Once upon a time, in the grand (but slightly shabby) nation of Blandovia, a leader rose like none other. His name was Ronald Dump, and he was a man of supreme self-confidence, endless ambition, and an unshakable conviction that every Blandovian adored him. 

This belief wasn’t entirely without basis, since a surprisingly large number of Blandovians did, in fact, support him—thanks to a combination of national laziness, chronic forgetfulness, and an unhealthy addiction to TikTok.

Dump’s ascent to power began when he was a television personality. 

He hosted Blandovia’s Next Best Leader, a reality show where he berated contestants for daring to challenge his genius. One day, someone in the studio audience muttered, “He’d make a great president, y’know. At least he’d keep things interesting.” 

That was enough to spark a political wildfire. Before anyone could say “democracy,” Ronald Dump was elected president by a landslide, largely on the strength of his snappy catchphrase, “It’s all about me, baby!”

Dump spent his first day in office redecorating the palace. All the portraits of former presidents, dignified statesmen of Blandovia’s past, were unceremoniously ripped from the walls and replaced with—well, more portraits of Dump. 

There he was, looking heroic in one; smug and charming in another; brooding over an imaginary chessboard in a third. In every image, his hair (a magnificent specimen that sat on his head like a windswept stack of waffles) glistened with unnatural luster.

But Dump’s crowning glory wasn’t just his hair; it was his ability to drum up adoration for himself. Each day, he ordered his aides to hold “Spontaneous Rallies of Joy” across Blandovia, where crowds gathered to cheer as he ascended various podiums to deliver heartfelt speeches about the heroism of—well, Dump. 

While he spoke, aides handed out cardboard signs that read Dump or Die and The Man With the Plan: Ronald. People held these signs high, partly out of fear, but mostly because they wanted to get home in time for Blandovia’s most-watched soap opera, The Lies We Love.

Despite his seemingly unshakeable popularity, a simmering resistance formed within Dump’s inner circle. His wife, Ivoria, his sons Ronald Junior and Ronald II, and his advisor, Gilby Sneer, had long since grown tired of Dump’s endless self-promotion. 

Ivoria secretly dreamed of inheriting the throne. Junior and Ronald II harbored faint suspicions that they, too, might make a good president—if only because neither of them could be worse. 

Gilby Sneer, however, was in a league of his own. With a sinister smile and an affinity for plotting, Sneer was the most dangerous of them all.

One day, while Dump was rehearsing a speech in front of a mirror (which he had placed in the garden “for better outdoor lighting”), Ivoria approached him, wearing a rather smug grin.

“My love,” she cooed, “I had the most marvelous idea. You deserve a monument—a colossal statue of yourself to inspire the people and remind them of your greatness.”

Dump’s eyes sparkled, his heart soaring at the thought. “Yes! A statue! But not just any statue—a statue big enough to blot out the sun!”

This would take all of Blandovia’s resources, not to mention a vast workforce and obscene amounts of money. But Dump didn’t care; he wanted his face to loom over the land like a benevolent colossus.

The statue project, however, was all part of Sneer’s cunning plan. While Dump’s focus shifted entirely to constructing his monument, Sneer began holding “strategy meetings” in the dead of night with Ivoria and the boys.

“Our glorious leader is too busy to notice,” Sneer whispered with glee. “So let’s do him a favor and quietly usher him… into retirement.”

Ivoria raised an eyebrow. “Retirement?”

Sneer nodded, explaining his plan in hushed tones. They would plant a few… subtle suggestions in the press: stories about Dump’s alleged “health decline” and his supposed “retreat from public life” (in reality, he’d simply been spending long hours staring at a model of his statue). Then, one night, they would announce that Dump had decided to “step down for the good of the nation.”

The plan went into effect. 

Blandovian news outlets—most of which were run by Sneer’s cronies—began reporting that “sources close to the president” had revealed Dump’s intention to “retire to his estate.” Rumors of his “frailty” spread, bolstered by photos of Dump, his eyes drooping from yet another late night of staring at his own reflection.

But the scheme hit an unexpected snag. 

Dump’s paranoia began to intensify as whispers about his health reached his ears. Suddenly, he started suspecting everyone of betrayal. 

At first, he only banned Ivoria from his presence, convinced she was in cahoots with “the media.” Then he banished his sons to “study abroad” (in the middle of nowhere). Soon, he was only addressing his aides from behind a wall of cardboard cutouts of himself for “security.”

Dump grew more reclusive by the day, convinced that everyone—perhaps even the pigeons who nested on the palace roof—was plotting against him. At night, he wandered the empty palace halls, muttering about loyalty and occasionally cursing the “traitors” who’d once cheered him on.

Meanwhile, Sneer’s plan advanced. 

He announced that Dump would “formally retire” on the upcoming Day of National Reflection (a hastily invented holiday meant to honor “the selfless spirit of Ronald Dump, who has given so much to this nation”). 

But just as Blandovia was preparing for its “reflection,” Dump had a moment of clarity. Shaking his fist at the night sky, he shouted, “They think they can retire ME? I AM BLANDOVIA!”

In a grand gesture, Dump declared he would give one final speech to “reaffirm his greatness.” He arrived on stage, looking more disheveled than ever, his hair resembling a matted scarecrow. 

The crowd watched silently as he climbed the podium, clearly agitated, his face a mask of frustration. He began his speech with a fevered cry of, “I am Blandovia! And Blandovia is me!”

Just then, Sneer, lurking in the wings, decided the time had come. He gave a subtle nod to the guards, who had been “instructed” to help Dump to a “safe place” after the speech. They approached, reaching out to assist him.

“No!” Dump screeched, leaping off the stage in a panic. “They’re everywhere!” He bolted through the crowd, knocking over attendees in his wild dash toward the Blandovian sea. 

With no one daring to follow, he sprinted right up to the pier and took a grand, triumphant leap—arms raised in a final salute.

And there, in the depths of the Blandovian Bay, Ronald Dump met his end. The nation, stunned, held a moment of silence. Then, as planned, Sneer announced that Ivoria would take over “in memory of our dearly departed Dump.”

In time, a small monument was erected on the pier where Dump had vanished. 

It wasn’t the towering colossus he’d dreamed of—just a simple plaque that read, Here Lies Ronald Dump: The Man Who Was Blandovia (And Thought It Wasn’t Enough).

And so, Blandovia moved on, eternally grateful to have had (and rid itself of) its most memorable, most foolish president. 

As for Sneer, Ivoria, and the boys, they celebrated with Blandovia’s favorite pastime—plotting who would get the throne next.

The End