Donold J. Grump #20

The Courtroom Unraveling

The sun shone mercilessly on the courthouse steps as Donold J. Grump’s motorcade pulled up. Reporters swarmed like ants, cameras flashing as Grump stepped out in his signature suit—tailored, dark blue, and worn like armor. Despite his practiced grin, there was a tremor in his hands. Sparky perched invisibly on his shoulder, wings flickering like embers.

“Hold your head high,” Sparky whispered. “You’re here to win.”

Grump nodded absently and made his way inside, flanked by his legal team and Secret Service agents. The courtroom buzzed with whispered speculation. Every major network had reporters present, including Shawn Vanity, whose gleaming smile could have powered a small city.

The judge, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a wearied expression, entered and sat down. The room fell silent. The bailiff called for order, and the hearing began.

The judge cleared his throat and looked directly at Grump. “Mr. Grump, today you are here to receive your sentencing for falsification of business records and related offenses. Given your cooperation thus far, this court had considered an unconditional discharge.”

A ripple of anticipation coursed through the courtroom. The reporters leaned forward, pens poised, lenses zoomed in.

The judge continued, “Before I issue the final sentence, Mr. Grump, do you have any statement you’d like to make?”

Grump slowly stood. His lawyer, a wiry man named Evan Quibbler, shot him a warning glance and whispered, “Keep it brief. Just express your gratitude and sit down.”

Grump ignored him. “Your Honor,” he began, his voice steady but louder than necessary. “Yes, I do have something to say.” He paused for effect, letting the cameras soak in his profile.

Quibbler’s face paled. “Oh no,” he muttered.

Grump took a deep breath. “I’ve been accused of a lot of things—fraud, conspiracy, even tax evasion. And you know what? I’m here to tell you that... it’s true.”

A collective gasp filled the courtroom. Quibbler sprang to his feet, practically choking. “Mr. Grump! No further statements!”

Grump waved him off. “Relax, Quibbler. I’ve got immunity coming soon anyway.” He turned back to the judge and spread his hands. “Why not tell the truth? It wasn’t just about some hush money to Rainey Daniels. Sure, it was that too—but it was really about the taxes.”

The judge’s brow furrowed. “You’re admitting to intentional tax fraud?”

Grump smiled as though reliving a fond memory. “Of course! Look, if you can classify it as a business expense, why wouldn’t you? Everyone does it. I’m proud of that. I gamed the system—it’s part of the game!”

The murmurs turned into a roar of disbelief. Reporters began furiously typing, their faces frozen in shock.

The judge slammed his gavel. “Order! Order in the court!”

Grump continued as if he were at a campaign rally. “I talked to Sparky about this—he agrees. Don’t you, Sparky?” He turned and gestured to the empty air.

The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Is Sparky… with us now?”

Grump grinned and pointed to his shoulder. “He’s right here, telling me to admit everything. It’s freeing!”

Quibbler looked like he might faint. “Your Honor, my client is clearly unwell—”

The judge raised his hand. “Mr. Quibbler, sit down.” He leaned forward, his expression grim. “Mr. Grump, you do understand that admitting to tax fraud changes everything? Given your history of prior tax-related offenses, I am now legally mandated to reconsider your sentence.”

Grump’s smile wavered but quickly returned. “Oh, come on! What are you going to do—send me to jail?” He laughed, but it faltered as the judge nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Grump. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Twelve years in state prison.”

The courtroom erupted. Quibbler buried his face in his hands, and Sparky’s wings flared bright red. Grump’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Twelve years?” he croaked. “For being honest?”

The judge adjusted his glasses. “For committing fraud.”

Grump’s face darkened, then twisted into fury. “Sparky, burn him to a crisp!” he bellowed, pointing dramatically at the judge.

The room fell silent, except for the creak of a chair. Sparky whispered, “Donny, I’m a hallucination.”

Grump blinked. His breathing grew ragged. He began unbuttoning his suit. The crowd gasped as he revealed a massive white Grump-branded diaper with gold trim underneath. “I’m still the king!” he shouted, pulling a plastic crown from his briefcase and placing it on his head.

Reporters sprang to their feet, their cameras flashing in rapid succession. Grump grabbed the American flag from its stand, raising the pole high above his head. “This courtroom is mine!” he roared, slamming the flagpole into the marble floor like an explorer claiming new land.

Chaos erupted. Reporters yelled questions, trying to capture every surreal moment. Grump’s eyes darted wildly as his breakfast of mushroom-laced omelets took hold.

The judge stood, unmoved by the spectacle. “Bailiff!” he commanded.

Grump’s vision warped. The judge’s head elongated and morphed into a jack-in-the-box, bobbing up and down. The stenographers behind their desks turned into thorn-covered trees blocking his path.

“Burn the thorns, Sparky!” Grump screamed as he charged toward the exit, swinging the flagpole like a sword. Secret Service agents leapt into action. Two tackled Grump mid-stride, bringing him crashing to the floor.

“Get off me!” Grump shrieked, writhing beneath their weight. One agent pulled out a taser, pressing it against Grump’s side. A sharp crack sounded as Grump’s body jolted.

He let out a guttural scream, followed by a horrifying silence. Then the smell hit the room.

“Oh my God,” someone whispered. “He… used the diaper.”

The agents winced but hauled him to his feet. Grump, now reeking and unsteady, was cuffed and marched toward the door.

The NYPD officers stepped forward as the judge issued his final ruling. “Mr. Grump, due to your outburst, I am ordering a seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold. Court is adjourned.”

The gavel struck with a resounding crack, and the reporters sprinted toward the exits, eager to break the story of the century.

Grump, his crown askew and the American flag still clutched in one hand, shouted as he was dragged away. “You can’t stop me! I’m Donold J. Grump! I am America!”

Sparky’s voice echoed softly in Grump’s mind. “Maybe America’s finally moved on.”

Grump’s eyes glazed over as he was shoved into the waiting van. He stared out the window, the courthouse fading behind him, while his grandiose dreams shattered piece by piece.

The world outside erupted with breaking news alerts, cementing the end of an era that would be debated for generations.