FOMT, Greenland Drones, and the Board of Peace

If you thought the thin air in Davos was causing the lightheadedness this week, you’re wrong. That’s just the vacuum created by the collective intake of breath every time a certain Truth Social notification hits 3,000 encrypted iPhones simultaneously.

Forget the “Polycrisis.” Davos 2026 has been hollowed out and refilled with a single, orange-hued obsession. We’ve moved past the era of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out). We are now firmly, shivering in our Loro Piana gilets, in the age of FOMT: Fear of Messing with Trump.

The Greenland Pivot: “Scotland Was Just a Warm-Up”

The week began with the usual casual threats—trade wars, military posturing, and the tactical annexation of Greenland. But the real “leak” wasn’t a policy paper; it was a high-gloss, AI-generated real estate brochure circulated in the VIP lounges of the Belvedere.

The pitch? “The Thule-Tee-Off: Greenland is the New Aberdeen.” Apparently, owning a significant chunk of the Scottish coastline isn’t “northerly enough” anymore. The brochure features an image of a gold-plated clubhouse perched on the edge of the Jakobshavn Glacier. “Scotland was cute,” the copy reads, “but the wind didn’t have enough bite. We want Golf that requires a haptic heated suit and a personal Yeti caddie.”

Trump’s vision for the 51st State isn’t just a military base; it’s the world’s first Cryogenic Links Course. The hazards aren’t sand traps; they’re literal crevasses where “losers” (and possibly former central bankers) are stored in permafrost until their credit scores improve. It’s the ultimate expression of “Vulture Culture”—if the land is melting, you might as well put a 5-par on it before it sinks.

“Remember that, Mark.”

The highlight of the “Agile Apocalypse” was the public evisceration of Mark Carney. From the WEF podium—a space usually reserved for vague platitudes about “stakeholder capitalism”—Trump took a direct jab at “Mark,” reminding him that “Canada lives because of the United States.”

It was less a keynote and more a high-stakes protection racket. “Remember that, Mark, the next time you make your statements.”

The silence in the room was so heavy you could have used it to anchor a battleship. Trump then doubled down by disinviting Carney from his newly unveiled “Board of Peace.” I’ve seen the prospectus for the Board of Peace; it mostly involves a group of men in suits standing in a circle while a drone overhead monitors their heart rates for signs of “insufficient loyalty.” It’s “Peace” in the same way a black hole is “Quiet.”

The Great Kneepad Sell-Out

Gavin Newsom, appearing like a man who has spent the last year living in a high-end fallout shelter, didn’t mince words. He offered “knee pads for all the world leaders” currently auditioning for a spot on the Board of Peace.

According to Newsom, the first shipment of industrial-grade, Davos-branded kneepads sold out instantly. The law firms? Sold out. The universities? Sold out. The corporate leaders? They’re currently in the basement of the Belvedere, practicing their “grateful expressions” in front of smart-mirrors.

The CEO of a European bank leaned over to me at a cocktail party (where the gin was infused with liquid gold and desperation) and whispered: “We don’t fear the AI anymore. We fear the Tweet that de-platforms our entire liquidity ‘for political reasons’.”

The $5bn Shut-Up Fee

Jamie Dimon, perhaps the last man in Davos with a pulse and a functioning spine, dared to criticize the proposed cap on credit card interest rates. He spoke of “market fundamentals.”

The response was peak 2026. Within twenty-four hours, Trump filed a $5 billion lawsuit against Dimon and JPMorgan, alleging the bank closed his accounts for “political reasons.”

In the old world, that’s a legal dispute. In the Davos Dystopia, it’s a performance art piece designed to remind everyone that in the new economy, “Truth” is just whatever the guy with the most lawyers—and the most nukes—says it is.

The Dystopian Takeaway

As the private jets take off, leaving a trail of carbon and broken dreams over the Alps, remember: the “Jobs, Jobs, Jobs” mantra is just the background music for the real work being done—the frantic, sweaty business of staying on the right side of the Board of Peace.

If you’re planning on investing in the Greenland Links, just remember: the “Snow Golf” is great, but the bunkers are deep, and the club membership costs your soul (plus a 15% service charge).

Stay glitchy.