In a stunning display of bureaucratic brilliance, the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) finds itself caught in a chaotic whirlwind as lawmakers, environmentalists, and a few bewildered office plants call for answers amid a funding drought and an exodus of staff members. In a move that surprised absolutely no one, the agency has begun to resemble a ghost town, with more tumbleweeds than employees roaming the once-bustling halls—where "No Vacancy" signs now hang ominously above the dwindling desks. With funding cuts sharper than a well-honed knife and staff members fleeing the scene faster than rats from a sinking ship, the EPA is on the verge of becoming the latest contender for reality TV’s “Survivor: Bureaucracy Edition.” Rumor has it that the remaining employees have formed a club, spinning tales of their former glories while scavenging for leftover coffee creamer packets. The group, affectionately dubbed “The Last EPA Standing,” meets weekly to share survival strategies like how to make a hearty meal out of stale donuts pilfered from long-abandoned meetings. Meanwhile, lawmakers have taken a break from their usual Lindsey Lohan-level drama to express their shock and disbelief at the situation. "How did we end up here?" they ponder, wringing their hands in a heartbreaking array of confusion. This is, after all, only the culmination of years of cutting funds, adding red tape, and repeatedly asking the EPA to do more with less—classic American governance at its finest. In an extraordinary press conference—a term used loosely—senators waved their hands in the air, demanding answers as if they weren’t the ones holding the scissors. “Where are the clean air and water?” they bellowed, eyebrows furrowed in a deep, deeply cynical concern. “We need information to actually come from the EPA!” they continued, expressing hope for answers that ETA (the Environmental Tragic Agency) couldn’t provide if they wanted to. “A budget is like a garden,” one representative compared vaguely while visibly sweating under the intensity of his own unpreparedness. “If you stop watering it, don’t be surprised when everything dies! I’ll need to consult with my team on that... once I can find them.” As sketches for the “Rube Goldberg-style” bridges designed to fund the agency swirl in the air like confetti at an office party for one, a leaked internal memo hints at an ambitious new initiative: the introduction of a “Bring Your Own Water” policy for all EPA employees, while their three remaining staff members strive valiantly to fend off accusations of being wholly underwhelming in their actual environmental impact. In a hilarious twist of fate, the EPA had recently received a donation from a benevolent corporation—let's call it "Pollution Unlimited”—for a plush new foosball table that will be installed in the break room where, ironically, employees can host themed matches to determine who stays employed the longest. Unfortunately, it appears that “best of twenty” tournaments aren’t exactly conducive to tackling climate change anytime soon. As the EPA waits for reinforcements, it remains to be seen whether Congress will muster the motivation to save the agency—or if they will continue to bask in the glow of their legislative limbo, content to allow the nation’s hopes for a cleaner future to hang suspended in the air like an awkward moment in a sitcom. After all, who needs clean air when you can enjoy the drama of government ineptitude?