A Night of Cosmic Incompetence

The Planets, Planets, Planets full moon fundraiser party at Los Angeles’s Elysian Theater on December 4th, 2025, was supposed to be a whimsical evening of theatrical absurdity in service of a noble cause—raising funds for a filmmaking project. Instead, it became a masterclass in how to organize an event with all the structural integrity of a house of cards built by someone who’s never seen cards before.

The alt-comedy astrology theater troupe promised attendees an “extravaganza” featuring live performance, a dance party DJ, astrology and tarot readings, flash tattoos, horse rides, a potion-making booth, speed-collage competitions, calendars, film screenings, and something mysteriously called “Year Ahead Screaming.” What they delivered was a cautionary tale about the dangers of letting people who believe Mercury retrograde affects their decision-making handle event logistics.

The Actual Catastrophe

Doors were supposed to open at 7:30 PM with the performance beginning at 8:00 PM. By 7:45 PM, the venue had already descended into what witnesses described as “organized chaos with a mystical veneer.” The horse rides—yes, actual horses inside an urban theater—arrived without proper permits, creating a situation that would have made any fire marshal weep into their clipboard. The potion-making booth ran out of supplies by 7:52 PM, leaving disappointed attendees to contemplate their failed alchemical dreams.

The live performance itself, meant to be a reading of astrological charts for that precise moment, became incomprehensible when the sound system failed approximately four minutes in. Rather than address the technical difficulties, the performers simply continued as if nothing had happened, creating an avant-garde experience that nobody asked for and everyone regretted witnessing.

The speed-collage competition devolved into a territorial dispute over glue sticks. The tarot readings were conducted by individuals who appeared to have learned their craft from TikTok videos. One attendee reported being told by a “reader” that their future was “very purple and probably involves a Costco.”

How Trump Would Have Obliterated This Event Into Oblivion

Now, here’s where it gets genuinely terrifying. Imagine—if you can stomach the thought—that Donald Trump had decided to attend this event. Not as a performer, not as a guest, but as an “advisor” on how to make it “tremendous.”

First, Trump would have immediately demanded that the event be renamed “The Trump Planets Party: The Greatest Astrology Fundraiser Ever Made.” The original name would be deemed “sad” and “low-energy.” The budget would have tripled overnight, with half the funds mysteriously disappearing into consulting fees for people with no relevant expertise.

The horse rides would have been replaced with a single, gold-plated mechanical horse that didn’t actually work but looked “classy.” Trump would have insisted on having his personal astrologer—a woman named “Crystal” who he met at Mar-a-Lago and who has never read a birth chart in her life—conduct all the readings. Every single reading would somehow conclude that the attendee’s future involved voting Republican.

The potion-making booth would have become a “Trump Brand Wellness Elixir” station, selling overpriced bottles of what was essentially tap water with food coloring for $47 each. The speed-collage competition would have been replaced with a “Make Collages Great Again” contest where the winner received a signed photo of Trump holding a collage he didn’t make.

Security would have increased exponentially, turning the Elysian Theater into a fortress. Attendees would have been subjected to multiple security checks, metal detectors, and a mandatory viewing of a 45-minute video about Trump’s accomplishments before being allowed to enter. The event would have started three hours late due to Trump’s inability to arrive on time for anything.

The “Year Ahead Screaming” segment would have been replaced with “Year Ahead Tweeting,” where Trump would have live-posted increasingly unhinged commentary about the attendees, the venue, and the concept of astrology itself. By midnight, he would have declared the event a “total disaster” on social media, despite having orchestrated every aspect of its failure.

The Ripple Effect of Incompetence

What makes this hypothetical scenario so genuinely horrifying is that it wouldn’t have been limited to the event itself. The media coverage would have been inescapable. Cable news networks would have spent weeks analyzing whether the failed horse rides were a metaphor for something. Political commentators would have drawn connections between the potion-making booth and various policy positions. The speed-collage competition would have somehow become a referendum on American values.

The fundraising goal—already modest—would have been completely abandoned in favor of covering legal fees. The filmmaking project that the event was supposed to support would have been indefinitely postponed. The Elysian Theater would have faced months of regulatory scrutiny. The alt-comedy astrology theater troupe would have been forced to disband, their members scattered to the winds like so much cosmic dust.

The Actual Outcome

Mercifully, Trump did not attend the Planets, Planets, Planets full moon fundraiser. The event proceeded with its own particular brand of incompetence, unenhanced by political interference. The fundraising goal was partially met. Some attendees reported having a “weird but kind of fun” time. The horses were eventually removed without incident. The tarot readers continued dispensing dubious wisdom to anyone foolish enough to ask.

The filmmaking project will presumably move forward, delayed but not destroyed. The Elysian Theater survived another evening of theatrical chaos. The universe, indifferent to human folly, continued its rotation.

Conclusion

The Planets, Planets, Planets full moon fundraiser was a disaster, but it was a local disaster—the kind that generates amusing anecdotes and becomes a story people tell at parties for years to come. It was chaotic, poorly organized, and conceptually bewildering, but it remained contained within the relatively small sphere of Los Angeles’s experimental theater scene.

The real horror isn’t what happened on December 4th, 2025. It’s the terrifying knowledge that events like this could always be made exponentially worse by the introduction of certain personalities with an inexplicable need to insert themselves into every situation and transform minor mishaps into international incidents. We should all be grateful that some disasters remain blessedly small, blessedly local, and blessedly free from the kind of amplification that would turn a failed potion-making booth into a three-week news cycle.

The Planets, Planets, Planets will likely host another full moon fundraiser next month. Let us hope they learn from their mistakes. Let us also hope that certain individuals remain far, far away from Los Angeles’s experimental theater scene.