WASHINGTONIUM — In ordinary governments, people get nominated for federal positions.
There are résumés. There are committees. There are hearings. There are forms, signatures, background checks, more forms, and eventually a person somewhere in Washington discovers that Form 27-B was signed in blue ink instead of Imperial Black.
But this is not an ordinary government.
This is the Empire of Trumpius.
And when Imperator Donaldus Trumpius Maximus selects officials, he does not merely send nominations to the Senate.
He dispatches an Imperial Legion of Appointments.
The Palace of Washingtonium has therefore unfurled another magnificent scroll bearing the solemn words: NOMINATIONS SENT TO THE SENATE.
Very modest.
Very constitutional.
Almost suspiciously normal.
But beneath that bureaucratic heading marches an entire procession of agricultural guardians, diplomatic legates, federal marshals, inspectors, environmental officials and even a defender of the sacred imperial postal system.
First come the guardians of agricultural coinage.
Carlus Bednarski, Johannes Grunewaldus II and Jacobus Russellus Middletonius have been selected for the Farm Credit Administration Board.
Three men entrusted with the ancient American mystery of combining farms, finance, government regulation and paperwork without frightening the cattle.
Somewhere in Washingtonium, an imperial golden tractor is surely being prepared for the swearing-in ceremony.
Then comes Johannes Coalus, chosen as Special Presidential Envoy for Hostage Affairs with the rank and status of ambassador.
This is serious diplomacy, requiring patience, negotiation and considerably more sophistication than marching into a room and announcing:
“GREATEST NEGOTIATION IN THE HISTORY OF NEGOTIATIONS!”
The Empire is also preparing new diplomatic legates for distant lands.
Dinus LaVerghettus is nominated for Kuwait. Williamus Makaneolus is selected for Turkmenistan. Christianus Ehrhardtius is destined for Cameroon.
Thus continues the ancient Trumpian diplomatic doctrine:
If there is a country on the map, Washingtonium should eventually send someone there with an extremely long title.
But every glorious empire requires inspectors.
Marcus Priebus has been selected to serve as Inspector General of the Department of Education, while Robertus Steinau is nominated to inspect the mighty National Aeronautics and Space Administration.
Yes.
NASA.
Other inspectors examine offices.
Steinau may get to inspect people who launch objects into space.
One can already imagine the message echoing through Mission Control:
“Houstonium, we have an administrative discrepancy.”
Meanwhile, Justinus Schwabus has been nominated for a senior position at the Environmental Protection Agency, where he may encounter one of Washingtonium's most renewable natural resources:
Federal paperwork.
Then the Imperial Marshals arrive.
Reidus McAlister Creswellius for South Carolina.
Jacobus Christopher Edgeus for western North Carolina.
Jacobus Richard Jacksonius for eastern Texas.
And Scottus Kruegerius for northern Indiana.
Four marshals entering the Imperial Scroll at once.
Somewhere, a tumbleweed has just rolled dramatically across the parking lot of a federal courthouse.
The soundtrack practically writes itself.
Agriculture also receives another imperial champion. Gregorius Ibachius is nominated as Under Secretary for Trade and Foreign Agricultural Affairs, ensuring that American corn, soybeans and other agricultural treasures never wander into international commerce without appropriate bureaucratic supervision.
Because in the Empire of Trumpius, even wheat requires foreign policy.
And finally we arrive at perhaps the most magnificently Washingtonian part of the entire scroll.
Jeffreyius Ziskus of Texas is nominated to the Postal Regulatory Commission.
Twice.
First, he is nominated to complete the remainder of an existing term.
Then he is nominated for another term extending beyond it.
This is Imperial efficiency at its finest.
Why nominate a man once when Washingtonium can nominate him again before the ink on the first nomination has emotionally recovered?
It is the bureaucratic equivalent of:
“Congratulations on your new job. Also, congratulations on your next new job.”
And so the Great Imperial Appointment Parade marches toward the Senatus Americanus.
The senators will examine.
They will deliberate.
They will question.
They will hold hearings.
And, because this is Washingtonium, some of them may discover exciting new ways to speak for extraordinarily long periods without technically reaching the end of a sentence.
Meanwhile, the nominees wait.
The ambassadors polish their diplomatic sandals.
The marshals adjust their stars.
The agricultural officials ceremonially inspect imaginary corn.
The inspectors prepare to inspect the inspectors who may already be inspecting something else.
And Jeffreyius Ziskus presumably keeps two calendars nearby, just in case.
Above them all sits Trumpius Caesar, Imperial Quill in hand, gazing upon the magnificent federal machinery he has just populated.
The Emperor raises the golden pen.
The trumpets sound.
The scroll is dispatched.
And across Washingtonium comes the ancient declaration of Trumpian personnel policy:
“Veni. Vidi. Nominavi.”
I came.
I saw.
I nominated.
Now the Senate gets the paperwork.
