You guys. I finally figured out what the actual fuck is going on here. Jerry Bruckheimer is executive producing 2017. There's simply no other explanation for the past 8 months.
The successful Hollywood producer, best known for his epic popcorn disaster flicks, has now broken the fourth wall to delve into a new genre of reality-based meta cinema.
A lecherous real estate magnate and pathological liar is unexpectedly propelled into the presidency of the United States.
His election, clouded by a perfect storm of nefarious foreign influence, technological failings, and disorienting propaganda is facilitated by a shadowy cabal of Russian oligarchs, neo-Nazi quasi-intellectuals, and his icy adult children.
His estranged wife, a former super model partial to wearing 7-inch stiletto heels at all times, is reluctantly along for the ride and separated from her lover, the head of security at a high-end jewelry store in one of her husband's leveraged-to-the-brink-of-bankruptcy skyscrapers.
At first, the divisive new president is bouyed by a revanchist, disaffected populace impoverished and made sick by the very tax, environmental, and health "policies" he is advancing.
Chasing the ever-elusive high of public adulation, he regularly holds Hitler-style rallies with the complicity of a craven and ineffectual Congress bought and paid for by weapons lobbyists.
But soon, the scope of the president's ineptitude is laid bare by crisis after crisis.
The American people begin to turn on one another as nature's wrath, propelled by global warming, unleashes its fury.
Unprecedented storms and earthquakes shatter records, destroy cities, and befuddle embattled scientists whom everyone in authority refuses to listen to. Desperately warning of the next cataclysm, they offer data and tweet warnings in vain.
Meanwhile, a petulant and vindictive dictator an ocean away keeps testing new and better long-range missiles, daring the semi-demented and impulsive sociopath at America's helm to blow up the planet in service of his own ego like some sort of Freudian suicide bomber.
Please, Mr. Bruckheimer. Only two words can save us now: Bruce Willis.