Donold J. Grump #1

Morning arrived like an unwelcome tweet: loud, abrupt, and entirely unnecessary. President-elect Donold J. Grump blinked into the dim light of his luxurious bedroom, the golden sheen of his custom-threaded 1000-count sheets mocking his discomfort. It wasn’t just the snoring that had disrupted his sleep. It was the snoring and the feeling of Egon Tusk’s head buried uncomfortably close to his...

“Egon, for Christ’s sake!” Grump bellowed, shoving at the man curled around him like a needy koala.

Egon stirred, his tousled hair sticking up in every direction, his face smeared with what appeared to be barbecue sauce. “Ah, Grumpy! You’re awake. Good. I was just calibrating my dreams to the astral plane of Mars—so much easier when we share brainwaves, you know.”

Grump sat bolt upright. “Calibrating your—get off me! And what the hell do you mean, we? There’s no we! You’re a guest in my house, and frankly, the free ride is over. Out. Gone. Vamoose!”

Egon blinked his watery blue eyes, unbothered. “Oh, Donny. You’re being small-minded again. How can you lead humanity if you’re so focused on petty matters like personal space?” He reached into his pajama pocket and pulled out a slimy Ziploc bag containing what looked like shriveled, moldy buttons. “Here. Have a mushroom.”

Grump recoiled, squinting at the bag. “What the hell is that?”

“Psilocybin spores. Sacred fungi. They’ll help you see beyond the veil of human nonsense. Open your third eye to the greater truth.”

“My third eye’s busy,” Grump snapped. “And if you think I’m letting you stay here another day, you’ve got another thing coming.”

But Egon wasn’t listening. He had already popped two of the mushrooms into his mouth, chewing noisily while mumbling something about “symbiotic oneness.” Within moments, his pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates.

“This room,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling in awe. “It’s filled with... quantum energy. Do you feel it? Grumpy, my guy, you need to Feng Shui your chakras.”

Grump buried his face in his hands. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“You were chosen,” Egon said, solemn now, as he placed a hand on Grump’s shoulder. “The universe has paired us for a reason. Together, we’ll unite Earth and Mars. I’ve already started plans for the Mars Ark. You’ll love it—it’s gonna be huge.”

“The what now?”

“Just a little construction project on the lawn,” Egon replied breezily. “I hired some people. They’re very passionate about the mission. Especially after I shared the mushrooms with them.”

Grump bolted out of bed. “You hired—on my lawn?! I swear, Egon, if there’s a single crater out there, I’ll...” He trailed off, clutching his chest in mock anguish. “Not the lawn. That’s where I do my press conferences.”

But Egon wasn’t paying attention. He was now sprawled across the bed, his arms outstretched. “Grumpy, listen. You’ve gotta stop thinking small. Mars is the future. I’ve already started designing the first Martian embassy—your face will be on the flag. It’ll be glorious.”

Grump stared at the man, incredulous. He was certain now: Egon Tusk wasn’t just an eccentric billionaire. He was clinically insane. But before he could hurl another insult, the distant sound of jackhammers and cheers drifted through the open window.

“What the hell is going on out there?”

Egon grinned lazily. “The future, Donny. The future is happening. You’ll thank me later.”