Phew, for a Minute There, I Thought the Arts Were Going to Get Too Much Funding
“Dozens of US arts organizations have been notified that offers of government grants have been terminated, hours after Donald Trump proposed eliminating federal agencies that support arts, humanities and learning.” — The Guardian
I don’t know about you, but I’ve been sweating bullets the last few years, just terrified that the National Endowment for the Arts would receive a sensible amount of funding. It was like watching a slow-motion train wreck of watercolors, ballet shoes, and interpretive dance. Whenever I saw a local poetry slam or a subsidized community theater production of Hamlet, I thought, “This has gone too far.”
But thank the gilded heavens above, the president has stepped in to return balance to the universe by proposing to eliminate the NEA entirely. Finally—finally!—we can reroute those dangerous funds from writing workshops and elementary school jazz ensembles into more important things. Like tax breaks for billionaires. And tanks. And a parade where a grown man in an eensy-weensy red tie can wave at those tanks and pretend he earned them.
I mean, what were we thinking, letting children paint murals on underpasses? Handing out grants to novelists with weird names like Marisol or Devin? Some of them were using metaphors. OPENLY. And don’t even get me started on similes. Similes are like ideological gateway drugs—soft at first, then suddenly your kid’s in a black box theater whispering monologues about late-stage capitalism instead of doing something important, like fracking.
And sure, some might argue that the arts help communities, generate billions in economic activity, and make people more empathetic or whatever. But have you seen the alternative? A three-hundred-foot gold-plated rocket that says “USA #1” in a Monster Energy font and launches fireworks shaped like hot dogs and Ayn Rand’s face. That’s not just culture, that’s heritage.
Let’s be real: America doesn’t need more symphonies. It needs more synchronized flyovers during football games. Forget orchestras—have you heard a drone swarm buzzing above your house at night? That’s the sound of freedom, baby.
And it’s not like billionaires can just fund the arts themselves. No, no. They’re busy innovating and coming up with new ways to get out of paying taxes on their sixth yacht. And besides, the arts were starting to get uppity. Too many plays about economic class. Too much art designed to make us feel guilty. Too many dance pieces with a climate change subplot where I have to pretend I “get it.”
No more. I want an America where the only “performance piece” is a twenty-one-gun salute for a man who once sold steaks out of a mall kiosk. I want art that’s made by AI and corporations. I want paintings of flags, but only if the flags are saluting back.
So rest easy, fellow patriots. The children may no longer learn music in schools, but at least billionaires can continue launching themselves into space with rockets shaped like their egos. And isn’t that the true American dream?