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Brett Mason Show

Brett Mason Show

By: Brett Mason Media
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 An often funny or irreverent look at culture, entertainment, politics, or just silly things that happen to us all every day.Copyright Brett Mason Media Social Sciences
Episodes
  • Fifty-Nine: What Trump Is Selling

    Fifty-Nine: What Trump Is Selling
    Jul 3 2025
    Donald Trump is a salesman. But what is he selling? It’s not hope, innovation, or positivity? It’s insidious.

    Donald Trump handed the American right the most dangerous weapon in modern history—manufactured doubt. And he didn’t invent it. He stole it from Big Tobacco’s most insidious playbook.

    “Doubt is our product.”
    That was the chilling strategy cigarette companies adopted once science exposed their deadly lie. They couldn’t disprove the truth, so they buried it beneath a mountain of confusion. Pay off doctors. Cherry-pick data. Question the research. Sow just enough uncertainty to paralyze the public. And it worked—for decades.

    Trump saw that and ran with it. But he didn’t just weaponize doubt—he fused it with something far older and more primal.

    Tool One: Tribalism

    Evolution wired humans to distrust outsiders. Trump pulled that ancient instinct to the surface and sharpened it into a political blade. From day one, he cast immigrants as criminals and threats—rapists, murderers, thieves. His followers, primed by fear and fed a steady diet of blame, didn’t resist. They embraced it. And then he expanded the target: Democrats. Scientists. Journalists. Judges.

    It wasn’t a political strategy. It was mass psychological warfare.

    Tool Two: Doubt

    He repeated one line like gospel: “Fake news.”
    Every time a truth threatened him, he cast it as a lie. No need to disprove it. Just label it. Mock it. Question it. And do it loudly, constantly, relentlessly. His base—already locked in tribal loyalty—didn’t need evidence. Just reinforcement.

    From there, doubt spread like a virus:
    -Doubt science
    -Doubt medical professionals
    -Doubt vaccines
    -Doubt experts in every field
    -Doubt the research
    -Doubt the cops
    -Doubt the judges
    -Doubt the prosecutors
    -Doubt the juries
    -Doubt the verdicts
    -Doubt the voting machines
    -Doubt the voters
    -Doubt the voting officials
    -Doubt the ballots
    -Doubt the election
    -Doubt democracy
    -Doubt Everything that doesn’t come from my mouth

    There was no proof. There never is. But he didn’t need it. He just needed repetition and conviction. A lie repeated a thousand times becomes not truth, but something more powerful—belief.

    And now? Millions believe only what he says. No source is trusted unless it bows to him. He is their truth. Their reality. Their god.

    Trump isn’t dumb. He’s dangerous. Not because he’s insightful—but because he understands the power of manipulation at scale.

    He didn’t create a political movement. He created a cult of disbelief—and he’s selling doubt like it’s salvation.

    Doubt is the product.
    You’re the customer.
    And the cost?
    Your country.
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    6 mins
  • Fifty-Eight: Trade And Tariffs Explained

    Fifty-Eight: Trade And Tariffs Explained
    May 15 2025
    Today I’m going to talk about trade and tariffs in a way that even a 5 year old can understand if. Now I know, that probably sounds dry. But if you stick around, I promise you’ll end this episode knowing more about trade and the global economy than most politicians—and certainly more than the President of the United States. And I’m not even trying to be edgy with that. It’s just… true. Here’s the reality: A trade surplus or trade deficit is just the difference between what a country exports and what it imports. That’s it. It’s not a win-or-lose scoreboard. It’s not a sign of national strength or weakness. It’s an accounting detail. A symptom—not a diagnosis. And cutting off trade with another country? That doesn’t “save” us money. It doesn’t “bring back jobs.” What it actually does is shrink the economy. It limits product availability. It raises prices for everything from cars to cornflakes. It triggers inflation. It makes everyone poorer. Period. This isn’t new information. We’ve known it for a long time. And if you need proof, let’s roll the tape back to one of the dumbest trade blunders in U.S. history: the Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act of the 1930s. Congress—bless their hearts—thought slapping tariffs on imported goods would protect American farmers and manufacturers during the Great Depression. Instead, what happened? Other countries retaliated. Exports plummeted by over 60%. Trade collapsed. Jobs vanished. The global economy cratered even further. Now here’s the fun part: if that name—Smoot-Hawley—rings a bell, maybe you remember it from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Yeah. A teen comedy from 1986 explained it better than most modern politicians. Ben Stein, in his iconic deadpan role as the economics teacher, delivers this legendary scene: “In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the… uh… anyone? Anyone?… the Great Depression, passed the… anyone?… Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act, which… anyone?… raised or lowered?… raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue. Did it work?… Anyone?… It did not work, and the United States sank deeper into the Great Depression.” It’s played for laughs—but it’s also spot-on. It didn’t work. And yet, nearly a century later, we’ve got people pushing the exact same crap with new branding. Fast forward to the U.S.-China trade war under Trump. We jacked up tariffs on Chinese goods. China retaliated—hard—by targeting U.S. agriculture. Soybeans. Pork. Wheat. Farmers across the Midwest got wrecked. Prices dropped. Exports dried up. So what did we do? We bailed them out with tens of billions of taxpayer dollars. Let that sink in. The government caused the problem, then used your money to patch over the hole they blew in the boat. That’s not economic strategy—that’s political arson followed by very expensive fire trucks. And this isn’t just a U.S. issue. Let’s look globally. In 2010, Japan got into a diplomatic spat with China. As leverage, they restricted exports of rare earth minerals—critical materials used in smartphones, electric vehicles, wind turbines, even missiles. The result? Panic. Supply chains trembled. Prices exploded. The entire tech and manufacturing sector around the world felt the aftershocks. It was a reminder: global trade isn’t just about profit—it’s about stability. Or take Russia in 2022, cutting off natural gas supplies to Europe in response to sanctions over Ukraine. What happened? Prices for electricity and heating fuel in countries like Germany and Italy soared—by over 500% in some cases. Factories shut down. Steel, fertilizer, aluminum production—all scaled back or halted. Inflation soared. Food prices, rent, basic goods—everything went up. Because when trade breaks, everything breaks. There are a million more examples. And every time, it’s the same story. Politicians sell you a fairy tale about protecting the economy, about bringing jobs home, about “America First” or whatever slogan they’re workshopping this week. But in reality? You get screwed. You pay more at the grocery store. You pay more for fuel. You lose job opportunities. You live in an economy that’s slower, more expensive, and less competitive. That’s the price of economic ignorance. Trade isn’t some abstract Wall Street concept. It’s what keeps your shelves stocked, your bills manageable, and your paycheck worth something. Trade supports competition. That’s what keeps prices low. It drives innovation. That’s what keeps companies from getting lazy. It creates connections. That’s what builds resilience in times of crisis. Cutting it off doesn’t “protect” us—it isolates us. It weakens us. It leaves us more vulnerable. And who pays? You do. Every time. Not the president. Not the billionaire donor class. Not the lobbyists. You. Because you’re the one paying $5 for eggs. You’re the one whose ...
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    13 mins
  • Fifty-Seven: My Three Moms

    Fifty-Seven: My Three Moms
    May 11 2025
    My Three Moms Today, I want to honor not one, but three extraordinary women. I only ever had one mom. Brenda. The most amazing mom anyone could ask for. But the universe knew I’d need more. And He sent two remarkable women who became mothers to me in every way that mattered—when it mattered most. This is a tribute to my three moms. Let me start with my Aunt Helen. She was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known—heart as wide as the sky. She named me. Literally. My parents couldn’t decide, and it was her suggestion they finally chose. She cut my hair through my teens—never took a dime. She let me crash at her house anytime, no questions asked. She taught me card games—spades, boo ray, and more—and not just how to play, but how to enjoy the little moments. And when I got kicked out of my dad’s house—I deserved it, too—she took me in. No rent. No judgment. Just love, food, and a warm place to be. She didn’t just only help me. She treated every kid like they mattered. Because to her, they did. Then there’s my Aunt Margaret. She lived right next door. And growing up, she became my home away from home. We didn’t have TV at my house, so every night I was at her place, laying in the floor, eyes glued to her screen watching the dukes of hazard and other favorites, till 9 p.m which was my strict curfew. And then I was out the door, run across the lawn to our house, and get ready for bed. And she never once made me feel like a burden. I always felt at home. She fed me. Put up with me. Took me on family fishing trips, vacations, field days. She made sure I didn’t miss out just because we didn’t have much. My dad wasn’t really a get out and do things kind of dad. He was always working at work, or working at home. And my aunt Margaret (and uncle Melvin) included me in so many family trips and activities I never felt like I missed out on much. But the greatest act of love came after the worst day of my life. When my mom passed away. It was just me, Aunt Margaret, and Aunt Helen in that hospital room. In the wee hours of the morning. I had been in that room for weeks. Not leaving moms side unless I had too. And in those final days of the final week there was three of us in that room. Right up until my mom took her last breath. The three of us, me, Aunt Helen, and Aunt Margaret, their love and strength holding me up in the silence. In the years that followed my mom’s passing, Aunt Margaret literally saved me. She called or texted me every single day for at least two years. Some days, her voice or text was the only thing that reminded me life was still worth living. Dinner invites, holiday invites, “I love you” texts. And simple Gentle check-ins that didn’t let me disappear. I will never forget that. Ever. And then there’s my mom. Let me focus on her for the rest of this tribute. My mom Brenda. Or as my dad often called her “sue.” Or as the members of her church and the young girls she loved to mentor called her “sister Brenda.” My first love. A woman that could never be matched in my eyes. My first safe place. My lifeline safe place. There has never been a more selfless person. She gave without asking. She hurt quietly, forgave fiercely, and loved unconditionally. She was frugal, but so generous. With her time, her prayers, her acts of caring. She prayed for people who hurt her. She checked in on the sick. She cooked for the hungry. She volunteered at church, the fire department, the election polls, and in countless other little ways. She held pain in so others wouldn’t have to. She always put others first. Even to her own detriment. I often thing of the lean days of my childhood. When dinner every night seemed to be Lima beans with a big ham bone in it. Very little actual ham. And biscuits. Every night it was remarkable that my mom revealed she didn’t really like ham all that much. And what was there found its way on mine and my dad’s plate. Interestingly enough she would always often reveal she didn’t really like beans that much. Not as much as the soup. So those would find their on mine and dads plate. And she would take a biscuit and sop it in the bean soup. And say how full she was. She was a devout Christian in the most sincere sense—not in show, but in spirit. She played piano like a virtuoso. She taught piano like a maestro, teaching me to play. She sang like an angel. She lived her faith with quiet grace and tireless devotion. She never judged me—even when I was at my worst. She just loved me. And prayed for me. Mom passed in 2017. And not long after, Aunt Helen passed too. But Aunt Margaret is still here. Still showing up. Still texting, still calling, still mothering. Even with everything she carries in her own life—she never forgets to check in. So this Mother’s Day, I say this with a full heart: I was blessed with one incredible mom. And then I was blessed again. Twice more. Three women. Three hearts. Three lives that wrapped ...
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    12 mins
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