Three days into my presidency, I woke up to seventeen missed calls and a breaking news banner that read:
"DORITOS LINKED TO RARE CANCER IN LANDMARK FEDERAL STUDY."
I blinked at the screen. Then I blinked again.
Then I said, out loud, to no one:
"You've got to be kidding me."
The TV anchor looked somber, like someone had just dropkicked a golden retriever.
"…a newly released report by the FDA indicates that long-term consumption of synthetic cheese-dust products—specifically those matching the chemical profile of Nacho Blast™ and Cool Scream™—is directly correlated with a spike in previously undiagnosed microvascular tumors."
They cut to a B-roll of doctors looking grave and bags of chips being incinerated like biohazard waste.
"We reached out to the White House for comment, and President Blake's recent executive order banning such snacks is now being praised by medical professionals as 'bold,' 'visionary,' and 'potentially life-saving.'"
I turned the TV off.
Hard.
---
Janet burst into the Oval Office ten minutes later, holding a tablet like it was radioactive.
"We've had over a hundred calls from cancer foundations, nutritionists, parents' groups, and three separate European governments," she said briskly. "They're calling you a pioneer."
I stared at her. "I banned Doritos because they got my fingers gross."
"Well, now you're a public health crusader. Approval's up twelve more points. Trending hashtags include #SnackSavior and #DustToDust."
I slumped in my chair. "No. No, no, no. This ruins everything. I was trying to be an idiot."
"Sir, you accidentally saved thousands of lives."
"Yeah, and that's exactly the problem."
She blinked.
"I don't want to save people," I said, gesturing wildly. "I want to mess up so badly they kick me out of here. I want to get impeached, not put on a freaking postage stamp."
Josh poked his head in. "You're gonna be on a stamp?"
"No!" I snapped.
"Yet," Janet corrected calmly. "Commemorative options are being explored."
I buried my face in my hands. "Unreal. Absolutely unreal."
---
That night, I sat alone in the Lincoln Bedroom eating grapes and staring at the ceiling.
"This place is cursed," I muttered.
The door creaked open and Josh wandered in, holding two beers and a package of commemorative White House tissues.
"They made these for your approval bump," he said, tossing them onto the bed. "They smell like nacho."
I took one of the beers. "You realize this means I can't even do stupid right?"
"Buddy, you're batting a thousand," he said, cracking his can open. "You accidentally fixed cancer. What next? World peace because you banned soda?"
I froze. "Wait… soda."
Josh narrowed his eyes. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking."
"If Doritos caused cancer…"
"Blake—"
"…then imagine what soda might be doing."
"Don't you dare."
I smiled slowly, the gears turning in all the worst ways.
"I'm gonna declare war," I said.
"On who?"
I took a sip of my beer and stared dramatically into the middle distance.
"Big Gulp."