If I were going to take a shot at newly confirmed DHS Secretary Markwayne Mullin, it wouldn’t be about his résumé—it’d be about his name. More specifically, the missing space. Somewhere along the line, no one fixed what looks like a typo, and now the rest of us are stuck typing “Markwayne” for the foreseeable future.
So, thanks for that… Mark.
Jimmy Kimmel, though, went a different direction. In his usual smug way, he got a laugh out of the fact that Mullin used to be a plumber.
It’s a strange thing to mock. Makes you wonder what he’d say about Lincoln splitting logs, Truman selling suits, or Reagan working as a lifeguard.
Here’s how Kimmel put it:
“Before he was elected to the Senate, Markwayne Mullin was a plumber. That’s right. We have a plumber protecting us from terrorism now.”
Jimmy Kimmel: “Before he was elected to the Senate, Markwayne Mullin was plumber. That’s right. We have a plumber protecting us from terrorism now.”
The elitism of Hollywood summarized in one moment. 👇pic.twitter.com/2rQUQwlPit
— CJ Pearson (@Cjpearson) March 25, 2026
I’ve said this before, and it still holds up. In fact, I wrote a version of this idea years ago:
What always struck Mason about modern America was how easily the least useful people rose to the top. Stack up everyone you see on TV, and they wouldn’t equal the value of a single plumber, farmer, or coal miner. Clear them all out, and the world keeps turning—maybe even runs a little smoother.
And to be fair, I’d put myself on that less essential side too. People like Kimmel, Sean Penn, or anyone in media—we’re optional. You might notice if we disappeared, at least for a little while. But things would keep going.
Try that without plumbers.
Or without truck drivers, electricians, farmers, linemen, sanitation workers—the people who actually keep everything running. Take them out of the equation, and it doesn’t take long before things fall apart.
Even within entertainment, Kimmel isn’t exactly irreplaceable. His show is built for the moment—it doesn’t stick. Nobody’s going back to rewatch his monologues years from now. They’re designed for applause, not memory. There’s nothing there that lasts.
