A grave new threat has emerged inside the mighty Imperium Americanum.
Not a foreign army.
Not invading barbarians.
Not even a suspiciously polite Canadian.
Something far more dangerous.
Oat milk.
At least that is the unmistakable conclusion one might draw from the latest imperial proclamation issued by the Palatium Album, where the scribes of Imperator Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar have discovered that socialism is apparently no longer arriving with red banners, rusty tanks, and grim men standing on balconies.
No.
In modern America, the revolution comes carrying a tote bag.
Sometimes it asks for a shorter workweek.
And, most alarmingly, it orders a latte with non-dairy foam.
For Trumpius Caesar — Defender of the Golden Escalator, Guardian of the Cheeseburger, Protector of the Gas Pump, and Supreme Commander of Extremely Large Capital Letters — the evidence is overwhelming.
The communist uprising has reached the coffee shop.
The Little Red Test of Doom
The imperial court was particularly disturbed by a playful feature published by the scroll-makers of Newsweekius, presenting readers with a “little red test.”
The questions involved suspicious modern activities such as drinking oat milk, favoring shorter workweeks, or carrying reusable bags.
In ordinary civilizations, these might be described as lifestyle preferences.
Inside the Imperium Trumpius, however, they are apparently the opening chapters of the Bolshevik Revolution.
Drink oat milk?
Clearly organizing a collective farm.
Carry a tote bag?
Probably preparing to nationalize Target.
Want Fridays off?
By lunchtime, you could be storming the Winter Palace.
Imperial advisors are therefore rumored to be considering a mandatory loyalty oath before any American café may legally froth plant-based beverages.
One pump vanilla.
Two shots espresso.
And repeat after Caesar:
I solemnly swear allegiance to capitalism.
The Specter Carries Groceries
The imperial proclamation then turned toward a genuinely dark chapter of history: the immense suffering, repression, famine, executions, prison camps, and death associated with communist dictatorships.
But because no historical observation inside the Trumpian Empire may remain merely historical for more than twelve seconds, the subject was promptly mounted on a golden chariot and driven straight toward contemporary American politics.
The feared Democratii Socialistici Americanorum and the terrifying Radicalis Sinistra Maxima were presented as heirs to the great red menace.
Their alleged weapons?
Expanded health care.
Immigration reform.
Environmental programs.
Changes to policing.
Government spending.
And presumably at some point a dangerous federal program involving bicycles.
Under standard political conditions, these subjects might produce hearings, arguments, policy papers, and painfully long Sunday television interviews.
Under Trumpius Caesar, they become evidence that Marx is personally hiding beneath the Lincoln Memorial with a clipboard.
Health Care: The Gateway to Revolution
Perhaps the most alarming proposal in the imperial narrative is broader government-supported health care.
Because everyone inside the Trumpian court knows what happens when citizens can visit a doctor without first consulting a bankruptcy attorney.
First comes affordable treatment.
Then comes collectivism.
Then somebody nationalizes the dentist.
Before long, the entire republic is standing in line for state-issued toothbrushes while a bureaucrat from the Departmentus of Socialismus determines whether citizens are entitled to floss.
Such is the slippery slope according to the Imperial Academy of Absolutely Certain Predictions.
A Number So Large It Requires Marble
Naturally, no proclamation from Trumpius Caesar would be complete without an economic figure large enough to frighten accountants from horseback.
The Consilium Economicorum Caesarum therefore produced a monumental estimate for the cost of the alleged socialist agenda.
The number was so enormous that imperial mathematicians reportedly had to continue writing it on a second parchment.
Taxes would rise.
Wages would fall.
Mortgage rates would soar.
Jobs would disappear.
Productivity would collapse.
Inflation would rage.
Shelves would empty.
Health care would be rationed.
And America might eventually experience the ultimate national humiliation:
A supermarket cereal aisle containing fewer varieties than a small European monarchy.
For Trumpius Caesar, this proves that only two economic systems exist.
One consists of skyscrapers, steaks, enormous pickup trucks, casinos, seventy-foot flags, and supermarkets where consumers may choose among seventeen types of barbecue sauce.
The other is Venezuela.
There is apparently no middle ground.
Except perhaps Canada.
And Caesar remains deeply suspicious of Canada.
The Democratii Plot the End of Everything
The imperial proclamation does not merely accuse the Democratii of favoring misguided policies.
That would be far too pedestrian.
No, they are allegedly trying to destroy American prosperity, freedom, security, and possibly the entire concept of Tuesday.
This is one of the great features of politics inside the Empire of Trumpius:
Nobody simply disagrees.
Every opponent is plotting civilization’s collapse.
Support higher taxes?
Economic sabotage.
Support immigration reform?
The gates of Rome have fallen.
Propose environmental regulations?
The legionaries have been betrayed.
Suggest that perhaps not every government program must be named after a billionaire?
Clearly socialism.
In Trumpian politics, disagreement is not disagreement.
It is treason with PowerPoint slides.
The Eternal Oath of Caesar
At last came the imperial declaration.
America Pulchra shall NEVER become a Communist Country.
The royal scribes added several exclamation marks because throughout the Imperium, punctuation remains the most reliable unit of political determination.
Trumpius Caesar then presumably returned to his golden chambers.
The legions remained ready.
Wall Street opened normally.
The supermarkets remained full.
Private property survived another afternoon.
And somewhere in suburban America, a completely unsuspecting citizen walked into a coffee shop.
He looked at the menu.
He hesitated.
Then he whispered the words that could bring an empire to its knees:
“Large oat milk latte, please.”
Somewhere in Washington, an alarm began to ring.
The revolution had foam.
