It was Friday inside the gleaming marble halls of the Palatium Album in Washingtonia, and the Empire stood on the edge of destiny.
Not because an army was marching.
Not because a treaty was collapsing.
Not because a comet had appeared over the Potomac.
No.
Because Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar, First of His Name, Supreme Signer of Documents, Master of the Executive Pen and Defender of Magnificent Folders, had six bills waiting on his desk.
Six.
To ordinary citizens, this might look like paperwork.
To Trumpius Caesar, it was nothing less than:
A LEGISLATIVE TRIUMPH PARADE.
The palace scribes announced that the Emperor had signed H.R. 3657, H.R. 7250, S. 550, S. 603, S. 759 and S. 790 into law.
Ancient Rome had marble arches.
Caesar Augustus had military victories.
Trumpius Caesar had a stack of congressional legislation and, presumably, a very impressive pen.
History had once again chosen its champion.
The Great Revelation of Hydropower Paperwork
First came H.R. 3657, officially known as the “Hydropower Licensing Transparency Act.”
Within the Trumpian Empire, however, it shall forever be remembered as:
Lex Turbinus Transparencius Maxima.
Its mission is breathtaking.
The Federal Energy Regulatory Commission must report annually to Congress on outstanding hydropower licensing applications.
Yes.
Reports.
About applications.
That are still pending.
Somewhere in Washingtonia, thousands of binders trembled with excitement.
For centuries mankind asked great questions:
Where did we come from?
Are we alone in the universe?
How many hydropower licensing applications are still sitting somewhere in the federal system?
At last, one of those questions may finally receive an annual report.
Trumpius Caesar could practically hear civilization advancing.
Water for the Realm of Fort Peckius
Then came H.R. 7250, reauthorizing funding for the Fort Peck Reservation Rural Water System.
Water.
Infrastructure.
Appropriations.
Important things, certainly.
But under Caesar Trumpius, even rural water funding becomes a procession worthy of trumpets, marble columns and at least three ceremonial eagles.
The Romans built aqueducts.
Trumpius signs appropriations.
Same concept.
Much less digging.
The imperial announcement might as well have proclaimed:
“LET THE WATER FLOW, AND LET EVERY PIPE KNOW WHO SIGNED THE PAPER!”
Across the Empire, faucets remained largely unaware of the historic moment.
But Washingtonia knew.
Washingtonia always knows.
The Ancient Land Claims of the Miamius Tribe
Next arrived S. 550, granting jurisdiction to the United States Court of Federal Claims to hear certain land claims of the Miami Tribe of Oklahoma arising under a treaty.
This involved history.
Treaties.
Land rights.
Federal jurisdiction.
In other words: the kind of legal matter capable of turning one sentence into four pages and causing lawyers to say “notwithstanding” with alarming frequency.
Trumpius Caesar surveyed the complexity.
He did not flinch.
He did what emperors do best.
He signed.
SCRIBBLE.
And thus responsibility marched heroically toward the courts.
Let the judges judge.
Let the attorneys attorney.
The Caesar had more parchment waiting.
General Marshallus Enters the Park Empire
Then came S. 603.
The General George C. Marshall House in Virginia would become an affiliated area of the National Park System.
And somewhere deep within the Imperial Bureaucracy, a new administrative category was born.
Trumpius Caesar had not annexed Gaul.
He had annexed a historic house into a federal park relationship.
Julius Caesar would have been confused.
The National Park Service, however, was probably already preparing documentation.
One can almost imagine the sacred federal file:
Marshall_House_Final_FINAL_Approved_v7_REVISED.pdf
Civilization progresses in mysterious ways.
Trumpius smiled.
Another victory.
Another building.
Another possible sign.
Neptune Gets a Website
Then came S. 759, the “Modernizing Access to Our Public Oceans Act.”
Within the Empire, naturally:
Lex Oceanus Digitalis Tremendissima.
The Department of Commerce must make geographic information publicly available showing areas of the U.S. exclusive economic zone where restrictions apply to fishing, boating and other recreational activities.
For thousands of years sailors used stars.
They used compasses.
They studied winds.
They prayed to Neptune.
Now they can use a website.
THIS IS PROGRESS.
Poseidon has been defeated by public geographic data.
The ocean itself has entered the administrative age.
Trumpius Caesar had accomplished what no Roman emperor ever could:
He had helped make regulatory marine boundaries more digitally accessible.
Caligula allegedly tried to conquer the sea.
Trumpius put it online.
Much more efficient.
The Supreme Renaming of Wyoming
And then came the final scroll.
S. 790.
The National Historic Trails Interpretive Center in Casper, Wyoming, would be redesignated as the:
Barbara L. Cubin National Historic Trails Interpretive Center.
The Empire fell silent.
This was it.
The climax.
No army advanced.
No border changed.
No mountain moved.
But somewhere in Wyoming, a sign might eventually require replacement.
Trumpius Caesar raised the imperial pen.
The scribes gasped.
The bureaucrats stood ready.
A procurement officer may have felt a disturbance in the Force.
Then:
SIGNATURE.
It was done.
The center had a new official name.
Civilization had survived.
Six Laws. One Caesar. Unlimited Majesty.
And so the legislative campaign ended.
Hydropower licensing reports.
Rural water funding.
Treaty-based land claims.
A historic house.
Ocean-access data.
A renamed interpretive center.
Other emperors returned home with captured kingdoms.
Trumpius Caesar returned from battle with completed administrative paperwork.
Yet within the golden mythology of the Palatium Album, no task is ever small.
Every signature is destiny.
Every folder is history.
Every renamed facility is another stone in the monumental arch of imperial greatness.
The palace heralds surely proclaimed:
“THE EMPEROR HAS DELIVERED AGAIN!”
And somewhere, perhaps, a staffer quietly whispered:
“Sir, Congress passed them first.”
But Trumpius Caesar was already moving toward the next desk.
Another document awaited.
Another pen stood ready.
And the Empire knew one eternal truth:
As long as there is paperwork, there shall be Trumpius.
