The questions begin early on in this commercial for Trumpy Bear, the patriotic stuffed bear for adults:

It begins with a majestically intoned poem about an impending storm, but who blasts the trumpet which calls the bear to protect us from the storm? Or wait—the bear is the storm? Do bears always respond to trumpets? From there we are introduced to Trumpy Bear himself, a tie-wearing talisman of patriotic “real American” fervor. Is the bear running for president himself? Does he represent Donald Trump, or is he representing the actual bear shown in the commercial? Trump is never mentioned—presumably for legal reasons—and so people are shown, again and again, pledging fealty to the stuffed animal. It is undying, this loyalty.


The questions get almost biological: Why does the commercial claim this bear was “born on flag day”? Surely adults—the only people pictured enjoying Trumpy Bear—understand that stuffed animals are not “born” and are in fact manufactured in a continuous process based on demand. And what God-fearing traditional American wouldn’t yearn to, um, unzip the president’s neck, after which they can live the dream of pulling a massive American flag out of the president’s spinal cord?

What purpose might this stuffed animal serve? The commercial attempts to answer this question but it only inspires more. Trumpy Bear goes many places: You can hang him from a flag pole or proudly display him on your motorcycle, dinner table, or golf cart, where he will cast his magical glow of old-white-guy powers on your golf game. He comes with a certificate of authenticity. Why?


It does not matter why. Do not trust an uncertified Trumpy Bear.

The final and most important question is whether or not Trumpy Bear is a joke, which remains unclear even after viewing the commercial many times. It appears to just be a uniquely deranged manifestation of Trump Train fever, proving that if you talk to adults like they’re children for long enough, eventually they’ll revert to children.


Trumpy Bear costs a scant $46.85, including shipping. Act now, golf-loving Americans.

[via Metafilter]