Living In Hell: Trump's Plan to Save Portland From Bohemian Charm

By Michael Kelman Portney

PORTLAND — The city is gone. Overrun. A fallen metropolis gripped by an unrelenting wave of civility, artisanal bread, and tree-lined streets. It was once a proud place, founded on logging and industrial grit. Now? You can’t even find a decent bar fight.

President Donald Trump has warned America for years. “Portland is a disaster,” he said recently. “It’s like Afghanistan, but with more lesbians.”

And the terrifying thing is: he might be right.

TikTok videos reveal the full horror — people walking alone at night, unbothered. Couples sharing cider on patios. A man reading Anna Karenina in a hammock. It’s the kind of psychological warfare we used to train for.

CRIME? NOT EXACTLY. BUT SOMETHING WORSE.

Statistically, crime in Portland is up in a few areas (mostly when you get the bill for brunch), down in others, and largely in line with every other American city adjusting to post-pandemic dysfunction. But stats don’t capture the vibe, and the vibe is insidious.

You don’t get mugged here. You get emotionally disarmed by someone with sleeve tattoos asking how your day is going. You walk into a bar expecting trouble and walk out with a zine and a new therapist.

THE FERAL ORDER OF BICYCLE COMMUTERS

They move in packs. No one speaks. You just hear the click of gears and see the flash of reflective tape. They travel five-wide in the bike lane, hydrated, smug, uncatchable.

A federal task force once attempted to intercept a group at an intersection in the Alberta Arts District. The officers never returned. One was later found volunteering at a compost co-op, wearing linen, whispering about kefir.

CITY GOVERNMENT: STRONGLY SUGGESTING ANARCHY

Portland’s city council is technically functional. Which is to say, everyone is in therapy and decisions are made by consensus, or not at all. The mayor recently declared a “Week of Mindful Governance,” during which all official emails were replaced with guided meditations.

There are no real laws here. Just strong opinions and Google Docs.

LAW ENFORCEMENT

The Portland Police Bureau exists in the way Bigfoot exists: some people swear they’ve seen it, but no one can prove it with a bodycam.

In 2023, officers were issued new guidelines that instructed them to “de-escalate all violence using active listening and baked goods when possible.”

One officer was reprimanded for using a harsh tone. The suspect was a food truck.

FROLICKING

Yes, it’s a problem. No one wants to talk about it.

THE DEATH OF MASCULINITY

You can’t pump your own gas in Oregon, which has rendered an entire generation of men completely useless. Locals have adapted. They exchange emotional intimacy and good posture in place of hard labor.

You won’t find men fighting outside bars. You’ll find them arguing over sourdough hydration ratios. You’ll find them standing next to their partner at the farmers market, quietly asking, “Do we need more beets?”

THE CHILDREN

By age five, most Portland children can identify 40 species of mushroom and explain intersectional climate justice. They are frighteningly articulate and wildly unsupervised.

Several have formed collectives. One group — The Lil’ Mutualists — controls access to a swing set in North Portland. They trade woodchips for turnips and have a working constitution.

THE PLAN TO INVADE

Trump is right. Portland can’t be saved. It must be taken.

But not with tanks. You’d need something stronger: a roving battalion of people who’ve never recycled, who unironically eat Arby’s, who think art is suspicious. Drop them in the Pearl District and wait.

Within weeks, brunch lines would collapse. Within months, yoga studios would shutter. A Red Lobster would appear where a record store used to be. Victory would be declared.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

Portland has fallen. Not to crime. Not to violence. But to aesthetics. To over-functioning local government. To emotional maturity.

America should be afraid. Because what happened here could happen anywhere.

You start with one parklet. Then a compost bin. Then a “no mow” lawn initiative. Next thing you know, your neighbors are swapping sour cherries over the fence and asking if you’ve tried EMDR.

And if you’re not careful, you’ll look up one day and realize the worst thing imaginable:

You're happy.