In a dazzling display of self-importance masquerading as principle, Senator Cory Booker (D-NJ) commandeered the Senate floor last night for an all-night monologue that left aides exhausted, C-SPAN viewers baffled, and the chamber’s janitorial staff praying for overtime pay.
Launching his verbal marathon at 7 p.m. ET on Monday, Booker vowed to speak “as long as I am physically able” to protest the Trump administration and Elon Musk’s latest schemes—because nothing says “crisis response” like a one-man filibuster-not-filibuster to an empty room.
Booker, armed with a binder thicker than a Newark phonebook and a seemingly bottomless well of sanctimonious energy, railed against everything from healthcare cuts to Musk’s hypothetical plot to dismantle democracy with a Tesla-powered Death Star.
“I rise tonight because I believe sincerely that our country is in crisis,” he declared to rows of vacant seats, pausing only to field softball questions from a handful of Democratic colleagues who popped in like cameo actors in a low-budget drama. Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer even tossed him a praise-laden lifeline, lauding Booker’s “strength and conviction”—a compliment that might have landed better if anyone outside the C-SPAN graveyard shift was awake to hear it.
The spectacle wasn’t a filibuster, mind you—Booker wasn’t blocking legislation, just the Senate’s ability to close up shop and go home. Instead, it was a performance art piece titled “Spartacus Redux,” with Booker channeling his inner Mr. Smith minus the stakes, the audience, or a discernible point. By 8 a.m., as the senator approached the 13-hour mark, he’d exhausted topics ranging from Social Security hoaxes to John McCain’s ghost, leaving observers to wonder if he’d soon pivot to reciting his grocery list or the lyrics to “Sweet Caroline.”
Critics were quick to pounce. “This is peak Booker—grandstanding for the cameras while achieving less than a broken clock,” sneered one X user, echoing a sentiment shared across the platform. Another quipped, “Cory’s out there lifting unheard voices, but the only sound is his own echo.” Even his supporters struggled to spin the stunt, with one bleary-eyed aide muttering, “He’s passionate, okay? Passionate!”—a defense as convincing as a soggy paper towel.
As the sun rose over Capitol Hill, Booker showed no signs of stopping, though his voice had taken on the gravelly charm of a late-night infomercial host. Capitol police, floor staff, and a lone stenographer remained his captives, their faces a mix of resignation and quiet fury. Meanwhile, the American public—ostensibly the beneficiaries of this heroic stand—slept soundly, blissfully unaware of their savior’s sacrifice.
In the end, Booker’s all-night gabfest proved one thing: he’s found a new way to speak for hours about nothing with nobody listening.
Move over, filibuster records—there’s a new king of hot air in town, and he’s got the stamina of a caffeinated toddler and the audience of a mime convention.
One Senator who showed up early on Capitol Hill today said he’s not happy.
“I was hoping to get that funding for transgender kangaroos displaced in Malaysia suffering from cancer research bill through today,” said one Democrat Senator. “I guess saving the world will have to wait until Cory Booker falls asleep.”
Happy April Fools’ Day, Senator. The joke’s on us.