A Seussian Political Fable
The Land of
Bumbloo-Wee
Where Trumpy-Wumpy Rules (He Says)
"A story for grown-up children who know better"
Part One
The Creature of Bumbloo-Wee
Trumpy-Wumpy, in his natural state of self-regard
In the land of Bumbloo-Wee, way out past the east,
Lived the most peculiar, orange-colored beast.
He was squat, he was wide, he was round as a bun,
With a face like a sunset that's much too much sun.
Trumpy-Wumpy his name was, self-given with glee,
"The GREATEST of all!" he declared, "That is ME!"
His eyes were like raisins pressed into some dough,
His wattle would wobble wherever he'd go.
His hair was a mystery wrapped up in more hair—
Was it yellow? Was it gold? Was it really all there?
It swept and it swooped and it spiraled around,
Like something a bird found and lost on the ground.
He wore a long tie that descended to here—
Past his belly, past his knees, reaching almost to there—
Bright red as a warning (some said it was true),
That the tie was the smartest thing Trumpy-Wumpy knew.
Part Two
The Rage! The Rage!
THE RAGE!
A mildly critical news article has been detected
Now Trumpy-Wumpy had a temper, you see,
Like a thundercloud, only with less dignity.
If someone said "Hmm" or said "Well... not quite,"
Trumpy-Wumpy would ROAR and would STOMP through the night!
He'd tweet and he'd twoot on the Boopity-Box,
Fling insults like someone who's lost all their socks.
His poll numbers dropped by a fraction of one—
He declared it "FAKE!" before reading was done.
He called up his lawyers, his generals, his cook,
He issued a memo, he issued a LOOK.
For Trumpy-Wumpy could not, would not, must not hear
That anyone, anywhere, held him not dear.
The truth was a thing he found awfully rude—
He much preferred flattery, tweets, and fast food.
Part Three
Melancholia, Fairest of
the Unimpressed
Melancholia, located approximately nowhere near joy
Now Trumpy-Wumpy had a wife of renown,
Melancholia, who wore a permanent frown.
Not quite a frown — more a haughty half-lid,
The face of someone who'd rather be hid.
She walked through the palace with slow, stately grace,
An expression of marble adorning her face.
Her gown was resplendent, her jewels were bright,
Her interest in Trumpy-Wumpy: slight.
"My darling!" cried Trumpy-Wumpy, arms open wide.
She blinked once. She turned. And she looked to the side.
"The cameras!" he whispered, "they're watching us dear!"
She moved her hand slightly. That counted this year.
The servants all called her 'The Glacier of Gloom,'
Though some said 'The Weather of Not In This Room.'
But all who beheld her agreed on one thing:
She looked wholly unimpressed by Bumbloo-Wee's king.
Part Four
The Cabinet of Peculiarities
Now every great leader, even ones of this sort,
Needs helpers and yes-folk to manage the fort.
And Trumpy-Wumpy had gathered, by golly, a crew—
The strangest assemblage that anyone knew.
⚔️ Heggsy-Weggsy
General of Guessing · Secretary of Confusion
Heggsy-Weggsy, pondering which end of the sword is pointy
First came Heggsy-Weggsy, all muscles and bluster,
Who'd watched all the war movies — quite a fine cluster.
He tattooed his arms with the names of great battles,
Then confused them with movies, which really just rattles.
"I am TOUGH!" he declared, striking poses at noon,
Then went on the TV and said something soon
That made all the generals wince, look away,
And quietly draft their resignations that day.
🫡 Vancy-Prancy
Deputy Yes-Man · Nodder-in-Chief
Vancy-Prancy, hoping Trumpy-Wumpy will notice him today
Then Vancy-Prancy came skipping along,
With a song in his heart — well, Trumpy-Wumpy's song.
He'd once written a book about people like that,
Then changed his opinion, and left it quite flat.
Now Vancy-Prancy stood second in line,
Nodding at everything — wasn't that fine?
"He's BRILLIANT!" said Vancy each morning at dawn.
"Quite right," said Trumpy-Wumpy, and straightened his lawn.
😁 Mikey-Smiley
Speaker of Smiles · Keeper of the Permanent Grin
Mikey-Smiley, smiling at something deeply unfunny
Then Mikey-Smiley arrived with his Bible held tight,
With a smile so wide it blocked out the light.
He smiled as he voted for things that gave pause.
His smile never wavered through scandal and flaws.
"The Lord wills it!" he'd say, signing off on the bill,
While the Lord (some believed) felt a definite chill.
💧 Roo-Roo the Sweaty
Secretary of Sweat · Former Man of Principle
Roo-Roo, in need of significantly more water
Poor Roo-Roo the Sweaty perspired with flair,
His forehead glistening in the diplomatic air.
He'd once been quite brave — or at least said some things —
But when Trumpy-Wumpy spoke, Roo-Roo grew wings.
Not wings to fly with — no, wings made of doubt —
He'd say one true thing, then slowly back out.
His water bottle always close at hand,
To stay hydrated while taking his stand.
🚀 Elon-Moron
Rocket-Headed Gadfly · Lord of the Boopity-Box
Elon-Moron, mid-tweet at 3am
And hovering nearby, on his phone like a leech,
Was Elon-Moron, just out of arm's reach.
He owned all the rockets and cars and the tweets,
And a government bureau he ran from his sheets.
He bought the great Boopity-Box for a sum,
Then made it appreciably more numb.
He lunged at the stage and performed a small jig —
The crowd was uncertain if this was the gig.
Part Five
A Most Seussian Conclusion
The full court of Bumbloo-Wee, nobody sure why they're there
So there in Bumbloo-Wee, past the hills and the dreck,
Trumpy-Wumpy held court with a quiver and beck.
With Vancy and Heggsy and Mikey and Roo,
And Melancholia, wishing she had something to do.
The polls went up, the polls went down,
Trumpy-Wumpy raged throughout the town.
The courts issued rulings he stuffed in a drawer.
The generals retired. He hired some more.
And people asked: "Will this all be okay?
Will Bumbloo-Wee ever see a clear day?"
Unless someone cares — really, truly, a lot —
The Bumbloo-Wee world will keep going to rot.
So close up this book, and put down your phone,
And do something about it — you're not all alone.
— THE END —
(or until the next executive order)
All characters are purely fictional composites created for satirical purposes.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or governing, is purely hilarious.
The author maintains no personal grudge against wattles.