Trumpius Caesar Maximus—Imperator of golden rhetoric, Master of the Raised Finger, and undisputed Commander of the News Cycle—recently granted the scribes of Politico an audience worthy of the Roman annals. Nearly one year into his second reign, the Emperor stood firmly in the Marble Palace of Self-Assurance and surveyed an empire which, according to his own chronicles, he personally rescued from the smoldering ruins of the Biden Era.

The Democrats, Trumpius Caesar proclaimed with thunderous certainty, had lost control of the realm long before his triumphant return. They chanted “Affordability! Affordability!” like a broken oracle, yet delivered nothing but prices soaring higher than the columns of the Capitol. Trumpius, by contrast, arrived as the Great Tamer of Costs. Inflation, once a wild beast, now cowered. Energy prices? Subdued. The markets, he assured the people, now tremble respectfully at his presence.

With the flourish of a conquering general unfurling his banners, the Emperor announced an investment surge of $18 trillion—a number so massive it briefly stunned even the most battle-hardened accountants. Factories rise across the land like freshly pitched legionary camps. Car companies, long lost to foreign shores, march home in repentance. Artificial Intelligence itself, sensing greatness, has reportedly chosen America as its eternal homeland. And when all this imperial math is reduced to its purest form, Trumpius Caesar explained, it spells one word: Jobs. Glorious, historic, never-before-seen jobs.

On foreign affairs, the Emperor’s compass points in only one direction: the United States. When he travels abroad, he does so for America. When he speaks with foreign powers, it is America speaking through him. China, he implied, will not be debated—it will be settled. Europe? No grand vision required. Let Europe be strong, he said, while America remains supreme. His vision has only one inscription: America First.

On the borders, Trumpius Caesar spoke with the certainty of a man who believes walls can feel fear. Once, under Biden, millions poured in unchecked, unvetted, uncontrolled. Now? Silence. Order. Virtually no one coming in at all. And strangely, he noted, no one talks about it anymore—an outrage in itself. At sea, the Empire has struck hard against drug smugglers, reducing maritime trafficking by an astonishing 92 percent. “I don’t like knocking out boats,” the Emperor sighed nobly, “but I save lives every time.” A reluctant hero, burdened by success.

Healthcare ignited his most imperial fury. Obamacare, Trumpius Caesar declared, was designed not to heal the people, but to enrich insurance companies—trillions upon trillions poured into their coffers. His solution? Radical, simple, imperial: give the money directly to the people. Let them choose their own care. Let freedom do the healing. Who opposes this miracle? The Democrats, naturally—corrupt, owned, and fully purchased by the insurance empires.

Even war and tragedy entered the imperial monologue. Lost territory. No victories to celebrate. Young, beautiful lives taken. “I hate to see it,” Trumpius Caesar said, and for a fleeting moment, the marble halls seemed almost human.

At last, the Emperor turned to his own saga—the indictments, the accusations, the “weaponized government.” They came for him, he said. They tried to break him. But like all great Caesars, he survived, returned, and now stands once more in the White House, victorious and vindicated. His enemies, he concluded calmly, are “sick people.” The Empire, however, is back.

And under Trumpius Caesar, it is firmly under control.