The Mean Tweeter Has Met His Match

Some folks back down when Trump gets feral. Gavin Newsom is not one of them.

As allegations of massive fraud spread from Minnesota to California, Republicans are accusing Democratic governors of turning a blind eye to felony-grade waste and abuse. Democrats, in turn, are charging Republicans with manufacturing outrage to distract from their own failures and erode public trust. It’s standard bipartisan theatrics.

What’s not standard is the reaction.

Last week, Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz responded to his state’s multi-billion-dollar fraud scandal the way a Midwestern dad responds to a neighbor backing into his mailbox: with a golly-shucks, a disappointed headshake, and a polite decision to walk away before anyone raises their voice.

When Trump announced that California was next on the investigatory chopping block, Newsom chose violence. Walz saw the fraud allegations and said, I can’t govern and campaign at the same time. Newsom saw them and said, Holy my Pinot.

Instead of the usual “we take these allegations seriously” boilerplate, Newsom’s office went full Rottweiler mode, describing Trump as a “deranged, habitual liar” with a “shriveled little brain,” dismissing corruption claims as fairy tales involving unicorns and leprechauns and (I am not making this up) erectile dysfunction cures, and reminding everyone—loudly—that California has allegedly blocked over $125 billion in fraud (a claim that pairs poorly with a government-issued “HIGH-RISK” stamp, but okay). And because politics and the third grade playground are now indistinguishable, naturally he trotted out the tired “tiny hands” trope.

In other words: the man who’s been mocked for being too slick, too scripted, too sanctimonious, has decided to fight Trump in Trump’s native language.

(And even if you couldn’t give two ethically-grown beans about California, this isn’t just a coastal food fight—we’re talking about a man widely regarded as a likely presidential contender. When someone auditioning for the White House responds like this, it matters. Also, in the actual world where adults govern? Ronald Reagan is rolling over in his grave.)

The Trump investigation announcement isn’t just POTUS being provocative. The same guy—Nick Shirley—who exposed Minnesota’s latest financial tomfoolery has aimed his magnifying glass at the left coast. Even worse (better?), California’s own State Auditor has effectively slapped a “High-Risk” warning label on Newsom’s administration, naming the governor and multiple agencies as ongoing liabilities. After California received roughly $285 billion in federal COVID funds, the Auditor concluded (in a report dubbed CALIFRAUDIA hahahahaha) that the state’s financial management, infrastructure oversight, and accountability mechanisms were so compromised they now qualify as a statewide hazard. Translation: the referee is wearing the same jersey as the home team—and he still threw the flag.

Walz framed his exit as noble, insisting that every minute spent defending himself politically was a minute not spent defending Minnesotans from criminals and cynics. That’s earnest. It’s also… not how politics works anymore. As one analyst put it (gently, from across the Atlantic): “Walz is a bit too nice for the coarse political age we’re in.”

Newsom is not.

He’s tweeting. He’s taunting. He’s trolling. He’s launched a state website to track Trump’s “criminal cronies.” He’s slinging insults and begging his nemesis to swing back. He’s basically trying to out-trump Trump.

This isn’t crisis management. It’s an audition tape. Gavin Newsom isn’t just responding to allegations; he’s rehearsing for a 2028 campaign cycle that’s already taking shape in his head. He’s stress-testing lines, sharpening instincts, and trying to prove that he can go toe-to-toe with the internet’s loudest human air horn. And with Trump flirting with a political trifecta—even if it’s legally and logistically implausible—Newsom’s making one thing clear early: this time, the mean tweeter won’t be shadowboxing a press secretary or a corn-fed dudes-deserve-tampons-too flag-waver. He’ll be up against someone who speaks fluent insult, knows how to work the camera angles, and doesn’t mind bleeding a little for the clip.

Can you imagine the debates?

Trump: “California is a disaster. A total disaster. Fraud everywhere.”

Newsom: “Donald, you ran casinos into bankruptcy. Sit this one out.”

Trump: “Those casinos were tremendous. Everyone loved them.”

Newsom: “The creditors didn’t.”

Trump: “You’ve got criminals running wild. Total anarchy.”

Newsom: “You pardoned half of them.”

Trump: “Fake news.”

Newsom: “Federal records.”

Moderator: “Gentlemen, please—”

Trump: “Who picked this moderator? Very hostile. And frankly, very unattractive.”

Moderator: “Sir, please answer the question.”

Trump: “You work for a fake news station. Do you know that? Totally fake.”

Moderator: “Let’s move—”

Trump: “Worst governor ever.”

Newsom: “Still not impeached.”

Moderator: “I think we’re going to take a break.”

Just the always-unbiased media doing what they do.

For years, Democrats insisted the high road was the only road. That reacting to provocation only legitimized it. That dignity would win out.

Trump responded by name-calling, tweeting in all caps, and continuing to win.

The left couldn’t compete. Kamala cackled. Biden pounded the podium and squinted. Hillary, to her credit, could at least land a zinger before retreating back to policy white papers and moral lectures. But Newsom isn’t pretending to be above the fray. He’s jumping into it with sleeves rolled up and a social media team that clearly hasn’t slept since June.

The Trump–Newsom feud has been simmering for years—the “Newscum” nickname’s a staple in POTUS’s rhetorical arsenal—but it’s only recently turned into a full-blown performance. Newsom has stopped acting like an intern irritated by his overbearing boss and started acting like a boxer warming up for a pay-per-view match—questioning Trump’s grip on reality, ridiculing his fraud allegations as sasquatch-grade nonsense, reciting his felonies like a greatest-hits album, daring federal investigations, and treating each jab like a dress rehearsal for a nationally televised fight.

Of course, the level of smack talk is uniquely rich coming from a man whose own résumé includes pandemic-era lockdown sermons followed by maskless birthday celebrations, ordering Californians to keep their kids out of classrooms while sending his own to private school, presiding over a homelessness crisis that metastasized on his watch, and championing climate austerity while living a lifestyle fueled by private jets and campaign cash. The same governor who survived a recall, weathered multiple ethics questions, and nearly detonated his political career by having an affair with his campaign manager’s wife—and still acts like some sort of monk lecturing the nation on character.

He has the audacity to criticize Trump’s running of the country while overseeing a state where homelessness has become a lifestyle category and putting a roof over your head requires either generational wealth or a light felony—where fires rage, insurance companies flee, and crime has been effectively rebranded as a misunderstood hobby. It’s not that Newsom lacks confidence; it’s that he has the rare ability to deliver moral judgments with a straight face while hoping the audience won’t compare notes.

Oh, they’re comparing notes. (Watch @DigitalGalX lay it out here.)

So here we are again, staring down a political cage match between a boorish wrecking ball with zero impulse control and a narrative-laundering serial hustler, and being told this is the best the system can do. We’ll gasp, we’ll argue, we’ll act scandalized—as if politics hasn’t been rewarding shamelessness, performative sparring, and selective amnesia for decades. The real mystery isn’t why men like this keep rising to the top. It’s that we’re still surprised when they do.

Still, a big, grateful part of me is thrilled that Newsom is the best Democrats can come up with. If I didn’t know better, I might even suspect he’s controlled opposition.

Lots more chuckles (as well as moving moments) here.