“He Didn’t Mean It… Again.”

Donald Trump doesn’t punch up. He never has.

He only punches down—at the disabled, at women, at immigrants, at grieving families, at climate activists, at dead soldiers, at poor people, at entire countries. If there’s vulnerability, he sees it as weakness. If there’s tragedy, he treats it like a stage. And if you call him out, he plays dumb, flips it, and walks away louder.

Now he’s back in office, and he’s already reminding everyone that nothing has changed. If anything, the mask is gone for good.

Just days after the funeral of Pope Francis, Trump shared an AI-generated image of himself as the Pope. Robes, rings, throne, golden light—like a Renaissance painting of a man who’s never read the Bible and wouldn’t recognize humility if it punched him in the face.

He posted it to Truth Social. The White House reposted it to X.

That’s where we are now: the President of the United States, less than three months into his second term, posting AI cosplay of himself replacing the spiritual leader of 1.3 billion Catholics. Right in the middle of a historic moment of mourning.

The outrage wasn’t performative. Cardinal Timothy Dolan called it “not good.” The New York State Catholic Conference accused Trump of mocking the sacred process of selecting a new pope. And a whole lot of Catholics around the world didn’t find it funny. Because it wasn’t.

But this wasn’t new. It was just Trump doing what Trump always does—reminding people that empathy is for suckers, and cruelty is part of the act.

We’ve seen this show before. In 2015, Trump stood in front of a rally crowd and impersonated Serge Kovaleski, a New York Times reporter with arthrogryposis, a condition that limits joint movement. Trump flailed his arms and contorted his face in mockery. Later, when called out, he denied knowing the reporter was disabled. Problem is, Trump and Kovaleski had interacted years earlier. He knew.

He always knows.

Same thing with John McCain. Trump insulted a Vietnam POW who endured years of torture, saying, “He’s not a war hero. I like people who weren’t captured.” Trump—who got five deferments during the Vietnam War, including one for “bone spurs”—had no issue spitting on a veteran who bled for his country.

And when the Atlantic reported that Trump had called American war dead “losers” and “suckers,” General John Kelly—his own former Chief of Staff—confirmed the quotes years later. No spin. Just ugly truth.

Then came Greta Thunberg. A 16-year-old girl with autism, speaking to the world about climate change, standing up to governments, using her voice. Trump mocked her too. On Twitter. “Greta must work on her Anger Management problem… Chill Greta, Chill!” That tweet is still up. Because that’s the point.

When Hurricane Maria slammed into Puerto Rico in 2017 and thousands of people died—nearly 3,000 by official estimates—Trump went down there and started tossing paper towels into the crowd like it was a campaign rally giveaway. He later said the federal response was a “10 out of 10.” That was the rating he gave himself.

He mocked COVID victims. When doctors and patients were begging for help, he stood at the podium and riffed on disinfectant and UV light. He mocked people for wearing masks. He called it “the China virus.” He said it would disappear like a miracle. Over 400,000 Americans were dead before the end of his first term.

He told four Congresswomen of color—Ilhan Omar, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Rashida Tlaib, and Ayanna Pressley—to “go back” to their countries, despite the fact that three of them were born in the U.S. and all four were elected by American voters.

He called Haiti and African countries “shitholes.”

He mocked Christine Blasey Ford at a rally while she testified about sexual assault.

He said “very fine people on both sides” after a white supremacist murdered Heather Heyer in Charlottesville.

He defended Kyle Rittenhouse before the blood had dried.

He joked about shooting shoplifters and encouraged police brutality.

He bragged about grabbing women by the genitals because “when you’re a star, they let you do it.”

He mocked a Gold Star family who lost their son in Iraq.

He said the quiet part out loud. Then turned up the volume.

And when January 6th happened, he told the crowd he loved them, even after the violence. Then he went quiet for hours while Congress hid and the Capitol burned with rage.

Every time the pattern repeats:

He mocks.

He lies.

He denies.

He posts something worse.

And then someone says, “He didn’t mean it.”

Except he always means it. That’s why it works. That’s why the base eats it up. That’s why the cruelty isn’t the cost—it’s the product.

The AI Pope image isn’t a mistake or a joke that went too far. It’s the latest extension of Trump’s belief that nothing—not faith, not loss, not death—is off limits if it can get a rise or score a point.

And this time, he’s not a candidate.

He’s the President.

Again.

This isn’t performance art. It’s power.

And he’s already using it to punch down.