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Stephen Miller megathread
| charles XII | 09/22/25 |
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Date: September 22nd, 2025 10:09 PM Author: charles XII INT. WEST WING – COMMUNICATIONS BULLPEN – NIGHT The hour is late, the air brittle with caffeine and the static buzz of cable news monitors. Papers, drafts, polling crosstabs everywhere. STEPHEN MILLER barrels out of his office like a pale wraith with purpose, a folder clutched like a dagger. His eyes gleam the way only a man who believes in both prophecy and talking points can gleam. STEVEN CHEUNG, Communications Director, leans against a desk, phone in hand, wary but amused. A couple of junior staffers hover nearby, wide-eyed. MILLER (arms raised, triumphant) Victory is mine! (He spins, reveling in a private symphony no one else hears.) CHEUNG Victory? The press corps thinks the President just tried to shake down Silicon Valley like a parking attendant with a crowbar. MILLER (laughs, sharp) That’s exactly why it’s victory. They don’t understand the poetry. First you say it’s a hundred thousand a year—boom—panic in Palo Alto. Then you pivot—one-time fee per application—bam—gratitude from the very same technocrats who were screaming ten minutes ago. We frighten them, then relieve them. Classic tension-release cycle. STAFFER 1 But… aren’t they still paying a hundred grand? MILLER Exactly. And they’ll thank us for the privilege. CHEUNG Stephen, the headline right now is “Trump Slaps $100k Annual Fee on Visas.” Tomorrow it’ll be “Trump Backtracks After Backlash.” You’re celebrating a communications migraine. MILLER (leans in, conspiratorial) No. Tomorrow it’s “Trump Saves Tech from Crushing Annual Fee.” The downgrade is the gift. We get credit for mercy on a policy that still extracts the same pound of flesh. CHEUNG So the climb-down was the plan. MILLER (grinning like a cat in a synagogue) You guys know I’m Jewish, right? Of course it was the plan. Oy vey, never bet against the long game. (He slaps the folder down on the desk—polling showing base approval ticking upward.) MILLER Victory is mine. Again. CHEUNG (sighs, half-admiring) Remind me to never play chess with you. MILLER Don’t worry. You’d never see the board. The junior staffers exchange nervous glances as Miller strides off toward the Roosevelt Room, already rehearsing tomorrow’s spin in his head. Cheung just shakes his head, muttering into his phone. FADE OUT. |