WASHINGTONIA MAGNA. A mighty proclamation thundered from the marble halls of the White Palace, startling cautious deer, suspicious trout, and several ducks operating without the proper imperial permits: Emperor Donaldus Trumpius Maximus has personally reopened the American wilderness.
Apparently, the wilderness had previously been closed—possibly because of excessive bureaucracy, insufficient golden signage, or a tragic shortage of presidential signatures.
With two enormous strokes of his imperial quill, Trumpius Caesar announced the glorious revival of American hunting and the triumphant rescue of saltwater fishing. Citizens may now return to forests, board their boats, and stare heroically at motionless water until either a fish bites or someone nearby praises the economy.
The imperial court immediately declared the decrees “historic victories.” Within the Trumpius Empire, this is the official classification for nearly everything—from opening millions of acres to successfully opening a stubborn bottle of ketchup.
Grand Secretary Douglas Burgumius, Supreme Keeper of Imperial Lands, promised expanded hunting access, improved habitats, easier authorizations, stronger youth and veteran programs, and more opportunities for Sunday hunting. After all, the seventh day in the Trumpian calendar was not created for rest. It was created so wildlife could be reminded that the Emperor also governs on weekends.
Senator Thomas Cottonius praised hunting as an essential part of Arkansiana’s culture and economy. Representative Brucius Westermanus celebrated a generational triumph for hunters and anglers. Never had an administrative order inspired such enthusiasm—at least not since Rome purchased a new amphora for the Senate break room.
Representative Augustus Pflugerius rejoiced that the dark age of Washingtonian overregulation was finally ending. For years, citizens had supposedly been prevented from entering their own forests and waters by rules, paperwork, and perhaps unusually aggressive informational signs.
Trumpius had now severed the red tape, presumably with a gold-plated hunting knife while imperial advisers confirmed that no ruler in history had ever cut a ribbon so strongly, beautifully, or patriotically.
The National Association of Republican Armory Enthusiasts proudly stood beside the Emperor and applauded his defense of ancient outdoor traditions. Fishing alliances, boat builders, wildlife foundations, meat processors, duck organizations, deer experts, and professional admirers of wild sheep quickly joined the chorus.
Never before had two signatures flushed so many presidents and chief executives out of their camouflage.
The palace was particularly excited about the economic importance of nature. In the Empire, a forest does not achieve true greatness until officials calculate how many jobs are hiding between its trees. Oceans are no longer measured only in miles, but also in fishing rods, boat engines, tackle boxes, and potential press releases.
Saltwater fishing received special imperial attention. Fishing Consul Jeffus Angerius called for better data, modern technology, and management systems designed for recreational anglers. Under the new order, fish will no longer be allowed to swim around anonymously. They must be scientifically counted, economically appreciated, and preferably photographed beside a waving American flag.
The waterfowl legions of Anas Unlimitata thanked Trumpius for recognizing the contributions of hunters to conservation. Whether the ducks themselves felt equally grateful remained unclear. Several declined to comment and immediately departed under their seasonal migration privileges.
The Rocky Mountain Order of Imperial Elk praised the decrees for supporting wildlife habitats, migration corridors, public access, and cooperation with landowners. This means the Empire will help animals travel freely across the landscape—until they reach an area where several patriotic citizens are waiting behind shrubs.
Wild-game donations also received the imperial blessing. Deer living in excessive abundance may soon be encouraged to make a final patriotic contribution to America’s food supply. The small meat processors of the realm announced that they were fully prepared to supervise this particularly permanent form of national service.
Programs supporting veterans were another important part of the announcement. Advocacy groups noted that carefully designed outdoor experiences can improve mental well-being and help combat veterans dealing with trauma, depression, and anxiety.
Thus, hidden among the trumpets, banners, executive flourishes, and industrial quantities of self-congratulation, the decrees contained a genuinely meaningful idea. Fortunately for palace protocol, hardly anyone noticed because another official shouted, “Historic victory!”
Boat Emperor Frankius Hugelmeyerus praised access to American waters as a powerful engine for manufacturing, employment, and coastal communities. The great maritime guilds agreed that healthy fisheries and healthy industries must sail together—preferably aboard a freshly purchased vessel equipped with patriotic upholstery and a sufficiently profitable outboard motor.
By sunset, Trumpius Caesar stood in the Rose Garden surrounded by hunters, anglers, lobbyists, conservation leaders, boating executives, and probably one extremely nervous deer beyond the security perimeter.
The Emperor had not invented forests, wildlife, oceans, hunting, fishing, conservation, or Sunday.
But he had signed two decrees about them.
And in the Empire of Trumpius, anything touched by the imperial quill immediately becomes larger, freer, more profitable, and more historic than ever before—even when it had been quietly existing for several million years.
