Donold J. Grump #15

The Great Maga Reflection

The suite at Maga Logo was disturbingly quiet, like a theme park abandoned after the rides broke down. Gone was the chaos of the Christmas disaster—no clinking champagne glasses, no Bunny Slipper Loyalty Test, no giggling mushroom-induced hallucinations. The chandeliers no longer twinkled with laughter but hung silently, as if ashamed to be seen.

The gilded hallways were empty, and the ballroom’s glittering thrones sat unused. Grump’s empire of excess had become a monument to an awkward, failed holiday party that sent his guests scurrying for excuses and refunds they didn’t even care about.

Donold J. Grump sat alone in his royal suite, the golden crown resting lopsided on the armrest of his plush velvet chair. He wore his “Supreme Leader” silk robe, embroidered with bald eagles that looked suspiciously like flamingos thanks to the design flaw of outsourcing.

He stared out the window, watching the golf course below bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Not a soul in sight.

His reflection in the glass stared back at him—kingly, yet... alone.

Grump let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Where did they all go, Sparky?”

Perched on the back of the chair was Sparky, the shimmering, rainbow-scaled dragon of Grump’s mushroom-addled imagination. Sparky’s eyes gleamed with molten gold, and smoke curled lazily from his nostrils as he blinked at Grump.

“They’ve lost their way, Donny,” Sparky rasped. “But don’t worry. You’re still the man who built the wall! You kept the immigrants out!”

Grump shook his head slowly, his expression dark. “It was all lies, Sparky.”

Sparky blinked again, his tail flicking nervously. “What?”

Grump rose from his chair, his silk robe billowing as he paced. The ornate carpeting muffled his footsteps as he began to unravel his own myth.

“The wall’s falling apart,” Grump muttered, shaking his head. “It’s crumbling faster than a gingerbread house in July.” He stopped pacing, his arms crossed. “The Remain in Mexico thing? COVID policy—had nothing to do with me.”

Sparky’s jaw dropped slightly. “But... Ukraine! You kept us out of wars! That’s legendary!”

Grump wheeled around, pointing dramatically at Sparky. “That wasn’t me either! Putin didn’t invade because he knew I’d make it look like he was saving the world!” He threw his hands up. “It was all smoke and mirrors, Sparky!”

Sparky hopped onto the armrest, his wings twitching with nerves. “Okay... but Afghanistan! That was Biden’s disaster, right? Right?”

Grump lowered his head, sighing. “No... that was all me.”

Sparky froze. “...come again?”

Grump pressed a hand to his chest, as though delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “I wanted to destabilize the region, Sparky. I let Mike Pompeii make that withdrawal plan—the worst plan ever—and I left the Afghan government out on purpose. You know why?”

Sparky squinted. “...Pettiness?”

Grump pointed at him triumphantly. “Exactly! It was my way of handing Putin a gift-wrapped mess.” He chuckled bitterly. “But then Biden got the blame. And what did I get? Nothing!”

Sparky stared at Grump in awe. “You destabilized a country... for Putin? You brilliant, petty man!”

Sparky flapped his wings and flew a small loop over Grump’s head before landing dramatically on the back of the chair.

“Donny, you’re focusing on the wrong things!” Sparky exclaimed. “Who cares if the wall’s crumbling or if Putin played the long game? You broke every rule! You didn’t just lead—you dominated!”

Grump’s frown began to fade. “I did dominate...”

Sparky nodded eagerly, his tail swishing. “You were a walking headline! The ratings—through the roof! The Zitter wars, the rallies, the scandals! You weren’t a president—you were an event!”

Grump’s eyes flickered. “The ratings were insane.”

Sparky’s grin widened. “You had them hooked! The biggest crowds! The most memorable slogans! And the hats, Donny—the hats!”

Grump began pacing again, his posture more upright. “The hats were iconic.”

A loud knock interrupted the pep talk. Before Grump could respond, the double doors swung open dramatically, and Stevie Boot-Liquor crawled in on his hands and knees. His entrance was so over-the-top that it felt like a scene from a royal court play.

Stevie’s face glowed with reverence as he shuffled forward, his notepad clutched to his chest. His glasses slipped down his nose, but he didn’t dare pause to adjust them.

“Mr. President-elect!” Stevie cried, his voice trembling with awe. “Your words... they called to me! I couldn’t stay away!”

Grump raised an eyebrow. “Stevie? Why are you... crawling?”

Stevie gasped as if the question were absurd. “Because I am not worthy to walk in your presence, sir!”

Sparky nudged Grump with his tail. “This guy’s committed.”

Stevie reached Grump’s feet and bowed his head so low that his nose brushed the plush carpet. He spoke as though delivering a sermon:

“You didn’t just lead the nation—you saved it! You didn’t just build walls—you built legacies! The economy soared! The stock market sang your name!”

Grump’s smile returned. “It really did, didn’t it?”

Stevie nodded furiously. “You were a beacon of hope, a titan of industry, a legend in golf!”

Grump tilted his head, pleased. “The golf swings were revolutionary.”

Sparky rolled his eyes. “Donny, he’d call your breakfast cereal historic if you let him.”

Stevie pressed his hands to Grump’s shoes and closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply, his face lighting up as though he’d just smelled ambrosia.

“Ahh...” Stevie whispered. “Leather... polish... and the unmistakable scent of victory!”

Grump beamed, his shoulders straightening. “I do smell like success.”

Sparky cackled. “Told ya.”

Stevie stood, practically vibrating with excitement. “Sir, tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve... and the world deserves the greatest celebration in history. You’ll show them—no, you’ll remind them—who you are!”

Grump’s eyes sparkled. “A New Year’s Eve to end all New Year’s Eves...”

Grump pointed dramatically toward the ballroom. “Fireworks bigger than anyone’s ever seen!”

Stevie clapped his hands. “Yes!”

“Champagne fountains flowing like rivers!”

“Yes!”

“And hats! The finest hats!”

Stevie dropped to his knees again. “Sir, it will be glorious!”

Grump grinned. “Stevie, make it happen. Only the loyal are invited.”

Stevie saluted and scrambled out the door, nearly tripping over the carpet in his haste.

The Zitter Post

Grump walked into the gold-plated bathroom and lowered himself regally onto the solid gold toilet. He pulled out his phone, opened Zitter, and began typing with flair:

“Tomorrow night: the most tremendous, tremendous New Year’s celebration of all time. Loyalty! Patriotism! Fireworks! Watch and learn, folks—you’re about to see something historic. #GrumpRises #TheBestIsYetToCome #BunnySlippersOptional”

He hit “Post” with a self-satisfied grin as notifications exploded onto his screen.

Sparky perched on the towel rack, his tail curling. “Donny, tomorrow they’ll write songs about you.”

Grump leaned back, the crown slightly askew on his head. “Damn right they will.”