According to “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” democracies are peculiar life forms. They appear robust, like oak trees, but in reality collapse faster than a soufflé in a wind tunnel once bulldozers, lawsuits, and golf carts are involved. History shows that while democracies can muddle along for centuries, all it takes is one determined Vogon with a pen, a wrecking crew, and a ballroom obsession to reduce them to rubble. Estimated survival time: twelve minutes, or until last orders at the pub — whichever comes first.

To the Editor:

In Douglas Adams’s “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” Earth is demolished to make way for a hyperspace bypass. The plans, of course, had been on display in Alpha Centauri for 50 years — light-years away, technically public, but effectively invisible. By the time anyone noticed, the bulldozers were already revving.

So it is with Project 2025. For years its blueprints sat “on display” in think-tank binders, light-years away from ordinary people’s daily lives. But, once its authors gained power, the bulldozers appeared on the White House lawn. The East Wing is now rubble, cleared for a 90,000-square-foot ballroom at a cost of up to $300 million. Tourists now stand open-mouthed at the hole where the screening room once stood.

The Guide observes that demolishing a house for a bypass is bureaucratic clumsiness. Demolishing the White House for a dance hall while telling the citizens they can’t have health insurance is the kind of absurdity that makes entire galaxies blush on our behalf. 

Meanwhile, the government is shut down. The 2018–2019 Trump shutdown cost taxpayers $11 billion. This one is already bleeding billions more in lost wages, delayed services, and missed farm payments, leaving the economy staggering around like Arthur Dent without his tea. And here’s the somber but funny thought: What if it never reopens?

The Guide explains that countries without democracy tend to feature three things: leaders who never admit mistakes, newspapers that only print praise, and citizens who talk about politics in kitchens with the radio turned up loud. These governments are remarkably efficient at one thing only: making sure they remain governments forever. On the planet Crint, the government consists of one man, his aunt, and a very loud chicken — and even there, citizens have learned that voting against the chicken is strongly discouraged. On Splarn, the ruling council communicates entirely by mime, which is efficient at confusing citizens and remarkably similar to Earth press briefings. On Zib, leaders are chosen by lottery, usually collapsing after six weeks. On Earth, the pattern is the same, though with fewer chickens, more lawyers, and infinitely worse golf.

In fact, even lawsuits themselves have gone cosmic: Trump has sued the United States government for $230 million, as though the country were a bad contractor who failed to deliver the gold-plated universe he ordered.

According to The Guide, suing your own citizens is considered rude in most galaxies, though on Zarquon-9 it remains a popular indoor pastime, right after balancing forks on one’s antennae.

We march, but they plow on unchecked. When Rome burned, Nero fiddled. Today, Trump tweets, sues, golfs — and watches as the East Wing lies in rubble.

If Adams were here, he might remind us: Don’t panic. But panic, frankly, feels like the only rational response. Unless, of course, we’d prefer to hitchhike off this planet. At this rate, Mars may soon have better environmental protections than Iowa.

Emily Vincent

Senior Correspondent for

Galactic Absurdities

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy concludes that when democracies collapse, citizens should keep a towel handy, pour a strong drink, and polish their sense of irony. These will not save them, but at least they’ll look prepared while everything falls apart. On the plus side, one no longer has to read campaign flyers. On the minus side, one has to live without democracy — which, in most galaxies, is considered a very poor trade.

The Guide also makes a brief note on the Epstein files:“When a list of names is promised but never delivered, it usually means the galaxy’s richest beings are involved. In such cases, the paperwork is not lost — it is merely filed under “Too Explosive for Public Consumption,” next to the recipe for interstellar tax shelters and the precise location of every missing sock.