Donald Trump’s Address to the Joint Session of Congress tonight, March 04, 2025, wasn’t a speech—it was a carnival midway, a garish parade of victims and oddballs he hauled onstage to hawk his latest batch of overzealous legislation like a late-night infomercial huckster. Seventy minutes of tariff threats, immigrant-bashing, and federal job-slashing bravado, all wrapped in a red-white-and-blue bow of “America First” bluster. But the crown jewel—the moment that had even the most jaded Beltway hacks blinking—was when he turned a 13-year-old kid with brain cancer into an honorary Secret Service agent. Step right up, folks—see the human props dance for your applause!

Let’s start with DJ Daniel, because God bless him, he’s the one pure soul in this mess. A scrawny kid from who-knows-where, battling brain cancer with a dream of being a cop—Trump spots him in the gallery, all big eyes and bigger hopes, and decides to make him the night’s feel-good star. Out comes Secret Service Director Sean Curran—fresh off dodging bullets in Butler—to pin a badge on DJ’s chest, right there on the House floor. The chamber erupts—Democrats, Republicans, even the crusty sergeants-at-arms clap like it’s a Pixar ending. DJ’s beaming, probably thinking he’s about to guard the Oval Office with a squirt gun and a chemo port—and you can’t hate that. It’s sweet, it’s human, it’s the one moment Trump didn’t look like he was auditioning for Dictator’s Got Talent. But oh, the irony’s thicker than his bronzer—here’s a kid who’d be a poster child for DEI if Trump hadn’t just gutted it, and the big man doesn’t even clock it.

Because DEI—Diversity, Equity, Inclusion—is Trump’s latest piñata, bashed to bits with his “Ending Radical And Wasteful Government DEI Programs” executive order back in January. He’s spent weeks crowing about firing DEI staffers—those woke paper-pushers clogging the federal arteries—while Elon Musk’s DOGE axe swings through agencies like the National Park Service and FDA, slicing jobs faster than a Ginsu through a tomato. Tonight, he doubled down—mandatory death penalty for cop-killers, 25% tariffs on Canada and Mexico, a border wall so tall it’d make Rapunzel jealous—all part of his “tough love” legislative buffet. But then he trots out DJ, this fragile little hero, and it’s like watching a lion cuddle a kitten—adorable until you remember the lion just ate the rest of the litter.

The parade didn’t stop with DJ—Trump’s got a whole sideshow of human props to sell his schtick. There’s Laken Riley’s family, waved like a bloody flag to justify his immigration crackdown—poor girl’s name shouted over the din while Dems mutter “January 6th” under their breath, a reminder of Trump’s pardoned rioters who beat cops bloody. Then some grizzled cop from Ohio, trotted out for the death penalty bit—scarred face, teary salute—Trump’s nodding like he’s about to knight him, while Al Green’s yelling from the floor, drowning in the hypocrisy. It’s a victim Olympics—gold medals for pathos, silver for political points—and Trump’s the ringmaster, cracking the whip while the crowd roars. Funny how he can spotlight these broken souls but can’t spare a word for Ukraine—guess Zelensky didn’t RSVP to the sob-story casting call.

But back to DJ—our pint-sized Secret Service star. Here’s a kid who’s fought more in 13 years than Trump’s ever had to—chemo rounds, hospital beds, dreams of a badge—and Trump hands him a moment so pure it almost washes the stench off the rest. Almost. Because in Trump’s world, DJ’s not just a feel-good tale—he’s a DEI hire by accident, a living, breathing example of giving someone a shot who’d otherwise be overlooked. Equity? Check—DJ’s got a disability no one’s betting on. Inclusion? Check—he’s up there with the big dogs, badge gleaming. Diversity? Well, he’s a kid in a sea of suits—close enough. If only Trump could connect the dots—his big, brassy show of compassion for DJ is the same damn spirit DEI was built on: lifting up the underdog, not just the loudest bully in the room. Too bad he’s too busy torching it to notice.

Life’s parade of oddities doesn’t get odder than this—Trump, the anti-DEI crusader, accidentally playing DEI poster boy with a cancer-stricken teen. He’s up there, basking in the applause—hair defying gravity, hands flapping—while DJ stands proud, probably wondering if he gets a gun or just a cool hat. The rest of us? We’re laughing—at the absurdity, the gall, the human props strung along for legislative clout. Trump’s pushing death penalties and border walls, but he’s blind to the irony that DJ’s moment is what DEI dreamed of—compassion over cruelty, a hand up over a boot down. Maybe one day he’ll see it—nah, who’re we kidding? He’ll just claim he invented empathy, trademark it, and slap it on a $99 MAGA cap—funny if you’re not the one stuck watching this circus spin on, waiting for the next victim to take the stage.