WASHINGTONIUM — There are moments in the history of an empire when a ruler does not merely govern. He reaches into the machinery of civilization itself, parts seas, moves mountains, conquers continents — or temporarily declares that something forbidden yesterday is perfectly fine today.
Trumpius Caesar Maximus has chosen the latter.
With one magnificent sweep of his golden pen, the Emperor announced the latest triumph of his reign:
Red diesel may enter the highways!
Rome had aqueducts.
Egypt had pyramids.
America now has trucks carrying fuel that looks as though somebody dissolved a patriotic raspberry candy in the tank.
Until now, dyed diesel largely belonged to the mysterious realm beyond the public highway. Tractors could drink it. Construction equipment could sip it. Agricultural machinery could consume it by the gallon.
But ordinary highway vehicles?
Stay away, plebeians.
Then Trumpius Caesar looked upon this ancient bureaucratic arrangement and presumably asked:
“Why?”
Imperial officials immediately approached carrying seven binders, three tax manuals, several regulatory appendices and one extremely nervous lawyer.
Trumpius raised a hand.
“Too complicated.”
And thus, American energy policy entered a new golden age.
The Edictum Dieselium Rubrum
Under the imperial decree, the sacred red liquid may temporarily flow where the federal tax eagle once guarded the fuel tank with bureaucratic talons.
At the same time, the federal diesel excise tax is deferred under the order, providing temporary relief particularly for farmers, ranchers, truckers, loggers and others trying to keep the harvest moving.
The Palace calls it relief.
Trumpius probably calls it:
“THE GREATEST RED LIQUID IN THE HISTORY OF LIQUIDS.”
And almost immediately, the Great Hymn of the Gas Pump began.
Vice Emperor Jadius Vancius praised the speed of the ruler.
Chief Court Minister Susanna Wilia Augusta celebrated another imperial promise fulfilled.
Agricultural High Priestess Brookia Rollinia Agraria practically elevated Trumpius to Patron Saint of Cattle, Corn and Fuel Nozzles.
Within hours, Washingtonium had produced one of its finest traditional achievements:
a political praise chain longer than a Roman triumphal procession.
The Governors Arrive Carrying Incense Cans
Messages soon arrived from the distant imperial provinces of Missouriensis, Louisianum, Tennesseum, Nebraskium, Mississippium and beyond.
“Thank you, Caesar!”
“HUGE victory!”
“Our farmers thank you!”
“The harvest thanks you!”
At some point, presumably, a combine harvester issued its own official statement:
“BRRRRRRMMMM.”
The Imperial Press Office immediately interpreted this as historic bipartisan support from the American agricultural machinery community.
Several governors pointed out that their own provinces had already taken steps to ease restrictions.
An interesting historical detail.
Unfortunately, history had now been touched by Trumpius Caesar.
Therefore the official chronology became very simple:
Before Trumpius, it was administration.
After Trumpius, it was HISTORY.
Thus began the magnificent new imperial ceremony known as the Diesel Thanksgiving.
Governors, senators, representatives and agricultural leaders appeared one after another to explain how the decree could help farmers, truckers and working families.
The imperial stenographer reportedly requested a replacement keyboard because the letters H, U, G, and E had worn completely off.
The Miracle at the Pump
The most fascinating development, however, is the new color theory of the Trumpian Empire.
Green represents money.
Gold represents Trumpius.
Red once represented tax-advantaged off-road diesel.
Now red additionally represents:
Imperially Authorized Agricultural Purchasing-Power Restoration Fluid.
Economists may insist on discussing refining capacity, taxes, transportation costs, supply, demand and long-term energy policy.
The Empire has developed a more efficient method.
Color the diesel red.
Declare the price an enemy of the Crown.
Problem identified.
Problem colored.
Problem temporarily solved.
Already, visionary officials throughout Washingtonium are reportedly imagining further reforms based entirely on color.
Blue gasoline for commuters.
Golden jet fuel for exceptionally patriotic airplanes.
Purple heating oil for senators.
Silver motor oil for donors with premium membership.
And perhaps one day completely transparent fuel for the federal budget — so somebody can finally see where all the money went.
Congress Suddenly Discovers the Farmer
Meanwhile, upon Capitolium Hill, another extraordinary political phenomenon occurred:
the spontaneous discovery of agriculture.
Senators and representatives praised the relief.
Others wisely noted that it was merely a first step and that much more would eventually need to be done.
This is the most advanced form of political engineering known to Washingtonium.
If the policy works:
You supported it.
If it is not enough:
You always demanded more.
And if everything goes wrong later:
The relevant committee was probably in recess.
Out in the fields, however, the sophisticated machinery of imperial politics probably looked considerably simpler.
The crops had to leave the field.
The truck had to move.
The tank had to be filled.
And if the fuel could temporarily be obtained more cheaply, few farmers were likely to ask whether the achievement deserved to be carved into marble.
The Palace naturally reached a different conclusion.
The Imperial Ministry of Historic Moments and Retroactive Greatness had already ordered the bronze plaque.
And Trumpius Saw That It Was Red
Trumpius Caesar has no need for such economic subtleties.
He stands upon the balcony of the Palatium Albissimum, his golden toga fluttering majestically in the Washingtonium breeze.
Behind him stands a choir of governors, senators, farmers and agricultural officials, each desperately trying to thank the Emperor before somebody else gets there first.
A gigantic truck rolls past the Palace.
Trumpius raises his hand.
The truck honks.
An eagle circles overhead.
Somewhere in Nebraska, a combine harvester starts for no apparent reason.
Agricultural High Priestess Brookia Rollinia Agraria wipes a tear from her eye.
“A miracle.”
The Imperial Chronicler opens a new chapter in the history of America and begins writing in golden ink:
In the beginning, there was diesel.
Then came the tax.
Then diesel became expensive.
Then came Trumpius Caesar.
The Emperor studied the problem carefully.
His advisers explained taxes.
Refineries.
Markets.
Transportation costs.
Supply.
Demand.
And approximately forty additional concepts that sounded dangerously like economics.
Trumpius listened patiently for several seconds.
Then he raised his hand.
Silence fell across the Imperial Chamber.
The Emperor spoke:
“MAKE IT RED.”
And behold:
The diesel became red.
The governors cheered.
The senators gave thanks.
The farmers filled their tanks.
The White Palace published the praise.
And Trumpius Caesar once again demonstrated why he was the greatest problem-solver the Empire had ever known:
Other presidents lowered taxes.
Trumpius changed the color of the problem.
And when the temporary relief finally expired, the people returned to the gas station, stared once again at the pump and discovered perhaps the greatest achievement of the entire Trumpian age:
The diesel was expensive again.
But at least America now knew whom it had been told to thank beforehand.
