WASHINGTONIUM, IMPERIUM AMERICANUM. There are days when emperors conquer nations, crush rebellions, build monuments, or at least unveil something made of marble and gold.
And then there are days when Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar, Supreme Imperator of the American Realm, signs two bills into law and somehow manages to make routine legislation sound like the rebirth of Western civilization.
Such was the scene inside the glorious Palatium Album, where two sacred scrolls of the American Senate awaited the imperial signature:
S. 32 and S. 307.
To lesser mortals, these were bills.
To Trumpius Caesar, they were history.
Possibly the greatest history ever signed with a black marker.
S. 32: Justice Comes to the Provinces
First came S. 32, the Local Access to Courts Act.
The measure allows court to be held in College Station, Texas, and El Centro, California, adding both locations to the judicial geography of their respective federal districts.
Administrative adjustment?
Absolutely not.
This is Trumpius.
By imperial standards, the event was roughly equivalent to Caesar crossing the Rubicon, except with more paperwork and significantly better air conditioning.
Before Trumpius, citizens presumably wandered through deserts carrying legal documents, searching desperately for a courthouse while avoiding rattlesnakes, toll roads, and government websites.
Then the Emperor arrived.
He raised the sacred pen.
He signed.
And justice moved geographically closer.
Courtrooms appeared.
Civilization advanced.
Parking probably improved.
Future imperial historians may record the moment accordingly:
“And lo, Trumpius brought justice unto College Station.”
Romulus founded Rome.
Augustus reorganized the Empire.
Trumpius added two court locations.
Every civilization has its giants.
S. 307: Protecting the Guardians of the Imperial Dungeons
But the imperial pen had not yet cooled.
Next came S. 307, the Prison Staff Safety Enhancement Act, establishing requirements for the Bureau of Prisons to address sexual harassment and sexual assault committed against prison staff by incarcerated individuals.
The underlying issue is serious: correctional employees deserve protection from harassment and assault while performing their duties.
Even within the Trumpius Empire, this is one subject where the trumpets briefly lower their volume.
But only briefly.
Because once Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar places his signature on a document, even workplace safety regulations suddenly acquire the atmosphere of an ancient military victory.
Picture the moment.
The Emperor sits behind the desk.
Advisers stand silently nearby.
Cameras await.
The document lies before him.
Trumpius lowers the pen and produces a signature so enormous that future archivists may require a separate storage facility.
TRUMPIUS.
A flourish.
Another flourish.
Possibly a line extending into neighboring legislation.
Then comes the imperial gaze toward the cameras.
A gaze that says:
Yes. Civilization has been saved again.
Two Bills. One Emperor. Infinite Historical Importance.
And so ended another monumental day in the Imperium Americanum.
Two laws signed.
Two administrative changes completed.
No armies marched.
No provinces were conquered.
No senators were appointed consul for life.
Yet somewhere within the marble halls of Washingtonium, the official legend was already writing itself:
On one extraordinary Wednesday, Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar brought courts closer to the people and strengthened protections for the guardians of the imperial prisons.
A conventional president might simply say:
“We signed two bills today.”
Trumpius Caesar looks upon such modest language with the disappointment normally reserved for losing generals.
Two bills?
Never.
These were two imperial achievements.
Two monuments written in legislative ink.
Two additional chapters in the endless golden chronicle of Trumpius.
And somewhere nearby, another stack of legislation waits.
The cameras are ready.
The pen is ready.
The Empire is ready.
Trumpius certainly is.
