Chapter 6: The Parade of Power
Palm Beachonia had built a wall around the entire kingdom.
Palm Beachonia had a king.
It had a set of rapidly yellowing loyalty oaths laminated by unpaid interns.
What it did not have—yet—was a military and you needed a military for parades.
"A country isn’t real without a military," Trump declared one evening at the Royal Palm Grille, stirring his third Diet Coke with a French fry.
"And a big one. The biggest. Tanks. Jets. Muskets. Maybe some ninjas. But classy ninjas. White ones."
His Chief of Staff—currently a former Bass Pro Shops regional manager who had survived the staff purges by never speaking unless spoken to—suggested that importing tanks might be problematic, given the 1000% tariffs and the sudden shortage of steel, fuel, and basic credibility.
Trump’s eyes narrowed.
"Fine. We'll use what we have. Trucks. Big ones. Monster trucks. Everybody loves …
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