Chapter 6: The Parade of Power
The Kingdom of Palm Beachonia
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 trucks. Trucks are tanks with better vibes."
And thus, the Great Palm Beachonia Military Parade was born.
The Assembly of Glory
In the scorching parking lot behind Mar-a-Lago, the Royal Quartermaster (a former used boat salesman named Randy) assembled Palm Beachonia’s mighty forces:
173 lifted Ford F-250s with American flags large enough to blot out the sun.
62 Dodge Rams customized with exhaust pipes that emitted glitter and the scent of artificial freedom.
14 Chevrolet Suburbans driven by women named Darlene who demanded to be addressed as "Colonel."
1 John Deere tractor accidentally recruited after wandering too close to the staging area.
Each vehicle was assigned a royal decree:
Trucks over eight feet tall carried banners reading "TRUTH IS WHATEVER I SAY".
Trucks under eight feet tall were fitted with papier-mâché cannons that fired rolls of MAGA toilet paper into the crowd.
The John Deere was rebranded "The Green Patriot" and outfitted with a massive golden pitchfork.
Participants were ordered to wear official Palm Beachonia Combat Uniforms:
cargo shorts, tank tops featuring eagles clutching assault rifles, and red hats bedazzled with rhinestones spelling out "KING!"
The parade route stretched down Worth Avenue, circled the newly named Trump Eternal Mall, and looped back to the Royal Keep.
It was designed for maximum visibility.
It was not designed for basic physics.
The Parade Begins
At precisely noon, to the solemn strains of a remix of "Hail to the Chief" mashed with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s "Free Bird," the first MAGA truck roared to life.
Wheels the size of birthday cakes shredded decorative hedges.
Palm trees snapped in the backdraft.
Seagulls fled for their lives.
Trump, perched atop the Royal Golf Cart Throne—now fitted with golden rims and an astroturf carpet—waved magnanimously, the Burger King crown on his head tilting precariously with each bump.
Behind him, the MAGA truck battalions lumbered forward, flags whipping so violently that several streetlights were sheared off and flung into decorative fountains.
Spectators—mostly tourists trapped behind the new Wall—stood behind hastily erected bleachers, waving miniature flags and trying not to be crushed by rogue trucks spinning in celebratory donuts.
Children wept.
Dogs barked hysterically.
One old man was heard muttering, "This is how Rome must have ended."
Logistical Issues (Unforeseen, Unsolvable)
Problems mounted immediately:
The monster trucks, designed for mud bogs and tailgate parties, were not built to take tight right-hand turns. Half the parade got stuck in the first roundabout, forming a snarled, fuming clump dubbed The Freedom Knot by observers.
The royal marching band, composed entirely of aging cover musicians from Boca Raton, missed their cue and ended up playing "Louie Louie" for thirty minutes straight.
Three floats collapsed, including the "Battle of the Deep State" diorama where papier-mâché swamp creatures were supposed to be defeated by a heroic Trump figure wielding a golf club. Instead, the Trump figure slumped forward, snapping in half at the knees.
Meanwhile, the Green Patriot tractor veered off course and crashed into the Royal VIP tent, causing minor injuries to four Dukes of Pillow and one unlucky paralegal dressed as Lady Liberty.
The Royal Navy
And let’s not forget the flotillas of some 1,500 boats and yachts sporting thousands of flags and banners - The ‘Trumptilla’ as it was called. Some say 2,500 boats were involved if you include jet skis and there were plenty of those zipping around.
“Thank you. We love our MAGA boaters! Our Royal Navy.” King Donald the First said.
Florida has the highest number of registered boats in the nation, nearing 1 million, according to state data.
The Royal Navy formed a daisy chain along the Intracoastal Waterway that stretched more than 8 miles to be a part of the celebration. Who wouldn’t be proud of such a show of support and solidarity?
The Trumptilla
Long before Palm Beachonia crumbled, before the golden Wall lost its luster and the Air Force ran out of smoke bombs, there was another branch of glory—the Royal Navy.
It floated, more or less, off the coast.
It was called, proudly and without irony: The Trumptilla.
Origins
The idea came to King Donald the First during a long, meandering game of golf, interrupted only briefly by a passing thunderstorm and an especially vivid cheeseburger hallucination.
"We need ships, folks. Big ships.
The biggest. The best. Tremendous water vehicles. More flags than water.
An oceanic presence!
They’ll see us coming and they'll say, 'Wow, those guys really love America.'"
There was one small obstacle:
Palm Beachonia had no shipyards.
Or sailors.
Or naval engineers.
What it had, however, was:
Retired luxury yachts, sold cheap during the Great Financial Correction.
A surplus of bass fishing boats.
Hundreds of inflatable pontoons from canceled Fourth of July lake parties.
And, of course, flags.
Always more flags.
Composition of the Trumptilla
The Trumptilla was not so much a navy as a floating festival of denial.
Flagships included three gilded party barges rechristened:
USS Loyalty,
USS Freedom Jerky,
and USS Very Stable Genius.
Escort Fleet:
Dozens of pontoon boats welded together side-by-side, adorned with mounted lawn chairs, rusted BBQ grills, and makeshift crow's nests made from stepladders.Fast Attack Units:
Jet skis bearing enormous flags, dragging inflatable eagles and shouting pre-recorded speeches at passing dolphins.Support Vessels:
Converted duck boats, now weaponized with loudspeakers playing Kid Rock covers on endless loop.
Each vessel was assigned a Loyalty Officer, whose sole job was to monitor the "Flag Density Index" (FDI)—the number of flags per square foot of visible deck space.
Mission Objective
Officially, the Trumptilla’s mission was:
"To project the unstoppable power and exceptionalism of Palm Beachonia onto the high seas.
And also to make beach parties great again."
Unofficially, its mission seemed to be:
Float vaguely in circles offshore.
Launch water balloon "warning shots" at passing cruise ships.
Stage impromptu loyalty parades whenever a pelican flew overhead.
RoyalNet proudly broadcast the Trumptilla’s "combat readiness drills," which mostly consisted of trying to parallel-park pontoons in high wind while blaring patriotic anthems.
The Great Engagement
The Trumptilla’s finest hour came during the infamous Great Jet Ski Incident.
Late one afternoon, a renegade flotilla of anti-Palm Beachonia kayakers paddled into view, their tiny banners reading things like:
"Reality Exists."
"We Checked."
The Trumptilla responded with heroic zeal.
Jet skis circled like angry bees.
Party barges revved their engines impotently, churning up slightly more foam than usual.
Water balloons rained down, splashing ineffectually into the sea with plops of historic determination.
After approximately 14 minutes, the kayakers floated away, unimpressed but damp.
RoyalNet declared it:
"A stunning naval victory—the biggest water engagement since Thermopylae, folks. Bigger, even. Much bigger."
No one on board could explain what Thermopylae was, something Greek? Russian?
but it sounded impressive. Bill O’Riley said: ‘Jibberish.’
The Royal Air Force
You could say there was even something of an air force.
The Sky Kings of Palm Beachonia
It began, like most things in Palm Beachonia, with an announcement nobody thought was serious.
Standing atop a hastily constructed podium made of monster truck tires and spray-painted pallets, King Donald the First, resplendent in his red velvet cape and golden golf shoes, declared:
"We will have the greatest air force the world has ever seen!
The highest, the loudest, the most patriotic! Tremendous aviation!
Other air forces will look up—WAY up—and say, 'WOW.'"
The crowd, already half-sunstroked and half-drunk on Freedom Fizz, erupted into cheers.
Some wept openly.
Some revved their parked monster trucks in salute.
None, however, asked the obvious question:
"How?"
The Birth of the Air Fleet
Palm Beachonia had no aircraft manufacturers.
No pilots trained in anything more complex than dune buggies.
No functioning air traffic control system.
What it had was imagination.
And trucks.
And flags.
Thus was born the MAGA Air Force.
The first wave of Freedom Flyers took to the skies—or at least the lower atmosphere—in a fleet cobbled together from:
Aging crop dusters repainted gold, leaking oil, and trailing clouds of red, white, and blue smoke.
Decommissioned weather balloons tethered to monster trucks, hoisted into the air with enormous, unruly fans.
Custom ultralight gliders emblazoned with slogans like "Sky High, America First!" and "Gravity is Fake News!"
Each vehicle bore at least six flags, none less than six feet wide, whipping violently in the propwash.
Pilots wore mirrored sunglasses, satin bomber jackets, and optional seatbelts (seatbelts were considered an "individual freedom choice").
The official motto of the Palm Beachonian Air Force was stitched across every pilot’s back:
“Higher, Louder, Redder.”
First Engagement
The Air Force’s first official mission was a ceremonial flyover of the Wall.
Twenty-seven vehicles—fifteen crop dusters, eight ultralights, and four monster-truck-blimps—took to the skies in loose, chaotic formation.
The plan was simple:
Fly in a heart shape.
Smoke-trail the words "Freedom Wins" across the sky.
What occurred instead was:
A lopsided figure-eight.
Several near collisions.
A misspelled smoke message that appeared to say "Freed Wimps."
Two ultralights made emergency landings in the taco truck district.
One balloon-truck drifted into a billboard advertising Freedom Jerky ("Still Edible After Three Years!*").
Then there was the mini air force consisting of hundreds small drones but these were mostly used to send six packs of beer from boat to boat or for gathering intelligence on who had the best bikini bodies in the fleet and if they had their bikinis on or not.
RoyalNet declared it a "historic triumph" and replayed only the most coherent two seconds of footage on an endless loop.
King Donald stood on the Wall, squinting skyward through gilded binoculars, and declared:
"Incredible show of strength!
No air force has ever been better at flags-per-aircraft.
Science people are calling it a new world record!"
No science people were available for comment.
The King’s Speech
Undeterred by physics, logistics, or reality itself, King Donald the First rose from his golf cart throne and took the microphone at the reviewing stand.
He surveyed the wreckage with watery pride: smashed parade floats, stalled trucks, flaming banners.
"This is the greatest military parade in history, folks. Everyone’s talking about it. The tanks? Incredible. The troops? So brave. The enthusiasm? Off the charts. Tremendous patriotism. Very emotional. Some people are crying. Big, strong people."
No one was crying from emotion.
At least, not the kind he meant.
The Parade of Power ended not with a triumphant fireworks display, but with a whimpering, grinding collapse into the empty parking lots behind the Royal Keep, as exhausted truck drivers argued over who had the right of way and whether any of this counted toward their Uber bonuses.
Trump, however, considered it a total victory.
That evening, RoyalNet broadcast a four-hour special called "MARCH OF THE TRUCKS: HOW KING DONALD SAVED WESTERN CIVILIZATION."
Only two commercials ran during the program:
One for off-brand gold-plated steaks.
One for a survival kit containing a MAGA hat, a solar-powered flashlight, and a pocket Constitution rewritten in Comic Sans.
(Next Chapter Teaser:
Chapter 7 — The Great Shortage Crisis
→ How The United States gets tough on the Kingdom with tariffs and entry fees)
Learn to Work Anywhere
October 30, 2013 - Now returned from Paris and looking back over the trip I thought I would write down a few things to help me remember them later. My initial idea for this trip aside from the hope of enjoying some time away with my wife Rosalia, was to see what it would take to work on the road.
Just saw this this https://www.popularmechanics.com/science/environment/a64923582/earth-core-leaking-gold/ Sounds kinda Trumpy to me.
Calamity is as calamity does. We planned it this way.