That morning, he stepped out of his contra-bed—the one facing upward. He remembered dreaming of endless columns of people marching toward him in the opposite direction, carrying letters filled with loyalty and love. As he read them, he realized it was time to introduce a new grammatical case into the Serbian language—the contrative. With fewer words, the contra-revolution could finally be described efficiently, saving paper per citizen and marking the most productive contra-publishing enterprise in recent history. The profits from that glorious effort, naturally, would be donated to the citizens of his contra-state.

He washed his face with cold water from the upside-down contra-tap. His hands—always ready for a close contra-up—had to be spotless before the morning news on his Contragram profile. For that purpose, he used his personal contra-soap—one that foamed not outward but inward, building up internal contra-pressure until, at the right moment, it burst and spread foam among the people, lifting their contra-morale in the fight for keeping everything that wasn’t theirs.

Swiftly, he prepared his favorite contra-sandwich: a slice of bread neatly placed between two slices of bologna. Then he rushed to the garage on the roof of his residence, sat in his flying car, and—eyes closed—drove in reverse along the metro line to the construction site where the contra-cornerstone for the roof of a new hall had been laid. There, from bologna, piglets would soon be produced—the largest since the Jurassic era. The roof had been completed in record time—before construction even began—while the walls and foundations were scheduled for completion no later than the end of the previous year. Funds spent on this achievement would be redirected to the most deserving members of the contra-society.

The media released the content of his tomorrow’s unannounced contra-address, so that everyone could be properly astonished and delighted by the sudden surge of fateful contra-information. On that occasion, the Minister of Contra-Intelligence presented a plan for the Eastern ambassador to sit in the West, and the other one opposite him. This bewildering symmetry would certainly confuse the contra-enemies of the nation, so the minister was immediately decorated with a 3D portrait of the Contra-King made from memory foam.

After visiting the mausoleum built in his honor during his lifetime, the Contra-Bishop offered his assistance: he would collect donations from the contra-poor to decorate the streets with plastic flowers crafted by our contra-friends from the East.

Farmers and honest intellectuals fertilized their fields with old batteries using contra-tractors, enriching the nation’s mineral wealth and allowing our contra-friends from the West to improve our lands by extracting those treasures.

As he concluded the most successful day in recent history, the Contra-King prepared for his contra-rest. He drafted a list of new contra-arguments against common sense—ideological pillars of the forthcoming contra-revolution, which had already been triumphantly completed. Falling wakefully asleep in his contra-bed, he counted the national frequencies still untouched by his contra-creativity. He could not allow a single soul to remain deprived of his royal contra-blessing.