Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 12/26/2015. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, April 23, 2017

The diary of SCOTUS newbie Neil Gorsuch!

Dear Diary,

Wow, time flies when you're having fun!  Can't believe I already got to block a DNA appeal on a death row inmate!  Another one bites the dust in Arkansas!  That's what I'm talking about!  Not sure why some people say allowing an execution is the opposite of being pro-life:  I'm just here to uphold the law.

For people who questioned whether my appointment was worth ending the Senate filibuster, PLEASE!  That branch of government has always been overrated.  Senator McConnell is as greedy as they come, and barely one step removed from being hillbilly trailer trash.  And Paul Ryan?  What a lightweight!  Read Ayn Rand in college and thinks he's some kind of intellectual genius.  And talk about spineless!  I seriously cannot believe he's third in line for the Presidency.  They should amend the Constitution to put the Chief Justice third in line.  And take Secretary of State out of there, while you're at it!  Rex "this is your brain on petroleum" Tillerson!  "If you drill it, he will come!"  Field of memes.

And did I steal Merrick Garland's appointment?  Hell yes!  And I would do it again in a heartbeat!  If Scalia can't be here, I am definitely the next best thing:  I'm brilliant, originalist, fearless, and committed to greatness.  And since I'm not an overweight smoker, I imagine I'll be around a lot longer time than him.  Sh, diary!  You're the only one who knows, but I DO think I will have a bigger impact than Scalia!

And to people who said I talked too much my first day out there, and interrupted women on the bench, STUFF IT!  The ladies can interrupt me if they want to--nobody's stopping them!  And that attempt to start labeling me #ChattyCathy on Twitter?  Nice try, losers!  Actually, I'm hoping "Notorious RBG" gives me a nickname.  (But if she doesn't, I'm going to anonymously float #OMG!NMG!, #GorsuchMuch?, or #NeilAppeal on social media.)

I invited Ruth to the opera, but she's not buying it--still in mourning for Scalia.  Invited Sonia to watch "House of Cards" with me, but she's not buying it, either.  Maybe I'm still too young and handsome:  the ladies are following the Mike Pence rule about avoiding the opposite sex, ha ha!  The guys are okay, but this hazing with the hidden tape recorder is NOT funny.  Ghosts?  Seriously?  They denied it, but my clerks sure wouldn't have the audacity to plant recordings of creepy, whispered messages like "justice is blind and still all-seeing," "rule now with us, and rule forever," and "death to the infidels."  And I still can't find the hidden tape recorder!  I'm not sure why the head of security just sighed, shook his head, and muttered "that won't help" when I asked him about checking security camera footage to see who's been secretly going into my office and planting these voice recordings.  In any case, it will take more than that to scare ME!

I will confess (only to you, dear diary!) that Trump does scare me a little.  Not sure why he's challenging North Korea to a nuclear death match.  I'm all for being tough on crime domestically, but Trump might be a little delusional if he thinks he can get Un to roll over and play dead.  And Pence trying to have some kind of a Ronald Reagan moment at the N.K. border there?  I have to admit, I'm kind of hoping the military never actually turned over any nuclear launch codes.

Not that Trump is a bad guy!  But he might have a little dementia creeping in there.  Seriously, if his kids asked a judge to declare him incompetent, I think they would have a 50-50 chance in most courts.  He can't even remember he bombed Syria instead of Iraq!

It IS strange to be back in Washington after so many years.  Nice to see so many white people have moved in!  Weird that Clinton still got 96% of the vote in D.C.  I can see why POTUS is suspicious of the federal workforce!  And, boy, these people are not going to let up with the endless protests at the White House, Trump International Hotel, and the Capitol!  I know we have the First Amendment, but it's getting a little excessive.  And these lawsuits about the immigration policy:  that's a rotten form of protest, and I sympathize with General Sessions, really.  I'll overturn that judge in Hawaii the first chance I get!  I already told Trump that, but I'll tell him again when we have dinner on Thursday night.  I got him to invite the whole Supreme Court to dinner to give me cover!  But we'll have a private minute to discuss that, maybe some other cases working their way up on appeal.  More importantly, I'll meet Jared in the men's room to catch up.

Gotta go!  Roberts is picking me up in ten minutes to be initiated into a society he said I'll love:  S.E.A.  Not sure what it stands for, but how do you say no to the C.J.?  If it's more hazing, though, I don't know what I'm going to do!


COMING UP:      Melania mania hits DC!

Sunday, April 16, 2017

Let the Sunshine In!

Washington Water Woman has been tied up with #TaxMarch and Easter but will return to blogging next week....

The diary of  SCOTUS newbie Neil Gorsuch!

Sunday, April 09, 2017

Love in the Time of Choler

The morning mist starts lifting, and the girl runs up the steps to the castle wall.  She runs along the edge and around the corner to get a better view of the valley.  A raven lands with a squawk on top of the gun blind to tell her what is out there, approaching.  The girl turns back to look fifty feet down at the anxious villagers camped out inside the castle walls, starting to rekindle fires to cook their meager breakfasts.  "But their breakfasts are not meager because of what's out there," squawks the raven.  "Their breakfasts are meager because of him."  The girl is now on the highest lookout tower, but she is looking back at the magnificent castle, where the king will soon be sitting down to a breakfast feast of sausages, mutton legs, oranges, and oats dripping with honey.  "Out there," repeats the raven.  The girl can't fly; she can't jump.  The pink warbler arrives to start singing its morning song, and the girl follows it down a different set of stairs.  This is the escape gate.  The girl opens the door to rush away from the castle, but leaves it ajar for the return of the rightful queen.

"Angela?"  Dulles Samuelson was staring intently at his girlfriend, unsure if she was walking in her sleep or now awake.

"The mist has lifted," Angela de la Paz said.  "Things are clearer."

A couple miles from that houseboat scene, Chloe Cleavage was again doing her version of the "walk of shame" out of Trump International.  It had been a long time since her conscience had given her shame about anything, but her life was really in quite a shocking place these days.  For one thing, she was making ten times more per week as a high-priced call girl than in her day job as a staff attorney at Prince and Prowling.  What had started by accident had now morphed into a stranglehold on her life.  Then there was the fact that she was wheedling information out of Russian clients and feeding it to British spies of some sort, but she really had no certainty what their agenda was.  Some of the secrets ended up spilled into the news, and some had dealt serious blows to Trump's Administration, but other tidbits had met more obscure fates.  Was British intelligence doing something with all this?  Were the Brits feeding it to the FBI?  CIA?  She was finding mysterious bundles of compensatory cash at work and at home, which only gave her the creeps:  who was close enough to do that?  But worst of all, she had fallen in love with Sergei--a Russian businessman of dubious standing!  He might be a spy or even an assassin, for all she knew!  And he was paying her!  He would never have those kind of feelings for her, would he?

Over at the White House, Steve Bannon was doing his own walk of shame, having woken up from his Saturday night bender face down in the bowling alley--one hand wrapped around a beer bottle, another hand still immersed in a bowling ball.  "Alt-Right One is stirring!" a Secret Service agent chirped into his mouthpiece.  "No signs of vomit yet.  He's looking for his pants."

"Shut up!" hollered Bannon, who tried to throw a bowling ball at the agent but only succeeded in breaking a nearby chair with it.

"Your safety is our utmost concern, sir.  Step away from the balls."

"Don't tell me what to do, you jag-off!"

"I'm not the one with wet pants, sir.  You should use a condom when you're over-excited about blond fascist interns, sir."

"Give me your damned badge, smart-ass!  You're through!"

"Alt-Right One is on the move!" the Secret Service agent barked into his mouthpiece.  "I need back-up!"

"Here's your hangover remedy," said another agent, rushing into the room.  "Rebecca Mercer is upstairs waiting for you.  We told her you were reviewing Easter Egg Roll anti-terrorism plans, but she won't wait all day, sir!"

A few miles to the east, Dr. Khalid Mohammad and his (now visibly) pregnant wife, Yasmin, were hosting brunch at their new Southwest townhouse.  They were trying to get to know their neighbors, but the conversation had soon turned awkwardly to politics.

"Well, what about that Muslim terrorist slaughtering Christians in Egypt on Palm Sunday?" cried one woman.  "It's horrific!"

"He wasn't a good Muslim," said Dr. Mohammad.  "He's just a criminal.  Every country has criminals and sociopaths."

"But slaughtering people in a church?" asked one man.

"You had an American man slaughter people in a church," said Yasmin.

"Well, he was sick," said another woman.

"So was the Muslim in Egypt," said Dr. Mohammad.

"But it's so many," said another man.  "That's why people get nervous about letting in the refugees."

"Jordan has hundreds of thousands of Syrian refugees, and they flooded the border," said Dr. Mohammad.  "No refugees would resettle here without 18-24 months of screening."

"And Trump said his heart was moved by seeing those gassed children," said Yasmin.  "He must let in more refugees."

"Well, if we knew they were all like you two, it would be different," said another man.

"Presumed innocent until proven guilty," said Dr. Mohammad.

"Not for foreigners," said the first woman.

"Not for citizens, either," muttered Yasmin.

Back downtown, Washington Post reporter Perry Winkle was interviewing new legal hero of the resistance Coretta Rosa McIntyre in her Goode Peepz law firm office.

"Today I'm working on another FOIA for the legal justification to bomb a country we have not declared war on," she said.

"But we've been doing military operations in Syria for years," said Winkle.  "How is this different?"

"The U.S. has been fighting ISIS.  This is a direct attack on the Assad regime."

"But the U.S. has also been arming rebels against Assad," countered Winkle.  "There was no declaration of war for that."

"That was also a problem.  "The U.S. has troops in every continent in the world but has not declared war by Act of Congress since Pearl Harbor.  Still, this is a major escalation."

"But some are saying it is not even an escalation.  The U.S. told Russia to avoid air collisions; the Russians told Assad; planes and people were moved in advance; there was no major damage."

"If that's true, all the more reason to get all these justifications out in the open," said the Harvard-educated attorney.  "The taxpayers have a right to know why we exploded dozens of exceedingly expensive Raytheon missiles if there was no real impact to protect civilian lives--which is the implied justification even though Trump has banned refugees from Syria."

"The Administration will argue national security and never give you what you're asking, and no court will force them.  Why bother?"

"Because you never let a tyrant do one single act of tyranny without challenging it," she replied.

It was then that Winkle began falling in love with her.

Out on the river, Barbara Hellmeister (currently known as "Dr. Bibi Von Braun", special science adviser to the President) was curled up in her bridgeman's quarters bed, hidden on the 14th Street bridge, nibbling at raw pieces of flesh from the catfish she had suddenly found flopping around up there a few minutes earlier.  The Nazi did not know, of course that the demon Ardua of the Potomac had tossed it up there for her, but she had been happy to slice off its head and eagerly begin consuming as much protein as she could before any morning sickness might begin in the coming weeks.  It had taken weeks of lab work and the assistance of two Japanese robots, but she had successfully cloned Donald Trump and implanted the embryo in her own womb.  She would return to her East Wing suite tomorrow to continue advising Trump on science by day and doing the degenerate sex acts he liked at night, but now she had some verifiable Hitler genes growing inside her own womb, fused with her own Aryan egg, and her child would someday be a greater leader than Trump or his Slavic/Jewish offspring could ever be.  She smiled, feeling the special (unknowingly demonic) energy she got here, and mulled what kind of science policies she could talk Trump into before her unwed pregnancy became apparent to Pilgrim Pence and she was forced to vacate the White House.  So many morons, she mused.  I could rule them all if they were not so sexist and insecure about strong women.  She got up to throw the bones back into the river.  She briefly thought about the mutant baby born to her after the Election, but repressed the thought quickly.  It was Ernest's defective genes, she told herself, but she was dead wrong.

The diary of  SCOTUS newbie Neil Gorsuch!

Saturday, March 25, 2017

The Alt-Alt-Alt blog of Glenn Michael Beckmann!

The blog of conspiracy theorist and militiaman Glenn Michael Beckmann is written in code to his followers; what follows is a de-coded rendition--


I have been hard at work doing reconnaissance on the so-called Presidency of so-called human being Donald Trump, and things are truly terrifying, even to this warfare-hardened patriot!!!  As my loyal followers know, Trump is a puppet king installed by aliens to weaken human civilization prior to their full-scale invasion of Planet Earth.  This is what I have learnt this past week.

1)  The secret president of the Hunter-Gatherer Society, Sarah Palin, was one of the first to recognize Trump as a fake, but she was quickly replaced by an alien wearing her skin.  (That's why she (it!) is appearing on that Alec Baldwin game show now, instead of rallying against crony capitalism.)

2)  The health care negotiations were never even called that!!!  I saw the secret papers, and they were WEALTH CARE negotiations!!!  That's why it failed:  only Representatives who get donations from insurance companies were happy with it, and the rest jumped onto the get-bribed-by-Koch-Brothers wagon train to vote against it.

3)  Devin Nunes is NOT a traitor!!  He is being blackmailed by the Russians, who taped him with Russian hookers and vodka at the Trump International Hotel!  Nobody's been played for a bigger sap than he has.  He doesn't even have shares in a Russian gas company!  They really got him cheap, but he's a victim.

4)  It's true Comey was at the White House on Friday, but NOT because Trump demanded an explanation of that whole "phony intelligence leaks are not illegal" thing from the hearing.  It was because Sean Spicer wanted the FBI to make sure no trafficked children were locked up on the grounds by Steve Bannon prior to today's #pizzagate march on DC.  (They didn't even call it off after the Comet Ping Ping militiaman from North Carolina pleaded guilty or Alex Jones issued a videotaped apology for the hoax!  What a bunch of numb nuts!  Everybody knows the pedophile capital of the country is Zanesville, Ohio.)

5)  It's not true that Rex Tillerson still only cares about oil!  He also cares about liquor and cars.  He was going to skip NATO and go straight to Russia, but the NATO generals went BERSERK, so now he agreed to stop in Brussels.  From what I've heard, the food is WAY better in Brussels than Moscow, so what the Hell?  But he HAS to go see Putin, because he has a friendship medal from Putin, and Putin can no longer even leave Russia because he would be arrested almost anywhere, or killed by poison CIA blow darts.

6)  Some people are saying that Flynn is cutting a deal with the FBI to rat out a whole bunch of Trump cronies, but I haven't been able to verify that.  For one thing, who ya gonna be more afraid of:  the FBI or those "former" KGB agents who are murdering everybody right and left!!!???  

7)  Some people are complaining that a Trump operation in Iraq just slaughtered a couple-hundred civilians, but his campaign promise was to kill all the terrorists, including their families!  And it really frustrates him that he can't brag about it on Twitter, because even Ivanka would get mad at him for THAT!  

8)  "What is the deal with Ivanka?" everybody's always asking me! "Was she sexually molested by Donald Jr. and has repressed memories about it, so she does whatever Kushner tells her, even turning her kids Jewish and moving to DC, and risking terrorist retaliation on daddy just to promote her perfume brand by getting photographed with Angela Merkel?"  I've tried to get close to her several times, but they keep increasing the Secret Service detail on her street!  One time there were ten SUV's, I'm not even kidding you!  Brittani has stared at videos of her and is CERTAIN she was molested as a girl, but Brittani had a tough life and kinda sees that thing everywhere.  But if you're ever reading this, Ivanka girl, my buddies are ready to spring you from that gilded cage any time you decide it's time to go!  If I get the entire Hunter-Gatherer Society assembled, ain't no Kushner or Secret Service agent gonna stop us REAL men from liberating you!

9)  I have reconnected with Brittani's father, Bubba Blaylock, and he's working security at the White House for Steve Bannon!  Yeah, I saved the best for last, readers!  He's been a great source of info, so I gotta give him props, even though he IS acting pretty weird, and that Rolex he's always scratching under looks vaguely familiar.  Anyway, I haven't told him she's living at my place.  They would BOTH be mad at me!  He said there's no way in hell he can sneak me into the White House, but if Bannon ever goes to Mar-a-Lago, that might be another story.  And he said there's no point in planting bugs because they're sweeping that place all the time, but he doesn't mind telling me some stuff.   He does give me the creeps, though--he's definitely changed since we rescued Brittani.  Has a deranged look in his eye!  (People used to tell ME that, until I started on marijuana, so I know what I'm talking about.)  I asked him if people are scared of Bannon, and he said they're constantly taking his ammo away from him and he'd be a wuss in a knife fight.  He pinched a cleaning lady on the ass, and she sprayed Pledge right in his eyes!  Real men don't pinch, I'll tell you that!


Out on the river, Angela de la Paz had just come from her surprise appearance at her son's third birthday party with his adoptive parents.  She could have just visited Lucas in the Dreamtime, but she had not felt his physical embrace for a long time.  Nor her boyfriend's:  she pulled on one of his shirts and headed into the houseboat kitchen to see what she could cook up for Dulles, who was out somewhere.  She could feel the growing presence of Ardua of the Potomac slinking around the river bottom, feeding on greed, egomania, revenge, even treason.  These were the ugly ways of the world, threatening to erupt in a volcano in Washington:  the longer that molten lava was held down, the more deadly the eruption would be.

"You're back," the FBI agent said, now standing in the kitchen doorway.  "It smells good."  He was afraid to kiss her.

She put down the spoon and walked towards him.  "I had a vision."

Washington Water Woman is fleeing the country for a bit, but hopes to return to blogging in a couple of weeks...if martial law is not declared and the borders are not sealed....

Sunday, March 19, 2017

The Earth is flat!

"He's not gonna fix it!"

"He IS gonna fix it!"

"He's not gonna fix it!"

"He IS gonna fix it!"

"Whatever is IN the Trumpcare legislation, that's what's going to happen, sir!  You will LOSE Obamacare, and you will NOT be able to buy insurance again because of your recent cancer treatment."

"It was only melanoma!  I've worked hard all my life on construction sites!  It ain't fair those Mexicans got darker skin!"

The Buddhist monk waved aside the Episcopalian priest and sat down to take a turn in another round of Trump cult de-programming by the interdenominational Seekers.  "Sometimes people say things which are untrue," he began.  "For instance, when Trump said climate change was a hoax perpetrated by the Chinese."

"It IS!" interrupted the construction worker, who had been kidnapped by Seekers special agent Solomon Kane at the request of his cousin, a nurse at Sibley Hospital.

"When Trump was challenged about saying that, he denied he ever said it, even though it was a statement in a publicly posted Tweet.  This is what we call being caught in a lie.  In Buddhism, we call it--"

"Don't gimme your mumbo-jumbo New Age crap!  I'm a Baptist!" exclaimed the construction worker, who hadn't set foot in a church since his father's funeral in West Virginia fifteen years earlier.

"You voted for a man who promised to abolish the health insurance program which covered your cancer treatments.  If the legislation abolishes it, Trump cannot wave a magic wand later and find a new insurance plan for you."

"He's making  America great again!" the construction worker said, though not as loudly as before.

"What will actually improve for you?"

"Those Mexicans will be deported!"

"And then what?  Will you work twice as many hours on your current construction site to do their work as well, and earn twice as much money?"

"We can only work during daylight hours."

"Will they pay you more?"

"Maybe not, but the project will last longer for me."

"Or maybe they'll just loosen their standards and hire more ex-cons, or take on high-school dropouts who will do it for half of what they pay you.  Maybe they'll cut corners to get things done faster with fewer people."

"They can't do that!  OSHA's got rules for construction sites!"

"OSHA?  OSHA won't be enforcing any rules in the Trump Administration."

Not far away, the Assistant Deputy Administrator for Carnage had been in his State Department office all weekend, trying to do the work of several career diplomats summarily dismissed by Secretary of State Rex Tillerson within a week of his confirmation.

"Hey, you need any help there, cowboy?"  (It was the source employee known by triple agent Charles Wu as "C. Coe Phant", standing in the doorway.)

"Not from you, Indian," replied the ADAfC, with a sneer.  "When those budget cuts come through, we'll all just have to live without your amazing talent," he added, sarcastically.

"Oh, I don't think so," said Phant, with extremely false bravado.  "See, I know things about Tillerson," he lied.  "Who do you think leaked that email alias he used to discuss climate change?"  (It had actually been Charles Wu, thanks to his agent "the Tarantula".)

"Whatever," said the ADAfC.  "Didn't change a damned thing.  Exxon lied about climate change--everybody already knew that."

"You think it's a coincidence that came out the exact same week Tillerson went to Beijing?"  (It was not, but, again, Phant had no clue why.)

"Crap comes out on this Administration daily.  Who even has time to keep up with it all?"

"The Chinese--that's who!  If somebody can't save face in front of the Chinese--"

"Whatever!  I've got policy directives to get out to our embassies."

Phant was getting frantic.  He had been completely out of the loop on the Asia trip, knew nothing about current NATO affairs, and was spending most of his time trying to find Trump campaign donors willing to be ambassadors anywhere beyond the English-speaking world.  "Look, I can't lose my job!" he cried suddenly.  (He was already exhausting his savings to pay off the high-flying credit card balances he formerly covered with payments from Charles Wu--back in the days when Phant actually had useful information to sell.)  "Can't you make me your Associate Deputy Assistant or Assistant Associate Deputy or--"

"Here," said the ADAfC, handing Phant his house key.  "Go buy me groceries and toilet paper, clean the bathroom, change the sheets, vacuum the carpet, cook me dinner, and gather all my clothes to take to the dry cleaner in the morning.  Then I'll think about what I can do for you."

It was then that Phant vowed to himself that, if he was going down, he would take down the entire State Department with him.

Back at the shuttered Georgetown retail space they were using for Trump cult de-programming, a tag team of a Jesuit professor and Jewish rabbi were into their third hour working on a Florida woman.  (She had been flown up on her husband's private jet under heavy sedation after he had heard about the Seekers.)

"Sebastian Gorka is a documented Nazi," the rabbi repeated.

"That's fake news," she replied yet again.  "Those photos are all fake."

"Your great-aunt was murdered by Hungarian Nazis."

"Trump has nothing to do with that!" she protested.

The Jesuit took his turn.  "Jewish community centers all over this country are getting bomb threats because of the rise of white supremacists emboldened by the fact that Trump never renounced the Ku Klux Klan and has filled his cabinet with Breitbart racists.  Kushner is like a rich Jew buying his way out of Nazi Germany, heading to Israel, and to hell with the rest of them--they can live or die!"

"That is offensive!" the woman snarled.

"Yes, it is!  That's why Gorka needs to be fired!  That's why Bannon needs to be fired!  That's why Trump needs to show he cares about American Jews at least as much as the Jews in Israel!"

"They will never accept us as white!" interjected the rabbi.

"They know Jesus was white, and he was Jewish," she replied.

"Do you also believe the Earth is flat like that other Floridian, Shaquille O'Neal?"

"Well, if Trump says so, I wouldn't at all be surprised."

Her husband ran over at that point with a wild look in his eye.  "Well, where's the corner then?  You show me the corner of the Earth, and we'll both jump off and kill ourselves!"

Outside the store, some river rats headed into the sewer to report back to Ardua of the Potomac.

The Alt-Alt-Alt blog of Glenn Michael Beckmann!

Saturday, March 11, 2017

Home Sweet Home!

Barbara Hellmeister (currently known as "Dr. Bibi Von Braun", Special Science Advisor), was in the White House residence making her first attempt at a test-tube baby.  Though just the thought of genuine Hitler ancestral DNA in Donald Trump's sperm was enough to make her enjoy having sex with him, the natural attempts at pregnancy had not worked.  She peered through the microscope at the lazy Trump sperm refusing to penetrate the ovum she had painfully extracted herself using a robotic arm and local anaesthetic.  Old man sperm, she thought, sighing deeply.  Her Nazi grandfather's science journals had served her well over the years, but she was now going to have to study up on the modern science of cloning.

Not far away, in the encampment pitched in the shadow of the Washington Monument, Joey Bent Oak came out of a tipi with a big smile on his face.  "Can we put one up in the backyard?" he asked his adoptive parents.

"Of course!" said Marcos Vazquez, smiling at Golden Fawn.  "Come on--let's get out of the cold."  He had become extremely protective of his pregnant wife, recovering from her third bout with breast cancer.  He had not even wanted her to get involved with the stress of Native Nations Rising at all, but she had marched with her grandmother to the White House on Friday and was very energized by the experience.  "The Foundation should have sponsored this," he added.  

"Too political," she sighed, disappointed again with her Board work on the Washington Redskins Original Americans Foundation.

"Defending treaty rights?  Defending their legal treaty rights?"  He shook his head as he steered them towards the street to hail a taxi.  "Even the museum didn't do enough," he added.

"These are dangerous times," she said.  They were heading now to the National Museum of the American Indian for lunch and a tour of the newest exhibit she had recently curated.  "I think individual employees did quite a lot in a quiet way."

"Are things going to get better?" asked Joey, who knew a lot about evil in Washington, but sometimes they had to remind themselves he was only eight.

"Yes!" said Marcos, with the insistent hope for the future only an expectant father can have.

Across the Potomac, Bridezilla had told her boyfriend it was too cold to go outside.  He had proposed jetting off to the Caribbean for a few days, but she had told him she was not going to deal with all the "crazy ICE jackboots" terrorizing U.S. citizens and non-citizens alike at the nation's airports.  He came in with supplies from the drugstore and some hot Chinese carryout, and found her still using wet swabs to clean the miniature furniture in her Tudor dollhouse.  The human dolls on the top floor looked on with little expression, but Thelma and Louise (the conjoined guinea pigs living on the bottom floor) were purring enthusiastically.

"Are you hungry?" asked the former spy (known by many as "Esperantu Edward"). He had taken a lengthy break from his career when the beautiful junior partner from Prince and Prowling first captured his heart with her exquisite taste in miniaturist decor, and they had spent many happy hours furnishing the details of this home, as well as the Disney dream castle he had given her (surprisingly installed at her law firm office). However, her dollhouse passion was becoming even a little too much for his own eccentric enthusiasm.

He kissed her and asked again if she was hungry, but she made a non-committal sound. That's when he noticed that the $7,000 Fabergé jeweled miniature egg pendant he had purchased to comfort her after her Russia practice had lost yet another client to Morgan Lewis was now hanging around Thelma and Louise's conjoined neck. "Uh, honey, that's awfully expensive to let the girls play with. And they might accidentally swallow it!"

She turned to scowl at his smiling face. "They're not stupid!"

"I was hoping to see it around your neck, my lovely!"

"My law school friends won't even Facebook me since stupid Prince and Prowling made me set up this stupid Russia practice!" she replied. "I can't be seen with Russian jewelry anywhere! I have to deal with creepy Russian [air quotes] 'businessmen' asking me to set up shell corporations in the Cayman Islands every week, and I keep turning them down because I'm not going to be called a useful idiot for Vladimir Putin when the cows come home! I'm making no money for the law firm, but at least nobody's ever going to call me a Russian agent! I still have my personal integrity!" She saw him look down at the Ivanka Trump necklace she was wearing and quickly took it off. "Fine!" She took the FabergĂ© necklace off the pigs, replaced it with the Ivanka necklace, and put the FabergĂ© around her own neck. "But no photos, and I only wear it at home!"

"I'm going to find you some good Russian clients," Edward said impulsively, and even he was unsure if this was because he wanted to make her happy or he was ready to get back in the spy game. "They won't have ties to Flynn or Manafort or Erdogan or the Russian ambassador. They won't be in those cities, owning those properties, going to those meetings. None of it--I promise!"

Back in Washington, Barack Obama was seated at his home computer in Kalorama, ready to take a first stab at his memoirs. They would probably only be here a couple years while Sasha finished high school, but he liked the house and the neighborhood. Still, sometimes something felt...off. He shook it off, looked at his notes again, then looked at the blank page on the computer monitor. He hadn't been planning on writing the Obamacare chapter first, but, seriously? Trumpcare? Literally taking poor Americans off health insurance and making insurance companies richer. The parade of people getting interviewed over and over again on television: "yes, I'm on Obamacare, but I voted for Trump!"  Buyer's remorse, seriously?! Or maybe he would start with the Paris climate plan, now that Pruitt had gone on the record as a full-tilt climate denier bullshitter for the fossil fuel industry. And took "science" off the EPA website!  Sometimes Obama wondered if reality was slipping away from him. He looked out the window at the Secret Service agent pacing the sidewalk. Does he buy this bullshit I wiretapped Trump? Does anybody really buy that bullshit, or are they repeating the lies on purpose?

"On purpose," whispered a woman's voice. He turned around quickly, but there was nobody there.

Down at Southwest Plaza, Dubious McGinty was walking out into the brisk sunshine. The wind was brutally cold, and his old bones were achy, but he had to get out for a bit. It didn't seem that long ago he used to fight with Ardua of the Potomac, but he knew he was no match for the demon living in the parking garage of his apartment building. He smiled at the sight of a lovely young pregnant woman opening a townhouse door to the moving truck which had just parked at her curb. It was Yasmin, whose husband, Dr. Khalid Mohammad, shooed her back into the house--not because he thought Muslim women belonged hidden but because he increasingly thought she could only be safe in this country if she were.

COMING UP:   Another week of 
de-programming Trump's cult followers!

Sunday, March 05, 2017

The Enemy of Your Enemy

Vice-President Pence was in the Oval Office filling in for Donald Trump while POTUS was doing political fundraising, playing golf at Mar-a-Lago, and Tweeting that Barack Obama was responsible for all the damning evidence coming out against Trump's Russian mafia connections.  Not an entirely atypical day for Pence, but still....

"Sir?"  A staff member from the National Security Council was at the door, and the V.P. called for her to come in.  "You're wanted in the Situation Room."

"Not again," Pence muttered under his breath, rising with a silent prayer.

"Not again," Congressman Paul Ryan muttered under his breath, a mile away.  "The pundits actually praised Trump's address to Congress, and then he turns into paranoid Alt-Right conspiracy lunatic again on the weekend!  OOF!"

"Alt-Right," repeated his Thaitastic masseuse, pressing her thumbs into the inflamed adrenal glands at the tip of each kidney while she dug her knees into his buttocks muscles.

"GAAAAA!  How do we push the domestic agenda forward when the GOP has to keep defending him on a weekly basis?"

"GOP," repeated the masseuse, sliding her thumbs under his shoulder blades.

"Aaaaah," the Speaker of the House sighed.  "The Senate goes through all the embarrassment of confirmation hearings for an Alabama good-old-boy, and now Sessions turns out to be a racist and a perjurer!  MOTHER OF--!"

The masseuse was pulling his arms backwards out of their sockets and bending the Speaker's spine backwards.  "Racist and perjurer," she repeated.

"I ask myself every day:  what would Ayn Rand do?  And the answer is always:  look out for herself.  So what do I want?  That's the question. CRIKEY!"

The masseuse was laying down some karate chops on his upper back.  "Look out for herself," she repeated before rolling him onto his back.

"Can I tell you a secret?" the Speaker of the house asked.

"Secret," she repeated, lifting his right leg to rotate his hip.

"I want to be President of the United States.  OW!"

The Thai masseuse had abruptly dropped his leg, sat down to straddle his groin, and pushed both arms above his head.  "I tell you secret now.  Everybody tell me want to be President.  Talk about line of success."

"The line of succession?" he asked, getting aroused.  "Who?"

"No, no, no!" she frowned, getting back up.  "No balls!  No dick!"  She grabbed his left leg and began rotating the hip while he pleaded for names.

Meanwhile, over on Capitol Hill, President Pro Tempore of the Senate, Orrin Hatch, was being wined and dined by the Russia Caucus, though he did not yet realize that.  "We're concerned about how many dominoes might fall," said Texas Congressman Zeke "Slick" Hicks, handing the third-in-line-of-succession a whiskey.

"Oh, I'm not much of a drinker," said Senator Hatch, who had already declined a visit to the Hicks hot tub (where Hicks had placed a couple hookers provided by the Russian ambassador).  "I'll admit that I do have some reservations about the President, but--"

"Exactly!" interrupted the Representative from Oklahoma.  "But what we really need is some stability for our constituents and friends to do their business planning."

"All we're saying, Senator," added Congressman Hicks, offering Hatch a marijuana-laced brownie, which was also declined, "is that petroleum exploration and drilling requires political commitment and cooperation--"

"Such as in the Arctic Circle," interrupted the Representative from Alaska, "and we would like to know if we can count on your support in the event that you end up in the White House."

"This is outrageous!" exclaimed Hatch, though he was secretly thrilled at the thought.  "You are slandering the Vice-President and the Speaker of the House!"

"Oh, no, not at all!" protested Congressman Hicks.  "Unfortunately, sometimes innocent people get swept up with the guilty--"

"Especially if they are defending the guilty," interrupted the Representative from Oklahoma, "so it's important for you to go on the record now."

Congressman Hicks took Hatch by the elbow to turn him towards the hidden video camera and handed him what Hatch thought was a glass of water but which was actually a glass of Russian vodka.  "Sometimes the best way to know what's coming down the pike is to put that race car in the fast lane, Senator."

Senator Hatch took a gulp and started coughing.

Back at the White House, Captain Tyler Glockmann was briefing Vice-President Pence on the location of three Soviet nuclear submarines and (at the secret direction of Condoleezza Rice) stoking his fears about Russian reprisals.

"Reprisals for the smearing of the Russian ambassador?" asked Pence.

"No, sir, Commander," said the Defense Intelligence Agency operative beholden to the Heurich Society.  "Intelligence indicates that Putin is growing impatient for certain promises to be kept."

"What promises?" asked Pence, looking around at a room full of generals, colonels, and their aides.

"We thought you might be able to help us with that," said one of the colonels, with a sad smile on his face.

"I know nothing about the Russians!" insisted Pence, getting red in the face.

"Sometimes it's easier to spot the shadow than the actual object," said Captain Glockmann.

"Come on!" shouted the ghost of Henry Samuelson, who had brought a large contingency from the Ghost CIA to this meeting.  "The time for pussyfooting around is over!"

"Hear, hear!" echoed his colleagues, spectrally glaring at the White House ghosts.

"You're not welcome here!" declared Ghost Dennis.

"We need to work together!" protested Ghost Henry.

"Not with you!" said several members of the Shackled in unison.  "Go away!"

"We wouldn't have to be here if you could get into Trump's head properly!" cried Ghost Henry.

"He hears everything I say!" retorted Ghost Dennis.

"He thinks you're Nelson Rockefeller!" replied Ghost Henry.

"I just need to fine-tune my delivery," pouted Ghost Dennis.

"Ya think?  Because your Nelson street cred didn't get him to understand anything about Nixon, did it?!" glowered Ghost Henry.

"None of this is helping!" said the senior member of the Shackled.

"We need to work on Pence!" exclaimed Ghost Henry.  "Talking to a crazy person doesn't help!  Together we--"

"No!" shouted the Shackled in unison.

"Anyway," said Ghost Dennis with a sigh, "Pence lost his sanity three weeks ago."

A mile away, a slightly hungover Chloe Cleavage was leaving Trump International with a few more nuggets of actionable Russian intelligence (and a touch of Herpes) from Sergei, while a flock of starlings flew off to report to Ardua of the Potomac.

COMING UP:   Home Sweet Home!