Citizenship has devolved.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and the Iranian people’s back, promising to intervene if just one protester was killed. He then learned that more than 2,500 have been killed, but not that one. Until tomorrow.

The new “upside-down” MAHA Food Pyramid is muuuch clearer.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, but removed the top muffin because he was watching his weight. He repeated this with a second, leaving him with two spare muffin tops. His solution was elegant: invent the McNugget Muffin! Turns out he was a genius at solving hunger problems.

He’ll make sure Ricky gets it.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and began supplementing it with at least one Filet-O-Fish a day because they’re deliciously fried in heart-healthy fish oil, naturally. “Kshhh,” he slurred as he unwrapped another, ostensibly to mime the sound it makes. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, but his taste buds were so blown and collapsed, necessitating an alternate ingestion site. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, sighed, and had another. Truthfully, he farted. Resignedly. No longer could he blame it on Biden. Until tomorrow.

Might not make it after all.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, but his own morality didn’t exactly stop him from having a Filet-O-Fish or two. Until tomorrow.

“Those signs are made at professional printing offices” (DJT).

I could swear I’ve seen them in another meme.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and some fries, followed by a total Sausage McMuffin-fest. Saturated fat is back, baby, thanks to MAHA Bobby! He only hoped they were still on the same page about “no fat chicks.” Until tomorrow.

Donnie, once you’re done there and with the restroom, show some hustle and RELEASE THE EPSTEIN FILES!

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, which for him at his age always resulted in significant bruising. Thinking their cameras couldn’t see him, he tried to hide his shame under more makeup, and snuck a Tylenol for the pain. Until tomorrow.

ICE can melt in hell.

A ten-gallon hat covers a lot, but not a chin implant and a lip lift.

Do you think Joe Biden could do this?

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, but still couldn’t find Greenland on the globe. Probably because it’s the red one Elon left from the Mars project. Until tomorrow.

Crappy Anniversary.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, ran Venezuela for a bit, then a quick Snack Wrap, then ran Venezuela some more before a big Big Mac lunch. Until tomorrow.

Some dated references.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and an aspirin-and-M&M’s McFlurry. Although he didn’t like wearing compression socks, his ankles already felt sufficiently compressed in his regular ones. He’d rather they were swollen with thin blood than that thick shit. Until tomorrow.

Press 2 for Amerispeak…

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, balled up the greasy wrapper, took his shot, and sank it in the wastebasket, which was encased in statuary marble and gold. Until tomorrow.

New Year, New Regimes.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, and the only real prediction he’s making for 2026 is that Biden won’t live to see the midterms—thinking it’d be funny to sign that EO with an autopen. Until tomorrow.

And we thought concealing things with makeup was too much?!

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, followed by two Reese's Oreo Cups and a whole sleeve of Oreo Reese's Cookies, creme centers only, to officially usher in the Thousand-Year Reese's Oreo Era. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had a Fruit & Maple Oatmeal bowl for breakfast, per his New Year’s resolution, then his usual Egg McMuffin for second breakfast and brunch. Until tomorrow.

#HAPPYNEWYEAR www.wsj.com/us-news/trum...

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Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and made a New Year’s resolution to stop eating them for breakfast every day. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and ended his latest call with Putin, agreeing that Brigitte Bardot was at least a 9, as a path forward. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and double-tapped the secret button, hopefully for Diet Coke and not some drone again. Until tomorrow.

That finger is going to bruise for sure.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, then pulled out some chunky yarn and a stapler. It’s going to be a beautiful poncho, he thought: a perfect poncho, a poncho sure to land him TV’s Game of Wool title as America’s, no, WORLD’S Best Knitter! But somehow he got ketchup on it.

It’s always Epstein... Epstein... Epstein!

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, a 6-piece McNuggets, an Oreo McFlurry, fries, and, to get a jump on his 2026 health goals, Apple Slices, which he replaced with a Baked Apple Pie. Until tomorrow.

What’s in a name? It’s more about who owns the naming rights.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and finished Lutnick’s leftover Sausage McMuffin from yesterday. “Nutlick.” He perfected that nickname over a year ago but has been patiently saving it for the New Year’s economic nosedive. Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and has already said the R-word several more times today than “Merry Christmas.” Until tomorrow.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and, to everyone’s joy and praise be, proved he remembered every word of that famous festive carol:

Finally, some video has been released.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin and was asked directly why it cost more than last year, despite claims of falling egg prices. He countered with gas. Until tomorrow.

It just got six times worse.

Good morning. Maybe he had his usual Egg McMuffin, then broke into song: “On Day One of Christmas, my third wife gave to me an incurable [REDACTED].” Until tomorrow.

Dave Matthews Fans?