Maria Bizzarra-Rama #1

Wandering Through the Madness

Maria Bizzarra-Rama had two great loves in life: wine and winning arguments she barely understood. As she entered the grand ballroom of Maga Logo, the glittering chandeliers sparkled like champagne bubbles, and she felt as though she’d stepped into the set of A Very Grumpy Christmas.

She had arrived precisely 20 minutes late—fashionably, of course—and immediately bypassed the buffet to make a beeline for the bar. She wasn’t here for the hors d’oeuvres; she was here to drink, nod approvingly at expensive décor, and pretend she understood whatever nonsense her Faux Newz colleagues were yammering about.

At the bar, a waiter smiled and poured a glass of wine for her from an elegant bottle.

Maria’s eyes widened with delighted astonishment. She took the glass but stared at the bottle like it was an alien artifact. “It comes in bottles? Who knew!”

The bartender blinked, unsure how to respond. Maria shrugged, put the glass down, and reached for the bottle itself, cradling it like a beloved childhood teddy bear. “Why mess around with middlemen?” she cooed, patting the bottle. “You and I are going to make some beautiful memories tonight.”

She took a long sip straight from the bottle’s neck, completely oblivious to the horrified stares from nearby dignitaries.

A Financial Reporter’s Confusion

Maria’s tipsiness often made her more self-aware than usual. As she navigated the room, bottle in hand, she pondered her role at Faux Newz. She wasn’t a typical financial reporter—mainly because she didn’t understand the jargon at all. “Dow Jones,” “recession,” “hedge fund”—they all sounded like character names from a soap opera to her.

“Numbers,” she muttered, twirling the wine in her bottle, “are just suggestions, really.”

She chuckled at her own wisdom and spotted Stevie Boot-Liquor near the dessert table. He was crouched like a predator, sniffing the floor like a bloodhound.

“Stevie!” Maria called out, delighted. “Are you tracking insider trading or imaginary bunnies?”

Stevie’s head shot up, and he pointed an accusing finger. “Bunnies everywhere! And they’ve got briefcases!”

Maria leaned closer, pretending to whisper conspiratorially. “Well, at least they’re working bunnies.”

Stevie gasped and dashed away, leaving Maria to inspect the desserts. She picked up a chocolate mousse and gave it a tentative sniff.

“Hmm. Smells innocent enough.”

Suddenly, the mousse trembled in her hand.

She yelped and flung it into the air. It splattered onto the chandelier above, raining down flecks of chocolate onto an unfortunate congresswoman, who shrieked and accused the ceiling of committing treason.

Maria giggled as she wiped chocolate off her nose. “Okay, maybe I’ll stick to wine.”

In the middle of the ballroom, Stevie Boot-Liquor had climbed onto a table, waving a gold napkin like a royal scepter.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Stevie proclaimed. “I am the Emperor of the Twilight Kingdom!”

Maria clapped enthusiastically. “Bravo, Stevie! I always knew you’d land a leadership role.”

Stevie’s eyes narrowed. “Silence, serf! Bow before your emperor!”

Maria attempted a bow but stumbled, catching herself by grabbing a waiter’s tray of éclairs. The éclairs shot into the air like cannonballs. One hit a diplomat square in the face, while another bounced into a senator’s glass of scotch, causing him to declare, “The pastries are alive!”

Maria doubled over in laughter. “Oh, Stevie, you’ve outdone yourself!”

With her bottle nearly empty, (only half was left) Maria decided it was time to refill. She meandered toward Donold Grump’s throne, her path a zigzag of near-miss collisions and apologetic waves.

When she reached Grump, she paused dramatically and gave a grand curtsy—well, as grand as one can manage while holding a half-empty bottle of merlot.

“Mr. President-Elect,” Maria began with exaggerated reverence, “your party is simply divine. I feel like I’m swimming in champagne dreams and caviar wishes.”

Grump arched an eyebrow. “Maria, shouldn’t you be...uh...reporting?”

“Oh, Donnie, finance is just a big carnival ride.” Maria wobbled slightly, then regained her balance. “Numbers go up, numbers go down...but wine stays constant.”

Sparky, Grump’s iridescent dragon, peered at her curiously. “She’s...odd,” the dragon whispered.

Maria leaned toward the empty air next to Grump, as though she could hear Sparky. “I’m odd? You’re a technicolor hallucination.”

Grump blinked in surprise. “Wait...you can see Sparky?”

Maria burst out laughing. “No, Donold. But it’s fun to play along.”

Grump chuckled despite himself. “You’re ridiculous.”

She lifted her glass in a toast. “And proud of it.”

As the ballroom descended further into madness, Maria found herself at the garden fountain, serenaded by the faint sounds of screaming guests and clattering silverware. She perched on the edge, dangling her heels in the cool water.

The stars above twinkled innocently, as if the universe hadn’t noticed the utter mayhem below. Maria sighed contentedly and raised her glass to the night sky.

“To chaos,” she declared, draining her glass.

Behind her, a Faux Newz cameraman sprinted past, pursued by a woman wielding a lobster fork. Stevie Boot-Liquor was rolling in the grass, attempting to wrestle an invisible “twilight beast.”

Maria watched it all with amused detachment. “Just another day in the news,” she murmured.

As she polished off the last drop of merlot, Maria leaned back and gazed at the sky, the faint hum of pandemonium lulling her into a state of blissful relaxation. Somewhere inside, Grump’s maniacal laughter echoed through the halls.

Maria Bizzarra-Rama, unaffected and slightly tipsy, grinned as she whispered to the stars, “I can't believe it comes in bottles! Who knew as she cradled the bottle to her chest like it was alive. Five dollars, two bottles...and one unforgettable night.”