"Alright," I told myself in the mirror. "No jokes. No impressions. No karaoke. Just. Be. Normal."
I adjusted my tie, then re-adjusted it 17 more times. The World Economic Leadership Summit was already underway. Forty heads of state. No snacks. No second chances.
Janet handed me a folder marked "Do Not Embarrass Us."
Inside was a script, a backup script, an emergency apology letter, and a photo of her with the words "Remember who you'll disappoint" written in red Sharpie.
"You just have to get through this speech without any incidents," she whispered. "No metaphors. No tangents. No barn animals."
"That was one time," I muttered.
---
I entered the summit hall with the poise of someone pretending not to be sweating. Everyone else looked like a Bond villain or a luxury watch ad. I looked like I was about to ask for help with my taxes.
My seat had a plaque: "UNITED STATES OF AMERICA – PRESIDENT BLAKE TENNYSON."
Fancy.
I sat. I breathed. I didn't hum the Mario Kart theme. Progress.
The French president gave a speech about fiscal unity. The Japanese prime minister spoke elegantly about climate strategy.
Then it was my turn.
I stood. Adjusted the mic. Glanced at the script. And started reading like my GPA depended on it.
---
"Distinguished leaders, today we gather not merely as nations but as stewards of a shared future…"
So far, so good.
"…And while our challenges are great, our collective resolve is greater…"
Okay, I sounded like every politician in a movie. Safe. Serious.
But then—I saw it.
A pigeon.
Inside the summit hall.
Staring at me through the glass ceiling like a judgmental sky rat.
I lost my place.
"…Uh… as we… endeavor to… um, strengthen trade frameworks and… reduce, uh… carbon emissions—"
The pigeon landed on the edge of the podium.
I stared at it.
It stared back.
Someone coughed.
I panicked.
"And let me say this," I declared, abandoning the script completely. "Just like this brave little bird has broken into this sacred summit of power, so too must we break through the barriers of outdated diplomacy!"
Janet facepalmed so hard I heard it echo.
---
Now unchained from my script, I was flying blind.
"We can't just parrot talking points—" I gestured to the pigeon "—we need to soar beyond them! Like eagles! Or... cooperative doves!"
Laughter. From somewhere.
Mostly nervous.
The pigeon pooped on the corner of my notes.
Someone gasped.
I took it as a sign.
"Even this bird refuses to be constrained by borders or red tape! It believes in freedom! In action! In—"
The mic cut off.
Apparently Janet had the power to mute me.
---
Backstage, Janet looked like a parent waiting outside the principal's office.
"I told you," she said flatly, "no metaphors."
"I didn't plan the pigeon."
"You called it a symbol of international progress!"
"It was right there, Janet!"
"The Canadian prime minister just tweeted: 'I am the pigeon.' It's trending."
"Oh. So… that's good?"
"It's worse! You've started an ideological bird cult!"
---
Within an hour:
TikTok had a filter to add pigeons to any political speech.
A meme of me saluting the bird was projected onto a building in Berlin.
And someone made a remix video titled "Flight of the Diplomats" featuring my speech autotuned over orchestral dubstep.
Meanwhile, actual world leaders were furious.
Germany demanded I be "retrained."
Russia accused me of "using pigeons as psychological warfare."
Even New Zealand called me "unhinged, but fascinating."
---
Back in the U.S., the press had a field day.
CNN: "POTUS or Pigeon Whisperer?"
Fox: "Tennyson Humiliates Nation Again."
Buzzfeed: "We Ranked All the Birds at the Summit, and #1 Will Shock You!"
My approval rating dipped.
Then immediately rebounded with voters under 35, who loved the "authentic chaos."
Janet stared at the chart and said, "We are trapped in an irony loop."
---
At night, I sat on the White House balcony with a glass of soda and the pigeon, now named Greg, sitting on the railing.
"You know," I said, "you really threw off my whole serious plan."
Greg blinked.
Then pooped again.
"You're right," I nodded. "Never be serious."