carolina as North Trump and South Trump.

Phew! That was one long sentence and yet we’re undoubtedly only at the start of his renaming process. Sooner or later, once he’s finished with all the cities, states, and politicians, he could move on to the rest of our vocabulary and I would be able to Trump you rather than stump you when I write my future pieces.

Or, for that matter, I could skip to the president’s dance hall for which he’s already torn down the East Wing of that historically less than interesting building, the White House, or the 250-foot Great Triumphal Arch and Military Observation Deck he’s building that will be larger than the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, and instead put my energy into predicting the president’s next major architectural surprise in Washington, D.C. Here’s my best guess (and I’ll be shocked if it doesn’t come true): sometime before his third term in office — and count on him wanting that (to hell with such an ancient and useless document as the Constitution) — he’ll suddenly begin tearing down the West Wing of the White House (including the Oval Office) and in its place will construct a triumphal statue of — but of course, who else? — himself (or rather Himself). It goes without saying that it will be larger not just than the Arc de Triomphe but his own Arch of Triumph. And when he’s done with that, you can count on one thing: there will simply be no way to make our nation’s capital any more statuesque.

Not surprisingly, his White House spokespeople are already praising his construction efforts in Washington, including his magnificently green Trump Memorial Reflecting Pool. As one of them put it recently, “Thanks to the Builder-in-Chief, no other president has done more to beautify our nation’s interior than President Trump.” (In contrast, The Washington Post reports, “nearly 2 in 3, 65 percent [of Americans], feel dissatisfied or upset” by his Washington building projects.)

Or what about a possible desire to replace presidentially loathed “birth tourism” — despite last summer’s Supreme Court ruling that ensured babies born here would become U.S. citizens, despite every effort by the Trump administration — with something distinctly presidential and much to be loved: “death tourism.” Wouldn’t that be the perfect formula for You Know Who?

And none of that, not a bit of it, should seem even faintly surprising from such a distinctly presidential figure.

This piece has been edited for clarity.