Geopolitics done right
These rooms used to imply some smokescreens, literally and figuratively; the smoking bans had shed the material layer, leaving only the euphemistic smoke around. Now, this here was quite a multicultural affair, only noticeable through hats, though: turbans, flat caps, a fez or two. Since UN resolution #42069, summits like this had happened a handful of times; usually, the United-States, Russia, and associated proxies and guests. On the guest list today, president Ivanka Trump and Vice president (and first husband) Donald-Trump-In-A-Vat-of-Formaldehyde, Arch-Prime-Reverend Vladimir Putin, King+1 Johnson, of house Boris, and Best Comrade Xi Jinping, were being mediated by Angela Merkel’s brain (in her chancellor’s jar of office). The issue at hand lay in the recent discovery that the war between Canada, Zuckerland (formerly Hawaii, U.S.A.), and the Emu Republic of Central Australia (ERCA) had actually been a proxy-war between the U.K. (and their U.S. protectorate), The Russian Federation, Not Empire, Promise,Fingers-Crossed Emoji (RF,NE,P,FCE), and the newly-formed Republic of Popular People of Xi’s China(Winnie the Pooh is an Imperialist Lie) (RPPXC(WtPiaIL)).
Condolences had been sent to the families of those killed in that war (+/- 12 people, and Maxime Bernier, Best Boy of Canada), and this summit had been called; this to either reach diplomatic conclusions, or arrange for an official war between all hold-outs. Right now, the sticking point lay in the question of ownership of Garbage island; technically in Russian waters, China lay claim to it, America claimed it in response to China, and King Johnson kept babbling “TEA?,” which everyone took to mean that he would assert his country’s rights to this patch of garbage floating in the arctic. The whole shebang was exacerbated by the constant blaring of 2016 U.S. election results coming from the First Husband’s public announcement system, and the President’s insistence on carrying her stuffed-Kushner around, 15 years after the latter was dismembered by the Saudi Crown Prince, the King’s 4 year-old son.
Having reached an impasse, Merkel-Brain finally declared an end to the summit; the customary 30 minutes had run out, and it was time to prepare the official war room.
President Trump broke into tears, but still wheeled her Father-Husband-VP’s vat through the door. She settled in a corner, cowering behind The Donald and Stuffed-Kushner.
King Johnson, of House Boris, was force-fed a cup of tea dosed with a mixture of amphetamines and jet fuel; his aides then dragged him to the middle of the room.
Best Comrade Xi was forced into a red crop-top, and nothing else, then pushed in by his second-in-command.
Arch-Prime-Reverend Putin, who was quite taller than earlier, with much coarser and darker hair, squeezed through the door, an AK-47 shaped lump deforming his pants.
Finally, the ceremonial brick, machete, and empty beer bottle (Budweiser, the world’s ONLY beer), were laid on the central table. The door was shut, locked, bolted, barricaded, and, finally, international diplomacy could run its course.