President Donald Trump's Endless Distraction Tour 2026 made a stop Thursday in Las Vegas to celebrate the administration's new tax breaks on tips and overtime in a made-for-media roundtable.

With Nevadans paying some of the nation's highest gasoline prices and the state's gaming and tourism industry reeling from a precipitous decline in visitor volume, Trump came to change the subject and ask us to look on the bright side.

With his tariff strategy backfiring, his war of choice leaking oil and his nose bloodied from his flailing attempt to bully Pope Leo XIV, Trump has taken his show on the road to escape the political heat of Washington.

There's something about sending out one AI-generated depiction of himself as Christ-with-a-comb-over and another of him resting his weary head on the shoulder of Jesus that offends some people. By interrupting Trump's holy war marketing plan, Pope Leo earned his wrath.

It turns out not everyone's convinced by Trump's remark to a reporter, "I'm all about the gospel. I'm about it as much as anybody can be."

While Trump might have imagined receiving vast accolades upon arrival, he was also met with the echoes of a spot-on observation by Archbishop George Leo Thomas of Las Vegas, who said in a recent statement that he was "grateful to God for sending us Pope Leo XIV, who is willing to speak truth to power just when we need him the most.

"Pope Leo is calling for dialogue over diatribe, prayer over politics, and diplomacy above destruction. We know that he will be unfazed by the president's ad hominem attacks and sophomoric rhetoric."

Add to that the cringe-worthy hectoring of the leader of the world's 1.4 billion Catholics by Trump's second and third bananas, Vice President J.D. Vance and Department of Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, and the administration has failed its catechism lesson and further embarrassed itself on the world stage.

In previous administrations, a hostile home front often has driven the commander in chief to take to the friendly skies for a visit to a distant land for a few days on suddenly important affairs of state. But after threatening many countries and insulting the rest, Trump doesn't find the skies so inviting. These days, even Hungary isn't buying his act, and who knew Canadians were capable of holding such a grudge?

Trump was reduced to taking his endless grievance lounge act to Vegas to accept approbation from hand-selected working stiffs and officers not on patrol. In a city whose billionaire casino class sings his praises in any weather, he was able to bask in the warmth of a tax plan that's actually popular with working Americans who rely on tip income for survival.

There are a lot of them working in Nevada's megaresorts and local bars and restaurants. This was an easy call, and one sure to strike a familiar chord with longtime Las Vegans who remember the legal tug-of-war over casino dealer tips in this state.

Although the question of the taxability of tip income for casino dealers has been around in Nevada for generations, the debate grew particularly contentious in the 1970s and 1980s. The state's casino workers appeared to win a reprieve from taxation in 1976 when a judge ruled that dealer "tokes" were tax-free gifts because a dealer "does not furnish a personal service, but merely carries out the duties of its employment."

Although that decision was overturned by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 9th Circuit after a challenge by the Internal Revenue Service, the lines were drawn. For much of the next decade, the IRS battled with dealers and casinos to improve compliance with the law.

Under pressure from the government and corporate gaming governance, the ubiquitous dealer toke envelope was replaced by a check, minus Uncle Sam's cut. Problem solved, right?

Not so fast. When Trump announced his "no tax on tips" pledge at a June 2024 rally in Las Vegas, he struck political gold with some Nevada voters. It was folded into the behemoth One Big Beautiful Bill Act, and here we are in 2026.

Critics of the change say its limitations and the law's scheduled 2028 sunset make it far weaker than Trump's hyperbolic pronouncements — surprise! — but still better than the usual poke in the eye that badged employees receive. Frankly, it was the least Trump could do after handing the nation's wealthiest citizens one of the largest tax cuts in American history.

On the same day as Trump's visit, at Culinary Workers Union Local 226 headquarters, Secretary-Treasurer Ted Pappageorge picked his way through the political minefield of being perceived as supporting the wrecking ball in the White House this way: Trump's promise of "no taxes on tips" didn't happen as advertised. "What happened is a tax credit that's deeply flawed and needs to be fixed," he said.

The law limits the deduction for households with two tip-earners, he said. Without a long-term extension, it will be remembered as more of a political stunt than an honest effort.

The "no tax on tips" mantra isn't a solution to all Republican problems in the upcoming midterm elections, but it was a stroke of genius in Nevada.

It makes for a swell roadshow, but it's not going to make good people forget Trump's denigration of an authentic man of peace.

John L. Smith is an author and longtime columnist. He was born in Henderson and his family's Nevada roots go back to 1881. His stories have appeared in New Lines, Time, Reader's Digest, Rolling Stone, The Daily Beast, Reuters and Desert Companion, among others.