MARYLAND — Local authorities are monitoring an increasingly powerful political force known only as Greg, a completely normal man whose daily routine consists of feeding the pets, going to work, driving a normal car, raising normal children, and occasionally copying two paragraphs from a news article onto social media.

He does not explain them.

He does not endorse them.

Sometimes he barely introduces them.

And yet, somehow, Annapolis catches fire.

Sources confirm Greg possesses no political consulting firm, campaign war chest, Super PAC, polling operation, radio show, or mysterious billionaire patron.

He has a mortgage.

He owns socks from Costco.

His children ask him for snacks.

His dog occasionally throws up on the carpet.

Yet every morning, Greg opens an article, selects the most politically combustible paragraph imaginable, posts it with approximately seven words of commentary, and returns to making coffee.

“Interesting development here.”

Within nine minutes:

• three elected officials have issued statements,
• two activists are accusing each other of fascism,
• a county councilmember has blocked somebody,
• six consultants are holding emergency Zoom calls,
• and Maryland Twitter is investigating whether Greg’s punctuation reveals support for redistricting.

Greg, meanwhile, is at Giant buying hamburger buns.

Political scientists remain baffled.

“We’ve spent decades studying voter persuasion, media ecosystems, campaign finance and partisan sorting,” said one imaginary University of Maryland professor. “Apparently the real answer was some dude named Greg posting a Baltimore Banner paragraph at 7:14 a.m.”

Campaign operatives have reportedly begun monitoring his account around the clock.

7:01 — Greg posts article quote.

7:04 — Screenshot enters group chats.

7:08 — Candidate demands clarification.

7:13 — Someone says, ‘Greg knows something.’

Greg does not know something.

Greg knows the dishwasher needs unloading.

His wife reportedly remains unimpressed with his growing political influence.

“Can the man who supposedly controls Montgomery County politics control the recycling pile?” she asked.

Experts say Greg’s power comes from an advanced communications strategy known as:

posting the thing and shutting up.

This places him dangerously outside the modern political system, where everyone else requires 900 words, four hashtags, a podcast appearance and a fundraising link to communicate that the governor said something weird.

Greg just posts:

“From the article:”

Then drops six sentences like a raccoon leaving a live grenade in a Whole Foods parking lot.

Nobody knows what he thinks.

Everybody knows what the article says.

And somehow that is substantially more terrifying.

Campaigns are now reportedly hiring opposition researchers to investigate Greg’s background.

Early findings reveal:

Job: normal.
House: normal.
Car: aggressively normal.
Family: normal.
Pets: normal.
Hobbies: apparently destabilizing county elections using quotation marks.

The Canton Cat attempted to interview Greg Tuesday.

He declined because he had to pick up one of the kids.

Four minutes later, he posted another article.

Three candidates immediately changed their messaging.

Reporting from behind the dumpster, where we finally understand Maryland politics:

The governor has a communications staff.

Candidates have consultants.

Lobbyists have millions of dollars.

Greg has Ctrl+C.

And somehow everybody is terrified of Greg.