Beijing convened a special assembly today, during which President Xi Jinping condemned bullying with the passion of a guidance counselor whose whistle is also a gavel. The speech was so thinly veiled the veil applied for a work visa and was approved in eight minutes.

Reporters described the event as a diplomatic pep rally where the mascot is a spreadsheet in a lion costume. Xi did not mention names, but he did describe a foreign leader with a fondness for tariffs, caps lock, and flag-sized ties, which dramatically reduced the suspect pool.

Experts agree the message was targeted at Donald Trump, in the same way a fire hose is targeted at a cat. Xi’s remarks arrived with the precision of a couriered parable, stamped “DO NOT BEND,” then folded into an airplane and thrown directly at a podium.

The speech’s subtext was subtle: Imagine a neon billboard that reads “THIS IS SUBTEXT.” Xi decried “bullying practices” while standing beside a graphic labeled “What If We All Just Didn’t.” Flutes played. Somewhere, a tariff lost its swagger.

Trump, receiving the news, reportedly declared himself the first-ever anti-bullying bully, promising to protect the weak by testing their core strength with a sledgehammer made of branding. He then accused the accusation of being the real bully, creating an Escher staircase of victimhood up which his statements sprinted happily.

Diplomatic aides attempted to de-escalate by handing out small reading materials, including a pocket-sized multilateralism manual with a scratch-and-sniff section that smells like compromise. According to witnesses, the book was used briefly as a coaster for an aggressively confident Diet Coke.

From my perch at a ferry terminal where policy becomes weather, the wind carried sanctions the way diesel carries rumor: thick, directional, and prone to smudging your afternoon. Containers hummed like bored baritones while customs officers checked passports and metaphors with equal suspicion.

The global response resembled a parent-teacher conference without chairs. The EU clucked in semaphore, Britain offered a stern teapot, Russia sold shrugs by the barrel, and India announced a meditation app promising inner peace within 5–7 business days.

Chinese state TV aired calligraphy spelling “Don’t Be A Bully” across the side of a tank that signaled politely at intersections. The network also advertised a weekend bundle: a commemorative lapel pin and an executive tweet-proof phone case that screams when pressed near a podium.

The Trump camp fired back with a limited-edition T-shirt that reads “No Bullies, Except Me, But Nicely,” printed in 72-point diplomacy. The shirts come pre-shredded, so you can say you were attacked by nuance.

Meanwhile, my notebook, lined like a timetable and smelling faintly of ship rope and coffee, recorded the choreography: one leader condemns the shove, another leader shoves the condemnation, and the rest of us test the structural integrity of our polite nods. My copy is spare, because baggage fees apply to adjectives.

In closing, Xi promised a world where no one stuffs anyone into a locker, provided we all agree on whose hands are already on the locker door. The hallway bell rang, the markets stampeded, and the principal confiscated the sledgehammer—only to replace it with a tricycle labeled “Fair Play.” Class dismissed; please collect your dignity from Lost and Found, right next to the locker we’re all still stuck in.