In the towering marble halls of the Imperial White Fortress, beneath golden banners and suspiciously expensive chandeliers, Trumpius Caesar Maximus emerged once again before the people of Amerigonia.
His expression was serious.
More serious than during the Great Trade War of Discount Toasters.
More serious than during the legendary Battle of Fake Poll Numbers.
Possibly the most serious moment since the Imperial Treasury accidentally paid 48 million dollars for a “digital workflow enhancement seminar” that turned out to be three consultants with a laser pointer and a croissant buffet.
This time, Trumpius had a mission.
A crusade.
A holy administrative reckoning.
The enemy?
Government contracts.
For decades, the mighty bureaucratic empire had operated under a mystical financial religion known as:
“Cost reimbursement.”
A magical system where contractors simply spent money… and then asked for more money.
And more.
And even more.
Sometimes forever.
The process was simple:
A government agency would ask for a project.
A contractor would respond:
“Absolutely. We estimate this will cost around 12 million dollars.”
Then came Phase One:
Discovery.
Then Phase Two:
Enhanced Discovery.
Then Phase Three:
Strategic Discovery Alignment.
Then came workshops.
Then emergency workshops.
Then meetings to discuss the outcomes of previous workshops.
Then “stakeholder synchronization events.”
Then a 600-slide PowerPoint called:
“Vision Pathways Toward Transformational Optimization.”
Suddenly the project cost 480 million dollars and the only completed deliverable was a login screen that barely worked in Firefox.
Trumpius Caesar had seen enough.
Standing before cheering crowds, he raised the sacred Executive Scroll and proclaimed:
“No more contracts where the price doubles every time someone says ‘synergy.’ We are bringing back the greatest thing ever invented: THE FIXED PRICE!”
The crowd erupted.
Some citizens cried tears of joy.
Several accountants fainted instantly.
Across the empire, panic spread through the ancient consulting houses of McImperialis & Company, Consultantius Global, and the feared spreadsheet monks of Excelius Prime.
For years, their business model had relied on one simple principle:
“If the project fails, simply continue billing.”
But Trumpius now demanded something radical:
Actual results.
On schedule.
Within budget.
With measurable performance.
It was considered revolutionary.
Under the new imperial decree, government contracts would now default to fixed-price agreements whenever possible.
Meaning contractors would agree on a price beforehand instead of treating taxpayer money like an all-you-can-eat buffet at Caesar’s Palace.
Even more terrifying for the consulting aristocracy:
profits could now depend on performance.
If contractors delivered ahead of schedule and exceeded expectations, they could earn bonuses.
If they failed?
Punishment.
Consequences.
Accountability.
Words rarely heard inside the marble labyrinths of federal procurement.
The decree also introduced gigantic approval thresholds.
Any “non-fixed-price” contract above certain amounts would require direct written approval from high-ranking imperial officials.
The mighty Department of War and Extremely Expensive Equipment:
100 million dollars.
NASA Galacticus:
35 million.
The Homeland Security Fortress:
25 million.
Everyone else:
10 million.
Some agencies reportedly reacted as if Trumpius had personally outlawed unlimited expense accounts.
Meanwhile, deep within the Imperial Bureaucratic Archives, terrified administrators began reviewing ancient contracts believed to date back to the Bronze Age of Government Spending.
One legendary contract originally intended to modernize a parking database had somehow evolved into a 14-billion-dollar “digital transformation ecosystem initiative.”
Deliverables included:
– Strategic Vision Alignment
– Agile Governance Frameworks
– Innovation Readiness Modeling
– Executive Thought Partnership
– Premium Organic Beverage Facilitation
Final result:
One PDF file.
Password protected.
Trumpius Caesar reportedly stared at the document for several minutes before declaring:
“This is not infrastructure. This is abstract art.”
Taxpayers across Amerigonia celebrated the announcement with patriotic enthusiasm.
Many had long suspected that some federal projects existed primarily to support luxury conference centers, imported coffee beans, and consultants wearing expensive sneakers while saying things like “leveraging scalable paradigms.”
Not everyone was pleased.
Inside Washingtonium, emergency meetings erupted immediately.
Entire departments scrambled to explain why simple software upgrades somehow required seven advisory councils, twelve subcontractors, and a “Chief Innovation Storytelling Officer.”
One consultant, speaking anonymously from behind a decorative ficus plant, admitted:
“We honestly never thought anyone would ask what we were actually doing.”
But Trumpius Caesar Maximus remained defiant.
From his golden balcony he declared:
“We will have incredible contracts. Beautiful contracts. Strong contracts. Contracts that do not suddenly become three times more expensive because somebody added another strategic roadmap meeting!”
Thunderous applause followed.
Somewhere in the distance, a government project manager opened a 900-tab spreadsheet, wiped sweat from his forehead, and whispered the most terrifying phrase ever heard in federal contracting:
“What do you mean… fixed budget?”
