At the International Trade Summit, held in a glitzy Vienna ballroom that smelled faintly of cigars and strained diplomacy, President Trumph strode to the podium. His signature red tie swung like a pendulum, warning of the chaos to come.

“I’m telling you,” Trumph began, pointing at the gathered delegates, “the EU’s been ripping us off for decades. Tariffs are coming, big ones. Huge ones. You won’t believe it!”

The French delegate, a silver-haired man named Jean-Claude, leaned over to whisper to his German counterpart. “Is he serious?”

“I think he is,” said Angela, sipping her mineral water with the calm of someone who’d seen worse. “Though I must admit, his economic theories are as unpredictable as his hair.”

Trumph jabbed his finger toward the Chinese delegation. “And you! Ten percent on imports if you don’t start playing fair!”

Ambassador Li smiled serenely. “Mr. President, we only play Go. You’re the one insisting on Monopoly.”

The room tensed as murmurs spread. Diplomats exchanged nervous glances, except for Jean-Claude, who suddenly chuckled.

“Do you find this amusing?” Trumph barked, glaring at him.

Jean-Claude stood, smoothing his lapel. “Monsieur Président, perhaps you’ve forgotten that tariffs work both ways. Shall we talk about the little wine and cheese problem your country has?”

Trumph folded his arms. “What problem? We’re doing great things with wine. American wine is the best! The absolute best!”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “And cheese?”

“Fantastic cheese!” Trumph shot back, though he seemed less certain.

Ambassador Li coughed lightly. “And your soybeans, Mr. President? Shall we discuss them too?”

For a moment, Trumph faltered, as if recalling a trade war he’d started but hadn’t quite finished. He recovered quickly. “Look, all I’m saying is we’re going to make trade great again. You’ll see. Everyone’s going to love it!”

Angela leaned forward. “By taxing everyone into oblivion?”

“Exactly!” Trumph declared, missing the sarcasm entirely.

Jean-Claude clinked his glass. “To President Trumph, the only man who can unite the EU, China, and probably Mars against a common cause.”

The room erupted into laughter, except for Trumph, who smiled like he’d won the argument.

Later, as the delegates filed out, Angela turned to Jean-Claude. “He’ll follow through, you know.”

Jean-Claude shrugged. “Let him. We’ll make a tariff-proof cheese. A little softer. Maybe a bit of Brie. And your engineers will figure out the rest.”

They both chuckled, leaving the ballroom as Trumph stood alone at the podium, muttering about ketchup tariffs and “unfair baguette subsidies.”