Emperor Engelmayer’s Ego In a land where the law was once quite noble, A judge named Paul, so smugly atonal, Decreed with a laugh, and a stroke of his pen, That the Treasury's books should be hidden from men. “Oh ho," he chortled, "this will be quite the jest, To keep the elected from seeing what's best. For who needs a president, or a secretary like Scott, When I can play monarch, deciding their lot?" He wore his fine robes like a king on a throne, Deciding the fate of the nation alone. "No precedent needed," he said with a wink, "Just my own interpretation, what do you think?" The courtroom was empty, save for Democrat cheers, No Trump lawyer to pit against this self-styled Emir. He spoke of the Constitution, a remarkable grandstand, Yet forgot it was meant for the whole of the land. "See here," said Paul, with a grin quite sly, "The Treasury's secrets shall remain locked up high. For only the bureaucrats, those sage and most wise, Should control the purse strings, not those we despise." From the back came a whisper, a murmur, a laugh, From a figure who knew well this judicial gaffe. "If judges are kings, and laws are but play, Then defiance is freedom, in this modern day." Oh, the folly, the farce, the sheer absurdity, Of stripping a CFO of his fiscal authority. For if the head of the purse can't see what's been spent, Then who does our government really represent? So here we stand, pondering this constitutional cliff, With a judge playing god, throwing an egoic tiff. But the story's not over, the last act's yet to start, For the elected's got a card, and it's Trump's ace of hearts. He'll challenge this ruling, this legal charade, And perhaps in defiance, he'll refuse to obey. For if lawfare's the game, and the courts are the field, We've chosen our champions among patriots who don't yield. So here's to the judge, with his gavel and throne, Who forgot that democracy's never alone. For when the people speak, with clear laughter and might, The judge's tall castle might just topple from it's height. So remember, dear Paul, when you don your activist crown, That history may remember you just for this meltdown. For in the annals of time, where folly is writ, Your ruling will inspire naught but comedic skits.