“For just $5 million, you too can skip the line and own a piece of the American Dream — Trump-style!”

But wait, there’s more!

Imagine you're aboard Air Force One, the jet once synonymous with gravitas and statecraft, and now it’s the set of a traveling infomercial. Trump steps out holding a gleaming gold rectangle like he’s just pulled the ultimate prize from a Cracker Jack box. “For $5 million,” he declares to the press, “this could be yours.” It’s not a joke. It’s the Trump Card, literally. A rebranded, overpriced golden visa that turns U.S. residency into a glorified membership club for the ultra-wealthy, complete with his face on it!

He isn’t fixing the immigration system, he’s franchising it. America, once a land of dreams and desperate hopes, is now a strip mall with velvet ropes, hawking access to the highest bidder. The symbolism is almost too on the nose: he's unveiling this grotesque little gimmick while flying to a Saudi-funded golf tournament at one of his own resorts. This isn’t diplomacy or policy, it’s QVC meets banana republic, and he’s selling citizenship like it’s a box of steaks with a side of fascism.

All that gold plating and not an ounce of grace. It’s the political equivalent of wearing sunglasses indoors and calling it style. You can sell citizenship, slap your name on it, and fly it into a golf tournament on a government jet, but it still reeks of cheap desperation masquerading as prestige.

Forget Ellis Island. This is Ellis Premium™ sponsored by Trump, gilded and gated, with zero down for those who already have it all. The torch is out. The new beacon is a neon “VACANCY” sign flashing in gold.