I opened my eyes to find Janet standing over me, holding a binder so thick it looked like it had eaten three other binders.
"Wake up. You've caused a global identity crisis."
"Again?" I mumbled.
She dropped the binder onto my chest like a guilt anvil. "World leaders are calling this the Tennyson Effect. Italy just hired a comedian as foreign minister to 'match your energy.' You've started a diplomatic arms race of chaos."
I sat up, squinting. "I thought I was just being me."
"Well, you now have a mandatory appearance at the United Nations. You're expected to explain yourself. With dignity. Gravitas. You remember what those are, right?"
"Nope."
---
Two days later, I was in New York, staring at a half-circle of stone-faced leaders and diplomats who looked like they hadn't laughed since 1992. My speech was prepared, triple-checked, and laminated by Janet. All I had to do was read it.
I lasted four sentences.
---
"Let me be clear," I said into the mic. "I did not plan to become a global meme."
Pause. Silence. A cough from the Sudanese delegate.
"But let's be real: international diplomacy has gotten stale. It's posturing, bureaucracy, and pre-approved language filtered through fifteen layers of ambiguity. So I took a different route. I showed up. Talked like a human. Listened like one. And somehow—despite my best efforts—I signed the biggest trade expansion in a decade."
Gasps. Glares. Someone dropped a pen.
"I didn't mean to start a global vibe revolution, but I'm not apologizing for it either."
---
Ten seconds of stunned silence followed.
Then the French ambassador stood up.
"This is not how diplomacy works!" he snapped.
"But it did work," I said. "Asia loves us."
"That's not the point!"
"Then what is?"
He sputtered. "Respect. Formality. Boundaries!"
I smiled. "You're just mad I beat your GDP projections while wearing Pikachu socks."
Janet looked like she was about to faint.
---
Back in the limo, she was vibrating with fury.
"You mocked the UN. On live television."
"I didn't mock. I just... freestyled."
"You turned a global summit into open mic night!"
"I thought I was charming."
"You compared NATO to a college group project where only three people do the work!"
"They laughed!"
"They coughed!"
---
Back in D.C., things were worse.
The U.K. canceled our upcoming visit. Germany issued a "statement of concern." China released a state-run documentary titled The Fall of the West: When Memes Lead Nations.
My inbox was full of diplomatic complaints. My DMs were full of fan edits.
One showed me as an anime protagonist with glowing eyes and the caption: "President of the People, Slayer of Protocol."
Janet printed it out. "Look at this. LOOK AT THIS. Is this who we are now?"
"Technically, I didn't post it."
"I'm going to throw myself down a staircase."
---
But not everyone was mad.
Young diplomats from Eastern Europe reached out. African nations called my approach "refreshingly sincere." Even Brazil's president invited me to a soccer match "to talk climate and chaos."
Somehow, amid the backlash, a new coalition of leaders was forming. Informal. Unfiltered. Willing to negotiate in T-shirts over tea.
---
Still, the pressure was growing.
Congress demanded I "tone it down." The press accused me of "eroding America's image." My approval ratings hit 82%, which just made everyone more suspicious.
"You're breaking the system," Janet said one night, exhausted.
"Maybe the system needed breaking."
She looked at me. "Just promise me, for the next summit—no jokes. No dancing. No metaphors."
I held up my hand. "Scout's honor."
"Blake. You were never a scout."
"I tried. Got kicked out for accidentally setting a canoe on fire."
She blinked. "...Of course you did."