Authorities confirmed today that a Golden Globe winner has fled the United States, leaving behind a note, a forwarding address, and a very detailed craft-services critique. Eyewitnesses say the star moved with the quiet determination of a person who’s seen the director’s cut of the future and would prefer the trailer.

They reportedly vaulted a velvet rope with the grace of an awards-season montage, whispering, “I’d like to thank my luggage,” before disappearing into Duty Free like a minor character who read ahead in the script.

At an impromptu press conference held atop a baggage carousel, the artist announced, “America is a s**tshow,” as suitcases circled like defeated thoughts returning to sender. “It’s not even prestige chaos,” they added. “It’s chaos with plot holes and product placement.”

Critics agree it’s the first time in years a celebrity speech contained both a thesis and a boarding group. The Academy applauded the pacing, while the nation asked if there was a post-credits scene in which someone fixes potholes.

Witnesses saw the star pack four outfits, a stack of tax forms, and a rolling underseat carry-on with USB port for recharging hope mid-layover. The only thing left behind was a publicist silently mouthing the words, “We can spin this,” like a prayer to the Algorithm.

Meanwhile, America responded by setting its thermostat to “debate,” its news alerts to “unhinged,” and its expectations to “buffering.” Governors vowed to ban existential dread unless it appears in a vintage font on a tote bag.

Congress promised swift action, launching a bipartisan task force to subpoena the winner’s acting coach for teaching emotions that test poorly in the suburbs. “We respect artistry,” one senator sighed, “but how dare it develop a spine during sweeps week.”

Hollywood immediately announced the S**tshow Cinematic Universe, starring five separate reboots of the exact same fire. “New directions to very familiar places,” the pitch deck winked, “like a GPS that just says ‘You up?’ and reroutes to a cliff.”

Airport kiosks pivoted to the moment, offering a commemorative magnet that reads, “Wish You Were Gone,” and a collapsible emergency go-bag backpack in three colors: Resigned, Apocalyptic Beige, and Influencer Mauve.

Streaming platforms launched a docuseries called Flee TV with an ad tier that interrupts your escape every six minutes to sell you optimism with free returns. The premium tier removes ads and hope simultaneously.

Regular citizens considered following, but their passports had been converted into motivational NFTs that are somehow less fungible than ever. Others simply turned their couches to face an exit sign and called that “moving abroad.”

As the vanished star waved from an airplane window like a limited-time offer, the nation whispered, “We can change.” America shrugged, renewed itself for another season, and chose the same writers. Final note from the fleeing winner: “Break a leg, America—preferably the one kicking your own shins.”