Jacob Wonderbar wasn’t exactly sure what eating corndogs had to do with being president of the universe, but if he had to eat more corndogs than Mick Cracken in order to win the first Battle Supreme, that was exactly what he was going to do.

Catalina explained that Father Albert had been a big fan of corndogs before blasting off into space, and consuming them was something of an Astral sport and longstanding tradition. Thus the rules of the first battle, established by the Election Council, were quite simple: Eat as many corndogs as possible in the allotted time without throwing up. Whoever ate the most would win.

Dexter had suggested that Jacob practice eating large quantities of candy in order to stretch his stomach in anticipation of the big event, but Jacob ultimately decided that it was better to go in hungry. Though as a precautionary measure in case of a food overload emergency, he did take Dexter up on his offer to explain proper vomiting technique.

Soon they were interrupted mid-lesson when Catalina told them about Sarah Daisy’s assault on her running mate. Jacob and Dexter quickly tuned in to their Tellys and laughed hysterically as they watched Sarah tackle Mick. Dexter recorded a special slow-motion version and narrated the action.

“Okay. Here goes Mick. ‘Oh, why, thank you Sarah for asking about how I want to blow up Earth, thank you very much for that.’ Now watch Sarah’s face. Watch her. Notice the set in her jaw. The whiteness of her knuckles. Decision made: Kill. She jumps out of her chair, runs, and… Watch this. BAM! Tackles him to the floor! Down for the count! Let’s watch that again.” The footage rewound in front of Jacob, then started playing again. Sarah lunged at Mick again. “And… BAM! Oh, man.”

Jacob laughed, but Catalina was scowling.

“Fifteen percent,” she said. “That’s how many people plan to vote for us. If you guys think that was a great moment, think again. Sarah Daisy’s popularity among Astrals has skyrocketed after that little attack.” She sniffed and tipped up her chin. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they staged the whole thing.”

Dexter shook his head. “You can’t fake that kind of rage.”

“Well, either way,” Catalina said. “It was not good. Let’s hope Jakey here can eat corndogs like his life depends on it.”

Jacob swallowed and nodded. He would be a groundbreaking food-eating champion. He would eat until his intestines were made out of corndog batter.

He just hoped he would still be able to look at a corndog after it was all over. It would be a shame to no longer have corndogs in his life.

They arrived at Planet Royale a few hours later and walked proudly into the huge banquet hall, a room with soaring ceilings hung with the various coats of arms of previous Astral dynasties. Reporters were everywhere and shouted questions at Jacob, Dexter, and Catalina, but they ignored them. Boris walked proudly in front of the children, and when one of the reporters moved too close, Boris screeched and pushed him out of the way, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Jacob took his place at a table on a dais piled high with two mountains of corndogs and tried to focus on the task at hand. He wasn’t sure if he was more nervous about the upcoming competition or about seeing Sarah again.

There was a commotion at the back of the room as Sarah and Mick walked in. Mick tried to take Sarah’s hand, but Sarah pulled her hand away and pushed him.

Sarah and Jacob locked eyes, but then she looked away quickly.

Mick arrived on the dais and sat down next to Jacob.

Jacob said, “May the best man win,” and stuck out his hand. Mick stared straight ahead and left him hanging with his hand outstretched.

Jacob wondered if it was against the rules to impale Mick with a corndog stick.

The king stepped forward and the room immediately quieted. “It gives me great pleasure to commence this first Battle Supreme in the race for the presidency. I would like to thank the Election Council for overseeing the rules, and I congratulate these two fine young men on the campaigns they have run thus far. I wish them all the best of luck in the race ahead. The Planet Royale chef has taken great care to produce the finest corndogs humanity has ever eaten, so no doubt your task will be delicious as well as challenging. You will have twelve septometers to eat as many corndogs as possible, according to my watch.” Catalina had previously assured Jacob that twelve septometers was close to two and a half Earther minutes and ignored his rant about how Astral time still didn’t make any sense.

The king turned to face Jacob and Mick. “You may begin.”

Jacob quickly grabbed a corndog, pulled out the stick, and started chomping as fast as he could. The king was right. It was a fantastically delicious corndog, even better than the one he once had at Disneyland, previously the gold standard in corndog culinary excellence. But he didn’t have time to focus on the flavor. He needed to cram them down his gullet as fast as possible.

It wasn’t until after he finished his fourth corndog that Jacob noticed that Mick hadn’t started eating. He hadn’t even touched one of the corndogs. He was just sitting there smiling at the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Jacob asked between bites.

Mick looked at Jacob as if he had just noticed he was there. He patted Jacob on the back with mock concern and whispered, “I poisoned your corndogs.”

Jacob stopped chewing for a second and swallowed. “You’re lying.”

Mick kept on smiling. “The first symptom will be a tightening feeling in your stomach. Then you’ll start to feel warm in the face. And eventually you will throw up harder than you have ever thrown up in your life and you’ll be disqualified. I have this one in the bag.”

Jacob was indeed feeling a tightening in his stomach, but it could have been a result of eating a corndog and a half in less than twenty seconds. He kept on eating, but he couldn’t help but notice that his face was starting to feel a little warm. He slowed down his pace. At that precise moment, Mick grabbed a corndog and ate it in an incredible blur of chomps and swallows.

Jacob began to feel even more nauseated as he started chomping on his seventh corndog, and Mick was steadily gaining on him. As the cheering in the dining hall reached a fever pitch, Jacob felt another campaign event slipping away. Mick had psyched him out yet again, and Jacob felt so unsure of himself. It was an unfamiliar and horrible feeling. Back on Earth he had outlasted substitutes, beat up the MacKenzie twins two-on-one, pulled more pranks than anyone he knew. He had flown to outer space and back and broken the universe and lived to tell the tale. But no matter how good he tried to be in the campaign, nothing seemed to be working.

And then it hit him. He had been trying so hard to be good that somewhere along the way he had stopped being Jacob Wonderbar.

“Two septometers left,” the king shouted above the ruckus.

Jacob smiled at Mick, who seemed to sense that something important was about to happen. And then Jacob sneezed all over Mick’s corndogs. Mick finished the corndog he was eating and stared at his pile with his jaw hanging open.

Mick quickly recovered and seemed to be moving his mouth around in an attempt to collect saliva to spit on Jacob’s corndogs. But Jacob quickly grabbed two and shielded them from Mick. He chomped and chomped as quickly as he could, while Mick tried to eat his snot-covered ones gingerly, his eyes watering.

“Five… four… three…” the king chanted.

Jacob finished the last few bites of his corndog.

“Two… one…”

He swallowed and held up his thirteenth stick.

“Time!” the king shouted.

Jacob looked over at Mick. He’d only eaten twelve.

Jacob Wonderbar was back.