| This is Bloomberg Opinion Today, a dunghill of Bloomberg Opinion's opinions. Sign up here. I can't believe I even have to ask this, but: In what universe is it acceptable to pack your poncho and head to Walt Disney World mere days before the fifth strongest Atlantic hurricane in history is expected to hit Orlando? I don't care if you're a Moana-obsessed 7-year-old or a Disney Adult with huge gums: There's a state of emergency in South Florida right now. Food is flying off the shelves. The mayor of Tampa is telling locals they'll die if they don't evacuate. And you're, what, thrilled by the incredibly short lines for Expedition Everest? Reader, I wish I was kidding, but I'm not:  For the thick-headed among us, perhaps this needs clarifying: The Most Magical Place on Earth is not magically immune from hurricane season. At the time of writing, Disney is still operating under mostly normal conditions, although the website says they "continue to closely monitor" Milton's path and plan to make "operational adjustments" tomorrow. Not only does that mean some guests are still there on vacation, it also means employees — many of whom have loved ones and property in the area — have to hunker down at the theme park, too. "We're in Orlando the ONE time there's a damn hurricane," a TikToker staying at the resort complained. Which, no: There was a deadly hurricane there just last week. She went on to say that Disney characters might come meet her kids during the storm to try and make it a good experience. Even under normal circumstances, character work is not for the faint-hearted. But during a hurricane? There may be no worse punishment on earth than having to dance with Goofy while your uninsured house gets swallowed by floodwater. Which brings me to Mark Gongloff, who says America's flood insurance system is both broke and busted (free read). "Only about 4% of all US homeowners have flood insurance," Mark writes. That means that a storm can cause massive damage — yet barely dent flood insurers. Consider Hurricane Helene: The storm will end up costing the area around $250 billion in damages, but the insured losses from the storm will be less than $15 billion. "That's a drop in the bucket compared with the $97 billion in profit the insurance industry netted in the first half of the year," he writes. Many people living in landlocked areas will tell you that they're safe from the horrors of hurricanes. They're not. And run-of-the-mill storms can do plenty of damage, too: "If you live in a place where it rains, then you probably need flood insurance," Mark argues. The median annual cost for flood protection is less than $800, which isn't too bad considering a mere inch of rain in your basement could run you $25,000. Trouble is, FEMA — the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which runs the national flood program — is in dire financial straits and uses outdated flood maps, so homeowners are left in the dark. To make matters worse, Barbara L. McQuade says former President Trump and his ilk — Elon Musk, Donald Trump Jr. and Stephen Miller — are spreading rumors about the federal agency. The Biden administration "stole the FEMA money, just like they stole it from a bank, so they could give it to their illegal immigrants that they want to have vote for them this season," Trump told a crowd of rallygoers in Michigan shortly after Helene wreaked havoc on six states. "While the claims are false, the harm is real," Barbara writes (free read). Not only does disinformation confuse victims about relief funds, FEMA ends up wasting what little resources it has left to pivot from flood-insuring to fact-checking. I don't know what's worse: Disneygoers ignoring a hurricane warning or a presidential candidate lying to his base about about hurricane relief. Bonus Hurricane Watching: How can we stop conspiracy theories from clouding hurricane recovery efforts? Tim O'Brien joined Mary Ellen Klas and Mark Gongloff on X to discuss the politics of disaster relief. Elsewhere in Trumplandia, you have Ryan Walters, the Oklahoma Superintendent of Public Instruction, who is (still) dead-set on cramming 43,000 Bibles into every public school classroom in the state. Of course, he doesn't just want the state to buy any old Bible. The Oklahoma Watch says he has criteria for what religious texts the taxpayers should be financing: Bibles must be the King James Version; must contain the Old and New Testaments; must include copies of the Pledge of Allegiance, Declaration of Independence, U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights; and must be bound in leather or leather-like material. A salesperson at Mardel Christian & Education searched, and though they carry 2,900 Bibles, none fit the parameters. But one Bible fits perfectly: Lee Greenwood's God Bless the U.S.A. Bible, endorsed by former President Donald Trump and commonly referred to as the Trump Bible. They cost $60 each online, with Trump receiving fees for his endorsement.
Curious, isn't it? How it all comes back to a 24/7 grifter who, in addition to Bibles, hawks $100,000 watches and golden sneakers in his sleep? Never mind that Frank Wilkinson says you can buy another King James Bible for $57 less on the internet. Let's give $3 million in public funds to the Lord of Mar-a-Lago! I hear he's itching for another big payday. Jokes aside, the King James Bible is actually not great for educating. "If Walters actually wanted to fulfill his stated desire to expose students to the Bible's role in literature and US history," Frank thinks he'd opt for the Jefferson Bible. Turns out, the third president of our fine nation was freakishly good at crafts (he would have gone feral for Etsy). In the span of a few winter nights in 1804, Jefferson used a blade to "cut out the sections of the New Testament that he valued, leaving the bulk of the book behind." Nine years later, he shipped it off to John Adams, saying he went "verse by verse," to extract "diamonds" from the "dunghill." The result, Frank says, is an extraordinarily compact text that preserves Biblical lessons yet strips them of unearthly miracles. Sadly, I worry the odds of Ohio buying Jefferson's version are as low as me seeing Jesus walk on water. Erika D. Smith spent last week chatting up voters in Arizona. She saw too many "Republicans for Harris" billboards to count — evidence that Democrats are doing their best to get MAGA-weary Republicans and right-leaning independents on their side. "The messaging matches the utter exhaustion of the moment," she writes. "After nearly a decade of election denialism, unserious candidates, conspiracy theories and frivolous lawsuits, the Trump era has created a bloc of truly fed-up John McCain-style Republicans." Interestingly, a subset of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints sits in that camp. Mormons are "a big and influential voting bloc in Arizona, numbering close to a half-million," Erika writes. Those could end up being crucial votes for Harris, considering Biden won the state by just 10,500 votes in 2020.  If an object looks like a gun, shoots like a gun and kills like a gun, is it a gun? This is not a trick question. The common-sense answer is yes. But the Supreme Court remains unconvinced, apparently. Noah Feldman says (free read) the justices spent Tuesday getting "deep in the linguistic weeds" about ghost gun frames, which can be assembled at home from kits in as little as 20 minutes. If this gives you dreadful déjà vu from the bump stock case last term, you're not alone — Noah says the justices are yet again fumbling the ball by focusing only on the law's text and not on its purpose. Price controls don't work, in theory or in practice. Neither Trump nor Harris seem to care. — Bloomberg's editorial board Is China's sleepy stock market finally waking up or is this rally just another false start? — Nir Kaissar and Shuli Ren Would you pay €5 to send an appeal to Big Tech? Probably not, and that's a problem. — Dave Lee Tencent's bid for Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed game series demands a leap of faith. — Lionel Laurent Iran is turning out to be weaker and less reliable than Beijing had hoped. — Minxin Pei Netflix's Tokyo Swindlers might be about fraudsters, but it's based on a real-life story. — Gearoid Reidy Most fund managers are tilting toward ESG, whether they want to or not. — Merryn Somerset Webb Hindenburg is betting against Roblox. School shootings complicate period care. The CDC learns more about transgender students. Timothée Chalamet is Bob Dylan. 7UP's Shirley Temple soda is ascendent. Brat was built on a budget. Notes: Please send justice for Carly Rae Jepsen and feedback to Jessica Karl at jkarl9@bloomberg.net. Sign up here and follow us on Threads, TikTok, Twitter, Instagram and Facebook. | 
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