RF Kennard #2

Summoned to Maga Logo

The blaring knock on the door wasn’t just loud—it was thunderous, a sound so insistent it jolted Robert F. Kennard from a deep sleep. He rolled over, groaning, and instinctively reached for his alarm clock, only to knock it to the floor with a clatter.

The door rattled again, followed by a booming voice. “Mr. Kennard! Open up. Secret Service.”

Robert’s eyes snapped open. Secret Service? He sat up, blinking rapidly as the realization hit him like a cold bucket of water. This was no joke.

“Coming!” he called, stumbling out of bed and toward the door in nothing but a pair of boxers. The digital clock on his nightstand blinked 6:03 AM. Too early for anyone but Grump to pull a stunt like this.

When he opened it, two hulking Secret Service agents stood in the hallway, dressed in crisp black suits and wearing matching pairs of mirrored sunglasses despite the pre-dawn hour. One of them held up a clipboard, his expression neutral.

“Mr. Kennard, you’ve been summoned to Maga Logo by order of President-Elect Donold J. Grump,” the agent intoned. “You have ten minutes to get ready.”

Robert’s jaw dropped. “Ten minutes? That’s insane! I’m not even—”

“Nine minutes,” the second agent interrupted, his tone even colder.

Robert threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine. But if I smell like sweat, it’s on you!”

The drive to Maga Logo was a blur of flashing palm trees and early-morning haze. The Secret Service agents flanked Robert in the back of a sleek black SUV, their presence suffocating. He fiddled with the hem of his blazer, trying to calm his nerves.

What could Grump possibly want this early? Was it about the exercise program? Or worse—did he know about last night? The thought of Insania Grump’s playful smile sent a shiver down Robert’s spine. He pushed the memory aside, focusing instead on his planned pitch for national fitness reform.

By 6:45 AM, they pulled into Maga Logo’s sprawling driveway. The enormity of the estate struck Robert, despite having visited several times before. The building gleamed under the rising sun, its white columns and golden trim exuding gaudy grandeur. The vehicle came to a halt, and the agents opened the door for Robert. He stepped out, straightened his tie, and took a deep breath.

“Time to face the music,” he muttered.

Inside the Eccentric Suite

Robert was led through a maze of hallways until he was deposited in Grump’s private suite at 6:55 AM. The moment the door closed behind him, he was struck by the room’s sheer insanity. The walls were painted in chaotic rainbow swirls, the colors clashing and blending in a way that made his head spin. A massive portrait of Donold J. Grump hung over the fireplace, depicting the President-Elect shirtless, riding a dragon through a stormy sky.

“What the…” Robert murmured, his eyes darting from one bizarre detail to the next. Was that a chandelier made entirely of gold-plated spoons?

Before he could investigate further, a loud flushing noise erupted from behind a nearby door. A moment later, the door swung open, and Donold J. Grump himself emerged, fiddling with his belt.

“Robert!” Grump bellowed, his face lighting up as if he’d just seen an old friend. “My boy! You made it!”

Robert plastered on a nervous smile. “Good morning, Mr. President-Elect.”

Grump waved a hand dismissively. “None of that ‘Mr. President-Elect’ nonsense. Call me Grump. Or Boss. Whatever you like.”

Before Robert could respond, Grump clapped his hands together and looked toward the chandelier. “Sparky! Get in here and read this guy’s aura.”

Robert glanced around, confused. “Sparky?” he asked, seeing nothing.

Grump’s eyes lit up as he gestured to the air. “Sparky! Right there. Little guy’s always got the goods. Come on, Sparky, tell me—what do you see?”

Robert followed Grump’s gaze but saw nothing but empty space. Grump, however, was enraptured, watching an invisible presence that seemed to hover before Robert.

“Well?” Grump demanded, grinning expectantly. “What’s the verdict?”

Grump squinted at nothing, then nodded as if in response to some inaudible voice. “Conflicted, huh? Lust in his heart? That checks out.”

Robert’s face flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to find the right words. “Uh, well, you know, people exaggerate.”

Grump leaned in, his grin turning mischievous. “Come on, give me the details. Who’s the lucky lady this time?”

Robert’s stomach churned. The last thing he wanted to do was admit that the “lucky lady” was Insania Grump. “Actually,” he stammered, desperate to change the subject, “I wanted to talk to you about the exercise program. Have you had a chance to review my plans?”

Grump raised an eyebrow, clearly disappointed by the diversion, but he motioned for Robert to follow him to a nearby table. Two enormous salads awaited them, each piled high with vibrant greens and suspiciously earthy-looking mushrooms.

“Let’s eat,” Grump said, digging in with gusto. “We’ll talk business over lunch.”

It was now 7:10 AM, and Robert hesitated, eyeing the mushrooms warily. He took a tentative bite, the tangy dressing masking the strange flavor of the fungi. Within minutes, a warm, euphoric sensation washed over him. The room seemed brighter, the colors more vivid. Even Grump’s golden hair appeared to glow.

“So,” Robert began, his voice slightly slurred, “when are you gonna start leading the exercise program? You know, as an example to the country. Maybe lose a few pounds?”

Grump’s fork clattered against his plate. “Lose weight? Are you kidding me? I’m big-boned, Robert. Big. Boned.”

Grump glanced toward Sparky—who, in his mind, was now perched on Robert’s shoulder. “You see that, Sparky? The guy’s always got something to say. Doesn’t know I’m already in peak condition.”

Robert blinked. “Who are you talking to?”

Grump didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the imaginary dragon as it circled Robert. “Sparky’s seeing it again,” Grump murmured. “The lust. It’s overwhelming him.”

Robert, now completely stoned, leapt to his feet. “Exercise time!” he shouted, dropping to the floor. He began cranking out push-ups, counting loudly with each rep. “One! Two! Three!”

Grump watched in stunned silence before bursting into laughter. “This guy! He’s a machine! Look at him go!”

The laughter was cut short by the creak of the door opening at 7:25 AM. Insania Grump strolled into the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. She wore a sleek red dress and an expression that was equal parts amused and knowing.

“Dad,” she said sweetly, “am I interrupting?”

“Ah, Insania!” Grump exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Come here, darling.” He turned to Robert, his grin widening. “You’re dismissed, my boy. I need to spend some quality time with my wife—uh, I mean, my daughter.”

Robert scrambled to his feet, his face beet red. He brushed himself off, muttering a quick “Yes, sir” before making his way to the door. As he passed Insania, she leaned in slightly, blowing him a kiss and winking mischievously.

The gesture sent a shiver down Robert’s spine. He squeaked involuntarily and practically ran out of the room, leaving the Grumps behind.

Outside the suite, Robert leaned against the wall, his heart pounding. The events of the morning replayed in his mind, each moment more surreal than the last. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and shook his head.

“This job,” he muttered, “is going to kill me.”

With a deep breath, he straightened his tie and made his way to the exit, silently praying that his next meeting with Donold J. Grump would be just a little less insane.