All articles featured in The Beet are creative, satirical and/or entirely fictional pieces. They are fully intended as such and should not be taken seriously as news.
My name is Peter Pricket. Recently, Trump put tariffs ranging from 10%-99% on like every country and piece of land in the world.
And I’m not joking. Even my island, far off to the side near Tristan da Cunha, has a tariff of 76%. I picked this island because I was dealing with my past — I voted 450 times in the 2024 election among other crimes — and needed to find a plot of land that no one could find. All that lives on the island with me are penguins and southern elephant seals.
My sweet, sweet elephant seals and penguins are now in distress. I understand Trump wanting countries to treat him properly and stop smuggling drugs, but my island doesn’t even do imports and exports, and any drug deal I do is between my island PeterPricketistan and Tristan da Cunha with limited fent in the mixture.
I go to PeterPricketstan at least three times a week between classes at my university. I’m trying to get my degree and then immediately stay on my island and go off the grid.
So yeah. I’m fucking pissed. I wanted to start doing exports, too — I’ve been starting a new religion and I’ve been trying to make copies of my Bible to send to people, but with these tariffs I can’t even do my life dream. My friend Libby Demi told me she liked my religion. AND British authorities are trying to contact me. This is because Tristan da Cunha is a British overseas territory, and apparently PeterPricketistan is too. So as if my life couldn’t get any fucking worse, I can’t even spread my religion and I found out that my beautiful home is subject to the British.
This one British agent told me that it would be better economically for me to move to a “real” country if I wanted to start a business since I live so remotely. But I’m not ready to go on the grid again just yet until my lawyer notifies me. And until then, I wanted no one to know where the religion started so it could just appear, and in university I try not to talk much unless it’s to my conservative friends because they won’t snitch on my past.
Anyway, so my life has been uprooted. The British won’t fuck off. PeterPricketistan is fucking awesome if you were wondering. No cars, I only travel barefoot to feel connected to my former Homo Sapiens. I do have WiFi and a lava lamp, but I try not to use my devices on PeterPricketistan because a) relaxation and b) I genuinely cannot be tracked by the government. I forgot to mention — there is a strip club down the street. The strippers are from nearby; they don’t live on the island, though.
But it’s been crazy because every time I go back to university and check my emails, an influx of email and twitter dms from CNN, BBC, NBC, etc. are all asking to interview me about what it’s been like since these tariff policies. I ignore them because I have enough attention now from the feds.
Anyway, I need to go feed my elephant seal. If you want to know more about my island, hit me up.
