Very Fine People from Grumbulon-9
The Oval Office is packed, bustling with staffers, cabinet members, and high ranking Pentagon officials. An aid enters the room.
“Sir, the aliens are here.”
The President of the United States, Donald Trump, looks up from his gold-plated desk. “Great. Send them to Bukele.”
“The ππ₯π‘πππ‘πππππ π‘ππππ aliens, sir.”
“Right.” Trump nods. “Send them to Bukele.”
Secretary of State Marco Rubio clears his throat. “Just send them in.”
The aid nods. “Right away sir.”
“Oh?” Trump pulls a face. “What are we doing, Little Marco?”
Rubio turns to Trump. “This is humanity’s first contact with a sapient species from beyond our world, Mr. President. We have to at least talk to them.”
“Fine, fine.” Trump waves him off. “But let’s make it quick. I’m expecting a call from Xi πππ minute now.”
Rubio scoffs. “Donald, come on.”
“Eh?”
“This is more important than the tariffs. It’s alien life. Science fiction made real.”
“Uh huh.”
“He’s right, Donald.” Vice President J.D. Vance chimes in from his eternal perch on the couch. “It could change everything we know about the galaxy, the universe, even life itself.”
Trump raises his hands. “Listen fellas, Xi is going to call me up, and he’s gonna say ‘Donaru, Donaru.’”
“…”
“I see you’ve got E.T over there. It’s a hell of a thing.” Trump spreads his arms. “Let’s make a deal.”
Rubio sighs. The aid returns, followed by two aliensβtall, lanky Greys with broad, oblong heads.
Trump remains seated. “So where you fellas from anyway? Nicaragua? Naples?”
The aliens project their thoughts directly into the minds of everyone in the room. “Greetings humans. We hail from our homeworld, Grumbulon-9.”
“Guatemala!” Trump responds. “Beautiful country!”
The aliens glance at one another.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks.” Trump raps his knuckles on the desk. “You fellas ever read the Art of the Deal?”
“It’s why we came,” the first alien says.
“It’s our Holy Scripture,” the second says.
“Fantastic! I love these guys already.”
“We have come to make America a deal.” The aliens announce in unison. “Surrender Florida or be destroyed.”
The room gasps. Rubio rears back in horror. “Good Lord.”
Trump slaps his desk. “Done, you can have it!”
Rubio balks. “Donald!”
Trump grins. “I can’t wait to see Meatball Ron’s face when he hears this.”
“Donald you can’t give up Florida!”
“Why not?” Trump shrugs. “I’m the President.”
“Why noβ” Rubio splutters. “It’s sovereign soil! One of the fifty states!”
Trump waves him off. “We’ll just sub in Greenland. That way we don’t have to change the flag.”
“What?”
“Fifty is a good, round number.”
Vance chimes in. “That’s a good plan, Donald.”
“It’s not a good plan!” Rubio barks in protest. “For God’s sake Donald, Mar-a-Lago, your property, is in Palm Beach!”
Trump shrugs. “I’ve already put it up for sale. I’m building Mar-a-Lago’s Revenge in Greenland.”
“What?”
“I’ve got a beautiful eighteen hole course all planned out. The perfect green.”
“Donald, Greenland is covered in snow.”
“Not when I’m done with it. I’ve even got a new slogan ready to go.” Trump pans his hand across the air. “Make Greenland Green Again.”
Vance chimes in. “That’s a great slogan, Donald.”
Rubio pinches his lips in exasperation.
Vance bolts up. “I’m gonna go write a long tweet about why it’s good and constitutional that the aliens are taking Florida.”
Trump gives him a finger gun. “Go for it, Champ.”
Vance scurries out of the room with the aliens in tow.
A concerned Rubio leans in. “Donald, I think we really need to sit down and talk this throughβ”
Trump jerks his thumb. “Looking forward to when RFK figures out what the hell’s wrong with that guy.”
“…what?”
“Vance. He’s got that impediment.”
Rubio furrows his brow. “What impediment?'
“He’s Appalachian.”
“…”
“You know, like Elon.”
“Donald, Elon’s autistic.”
Trump shrugs. “What’s the difference?”