Planet Earth’s Guiltiest Binge-Watch: America™ Still Streaming Live
**The United States: A 3D Imax Spectacle Everyone Pretends They’re Not Watching**
By the time you finish this sentence, the American political cycle will have lurched forward another six inches, like a drunk tourist on Bourbon Street who insists he’s “totally fine” while mispronouncing “bourbon.” The rest of us, scattered across five continents and innumerable time zones, keep glancing at the screen the way commuters eye a fistfight on the subway: half fascinated, half appalled, secretly calculating if we can still catch our connection.
America’s gravitational pull is unrivaled. When the Fed sneezes, emerging markets check for pneumonia. When Silicon Valley launches another app that solves the tragic problem of “not enough apps,” venture capitalists in Singapore start speed-dialing. And when the Supreme Court decides corporations are people but women are apparently 3/5 of a Zoom account, European parliaments schedule extra indignation sessions—right after lunch, naturally.
The global supply chain of schadenfreude is, at this point, a publicly traded commodity. Chinese state media runs nightly highlight reels of American infrastructure collapses with the same giddy urgency ESPN once reserved for Michael Jordan. French intellectuals—an occupation that somehow still exists—publish essays arguing the U.S. is merely “a metaphor that got out of hand.” Meanwhile, the British, having perfected the art of national self-immolation, watch from the ashes and mutter, “Hold my warm ale.”
Yet for all the eye-rolling, nobody unsubscribes. The dollar is still the world’s reserve currency, a fact that delights Washington and terrifies absolutely everyone else. When Congress toys with default the way teenagers toy with car alarms, global markets reach for the Xanax. The punchline? Half the pills are manufactured in New Jersey. The other half are paid for with Apple stock, which is—of course—headquartered in a state that doesn’t technically exist outside Delaware incorporation papers.
Culturally, America exports its neuroses in Dolby surround. Korean teens binge “Euphoria” and decide high school should involve more glitter and existential dread. Brazilian influencers rent private jets for six-second TikTok cameos, because nothing says success like pretending you own the sky. Even the Taliban—yes, those guys—took Kabul in pickup trucks stamped “Ford,” presumably because Toyota’s waiting list is brutal this season.
The military footprint is equally cinematic: 750 bases in 80 countries, a number so comically large it sounds like a Pentagon intern lost a bet. Each installation comes with a Subway sandwich shop, because nothing calms local resentment like a foot-long Meatball Marinara served under the watchful eye of a $110 million drone. The locals, accustomed to empires coming and going, simply raise prices on the base PX and call it “development aid.”
Climate-wise, America has graduated from denial to performance art. California burns so reliably that insurers now offer “char-broiled bungalow” discounts. Florida sinks in real time, yet keeps issuing 30-year mortgages on sandbars named after sea turtles. The rest of the planet watches this slow-motion Atlantis reboot and quietly relocates supply chains to higher ground. Canada, ever polite, simply sharpens its border patrol hockey sticks.
Democracy itself has become a spectator sport—imagine the Olympics, but every event ends with a lawsuit. Gerrymandering, voter suppression, and a Supreme Court that behaves like a Reddit thread with life tenure: these are exported as tutorials on “How to Lose Friends and Influence Nobody.” Still, turnout merch sells out on Etsy, because who doesn’t want a limited-edition “I Voted” enamel pin forged from recycled AR-15 casings?
In the end, America remains the world’s most expensive reality show: equal parts tragedy, farce, and product placement. The credits never roll, the plot armor is inexplicable, and the subscription auto-renews whether you like it or not. International viewers can only dim the brightness, mutter “there but for the grace of Netflix go I,” and stock up on popcorn—preferably non-GMO, but let’s not kid ourselves. The kernels are probably from Iowa.
