Donold J. Grump #38

VS

The Shuffleboard Coup - part 2

The press room at Maga Logo was filled with a strange tension—not the usual carnival of bootlicking and forced applause, but a kind of quiet dread. A dozen elderly Floridians had just been hauled away from the activity hall, their mobility scooters abandoned in a pile like fallen cavalry.

Donnie Grump stood at the podium, his robe flared open like a purple parachute, his slippers squeaking every time he shifted.

“These senior sleeper cells,” he said, pointing at a blown-up photo of Glenda and her suspiciously highlighted bingo card, “are clearly mapping out Maga Logo. Not for fun. For strategy. This is warfare. Everyone knows the game changes at N-44.”

Gasps filled the room. Mostly from the elderly MAGA base watching on closed circuit TV—who didn’t know whether to be terrified or excited that bingo had suddenly become revolutionary.

Stevie Boot-Liquor leaned forward at the podium, whispering, “Sir, maybe—maybe we don’t call it warfare?”

Grump waved him off. “This is an Alpha Threat, Stevie. We invoke the Alien Enemies Act, and we lock them up. El Salvador. No Wi-Fi. No prunes.”

The room gasped again.

And then—

The lights dimmed.

The air shifted.

And through the press room’s gilded side door strode a ghost from another century: President JR Biden.

He wore the same suit he wore at the signing of the Louisiana Purchase—dark wool, golden buttons, boots that once walked through the mud of Yorktown. The room went silent. Even the teleprompter operator stopped mid-scroll.

He walked straight toward Donnie, boots clicking like judgment.

“Donnie,” he said.

Grump blinked. “Oh no.”

President Biden stepped onto the dais and adjusted the mic without breaking eye contact.

“You invoked my law, Donnie?”

Grump squirmed. “It’s not your law. It’s America’s law.”

“I helped write it. I was in the room. I debated it with Jefferson, Madison, and Franklin while Hamilton played with a squirrel. So let’s talk about what the Alien Enemies Act actually is—and what it isn’t.”

He turned to the press, his voice calm and commanding.

“1798. France. The Quasi-War. American ships attacked. No formal declaration of war, but tensions boiling. We had just broken away from monarchy, and now we were fighting to remain independent. So Congress passed a law to allow the President—not private citizens, not diaper-clad resort operators—to restrain or deport foreign nationals from hostile countries during a declared emergency.”

He turned to Donnie, narrowing his eyes.

“Were those grandmas from France, Donnie?”

Grump shuffled. “No…”

“Are we in a declared war with anyone?”

“Well, maybe a cultural war.”

“And have you—you, Donnie—notified Congress and received formal authorization?”

Grump grinned. “Well… I’m kinda Congress and the White House and the golf club, if you think about it.”

Biden stepped closer.

“No. You’re not. The law doesn’t let you round up citizens. It doesn’t let you ship bingo players to El Salvador because you’re scared of bathroom congestion. It’s not a toy.”

Grump puffed up.

“They’re obviously guilty! They’re working on behalf of AARP! You know how powerful they are?”

Biden raised an eyebrow. “Your evidence?”

Grump flailed. “They had a membership card! It was laminated!”

The reporters gasped. Someone actually snorted.

President JR Biden let the silence sit.

“You’re ignoring their due process rights, Donnie. You’re skipping the courts, the evidence, the hearings. Why?”

Grump pounded the podium. “Because it’s obvious! How could anyone question me? I’m defending America from fraudsters! From people who never paid in! DOGE proved there are 90,000 seniors in the system who are over 110 years old! That’s like—impossible! They’re just gaming the system!”

Biden folded his arms.

“How much money was paid to those individuals?”

Grump blinked.

“Well... none. But—”

President JR Biden raised a single finger.

The room froze.

“ZAP.”

With a crack of old-world lightning and the sound of rushing water, Grump vanished.

One moment he was clutching the podium, the next—

SPLASH.

Cameras cut to an exterior shot from the security monitors. Grump was now flailing in the shallow end of the north pool, sputtering and slapping the water like it had insulted his tie.

The MAGA faithful watching from inside the dining room gasped in unison.

President JR Biden turned back to the press.

“The Alien Enemies Act was designed to protect the republic during foreign wars—not to feed the paranoia of a man afraid of people with oxygen tanks and a sense of civic duty.”

He adjusted his cuffs.

“Next time Donnie invokes the Founders... remind him one of us is still here.”

He turned and strode out the way he came, cape brushing the floor, the marble glowing faintly beneath his steps.

Behind him, a soggy, sputtering Grump climbed out of the pool, shouting after him:

“YOU’LL SEE, BIDEN! THEY’RE COMING! THEY HAVE S&H GREEN STAMPS!”

But no one was listening. They were to busy laughing.

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Just remember if you have someone in your life that loves you, holds you at night, makes you laugh, cry...

Then you are richer than

"He Who is PU!"