Mr. Humphrey Goes to Washington: A Doge-eat-Doge World

 

The corridors of Washington's federal buildings had withstood countless administrations, shifting political winds, and even the occasional independent thought. But nothing could have prepared them for Operation Doge Cuts—a sweeping executive mandate that aimed to simplify government communication, slash bureaucracy, and introduce radical transparency.

At the center of this debacle stood Humphrey Appleby, the consummate bureaucrat, now improbably embedded in the U.S. Department of Administrative Affairs as a "special advisor on efficiency." Efficiency, of course, being the precise thing he had spent his entire career undermining.

His young aide, Brandon Woolley, nervously cleared his throat as they reviewed the executive order from the White House. "Sir, the President insists that all official government documents be rewritten in Doge meme format. He believes it will make reports more, uh, accessible to the public."

Humphrey adjusted his spectacles, his face a careful mask of neutrality. "Brandon, democracy is a delightful concept, best enjoyed at a safe distance from actual governance."

"But, Sir, this is an executive order. We have to comply."

Humphrey let out a long, patient sigh. "Brandon, compliance is not about what one does, but rather how long one takes to do it."

The War on Doge Begins

The President's mandate was clear: No more bureaucratic jargon. No more lengthy, incomprehensible memos. Instead, all reports had to be converted into Doge-style bullet points.

• Much spending. Wow.

• Very deficit. Such waste.

• So transparency. Many cuts.

The horror.

Humphrey, sensing the very fabric of government unraveling, turned to an unlikely alliance—the shadowy network of career bureaucrats known as the Deep Bureaucracy. These were the men and women who had made a lifelong commitment to the art of doing nothing very, very slowly.

Gathering in the basement of the Department of General Services, they plotted their resistance.

"If we do not act," Humphrey declared gravely, "we risk the greatest catastrophe of all—public understanding of government processes."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. A senior IRS official adjusted her glasses. "If Americans actually comprehend the tax code, we could lose billions in late fees alone."

A Defense Department accountant added, "If transparency reaches the Pentagon, we may have to justify our budgets!"

A collective shudder. Not the Pentagon.

And so began The Resistance.

Sabotage, Bureaucracy-Style

Humphrey and his allies deployed their most devious tactics:

1. Expanding Acronyms – A simple, streamlined policy document was retitled Strategic High-Initiative Transportation Endeavor Leading to Efficiency and Progress (SHITE-P), rendering it incomprehensible again.

2. Weaponized Verbosity – Instead of replacing dense policy reports with Doge memes, the bureaucracy added them to existing documents, inflating page counts to thousands.

3. Introducing Doge Variants – Rather than plain, simplistic Doge statements, agencies flooded the system with competing meme versions: Kafka Doge, Legalese Doge, and Statistical Doge, each burying transparency under layers of confusion.

By the time a Doge-format Defense Budget Summary reached the President, it was unreadable:

• Such funding. But also much classified.

• Very operations. So unclear objectives.

• Many contractors. Such budget overages. Wow.

The President, known for his erratic temperament, flew into a rage upon receiving the report. "What in the hell am I looking at?! This is supposed to make government simpler, not stupider!" He slammed the document onto his desk, causing his advisors to flinch.

One particularly eager economic advisor, attempting to soothe the President, interjected, "Sir, if we emphasize the very deficit, much waste angle, we could rally public support for more cuts."

The President whirled on him. "Are you telling me people actually like this? Do I look like an idiot?!" Without waiting for an answer, he gestured wildly. "I want solutions, not memes! Someone explain this garbage in normal English!"

His Chief of Staff, trying to regain control of the room, flipped through the report and stammered, "Uh, well, sir, if you look at page… 4,327, it does clarify—"

"FOUR THOUSAND PAGES?!" the President bellowed, eyes bulging. "Who the hell is running this government?"

Mr. Humphrey, ever the picture of calm, cleared his throat. "Mr. President, if I may…"

The room fell silent. The President glared at him, arms crossed. "Go ahead, Humphrey. But make it fast."

Humphrey folded his hands, the very picture of diplomatic concern. "Mr. President, my only objective is to ensure that this administration operates with the precision, clarity, and complexity that the American people deserve."

The President frowned, trying to decipher whether that was a compliment or an insult. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "That sounded important, so I assume it was. We’ll table the Doge Cuts for now."

Humphrey exhaled in relief. The Resistance had won.

Deep Bureaucracy remained intact. The American people remained comfortably confused.

And the wheels of government continued to turn—very, very slowly.