ZORGON CITY, GALACTIC SECTOR 8 — Residents of the normally peaceful planet Zorgon woke up this week to discover that every house, apartment, moon-pod, underground crystal bunker, and floating family dome on the planet had been purchased overnight by a single alien billionaire.

The buyer, interstellar real-estate tycoon Bloorg Vexx, immediately announced that the acquisition would bring “exciting lifestyle opportunities” to the planet’s 14 billion residents.

Those opportunities, it turns out, mostly involve tents.

Standing beside a mountain of galactic currency and holding what appeared to be the largest property deed in recorded history, Bloorg smiled for cameras and declared:

“Why own one house when you can own the whole planet?”

Behind him, thousands of glowing red SOLD signs were being attached to homes across the capital.

According to the Galactic Property Exchange, Bloorg purchased Zorgon through a complicated series of investments involving asteroid-backed mortgages, quantum hedge funds, and something officials described only as “a completely legal coupon.”

Within hours, residents began receiving eviction notices.

The notices were surprisingly short:

“Thank you for living here. Please enjoy the outdoors.”

Residents initially assumed the messages were a joke.

They were not.

By lunchtime, massive billboards appeared across Zorgon displaying the planet’s new housing policy:

CAMPING IS NOW MANDATORY.

Bloorg’s company later clarified that residents would technically still be allowed to enter their former homes — provided they rented them back at the new “competitive intergalactic market rate.”

Unfortunately, that rate is approximately 700 times the average Zorgonian salary.

The sudden housing crisis has created an unexpected problem.

Almost nobody on Zorgon knows how to camp.

For thousands of years, Zorgonians have lived in climate-controlled homes equipped with anti-gravity beds, automatic food synthesizers, teleporting bathrooms, and robotic servants capable of adjusting pillows to seventeen different levels of softness.

Tents were considered ancient technology.

That changed overnight.

Across the planet, former homeowners can now be seen struggling with poles, ropes, sleeping bags, campfires, and instruction manuals.

One confused resident reportedly spent six hours attempting to inflate a wooden tent pole.

Another built his tent upside down and proudly announced that it had “excellent ventilation.”

Emergency outdoor survival classes have now been established in public parks.

The first lesson is reportedly titled:

“How to Not Get Eaten.”

Attendance is extremely high.

Food has also become an issue.

Zorgonians traditionally prepare meals using molecular food printers.

Camping instructors instead introduced residents to the concept of roasting food over an open flame.

The results have been mixed.

Several aliens became fascinated with marshmallows.

Others became deeply suspicious of them.

One resident reportedly stared at a marshmallow for twenty minutes before asking:

“Is this food, insulation, or a small white animal?”

Meanwhile, demand for tents, flashlights, bug spray, sleeping bags, portable toilets, and beginner survival books has exploded.

The planet’s best-selling book is now reportedly:

Camping for Dum-Dums: Please Stop Screaming and Read Chapter One.

Criticism of the planetary purchase has increased rapidly, but Bloorg insists residents are looking at the situation incorrectly.

“This isn’t homelessness,” he explained during a press conference from inside his 900-room orbital mansion.

“It’s premium outdoor living.”

Bloorg also suggested that camping could improve planetary happiness.

“Think about it,” he said. “Fresh air. Stars. Campfires. Community. Extremely limited access to bathrooms. Humans pay money to do this.”

When journalists pointed out that the residents had not voluntarily chosen to camp, Bloorg briefly consulted one of his lawyers.

He then corrected himself.

“They are participating in an involuntary wellness retreat.”

Financial analysts across the galaxy are watching Zorgon closely.

If Bloorg’s experiment succeeds, other billionaires may attempt similar acquisitions.

Rumors are already circulating that investors are considering purchasing several moons, two asteroid colonies, and a small planet famous for its beachfront property.

The Galactic Association of Renters has warned that the trend could eventually produce an entire generation of interstellar campers.

However, some Zorgonians are beginning to adapt.

Tent-building competitions have appeared.

Campfire cooking clubs are forming.

Residents are sharing survival equipment.

Children are learning to identify constellations.

One family even admitted that they enjoyed spending the night under Zorgon’s two moons.

Their father quickly added:

“But we would still like our house back.”

Bloorg appears unconcerned by the criticism.

Sources close to the billionaire say he is already examining another investment opportunity.

His next target may be a peaceful ocean planet containing approximately 40 billion beachfront homes.

When asked what would happen to the residents if he purchased those properties too, Bloorg smiled.

“Very simple,” he said.

“They’ll learn boating.”

And somewhere across the galaxy, billions of aliens suddenly began checking whether their planet was listed for sale.

In a development that has surprised scientists, confused governments, and absolutely delighted the global cat population, an interplanetary council has reportedly assigned every cat on Earth to a mysterious new world known simply as The Planet of Cat Grass.

The official mission is unusual but apparently urgent:

Help cats level up their capacity to love.

According to fictional documents released by the Interplanetary Feline Development Agency, Earth’s cats have spent thousands of years mastering many important skills. 

They can sleep almost anywhere. They can detect the sound of a food container opening from several rooms away. 

They can sit directly on whatever a human is trying to use. And they have achieved extraordinary progress in the ancient art of staring at walls for reasons nobody understands.

But one area reportedly still requires improvement.

Love.

Not because cats are incapable of love. Quite the opposite. 

The problem, according to the alien researchers, is that cats possess enormous amounts of affection but distribute it according to a complicated system involving mood, temperature, food availability, moonlight, personal boundaries, and whether a human recently tried to touch their stomach.

The Planet of Cat Grass was therefore created as a giant feline training world.

The planet is said to be covered almost entirely in enormous fields of fresh green cat grass, glowing flowers, warm rocks, sunny windows and mysterious cardboard boxes that appear wherever a cat wants one.

There are no vacuum cleaners.

No closed bedroom doors.

And according to early reports, gravity has been reduced slightly so cats can jump onto furniture with even greater dramatic effect.

Upon arrival, every Earth cat receives a small interplanetary identification card displaying its current “Love Level.”

Most cats apparently arrive somewhere between:

Love Level: 37%

and

Love Level: I Will Decide Later.

From there, they are assigned to special training programs.

The first course is reportedly called Love Training 101.

Cats are taught five fundamental principles:

1. Open your heart.
2. Rub against everything.
3. Purr louder.
4. Forgive quickly.
5. Love endlessly.

The fourth lesson has reportedly been the most difficult.

One instructor explained that several cats continued remembering incidents from 2019 involving empty food bowls.

“They have incredible emotional memories,” the instructor said. “One cat still refuses to forgive a human who accidentally stepped on his tail seven years ago.”

Special forgiveness workshops have now been introduced.

They include meditation, cat grass, tuna-flavored snacks and extensive discussions about why humans sometimes make mistakes.

Progress has been described as “slow but adorable.”

Perhaps the most controversial facility on the planet is something called the Hug Station.

Cats entering the station are encouraged to practice physical affection with other cats.

Some immediately began cuddling.

Others looked deeply offended.

One orange cat reportedly entered the station, hugged another cat for three seconds, then demanded food as compensation.

Scientists considered this a major breakthrough.

“We are not trying to change cats,” explained Professor Whiskerton, director of the Planetary Love Center.

“We simply want them to realize that affection can occasionally happen without a transactional snack.”

The professor then admitted that the program had immediately distributed snacks.

Another major facility is the Purr Practice Academy.

Researchers discovered that feline purring creates measurable vibrations associated with relaxation and social bonding.

The cats are therefore being encouraged to synchronize their purring.

Thousands of cats now gather every evening in enormous grass fields and begin purring together.

The resulting vibration can reportedly be detected from orbit.

Alien astronomers initially believed the planet was experiencing a minor earthquake.

Scientists later corrected the record.

“It was just 14 million cats being happy at the same time.”

News of the program caused an immediate reaction on Earth.

Millions of humans reportedly asked whether they could also visit the Planet of Cat Grass.

The requests were rejected.

According to the official interplanetary guidelines:

“This program is for cats. Humans already have approximately 4.6 billion self-help books.”

Humans may eventually be permitted to visit as emotional support personnel, although the cats will reportedly decide who qualifies.

Applicants must demonstrate the ability to:

respect personal space,

provide acceptable snacks,

open doors immediately,

and understand that when a cat asks to go outside and then immediately asks to come back inside, no explanation will be provided.

But after several weeks on the planet, researchers noticed something unexpected.

The cats were not simply learning how to love more.

They were teaching the aliens something as well.

Cats demonstrated that love does not always need to be loud.

Sometimes love is sitting beside someone without saying anything.

Sometimes it is sleeping near a person because they feel safe.

Sometimes it is slowly blinking from across the room.

Sometimes it is bringing a completely unnecessary object into the house at 3:00 in the morning.

And sometimes love means pretending not to care while quietly following someone into every room.

The aliens had originally assumed that Earth cats needed emotional improvement.

They eventually concluded that humans might have misunderstood feline love all along.

The Planetary Council has now expanded the experiment.

Every cat completing the program receives something known as the Universal Love Upgrade.

Nobody knows exactly what it does.

Scientists believe it increases empathy, curiosity, patience and the probability of sitting on someone who is feeling sad.

However, engineers have confirmed one important limitation.

The upgrade does not prevent cats from knocking objects off tables.

Researchers attempted to remove this behavior but discovered that it appears to be deeply integrated into feline operating systems.

“We tried,” said one technician.

“The cats refused.”

Before the first group of cats returned home, the Planet of Cat Grass transmitted a message toward Earth.

It contained only a few words:

LOVE DOES NOT NEED TO BE PERFECT.

IT ONLY NEEDS TO KEEP GROWING.

Moments later, another message arrived.

Apparently sent by the cats themselves.

It read:

ALSO SEND TUNA.

Scientists are calling the mission one of the most successful interplanetary emotional-development programs ever attempted.

The cats are calling it Tuesday.

OTTAWA–WASHINGTON TIME CORRIDOR — In what historians are already calling “extremely unnecessary but surprisingly educational,” the Alien God of Time Travel has reportedly appeared above the Canada–United States border to settle the latest tariff arguments using a lesson from ancient Rome.

His subject: portoria.

Witnesses say the enormous cosmic visitor emerged from a purple time portal surrounded by spinning clocks, floating hourglasses and what appeared to be several unpaid Roman customs invoices.

He then looked down at Canada and the United States and announced:

“You two did not invent tariffs. Rome was collecting them before either of you had a flag.”

Both countries reportedly became very quiet.

The extraterrestrial deity, who introduced himself only as Chronos Maximus, Senior Intergalactic Professor of Things Governments Keep Repeating, immediately transformed the border into a giant outdoor classroom.

On one side sat Canada with maple syrup, notebooks and a confused moose.

On the other sat the United States with coffee, an eagle and several extremely thick books labeled TARIFFS, RETALIATION AND OTHER WAYS TO MAKE YOUR NEIGHBORS ANGRY.

Between them appeared an ancient Roman customs booth.

A Roman official stepped forward, opened a giant scroll and shouted:

Wine? Tax it.

Olive oil? Tax it.

Silk? Definitely tax it.

Strange animal nobody has ever seen before?

Extra tax.

Canada raised its hand.

Sorry, was this actually how Rome worked?

Chronos Maximus smiled.

More or less.

Behind the comedy is a real piece of history.

In the Roman world, portoria were customs duties or tolls charged on goods moving through certain ports, borders, roads and customs districts.

Merchants transporting merchandise could encounter officials who inspected goods and collected duties before allowing them to continue.

In other words, the Roman Empire understood something governments still understand today:

When huge amounts of trade pass through your territory, the border can become a source of both money and power.

The details were very different from modern tariffs, but the basic idea would look strangely familiar to today's politicians.

Goods move.

Government stops goods.

Government asks what is inside.

Merchant sighs.

Government calculates tax.

Merchant sighs much louder.

Two thousand years later, humanity has added computers.

According to the Alien God of Time Travel, modern politicians frequently misunderstand the most important lesson.

Rome did not become powerful simply because it could charge customs duties.

Rome became powerful because enormous numbers of people wanted access to the Roman economic system.

The empire possessed roads, ports, cities, markets, shipping routes and military protection connecting huge areas around the Mediterranean.

For merchants, entering that network could be extremely valuable.

Chronos Maximus drew a giant diagram in the sky:

BIG MARKET + INFRASTRUCTURE + SECURITY + TRADE = POWER

Then he added:

BIG MARKET + CONSTANT TRADE WAR WITH EVERYONE = HEADACHE

The American eagle slowly nodded.

The Canadian moose requested a copy of the presentation.

According to fictional witnesses at the scene, Canada eventually raised its hand.

“If Rome depended heavily on trade,” Canada asked, “wouldn't constantly making trade more expensive eventually cause merchants to look for another route?”

Chronos Maximus stopped smiling.

The clocks surrounding his head stopped spinning.

He whispered:

“Excellent question.”

The United States immediately asked for a recess.

The alien refused.

He explained that economic power works best when other countries believe participation in your economic system is valuable.

A powerful country can certainly use access to its market as leverage.

But there is a potential problem.

If smaller countries begin believing that dependence itself has become dangerous, they may start looking for alternatives.

New suppliers.

New customers.

New ports.

New alliances.

New trading partners.

Or, in ancient times, perhaps a merchant with twenty camels saying:

“I know another road.”

To demonstrate the evolution of international trade, Chronos Maximus summoned two vehicles.

First came a modern North American semi-truck.

Beside it appeared a Roman horse-drawn cart.

The truck driver looked at the Roman merchant.

The Roman merchant looked at the truck.

The Roman merchant asked:

“How fast can that thing reach another province?”

The driver replied:

“Tomorrow.”

The Roman merchant fainted.

After recovering, he asked about fuel prices.

The truck driver fainted.

Historians called the exchange “a draw.”

Chronos Maximus then delivered what witnesses described as the most important part of the lesson.

Tariffs themselves are not automatically catastrophic.

Governments have used them for centuries for revenue, industrial policy, strategic protection and political leverage.

But tariff confrontations become more dangerous when they begin changing how countries think about each other.

A temporary tariff can disappear.

A broken supply chain can eventually be rebuilt.

But once businesses and governments decide that an economic relationship has become politically unreliable, they may redesign their entire strategy.

Factories move.

Contracts change.

Ports expand.

New suppliers appear.

Trade routes shift.

And those decisions can last much longer than the original political dispute.

Chronos Maximus wrote another sentence across the sky:

“The biggest danger is not always the tariff. Sometimes it is what everyone builds because they are afraid of the next tariff.”

For several seconds, nobody made a joke.

Then the moose ate the chalkboard.

The American delegation became excited when it discovered Roman merchants also complained about taxes.

“Finally!” shouted one official. “A civilization we understand!”

Chronos Maximus explained that powerful commercial interests existed throughout Roman history, just as businesses today try to influence taxation and trade policy.

The Roman customs officer then produced a giant stack of paperwork.

The American delegation looked impressed.

Canada looked terrified.

The alien explained that bureaucracy may be one of humanity's most successful technologies.

Empires disappear.

Languages evolve.

Currencies collapse.

Borders move.

But somehow the customs declaration survives.

During lunch, Canada attempted to improve diplomatic relations by giving the Roman customs officer a barrel of maple syrup.

The Roman examined it suspiciously.

“What is this substance?”

“Maple syrup.”

“Luxury product?”

“Depends where you buy breakfast.”

The Roman immediately added it to the customs ledger.

MAPLE SYRUP — 7 DENARII

Canada protested.

The Roman raised it to eight.

Canada stopped protesting.

Chronos Maximus declared the experiment historically accurate enough.

The United States then reportedly asked whether it could claim intellectual-property rights over the concept of tariffs.

Chronos Maximus explained that tariffs existed thousands of years before the United States.

America requested documentation.

The alien pointed toward ancient Rome.

America requested documentation in PDF format.

The alien disappeared briefly into the time portal and returned looking exhausted.

By sunset, the cosmic professor finally explained why he had traveled across thousands of years to deliver the lesson.

Every major power eventually discovers that economic strength creates political leverage.

Rome discovered it.

Ancient trading empires discovered it.

European colonial powers discovered it.

Modern industrial nations discovered it.

But there is a difference between having leverage and using leverage wisely.

The strongest economic systems in history were often powerful precisely because outsiders wanted to participate in them.

Trade created dependence, but it also created attraction.

People wanted the roads.

They wanted the markets.

They wanted the customers.

They wanted the currency.

They wanted the security.

They wanted access.

Chronos Maximus therefore offered Canada and America one final equation:

Economic power = size × trust × access

He then erased “trust.”

The equation became considerably smaller.

Both countries stared at it.

Before returning to the twenty-third century, the Alien God of Time Travel gave one final message:

“Every empire eventually believes its market is so important that everyone else has no alternative.”

He paused.

“Sometimes that is true.”

Another pause.

“Until everyone starts building alternatives.”

The portal opened.

The clocks began spinning.

The Roman customs officer packed his coins.

The horse entered the wrong century.

And somewhere along the Canada–U.S. border, a modern customs agent reportedly discovered an ancient parchment reading:

PORTORIA: SAME ARGUMENT, DIFFERENT MILLENNIUM.

Chronos Maximus vanished into history.

Canada and the United States remained at the border.

They looked at each other.

They looked at the Roman toll booth.

They looked at the giant pile of paperwork.

And for the first time all day, both countries agreed on something:

Nobody wanted to fill out the forms.

This article is satire and fictional entertainment inspired by the real historical concept of Roman portoria, customs duties imposed on certain goods and trade movements in the Roman world.