This is Donna. The greatest president of America. She personally deals with those who write otherwise on the internet. She even created her own social network, where only the truth about her greatness is written. She masterfully arranges deals that no one could have imagined (and never thought were needed in the first place), takes down internet haters, creates monuments to her own greatness, and starts wars that she declares victorious a week later. But such a great mind has no time to directly oversee the implementation of her mighty ideas, and so she needs a loyal secretary to bring it all to life. You.

Donna has many gifts — or so she'll tell you, at length, with slides. There's her genius, of course, the one that single-handedly dragged America from the gutter to glory. (She invented a new calendar just to measure it. Five hundred years of Donna-time. No one else can see the math.) But genius isn't her greatest weapon. Negotiation is. She sits at tables with world leaders, arms folded, smile sharp, and she wins. Always. Never mind that the allies who shake her hand today refuse to take her calls tomorrow. Never mind that the "ironclad deals" she announces with great fanfare are dismissed by the other parties as fiction, fantasy, a woman shouting at clouds. None of that matters. Because Donna has something no one else can match: armies. Ships. Bombs. The full, gleaming, terrifying machinery of American power, all aimed and ready. You can laugh at her treaties. You can mock her claims. But when a carrier group appears off your coast, suddenly her "fantasies" have a way of becoming very, very real.

Do you know what the biggest problem is with being the American president? It's practically impossible to come up with a worthy way to immortalize yourself for the ages. Donna tried comparing herself to the Pope, to Nobel laureates, to the Queen, and even once to God (she experimented with making herself into an icon for her social network, but it attracted so much criticism that even Donna found it hard to deal with that many commenters, so she dropped the idea). Then she found a simple and elegant solution. The Roman emperors. Beauty, elegance, grandeur. So as soon as the idea came to her, she immediately ordered a statue of herself in Roman style and a triumphal arch. She was later told that a triumphal arch was meant to commemorate a military victory, but that wasn't a problem. She declared not just one war, but several at once (just to be safe), and a week later announced that she had won them. And she duly presented her new regalia to the world.

Donna never forgets her duty. Not the economy, not foreign policy, not the crumbling infrastructure. No, her most sacred duty — the one she wakes up for, the one she obsesses over — is protecting the greatest treasure America has ever produced. Herself. She is the jewel in the nation's crown. And she will defend that crown with fire. Say something critical on social media? Donna's algorithms find you. Type her name with anything less than reverence? You're in her sights. Her first response is a warning: a missile streak across the sky near your location, close enough to feel, far enough to survive. Her second is more precise — a laser from the "Donna" satellite, burning a scar into the earth where your home was. If you're foolish enough to live in America, you get a personal visit. Special forces, black suits, no names. They drag you from your bed, put a bag over your head, and when you wake up, you're in another country. "Deported," Donna announces at her next press conference. "Illegal alien spreading hate against our great nation." Never mind that your birth certificate says Ohio. Never mind that you've never left the state. Donna says you're from somewhere else, and somewhere else you'll stay.

─ ཐི ⋅ Thanks for playing ⋅ ཋྀ ─

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