WASHINGTONIUM, D.C. — There are moments in the history of an empire when a ruler must rise above ordinary politics and confront the truly monumental questions of civilization.
Caesar crossed the Rubicon.
Augustus built an empire.
And Donaldus Magnus Trumpius Caesar Maximus has now looked across the American plains and asked the question that shakes the marble halls of Washingtonium:
“Where are all the cows?”
Thus came forth the latest imperial parchment from the Palatium Album, otherwise known to lesser mortals as the White House: an executive order devoted to supporting American ranchers, strengthening the domestic cattle industry and making sure the United States never becomes a nation forced to contemplate the unthinkable—
a burger shortage.
According to the imperial decree, the American cattle herd has fallen to its lowest level in roughly 75 years, while demand for beef has increased.
For ordinary governments, that might be considered an agricultural problem.
For Trumpius Caesar, it is practically a matter of national destiny.
The Empire Saddles Up
The decree begins by recounting the victories already achieved under Trumpius.
Millions of acres have supposedly been identified for grazing. More unused land has been located. Regulations from the dark reign of Josephus Bidenicus Bureaucraticus have been rolled back. Tax rules have been adjusted to favor ranchers.
And, of course, there is the sacred seal:
“Product of USA.”
Because under Trumpius, a steak should not merely be American.
It should look like it knows the words to the national anthem.
Yet the Emperor is not satisfied.
Within 90 days, several federal departments and agencies are ordered to review rules, guidance and bureaucratic restrictions affecting ranchers.
The mission is clear:
Find out what is standing between the American cowboy and prosperity.
Somewhere in Washingtonium, thousands of officials will now descend into filing cabinets searching for the regulation that accidentally requires a rancher to complete Form 17-B, Appendix Cow, before allowing Bessie to approach federal grass.
Enter Lupus Maximus
Then comes the wolf.
No imperial cattle decree would be complete without a villain lurking dramatically beyond the fence line.
The Secretary of the Interior is ordered to examine whether the gray wolf and the Mexican wolf continue to qualify for their current protections under endangered-species law.
If the legal criteria allow it, the administration may begin the process of removing or reducing those protections.
There are also calls for legislative proposals, discussions with states and reviews of rules concerning wolves that threaten livestock or people.
Thus begins what future historians may call:
Operation Lupus Maximus.
The basic Trumpian doctrine is elegant in its simplicity:
The wolf may remain a wolf.
He should simply consider doing it somewhere farther away from dinner.
Compensation systems for livestock killed by predators are also to be reviewed, with agencies instructed to consider whether current standards make it unnecessarily difficult for ranchers to prove losses.
Under the new imperial philosophy, the deceased cow should perhaps no longer require three witnesses, dental records and a signed confession from the wolf before Washingtonium accepts that something unfortunate occurred.
Every Steak Deserves a Passport
Then the decree marches boldly into one of the great philosophical questions of modern America:
Where was your steak born?
The administration is instructed to examine whether mandatory country-of-origin labeling for beef could be implemented.
Agricultural, trade and economic officials are to study the legal options and potential consequences of such a policy.
Should further regulation or legislation be needed, proposals may follow.
This could usher in the glorious new age of bovine documentation.
A future American may gaze upon a ribeye and know not only its weight, grade and price, but perhaps its ancestral homeland.
At this pace, another two executive orders could result in every steak arriving at the grill carrying a miniature passport.
“Place of birth: Montana.”
“Occupation: Dinner.”
“Citizenship: Tremendous.”
And Naturally, It Must All Get Cheaper
At this point, one might imagine economists cautiously raising their hands.
More livestock protections.
More labeling.
New regulatory reviews.
Compensation programs.
Predator policy.
Administrative action.
Would any of this cost money?
Trumpius Caesar has already issued the imperial answer:
Make food cheaper.
The decree instructs agencies to design their actions with lower food costs for American consumers in mind.
It is Trumpian economics distilled into one glorious formula:
More cattle.
More prosperous ranchers.
Less bureaucracy.
Fewer troublesome wolves.
More American labels.
Lower prices.
Economic professors may require models, forecasts and charts.
Trumpius requires only a black marker and sufficient confidence.
The Sacred Ninety Days
The number 90 appears throughout the imperial order with almost mystical importance.
Within 90 days, agencies must review regulations.
Within 90 days, wolf protections must be examined.
Within 90 days, legislative ideas must begin to emerge.
Within 90 days, the federal bureaucracy must demonstrate that it understands the urgency of beef.
Washingtonium has therefore been transformed into the largest administrative rodeo in recorded history.
Secretaries gallop.
Lawyers draft.
Regulators review.
Ranchers watch.
Wolves look suspiciously toward the Potomac.
And somewhere on a quiet American pasture, a cow continues chewing grass, completely unaware that she has become a central participant in trade policy, environmental policy, consumer policy, tax policy and the imperial destiny of the Republic.
But Trumpius Caesar has spoken.
The herd shall grow.
The rancher shall prosper.
The wolf shall reconsider his neighborhood.
And the steak shall be affordable, patriotic and unmistakably American.
So it is decreed by:
Donaldus Magnus Trumpius Caesar, Protector Bovinum, Dominator Luporum, Pontifex Maximus Barbecuii and Supreme Guardian of the Sacred Ribeye.
Ave Trumpius. Ave Rancherus. Ave Beefus Americanus.
