The Day the President’s Stomach Declared a National Emergency

The Conference of Ultimate Importance

Once every fifty years, world leaders gather for the Global Stability Summit, a meeting designed to bring peace, cooperation, and… a lot of awkward small talk. This year’s summit was held in the newly renovated International Peace Dome, which looked like a giant egg laid by a billionaire who wanted tax breaks.

Inside the dome, the atmosphere was tense. Cameras hovered like mosquitoes. Journalists whispered conspiracies. Translators adjusted headsets. Delegates nervously sipped black coffee they would later regret.

And at the center of it all sat President Baxter J. Wobblestone III, a man who believed he had an iron stomach. He did not.

THE BAD DECISION: GAS-STATION BURRITO

Earlier that morning, while riding in the presidential limousine, the President had insisted on stopping at TurboTom’s Gas-N-Go, famous for: Cheap fuel Questionable hot dogs Burritos that probably had diplomatic immunity His Secret Service agent begged him not to eat the “Atomic Southwest Mega Burrito.”Wobblestone laughed confidently. “Nonsense! I’ve eaten street food in twelve countries and survived.” The burrito had other plans.

THE FIRST WARNING SIGNS

As the summit began, President Wobblestone felt the shift. A low rumble. A suspicious warmth. A whisper from the underworld. He straightened in his chair. Smiled politely. And prayed to every deity he had ever heard of. But his stomach replied with a sound like someone starting a lawnmower inside a cave. The German Chancellor eyed him with suspicion. The Chinese Premier leaned back slowly, as if distancing themselves from an incoming hurricane.

His stomach growled again—this time louder. The translator in booth #4 crossed herself.

THE MEETING BEGINS FALLING APART

The Secretary-General started presenting charts and graphs. President Wobblestone tried to focus, but all he heard was:

GROOOOOWL...GLORP....BRRRRRRRT (internal edition)

He wiped sweat from his forehead. He sipped water. He subtly loosened his tie. He tried deep breathing, but accidentally inhaled a microphone. “Sir, are you alright?” whispered his Vice President. “I’m at war,” he whispered back.

THE ESCAPE PLAN

He attempted to stand up calmly. Attempted. His legs wobbled like noodles. He bent forward, trying to relieve pressure, but now looked like a man bowing to every country at once. The Italian Prime Minister asked, “Is he performing a diplomatic gesture?” The President croaked, “I need— I need—” But words failed him. His insides were rioting.

His Chief of Staff mouthed, “CODE BROWN. CODE BROWN.” Secret Service reached for a special briefcase labeled: “In case of Presidential Diarrhea – Emergency Pants v2.0.”

THE CATASTROPHE

And then— The stomach made THE SOUND. A deep, thundering BRRRGHGLFLLLFFFTTTTTPHHH...like a walrus blowing a raspberry through a megaphone. Microphones captured it from twelve angles. The speakers amplified it across the dome with surround sound. All translators paused mid-sentence.

The Japanese interpreter removed her headset and said, “Nope. Not translating that.”

Then… THE ERUPTION.

A sound blasted out of the president’s chair with the force of a marching band falling down an elevator shaft. The French delegation ducked for cover. The British Prime Minister whispered, “Good heavens…” The Saudi prince whispered, “In my country, chairs do not make that noise.”

The American flag behind him trembled. The table shook. A flower vase exploded. Someone’s wig flew off. CNN immediately cut to another commercial. Fox News blamed aliens. Twitter crashed.

THE CHAOS AFTERMATH

The President stood frozen, horrified, looking like a man who had lost a duel with his own digestive system. His aide sprinted in with a fresh pair of pants. Another carried a can of air freshener labeled “LEVEL 10: Nuclear.” The President was escorted out with the dignity of a man being removed from a restaurant for “excessive flatulence.” World leaders whispered among themselves. The Canadian Prime Minister said, “At least it wasn’t maple syrup.” The German Chancellor noted, “That was the most American thing I’ve ever seen.”

THE PRESIDENT’S TRIUMPHANT RETURN

Fifteen minutes later, he returned. Clean suit. Fresh pants. Confidence restored. He stepped up to the podium.“My fellow leaders,” he began, “Today you witnessed something… unforgettable.” Everyone nodded. Some flinched. “But let me assure you—democracy is strong. The United States remains strong. My digestive system… is temporarily unavailable.” Laughter erupted. Even the stern Russian President cracked a smile.

Wobblestone continued:“ Let history record: I may have lost the battle…but we have NOT lost the summit!” The room burst into applause. His stomach rumbled softly, as if agreeing.

THE LEGEND

By evening, memes were everywhere: “Explosion at the Peace Dome” “The Battle of Burrito Hill” “President vs. Gas Station Burrito: Who Really Won?”

And in history books, the event became known as: “The Great Diplomatic Dump of 2042.”

A warning to all future leaders: Never negotiate peace…on a stomach filled with a discount burrito.