SCENE: 2:05 A.M. The back room of a dive in Brooklyn. The air smells of stale hops and unchecked executive power. Three men sprawl around a sticky table covered with glasses and half-empty bottles of booze and a couple of Diet Cokes: The UPTIGHT MARINE (in a uniform one size too small), the DARK MAN (with darting black eyes, sweating), and the Orange One (sipping a Diet Coke, frowning).
DARK MAN (Nervous energy) Mr. President, we have to look at the energy sector. It’s a mess. What if—hear me out—what if we just bought Canada? We tried it once in 1812, terrible timing, but now? It’s distressed real estate. We rebrand it “North Dakota Plus.”
THE ORANGE ONE (Pursing lips) Canada. I don’t know. I don’t like the zoning. Too many rules. And that guy they have running it? The one with the hair? Nasty piece of work. A total lightweight. No, Marco, bring me something real. I need a win. Big win.
UPTIGHT MARINE (Leaning in, veins popping) Sir. Venezuela. It’s sitting right there. Biggest oil reserves in the world, and they’re weak. You’ve already crippled them with the sanctions—which was genius, by the way. Tactical brilliance. Sun Tzu wishes he was you.
THE ORANGE ONE (Nods) I am very good at sanctions. Maybe the best. But you say Sun Tzu, why? Remind me.
UPTIGHT MARINE He’s that Chinese general who said 2500 years ago: “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” And that’s what we’re gonna do: We go into Caracas on the weekend. Everyone’s hungover. We grab Maduro, put a flag on the oil rig, and we’re home for the late game. A smash and grab. Kinetic but elegant.
THE ORANGE ONE (Frowning) And who runs the place? Not that woman. The one the Nobel people like so much.
DARK MAN (Quickly) Machado? Oh, god no. Absolutely not. She’s… she’s very low energy.
THE ORANGE ONE The Nobel Committee. A total joke. They give prizes to losers. I solved peace in the Middle East—finished it, actually—and do I get a medal? No. I get criticized. It’s unfair.
DARK MAN Israel is very happy, sir.
THE ORANGE ONE They should be. I let them finish the job, but, boy, are they slow! If it were me? I’d have turned Gaza into a parking lot for a nice casino right away. Oceanfront property. Very high value.
DARK MAN (Desperate) Exactly! Your vision is… it’s blinding, sir. And after Venezuela? Cuba. My sweet, sweet Cuba. Let me have Cuba. I want to walk into Havana like a king.
THE ORANGE ONE (Shrugging) Cuba is small potatoes, Marco. I’m thinking bigger. Greenland. The Arctic. The minerals! We buy it—everyone has a price.
(He pauses, doing mental math)
We cut a check to every person living there. Ten grand? Fifty grand? Hey, let’s go up to $100,000 each. Why not? There’s hardly anyone there! It’s empty! We pay them off, we take the island. Peanuts.
(He darkens)
But we have to look at Colombia. That guy Petro. Nasty guy. He’s flooding our beautiful country with cocaine. Pouring it in. He’s gotta be stopped.
(He looks up, musing)
Gonna call him, he’ll listen to me. Maybe we buy a chunk of France, too. They need the cash…
(The door swings open. A bearded man with a ROUND FACE enters, looking flushed.)
ROUND FACE Did I miss it? Tell me I didn’t miss the history.
THE ORANGE ONE (Grumbling) The Vice President. Always late. You miss the best lines, JD. We just solved the energy crisis. We’re taking Venezuela. It’s going to be beautiful. Simple. Like a DoorDash delivery, but with tanks.
DARK MAN (Fidgeting with a coaster) Mr. President, I hesitate to bring this up—really, I do—but the Europeans. They love their paperwork. The UN, NATO, International Law… all that institutional clutter. The Security Council might whine.
THE ORANGE ONE (Waving a hand dismissively) The U.N.? Please. Have you seen the marble in the lobby? Cheap. Cracked. The whole place is a teardown. But you’re right, we’ll pull out of there too.
(Snaps his fingers) Prepare an executive order. We need to get out. Total waste of time and money.
DARK MAN (Grinning) Will do, sir. And Europe?
THE ORANGE ONE (Shrugging) Europe is a museum. It’s over. They’re worried about the “climate.” I tell them, it’s just weather. Put on a coat.
DARK MAN Right. Absolutely. Weather.
THE ORANGE ONE They’re weak. They have nice buildings—old, but nice—but inside? Rot. They can’t stop us. We take Maduro, we bring him here—maybe Brooklyn, maybe Mar-a-Lago in the off-season—and we give him a taste of American Justice. It’ll be so fast, the Germans won’t even have time to draft an angry letter.
(He pauses, looking at the ceiling, inspired)
THE ORANGE ONE And the best part? Nobody talks about Epstein anymore. Nobody talks about the deportations or ICE agents shooting people. We give them a show. A big, beautiful show. MAGA goes global.
(A shadow detaches itself from the wall. A small man with a gleaming BOLD HEAD—The Chief policy planner—steps into the light. The temperature in the room seems to drop five degrees.)
BOLD HEAD Just heard what you said: Kidnapping a head of state. Allow me to say it. It’s elegant, sir. Pure asymmetric dominance.
THE ORANGE ONE Stephen! You’re like a ninja. I love it.
BOLD HEAD (Voice like dry paper) I was listening from the hallway. The Europeans are irrelevant. They are biologically incapable of action. They talk. We act. They have bureaucracy; we have will. And firepower. America First isn’t a slogan, sir. It’s a survival imperative.
THE ORANGE ONE (Raising his Diet Coke) To the imperative thing!
(The others scramble to raise their glasses.)
ALL America First!
THE ORANGE ONE (Leaning back, eyes closed) First Venezuela. Then we circle back. Cuba for Marco. Then, Mexico—we fix the border by moving the border. Colombia. Greenland—I still want Greenland, the Danish were very rude about that. And Iran. Simple.
(He opens his eyes, snapping his fingers)
And Gaza. I haven’t forgotten. The Gaza Riviera. I’m seeing hotels, I’m seeing a golf course right on the water. “Trump Dunes.” It plays well.
(He pats his pockets)
What time is it? I need to call Vlad. Who has a phone? My battery is dead.
BOLD HEAD (Instantly placing a phone in his hand) Unlocked and encrypted, sir.
THE ORANGE ONE You’re a machine, Stephen. You’re the architect. How’s that project coming? The 2025 thing?
BOLD HEAD (Thin smile) It is now the Forever Project, sir. We are fundamentally broadening the scope and restructuring the timeline.
THE ORANGE ONE (Already dialing) Good, good. I like “Forever.”
(He puts the phone to his ear, his voice shifting to a loud, salesman boom)
THE ORANGE ONE Vlad! My friend! How is the motherland? And Ukraine, you getting places?… Good, good. Listen, I’m looking at the maps. I’ve got a spot for you on the Mediterranean. Gaza. Beautiful water. You want a port for your submarines? I got you a port. Prime parking… No, listen to me. There’s a condition. One condition… The hotel permit in Moscow. The one you’ve been sitting on… Yes, the Tower. I get the permit, you get the submarine parking. That’s the deal… Uh-huh… I know you’re tough, Vlad, but nobody walks all over me. We do the deal, or the sub stays in the ice!
(He winks at the men in the room)
Okay, send the paperwork. Ciao, Vlad.
(He hangs up, satisfied)
See? That’s how you do foreign policy. Real estate. It’s all just real estate.
Note about this piece: The author claims to have overheard this conversation in a Brooklyn bar while waiting for the bathroom at 2 A.M., though her legal counsel strongly advises her to state that this piece is a work of pure fiction (technically, it’s political satire). She is currently avoiding windows, open doors, and all bars in Brooklyn.
Editor’s Note: The opinions expressed here by the authors are their own, not those of impakter.com — In the cover photo: Trump’s Foreign Policy — Cover Photo Credit: AI via Gemini
