Donold J. Grump #14

Christmas Evening: Chapter 1

Donold Grump descended the golden escalator of Maga Logo with the regal confidence of a man convinced the universe revolved around him. The polished steps gleamed under the chandelier’s light, and Grump’s robe of gold-threaded velvet trailed behind him as he held onto the rail with a practiced air. The crown atop his head caught the glint of the overhead lighting, completing the picture of his self-proclaimed majesty. By his side was Sparky, a small, iridescent dragon with shimmering scales that reflected every color of the rainbow, perched on his shoulder. Sparky, a figment of Grump’s mushroom-induced imagination, whispered conspiratorially into his ear.

“They’re all here for you, Donny,” Sparky rasped. “Give them a show they’ll never forget.”

As the escalator reached the bottom, the assembled crowd erupted into cheers. Donold raised his arms in a gesture of magnanimous acknowledgment, letting the adoration wash over him. The ballroom was packed with the usual mix of sycophants, power brokers, and media personalities, each vying for his attention. At the front of the crowd stood Kash Kartel, Pam Blondi, and Wiley E. Suzzi, clustered together like a triumvirate of political opportunism. Nearby, a second group included Shawn Vanity, Laura Ding-Dong, Maria Bizzarra-Rama, Greg Gutless, and Kaykeigh Mega-Ninny from Faux News, their faces alight with anticipation.

Grump stepped off the escalator, pausing dramatically before addressing the room. “Ah, my people,” he declared, his voice booming with the practiced confidence of a showman. “Your king has arrived.”

The guests erupted into applause again, and the line to greet him formed quickly. Each guest approached, kneeling before him to kiss the oversized ring on his finger, their faces a mixture of awe and sycophantic devotion. Sparky hissed with delight, his eyes scanning the attendees as he perched smugly on Grump’s shoulder.

First in line was Kash Kartel. He knelt stiffly, his expression one of forced reverence as he pressed his lips to the ring. “Your brilliance is unparalleled, Your Excellency,” Kash intoned.

“A useful pawn,” Sparky whispered. “But watch him closely. He’s always angling for something.”

“Of course,” Grump replied, pretending to address Kash’s flattery. “Stay loyal, and you’ll be rewarded.”

Pam Blondi was next, her sharp gaze softened by a well-practiced smile. “You’re a visionary, Donold. The nation is blessed to have you.”

“Hmm,” Sparky mused. “Sharp and dangerous. Keep her on a short leash.”

“Pam, always a pleasure,” Grump said, his tone dripping with faux warmth. “Your loyalty never goes unnoticed.”

Wiley E. Suzzi approached last, her nervous energy barely masked by her polished demeanor. “It’s an honor, Mr. President-Elect,” she stammered, bowing slightly.

Sparky cackled. “This one’s terrified. Perfect.”

“Relax, Wiley,” Grump said, giving her a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “You’re in good hands.”

As the line moved on, Stevie Boot-Liquor, ever the loyal aide, crouched low to sniff the shoes of each kneeling guest. His exaggerated sniffs elicited grimaces of discomfort, but no one dared object.

“Kash smells of ambition,” Stevie muttered. “But it’s manageable.”

When he reached Pam, he wrinkled his nose. “Power. Definitely power.”

“Good,” Grump replied. “She’ll need it.”

Stevie moved to the Faux News group, his sniffs even more theatrical. “Vanity smells like hairspray and desperation. Ding-Dong’s got a whiff of insincerity, but it’s buried under perfume.”

Grump chuckled. “They’ll do.”

Maria Bizzarra-Rama knelt next, and Stevie’s nose twitched. “Ego,” he muttered. “Massive ego.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Grump said with a grin.

Dinner was a grand affair, every detail meticulously crafted to reflect Grump’s grandeur. At the head of the table sat Grump’s throne, an ornate masterpiece of gold and velvet that dwarfed every other seat. Beside him, Melanomia sat in a plain white wooden chair, her expression one of resigned patience. Sparky perched on the armrest of Grump’s throne, his tail flicking lazily as he surveyed the room.

“This is how a leader dines,” Grump declared, raising a glass of champagne. “To me!”

The guests echoed his toast with enthusiastic cheers, their glasses clinking as servers brought out the first course. But as the meal progressed, the mushrooms hidden in the sauces and garnishes began to take effect. The air grew thick with murmurs and giggles as reality twisted and bent in the minds of the diners.

Stevie Boot-Liquor was the first to succumb. He leapt from his seat with a cry, pointing wildly at the floor. “Rabbits! The room is full of rabbits!” He dove under the table, crawling on all fours as he attempted to catch the imaginary creatures. His antics drew nervous laughter, though more guests began to experience their own strange visions.

A senator stood abruptly, declaring that his plate of lobster was singing an aria from Carmen. Across the room, Maria Bizzarra-Rama clutched her pearls, insisting the chandelier was melting into a cascade of golden rain. Sparky, delighted by the chaos, cackled on Grump’s shoulder.

“Look at them, Donny,” the dragon hissed. “A banquet of madness, all thanks to you.”

Grump observed the pandemonium with a growing smirk. He turned to Melanomia, who sat rigid and silent beside him. “Darling, isn’t it marvelous? My people, reveling in the freedom I’ve given them.”

Melanomia’s response was a tight-lipped smile as she sipped her wine, seemingly immune to the effects of the mushrooms.

When the chaos reached a crescendo, Grump clapped his hands sharply. “Enough!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the cacophony. “Return to your seats! Dessert will be served shortly.”

The guests obeyed, though many stumbled back to their chairs, their eyes wide and glazed. The servers brought out ornate platters of desserts—cakes, mousses, and pastries—each laced with a potent mix of mushrooms and Nose Candy.

Grump, however, skipped dessert entirely, preferring to watch the unfolding mayhem. As the desserts took effect, the hallucinations became darker and more twisted. A congressman shrieked, claiming his chocolate mousse had transformed into a snarling demon. A socialite fainted, convinced the walls were closing in, dripping with blood.

Stevie Boot-Liquor abandoned his rabbit hunt to climb onto a table, flailing his arms as he declared himself the “Emperor of the Twilight Kingdom.”

Grump leaned back in his throne, chuckling as Sparky whispered in his ear. “Donny, this is your masterpiece. They’ll never forget who orchestrated this night.”

“Oh, Sparky,” Grump replied, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I’ve outdone myself. Let the world see what true leadership looks like.”

As the ballroom descended further into madness, Grump watched with delight, the chaos unfolding like a twisted symphony conducted by his hand. The night was far from over, and he couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.