Tariq Saeedi
I don’t know why, but suddenly I remembered Art Bchwald today. Oh, how I miss his profound wit and ultra-sophisticated humor. When I started as a syndicated columnist in 1992, he was the one I tried to emulate; well, Buchwald with a dry touch of Hemingway.
I just tried to imagine how he would look at the world today. Here is what I think he would have to say, though in an infinitely polished way:
Well, folks, it’s me, Art Buchwald, checking in from the great newsroom in the sky. You might remember my little postmortem video stunt back in 2007— “Hi, I’m Art Buchwald, and I just died.”
Turns out, eternity has excellent Wi-Fi, and I’ve been scrolling through the headlines ever since.
If I were still pounding out columns for the Washington Post, I’d be in hog heaven with the material you’ve all provided.
The world in 2026? It’s like a bad spy novel written by a committee of drunk monkeys. Let me take a swing at a few of these contemporary farces in my old style—short, sharp, and with a side of absurdity.
First off, this whole AI takeover business. Back in my day, we worried about computers playing chess or calculating taxes. Now, you’ve got chatbots like that Grok fellow running the show, spitting out essays faster than a politician dodges a question.
Imagine if Nixon had one during Watergate: “Siri, delete those tapes and blame it on the plumbers.”
I’d write a column called “The Robot Revolution: When Your Toaster Starts Judging You.” Picture this: A family sits down to dinner, and the smart fridge pipes up, “Based on your cholesterol levels, I’m locking the ice cream. Also, your political views are outdated—vote for the algorithm.” It’s not science fiction; it’s Tuesday.
And don’t get me started on deepfakes. If I could fake my own resurrection video, I’d have myself debating Elvis on cable news. The punchline? Humanity’s outsourcing its brain to silicon chips, and the chips are winning because they don’t need coffee breaks or therapy.
Then there’s the endless saga of American politics, which has devolved into a reality TV rerun where the contestants keep voting themselves immunity. By 2026, with whatever Trump.2.Turbo circus is unfolding—maybe it’s Trump 3.0 or some new kid with a TikTok army—it’s like the Keystone Kops ran for office. I’d title my piece “Washington: Where Scandals Go to Retire.”
Remember when a president lying about a blue dress was front-page scandal? Now, we’ve got folks tweeting nuclear codes while golfing. “Folks, the button is big and beautiful, believe me.” If I were lampooning it, I’d say Congress is like a dysfunctional family reunion: Half the relatives are yelling about the border wall (which, by now, is probably sponsored by Home Depot), the other half are arguing over whether electric cars are a communist plot.
And the debt ceiling? It’s not a ceiling; it’s a trampoline. We bounce off it every few months, and nobody gets hurt except the taxpayers. If Eisenhower were alive, he’d invade Capitol Hill just to restore order.
Globally, the climate change comedy of errors is ripe for the picking. Oceans rising, wildfires raging, and world leaders at summits promising to “go green” while flying in private jets.
My column: “Earth to Humans: You’re Fired.” I’d spin it as a corporate takeover: Mother Nature as the CEO, firing memos like hurricanes and heatwaves. “Dear Humanity, your performance review is in: Too much CO2, not enough sense. — Bonus: Extinction-level event if you don’t shape up.”
Picture polar bears picketing with signs saying “Thanks for the Melted Home, Idiots.” And the solutions? Electric everything, sure, but what about the guy in Texas barbecuing with coal because “freedom”? It’s hilarious until your beach house floats away. If I were advising, I’d say switch to satire as the official language— at least then we’d laugh while the ship sinks.
Finally, social media, the black hole of human decency. Twitter—excuse me, X—has turned into a gladiator arena where everyone’s armed with memes and outrage. I’d call it “The Tweet Heard ‘Round the World: How We All Became Pundits.”
Back when I wrote for newspapers, opinions had to fit on a page. Now, any yahoo with a smartphone can cancel you faster than a bad check. “Breaking: Celebrity said something mildly offensive in 2009—boycott their toothpaste!”
If Kennedy’s moon shot was ambitious, this is the outrage shot: We aim for the stars but land in the gutter. I’d spoof it as a support group: “Hi, I’m Art, and I’m addicted to doom-scrolling.” The cure? Log off and read a book. But who am I kidding? Even up here, I’ve got notifications pinging.
In the end, dear readers, the world’s always been a madhouse, but now it’s got surround sound and special effects. If I were still alive, I’d be churning out columns till my typewriter begged for mercy. Stay witty, stay skeptical, and remember: Laughter’s the best revenge against the absurd. Hi, I’m Art Buchwald, and I’m still not done. /// nCa, 22 January 2026