State of the Swamp Destroys Trump’s Longest, Angriest State of the Union
As Trump ranted through a record-breaking grievance fest, celebrities, activists, and everyday Americans turned ridicule into resistance—and stole the night.
by Cliff Schecter
Frogs.
Tailless amphibians with fluid, damp skin and ample legs who often luxuriate in swampland. And live rent free in Donald Trump’s mind-ish object.
They became a symbol of the resistance to Trump’s storm troopers in Portland in 2025, and those putting on these inflatable suits to mock his swampiness have reportedly driven him mad.
So it was only natural at the State of the Swamp counter-protest to Trump’s lie-filled, orally flatulent State of the Union—the Swamp one with a bigger crowd though, likely leading to ketchup bottle genocide via Oval Office walls—there were protesters everywhere in frog suits, from the halls of Congress to outside the White House.
Some just walked around town to take in the sites
Inside the National Press Club, though, it was quite a trip. Like a you-just-licked-a-monkey-frog’s-hallucinogenic-chemical-secretions trip. Why? Because there was a coming together. Folks with enough star power to take the stage and regular folks in the audience, all ready to fight side by side. Culminating in a Trump rebuke by Robert De Niro, live, as keynote speaker.
I mean, sure, I would’ve been good if De Niro just walked over the Trump’s wimpy, whiny, gasbag of a SOTU, said “are you looking at me?”, yelled Trump was “nothin’ but a lot of talk and an adult diaper,” and ended with a conversation with him on par with the Trump aesthetic.
In other words, do as Vito Corleone or Jimmy Conway would’ve done.
But this was definitely the next best thing.
Because here we were all equals. Rep Dan Goldman and former CNN anchor Jim Acosta and former FBI Agent/Yale Lecturer Asha Rangappa and former GOP Congressman Joe Walsh (who gave an absolute barn burner of a speech). Here’s just the last 30 or 40 seconds. The entire time Joe was like he is in this short second clip.
It was like Kash Patel in a USA Olympic Hockey locker room…except Joe wasn’t drunk, has accomplished athletic feats in his life, isn’t a Trump-suck up and doesn’t look like a fidgety, far-away eyed, garden gnome on crystal meth. Joe’s the real deal:
Meanwhile Donald Trump droned on in his State of Trump’s Mind Dripping Out His Ears Forever. 2 Hours (a SOTUS record)! It felt like the director’s cut of Angry Grandpa Yells at Cloud (not to be mixed up with De Niro’s excellent, Dirty Grandpa). He threatened, he lied, he lied more, he sharted, he disappeared mentally into the Beyond section of Bed, Bath & Beyond.
Meanwhile, back at the “State of the Swamp” no cheeky counter-programming stunts while it was a blast, it was also a pulse check on the resistance. Celebrities, political heavyweights, grassroots organizers, and regular folks packed in with the kind of electricity lightning can’t provide.
There was laughter. There was joy. There were chants. And yes, as previously stated, there were frogs from Portland—many glorious, meme-ready amphibians deployed to lovingly (and mercilessly) mock the self-proclaimed strongman who cannot handle being laughed at (because daddy never loved him, or something).
But do you know what a group of frogs is called? Not a herd, or a school. An army. And that’s what we had, an army, united, ready to fight. And we mocked him, because if anyone will suffer the slings and arrows of the psychological warfare that is politics worse than any other human alive, it is the deeply insecure putz who wouldn’t shut up.
Let’s be honest, his State of the Union was the longest in history because apparently if you stretch grievance long enough it becomes policy. It was furious. It was rambling. It was the rhetorical equivalent of a comment section that gained sentience and then vomited all over itself.
Even Trump allies struggled to look awake as he re-litigated old feuds, issued dark warnings, and reminded America that likability—and good hair—is not transferable by executive order. If energy could be measured, the “Swamp” had a live wire; Trump had the fluorescent flicker of a dying DMV waiting room.
But let’s circle back tot the mockery. Because here’s the part that matters, that our crowed got and everyone fighting Trump’s fascism must understand: mockery is strategy. More than subpoenas. More than fact-checks. More than cable news panels clutching pearls.
Trump feeds on fear and dominance — on projecting the illusion of inevitability. What he cannot metabolize is ridicule. Laughter shrinks him. Satire exposes the insecurity beneath the bluster. So, for example, instead of calling him the insane Donald Trump, you might refer to him as that Jabba-esque poltroon with the birthing hips and enough congealed sweat, goo-makeup & flatulence on his face to smoke a skunk out of hiding.
Look, when we show up united—not just outraged but gleefully defiant—we puncture the myth of the strongman. You could almost feel it: the crowd wasn’t just opposing him. They were diminishing him.
That’s what resistance looks like in 2026. Not dour. Not exhausted. Energized. Creative. Unafraid to turn frogs into political theater and mockery into a weapon. Trump’s approval numbers are already sagging under the weight of his own chaos. 36% in the latest by CNN. The lowest SOTU ratings ever. The most members of an opposition party to not bother to show up.
The “State of the Swamp” showed something more powerful than anger — it showed confidence. And when you take away a bully’s fear factor, when you turn him into the punchline instead of the threat, you take away the very thing he relies on most: perceived power.
Keep fighting my friends. And keep mocking!
The State of the Swamp was so much fun. I love the Portland Frog Army!
Boy did I need this today! I was depressed about the Epstein victims, the refusal of ICE and CBP to obey the most obvious rules for a police force in a democracy … and then there was THIS marvelous tale.
Thank you! (And thanks to the participants.)