The American Dumpster Fire Almanac Volume One: A Field Guide to the Flaming Trash Heap Formerly Known as Democracy

By Adam Gaffen

America didn't suddenly burst into flames in 2025—but wow, did someone start splashing gasoline.
What you hold here is a blow-by-blow chronicle of those months when the country slipped from "strange times" into full-blown absurdity, delivered with the fury, clarity, and dark humor of a man channeling George Carlin at 2 a.m. with a newsfeed he can't escape.

The American Dumpster Fire Almanac: Volume 1 collects the first wave of Adam Gaffen's Carlinesque rants—written between March and November 2025—during the moment when writers stopped traveling, public voices went quiet, and fear began seeping into the cracks of everyday life. As marginalized authors found themselves singled out, detained, or intimidated at airports and events, Gaffen did what privilege demands: he got louder.

These essays are equal parts satire, political commentary, gallows humor, and "holy hell, this actually happened." From authoritarian buffoonery to bureaucratic cruelty, from the erosion of civil liberties to the daily freak show of national politics, Gaffen skewers it all with the precision of a comedian and the exhaustion of a citizen who's watched enough to know better.

This isn't a history.
It's not a think piece.
It's a field guide to living inside a country that's trying very hard to redefine the word normal.

If you're looking for a release valve for the chaos—or a deeply cathartic laugh—this volume delivers. And it's only the beginning. With thousands of words waiting in the wings, future installments will track America's ongoing transformation into something between a cautionary tale and a cosmic joke.

Come for the humor. Stay for the honesty.
The fire's already burning.
Might as well get comfortable at the edge of the dumpster.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Arima Bikia, LLC
• Release date: Nov 17, 2025
• ISBN: 9798232091675

Adam Gaffen

If you want strong FMCs who don't wait to be rescued, wit, and stories that will keep you up until 2am, then you're in the right place! What doesn't Adam Gaffen write? Well, hold on. He might be on it now. So far his Cassidyverse contains Science Fiction, Fantasy, Thriller, and Rom-Com, with Dark Romance on the horizon. He's a member of the Science Fiction Writers of America, and the Heinlein Society. He and his wife are owned by a pack of dogs and cats.

Book preview

The American Dumpster Fire Almanac: Volume One

A Field Guide to the Flaming Trash Heap Formerly Known as Democracy

Copyright © 2025 by Adam Gaffen. All rights reserved.

Published by Ad Astra Science Fiction & Fantasy, Trinidad, Colorado.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted in any form, performed dramatically, trained into a machine, photocopied for your next school board witch hunt, or otherwise used without the express written permission of the author—except for brief quotations in reviews, academic criticism, or late-night doomscrolling.

This is a work of original authorship and protected expression. Names, events, and policies portrayed herein reflect public actions, public figures, and public consequences. If you recognize yourself and you’re not a public official... relax. It’s probably not you. If you are a public official and you feel attacked—good. That means it worked.

Unauthorized reproduction isn’t just illegal—it’s a great way to find out how many synonyms for cease and desist a lawyer can fit in one sentence.

For permissions or licensing inquiries, contact Ad Astra SFF.

To everyone who still believes this can't possibly get worse.

You sweet summer children. You eternal optimists.

You brave, delusional bastards.

May this book remind you that yes, it can get worse—and it usually does—but at least we can laugh while the country trips over its own shoelaces and faceplants into the nearest flaming dumpster.

And to the people in power who made this necessary: I couldn't have written a word without your tireless commitment to incompetence, cruelty, and constitutional cosplay.

You're the true muses here.

Try not to inspire me again.

"The problem isn't that the country's on fire.

The problem is we keep handing matches to idiots."

⚠️ EXTENDED LEGAL DISCLAIMER (SNARK EDITION) ⚠️

FOR THE SAKE OF PREVENTING any unfortunate misunderstandings, subpoenas, unplanned vacations at Club Fed, or fashion statements involving government-issued orange, the following must be clearly understood:

This entire book is satire, parody, political commentary, rhetorical exaggeration, and non-actionable opinion offered in the tradition of George Carlin, Lewis Black, and that one loud cousin at Thanksgiving who won’t shut up about the Electoral College.

No part of this performance should be interpreted as:

a factual allegation against any specific individual,

an accusation of criminal conduct,

a statement of literal intent,

a call for harm,

legal advice,

medical advice,

fiduciary guidance,

a séance,

an exorcism,

or a formal application to join the Secret Service’s watchlist.

Any references to public figures, politicians, officials, or miscellaneous gremlins in the machinery of government are commentary on their public actions, public statements, and public policies, which we are still legally allowed to criticize in this country until further notice.

All hyperbole, metaphors, rhetorical flourishes, and verbal fireballs are for comedic, expressive, and cathartic purposes only.

If you believe any of the jokes herein describe actual crimes, conspiracies, undead pensioners, vampiric advisors, or supernatural policy advisors, please consult your doctor; side effects may include confusion, rage-scrolling, and voting against your interests.

If you are a lawyer:

Hi.

This is protected speech under the First Amendment.

Please unclench.

If you are a politician who somehow read this and feel personally attacked:

Congratulations!

That means you recognize yourself in the satire.

That is not my fault.

No real threats are being made, no incitement is intended, and no one is advocating violence, property damage, or overthrowing anything other than bad ideas and fascist vibes.

Everything you’re about to read is a joke.

Pointed, barbed, occasionally profane — but still a joke.

By continuing to read, you agree that:

You understand satire,

You possess at least two functioning brain cells required to distinguish metaphor from motive,

And you will not sue, indict, arrest, detain, debrief, interrogate, abduct, subpoena, or otherwise inconvenience the author.

If this is unacceptable, please close the tab, hydrate, and reconsider your life choices.

Introduction

Or: Why I Started Yelling Into the Void and Accidentally Filled a Book

There’s a reason this collection exists, and it’s not because I suddenly woke up one morning and thought, You know what the world needs? More profanity on the internet.

It started with silence.

Not my silence—God forbid—but the silence creeping across the literary world. Fewer travel announcements. Fewer con appearances. Fewer panels full of writers laughing about deadlines and caffeine poisoning. Not because authors suddenly became shy, or because airfare hit sell a kidney levels, or even because the muse was on strike.

It was fear.

A quiet, tightening fear settling over the writers whose very existence challenges the people now holding the levers of power. LGBTQIA+ authors stopped flying because airports became interrogation rooms. BIPOC authors canceled events when secondary screening turned into we lost your passport, please wait in this windowless room. Disabled authors, immigrant authors, outspoken authors—they didn’t stop showing up because they wanted to. They stopped because the government started keeping score.

And when a country starts keeping score, artists become targets.

But here’s the thing: I’m a cishet white guy. The system isn’t built to come for me first. Or at all. So if I didn’t keep speaking, if I didn’t keep writing—especially when others couldn’t safely do it—then the people doing the silencing win without even breaking a sweat.

That’s where the first rant came from. Not rage for rage’s sake, but a refusal to sit down politely while the walls closed in on everyone who wasn’t me.

And then the world tipped further.

We slid from the strange headlines era into what Heinlein once called the Crazy Years—those moments in history where society loses the thread, logic becomes negotiable, and extremism stops being a warning sign and starts being a press release. The kind of years where you read the news and think, I’ve seen this movie, and it ended with fires.

So I did what any reasonable person with a keyboard and a lifelong fondness for George Carlin would do.

I started yelling.

Sometimes once a day. Sometimes three times a day. Sometimes in the middle of the night when another insane policy dropped and I needed to get the words out before the rage pressure-cooked my skull. Raw commentary, gallows humor, satire edged in sharpened truth—the kind of writing Carlin did best, except I was stuck doing it without the HBO contract or the iconic ponytail.

I wasn’t trying to be prophetic. I wasn’t trying to be brave. I wasn’t even trying to be consistent. I was just trying to be loud in a moment when silence felt like complicity.

And now those months of yelling have turned into this book.

What you’re holding is the first volume of that ongoing record: half fury, half comedy, half political exorcism. (Yes, that’s three halves. Math is the first casualty of authoritarian stupidity.) It’s a chronicle of absurdity as it unfolded in real time, filtered through one angry writer’s refusal to shut up and behave.

If you pick this up in a calmer future, I hope you laugh. If you pick it up while the fires are still burning, I hope you feel less alone. And if you’re one of the people in power who sees yourself reflected in these pages... well, congratulations. Satire only stings when it’s true.

Either way, welcome to the Almanac.

The fire’s already burning.

Might as well take a good look at the flames.

Adam Gaffen

Trinidad, CO

Fucking come and get me

This was the first post I made that directly addressed the situation in DC and laid out my reasoning for what I’ve done since then. Essentially, it’s me putting my money where my mouth is. Don’t worry; you won’t get notes like this for other posts.

Why So Many of Us Are Staying Home—And Why We Can’t Stop Writing

THE RISKS AUTHORS FACE, and why we must speak louder

Dear Readers,

If you’ve noticed fewer author events lately—fewer book tours, fewer panels, fewer names on convention guest lists—you’re not imagining it.

And no, it’s not burnout. It’s not laziness. It’s not just the cost of plane tickets.

It’s fear.

And for some of us, it's a question of survival.

But for those of us who aren’t targeted—for authors like me, a cishet white man—the fear is not a reason to stop.

It's a reason to lean in harder.

Why Travel Is Dangerous for So Many of Us

In today’s political climate, authors whose stories challenge the dominant narrative—LGBTQIA+ authors, BIPOC authors, disabled authors, immigrant authors—are being flagged, silenced, erased.

We’ve seen it happening already. People denied re-entry to the U.S. based on old tweets. Detainees deported because an AI flagged them as ideologically hostile. Artists and professors losing funding because their work didn’t reflect the correct values.

There’s no clear rulebook anymore. Just a new loyalty test—one you didn’t know you were taking until you fail.

If you’ve written critically about white supremacy, or police violence, or queer joy, or feminist rage, or anti-capitalism... you might already be on the radar.

So what do you do?

You stay home. You protect yourself. You wait for it to blow over.

But it’s not blowing over.

What About Those of Us With Privilege?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

If I stop writing these stories—if we stop, those of us whose faces and identities aren’t likely to get us pulled into a secondary screening line or dropped from a school visit—then the pressure campaign wins.

Yes, I am a cishet white male author. These stories aren't mine in the sense of lived experience. But they are mine in the sense of responsibility.

Because backing off now?

Saying that’s not my lane?

Letting marginalized authors do all the heavy lifting alone while we protect our careers?

That’s not allyship. That’s surrender.

Our job isn’t to center ourselves in others’ struggles.

But it is to stand beside them—and amplify those voices with our own, especially when they’re being silenced.

Why We’re Staying Home—and Still Speaking Up

Authors are canceling travel not because they don’t want to connect with readers, but because TSA surveillance, facial recognition, and AI monitoring are already flagging activists and writers.

Authors are staying quiet online not because they’re suddenly apolitical, but because contracts get delayed, grants get pulled, and libraries get defunded when our names are tied to inappropriate ideas.

And still—still—we write.

Because someone has to.

Because someone always has.

Writing Is Resistance

If you’re privileged enough to be safe right now, use that safety.

Use it to keep writing queer stories. Disabled stories. Brown, Black, Indigenous stories. Loud stories. Angry stories. Healing stories.

Use it to protect those who can’t. To echo what they’re saying. To hold the door open even when the powers that be are slamming it shut.

We may not all be equally at risk.

But we are all responsible.

Stay safe. Stay loud. Stay writing.

— A storyteller who refuses to shut up

Welcome to the Crazy Years: On the Edge of Autocracy

WHEN FICTION BECOMES warning—and warning becomes prophecy

Dear Readers,

If you’re a fan of classic science fiction, you’ve probably heard of the Crazy Years.

Robert A. Heinlein coined the term in his Future History timeline to describe a period of rising irrationality and chaos in American society—a cultural breakdown where logic was optional and extremism became normalized. The Crazy Years paved the way for a religious dictator named Nehemiah Scudder to take power—ending American democracy in favor of a theocratic autocracy.

At the time, it read like satire. A warning wrapped in wild speculation.

But now?

It reads like the morning news.

What Heinlein Got Right

Scudder wasn’t elected in a landslide. He rose to power by taking advantage of fear. Of uncertainty. Of a population tired of nuance and complexity. He didn’t seize the nation in one night—he chipped away at democratic norms, used media as a weapon, and leveraged faith and patriotism as tools of control.

Heinlein once called Scudder a backwoods evangelist turned politician who rose to power by offering simple answers to complex problems. He was fictional—until he wasn’t.

In Project 2025, we see a real-world roadmap for turning democracy into something else entirely.

A loyalty-based civil service.

Erasure of LGBTQIA+ rights.

Criminalization of dissent.

Replacement of institutional expertise with ideological control.

Suppression of free media and education.

And now, with Trump’s recent actions—economic sabotage, weaponized tariffs, purges of cultural programs, and threats toward states that won’t comply—we’re watching the Scudder playbook in motion.

We’re Not at Martial Law. Yet.

But we’re closer than we want to admit.

Here’s what we’re seeing in real time:

Declare a national emergency. Trump’s new tariffs were justified on the basis of an emergency. What kind? Undefined. But that declaration gives him expanded powers—real, legal powers that bypass Congress.

Use chaos as leverage. The stock market tanks. Layoffs spike. International relations implode. And what does Trump say? The patient is healing. It’s shock doctrine economics—break the system, then demand obedience in exchange for fixing it.

Gut federal institutions. The CDC, FEMA, IMLS, NEH, and even Social Security administration systems in Maine—slashed or sabotaged. No public debate. No legislative process. Just executive orders and fiat.

Force states to comply or suffer. Governor says no? Cut their funding. Make it harder for babies to get SSNs. Withhold food assistance. This isn’t governance. It’s extortion.

Punish dissent. Reward loyalty. Museums, libraries, and schools lose funding. Law firms and universities get blacklisted. But if you build what Trump wants—if you make the deals—your tariffs get lifted, your projects greenlit.

This isn’t hypothetical. This is now.

What Happens Next (Fictionalized... For Now)

Washington, 2026.

A third national emergency is declared—this time in response to information warfare allegedly being conducted by hostile domestic elements. Social media companies are nationalized. Independent journalism is labeled enemy communication. Congress, paralyzed by partisan deadlock and fear of retaliation, does not act. FEMA is absorbed into a new Department of National Resilience. The Department of Education is folded into the Department of Faith and Family. The 2028 election is postponed, pending investigation. The Supreme Court, packed and cowed, does not intervene. The flag still waves. The anthem still plays. But the Constitution is dead.

This is the road we’re walking.

And the worst part?

It's not one decision that ends a democracy.

It's a thousand small ones. Most of them legal. Most of them quiet.

Until one day, you're living under Scudder.

And wondering when it happened.

So What Can We Do?

Tell the truth.

Write the stories that warn, that remember, that refuse to forget.

Resist the normalization of corruption and cruelty. Call it what it is.

Organize. Protest. Vote, while we still can.

And keep your eyes open.

Because we’re not in a dystopia yet.

But the warning lights are flashing.

And it’s not fiction anymore.

Stay aware. Stay angry. Stay ready.

— A writer who’s read this book before

When Saying the Wrong Name Becomes Grounds for Deportation (And Other Tales from the Twilight Zone)

IT STARTED WITH A NAME.

Not a bomb threat. Not a breach of national security. Not even a meme that went viral for the wrong reasons.

Just a name.

When Ms. Rivera stood at the front of her classroom and called roll, she paused—like she always did—at Allison. The girl sitting in the third row raised her hand and said, It’s Aiden now.

Ms. Rivera smiled and said, Got it. Aiden. Then moved on to Jacob. It took three seconds. No classroom disruption. No dramatic gasp. Just