Great commotion shook the marble halls of Washingtonium.
Trumpets sounded. Scrolls were unfurled. Courtiers rushed through the corridors carrying documents, folders, and at least three very important-looking binders that nobody intended to read.
For Emperor Donaldus Trumpius Caesar Maximus, Protector of the Markets, Conqueror of Red Numbers, and Supreme Guardian Against Suspiciously Well-Timed Stock Purchases, had discovered a new battlefield:
Congressional stock trading.
According to the imperial account from the White Palace, the Democratii of the Senate had united against legislation that would prohibit members of Congress, their spouses, and dependent children from buying individual stocks in publicly traded companies.
To Trumpius Caesar, the issue was naturally simple.
A senator, in the imperial worldview, should write laws.
A senator should debate laws.
A senator may even spend seven magnificent hours explaining why the law must first be sent to a committee that will create another committee to examine whether a committee is required.
But perhaps, declared the imperial court, the senator should not write a law in the morning, buy stock at lunch, and discover by dinner that Fortuna herself has somehow delivered another miraculous portfolio gain.
Earlier in the year, Trumpius had already called for passage of what the palace scribes now ceremonially refer to as the Lex Stoppa Insiderus Tradinus.
During his grand address before the Congressium, the Emperor even turned his attention toward Lady Nancy Pelosia, Duchess of the Eternal Stock-Market Allegation and one of the Republican court’s favorite characters whenever suspiciously successful investing enters the conversation.
Did Lady Pelosia rise in celebration?
According to Trumpius:
Probably not.
Trumpius, of course, was standing.
Trumpius is always standing.
Especially when cameras are present.
The White Palace presented the legislation as a mighty weapon against conflicts of interest: lawmakers, after all, can receive information, shape regulations, oversee industries, and make decisions capable of moving financial markets.
Allowing them simultaneously to trade individual stocks, the imperial scribes suggested, can look rather like allowing a gladiator to referee his own arena fight while also placing bets from the emperor’s private box.
The Republican faction was therefore immediately renamed the Legio Transparencia Maxima.
The Democratic opposition received a somewhat less flattering imperial designation:
Societas Please-Do-Not-Look-Too-Closely-At-The-Portfolio.
Naturally, Emperor Barackus Obamius also made an appearance in the story.
His old STOCK Act was ceremonially removed from the imperial archives, dusted off, inspected, and declared insufficiently terrifying.
Trumpius demanded something stronger.
Something with teeth.
Preferably enormous golden teeth.
Because no imperial reform is truly complete until it resembles either a lion, a battleship, or a lobby entrance in Manhattan.
But the legislative chariot carried a second passenger.
The proposal also included a voter photo identification provision, another long-running political cause embraced by Trumpius and his allies.
Thus, in one majestic package, the Emperor managed to unite two completely different Washington battles:
Congressional stock trading and election identification rules.
A political two-for-one.
Only in Washingtonium can a debate about lawmakers buying shares suddenly find itself sharing a carriage with election law.
The White Palace portrayed both provisions as obvious expressions of common sense.
Opponents, naturally, may dispute either the provisions themselves or the wisdom of tying them together.
Trumpius, however, has never permitted such minor details to interfere with a magnificent imperial narrative.
By sunset, Washingtonium was once again divided.
One side spoke of conflicts of interest and public confidence.
Another disputed the legislation, its components, or both.
And Trumpius Caesar?
He was already preparing for the balcony.
The imperial scribes sharpened their quills.
The television cameras turned toward the palace.
And somewhere on Wall Street, a portfolio manager nervously checked whether a senator had entered the building.
For in the Empire of Trumpius, there is one eternal mystery greater than inflation, taxation, and the federal budget:
If lawmakers keep beating professional investors, why are they still wasting their time in Congress?
Send them to Wall Street.
At least there, everyone already knows what business they are in.
