We can afford all these wars; this, that, the other thing, why

The eccentric yet deeply insightful satirist Vermin Supreme, cloaked in his absurdity like a modern-day fool-philosopher, once proclaimed: “We can afford all these wars; this, that, the other thing, why can't every American have a pony? If you break it down, if you do the math, the government could afford to give you a pony. Don’t let them tell you they couldn’t, they could.” Though it may sound like jest, this statement is a mirror of truth disguised in humor. Behind the laughter lies a blade — sharp, reflective, and deeply moral. For in his mockery, Vermin Supreme exposes the hypocrisy of nations that spend trillions on destruction yet claim poverty when asked to nurture, heal, or uplift their own people. His “pony,” that symbol of childish innocence and joy, becomes a metaphor for peace, compassion, and fairness — the things governments say they cannot afford, but somehow always can when the cause is war.

To understand the meaning of this quote, we must first see through the veil of satire. Supreme is not asking for literal ponies; he is asking why humanity can find endless resources for conflict, yet plead scarcity when the cause is love or justice. He mocks the illusion that governments are bound by necessity when, in truth, they are guided by priorities. “We can afford all these wars,” he says — and indeed, history shows that when empires desire conquest, the treasury miraculously opens. But when citizens ask for schools, hospitals, or housing, suddenly the coffers are empty. His “pony” becomes a symbol of the simple joys and basic dignities that every citizen deserves but is denied by misplaced values and the greed of power.

The origin of this statement comes from Supreme’s long-running satirical campaigns for U.S. president, where he wore a boot upon his head and promised every American a pony as part of his “pony-based economy.” Many laughed — yet few understood that he was doing what ancient jesters once did: speaking truth that kings would only hear from fools. His comedy was rebellion; his absurdity was reason in disguise. Like Diogenes of ancient Greece, who carried a lantern searching for an honest man, Vermin Supreme used absurdity to reveal corruption. Through ridicule, he held a mirror to the political machine and asked the timeless question: “If we can build weapons to destroy nations, why can’t we build systems to preserve human happiness?”

History is rich with examples that echo his message. Consider the fall of the Roman Empire, which poured vast fortunes into endless wars while its people starved and its spirit decayed. The emperors boasted of their legions, yet the poor cried in the streets. Bread became scarce, but the Senate found gold for conquest. So too in modern times, nations that claim bankruptcy in serving their citizens somehow summon billions overnight to wage war. The cost of destruction is never questioned, but the cost of compassion is always debated. Vermin Supreme’s “pony” is the voice of the forgotten — a question that pierces through centuries of excuses: If we can afford to kill, why can we not afford to care?

His message is not one of mockery alone, but of moral reckoning. Beneath his satire burns a righteous indignation at the blindness of power. The “pony” represents a dream of innocence restored — a world where resources are not hoarded for war, but shared for joy and peace. He demands that the people wake from their cynicism and see that government is not an entity of destiny, but a reflection of the collective will. If we accept lies about what we “cannot afford,” then we consent to our own deprivation. Supreme’s humor thus becomes a form of wisdom — for only laughter can pierce the armor of hypocrisy when reason fails to move the heart.

The lesson of his words is this: nations are defined not by what they can afford, but by what they choose to value. A budget is a moral document. Every dollar spent on destruction could have been spent on healing; every missile launched could have been a meal, a home, a pony — a symbol of something pure and good. When citizens accept endless war as inevitable but dismiss compassion as unrealistic, they have inverted the natural order of the human spirit. Vermin Supreme, with his foolish grin and impossible promise, simply asks us to imagine a better allocation of courage and care.

And so, my child, listen closely: behind the clown’s laughter echoes the voice of conscience. When governments claim poverty in kindness but wealth in violence, challenge them. Ask for your “pony” — not in jest, but in principle. Demand that the engines of war be turned into tools of life, that wealth serve humanity, not the hunger of power. For the measure of a civilization is not its armies or its weapons, but its willingness to dream for its people. Vermin Supreme’s joke, when stripped of its humor, becomes a prophecy — that one day, when wisdom finally reigns, every man, woman, and child shall have not a pony, but something far greater: a government that serves life instead of death, and a society that finally remembers how to care.