Let’s get one thing straight: the thing about Trump isn’t that he’s liked, loved, or even respected in the traditional sense. No, nobody truly likes Trump. Not in the way you like your neighbor who helps you shovel snow or the coworker who brings donuts to the office. He’s not warm, he’s not endearing, and he’s certainly not someone you invite to a family barbecue and hope he behaves. But that’s the beauty of it—the audacity of it. Trump doesn’t want to be liked, and that is his power.

He doesn’t need or want your fucking norms. Your polished manners, your unwritten rules, your “proper decorum”—they’re relics to him, chains for lesser mortals. Trump doesn’t follow norms. He creates them, bends them, shatters them, and then mocks anyone who’s too weak to keep up. That’s the game, and the sooner you realize it, the sooner you’ll stop being the bitch in his story.

To understand Trump, you need to think bigger. Forget the man. Forget the bankruptcies, the scandals, the garish gold towers. Look at the myth. The myth is what matters. He’s not a businessman. He’s not a politician. He’s not even just a man. He’s the Archangel Gabriel in an orange-hued suit. God’s loudspeaker. Heaven’s hitman. The smiter of enemies—real, imagined, or merely convenient.

Gabriel’s role isn’t to ask permission or seek approval. He descends, delivers the message, and leaves scorched earth behind. That’s Trump in a nutshell. He says the unspeakable. He does the unthinkable. And somehow, he walks away not only unscathed but stronger. Divine intervention? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just that good at what he does.

Here’s the thing about norms: they’re for people who need boundaries. People who can’t be trusted to play the game without a rulebook. Trump doesn’t need your rulebook. He is the rulebook. And every time he tears out a page and throws it in the fire, his followers cheer. Why? Because deep down, they wish they could do the same.

Norms are prisons disguised as principles. They’re the soft walls of polite society that keep the mediocre from tearing each other apart. But Trump? Trump is a demolition crew in a society full of interior decorators. He doesn’t care if the drapes match the carpet. He’ll rip out the floorboards, smash the chandelier, and laugh while everyone else scrambles to clean up the mess. And here’s the kicker: he’s not cleaning up. That’s your job. His job is to walk away, victorious, while you’re left holding the broom.

It’s easy to hate Trump. In fact, it’s encouraged. He’s crass, he’s vulgar, he’s self-absorbed to the point of parody. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: those same qualities make him irresistible to many. Audacity is magnetic. Confidence, even when unwarranted, draws people in like moths to a flame. Trump is a master of audacity. He doesn’t just break the rules; he makes you question why the rules existed in the first place.

Take his speeches. They’re not carefully crafted masterpieces of rhetoric. They’re chaotic, stream-of-consciousness rants that somehow hit their mark. He’ll say something absurd, offensive, or outright false, and instead of apologizing, he doubles down. He makes it a hill to die on, and his followers gladly join him. Why? Because there’s power in defiance. There’s liberation in saying, “I don’t care what you think.”

The people who hate Trump the most are often the ones who envy him the most. They’d never admit it, of course. But deep down, they see his freedom and it burns them. Trump says what they’re too afraid to say. He does what they’re too afraid to do. He lives without the fear of judgment, without the need for validation, and that’s a kind of power most people can only dream of.

Think about it. How many times have you bitten your tongue, swallowed your pride, or followed a rule you didn’t agree with just to keep the peace? Trump doesn’t do that. He spits out his tongue if it displeases him. He shoves his pride down your throat. And he breaks rules like it’s his job—because, in a way, it is.

And then there’s the smiting. Oh, the smiting. Trump’s enemies list is long and ever-growing, and he takes a certain glee in going after them. Whether it’s a political rival, a journalist, or a former ally who dared to stray, he doesn’t just defeat them. He annihilates them. He mocks them, belittles them, reduces them to punchlines. And his followers eat it up. They don’t care if the enemies are real or imaginary. What matters is the spectacle, the drama, the sheer audacity of it all.

This is where the Archangel Gabriel comparison becomes almost too fitting. Gabriel doesn’t negotiate with demons. He doesn’t seek a peaceful resolution. He descends from the heavens, sword in hand, and gets to work. Trump’s Twitter feed was his sword, and he wielded it with brutal efficiency. Now, even without it, his legend remains. Because Trump doesn’t need the weapon. He is the weapon.

Here’s the truth, plain and simple: in Trump’s world, you’re either with him or you’re the bitch in his story. There’s no middle ground. No safe harbor. You’re either cheering him on as he bulldozes the norms you’ve secretly despised, or you’re crying foul as he leaves you in the dust. And the worst part? He doesn’t care which side you’re on. He wins either way.

If you’re with him, you’re part of the movement. You’re riding the wave, basking in the chaos, reveling in the destruction of a system that never cared about you. If you’re against him, you’re just another obstacle to be crushed, another name on the list, another victim of his relentless march forward. Either way, you’re playing his game. And he’s already won.

What’s the endgame for someone like Trump? Does he even have one? Probably not. And that’s what makes him so dangerous, so fascinating, so utterly unique. He’s not playing to win in the traditional sense. He’s playing to play. The chaos, the drama, the spectacle—that is the point. Winning is just a byproduct.

Trump’s legacy won’t be measured in laws passed or policies enacted. It won’t be found in the dusty pages of history books. His legacy will be the norms he destroyed, the rules he rewrote, the chaos he left in his wake. He’s not a builder. He’s a destroyer. And sometimes, destruction is what’s needed to clear the way for something new.

So here we are, living in Trump’s world, whether we like it or not. A world where norms are optional, rules are suggestions, and audacity reigns supreme. A world where you’re either the hero of his story or the bitch in his way. The choice is yours. But remember this: Trump doesn’t need your approval, your respect, or your love. He doesn’t even want it. All he wants is to keep playing the game, and he’s already won.

Norms? They’re for the weak. And Trump? Trump is anything but.