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 ....

Saturday, May 20, 2017

A Beast is Born!

Out at the Maryland animal sanctuary, famed animal whisperer Sebastian L'Arche had been summoned because geriatric cow Megamoo had gone into pre-mature labor.  Though well past her fertile years, and without any known exposure to a bull, Megamoo had become pregnant shortly after the Presidential Election.  Even those not prone to spiritual beliefs or even mild superstitions were certain this was an extremely unnatural phenomenon, and this had been confirmed by the veterinarian's inexplicable ability to obtain a clear ultrasound of the creature in the womb.  Sebastian, for his part, had no doubt on that point since his earlier visit, and had brought to the sanctuary several different items that might kill the creature--though he was not entirely certain if the sanctuary workers would agree.  Sebastian did not arrive alone:  in addition to his business partner Becky Hartley, the pending birth had prompted the uninvited arrival of Ghost Pippin and her pack of feral feline phantasms, The Gopper Ghost and his pack of canine specters (including the Samoyed Ghost Anatoly), a flock of starlings spying for Ardua of the Potomac, and a raven watching carefully from the barn rafters.

Meanwhile, with Trump absent from the White House, Steve Bannon and his private security staff were running wild:  strippers, whiskey bottles, chicken wings, and moon pies were scattered everywhere from the movie theater to the putting green.  It was very distracting for conspiracy theorist Glenn Michael Beckmann, who had been smuggled in by security guard Randy "Bubba" Blaylock to get an exclusive scoop for his blog.  "Is Bannon the leaker?" asked Beckmann.  "Did he spill the beans on Trump's meeting with the Russians?"

"When you make a deal with the devil, he will enforce it!" hollered Bubba, who wheeled suddenly to start shooting at a Turner watercolor he thought was mocking him and his (cursed, whispering) Rolex.

"Is Bannon really Satan?" asked Beckmann, watching a horrified Omarosa kick a groping Bannon staffer in the shin before managing to barricade herself in her office.

"Did Judas serve the devil's purpose or God's purpose?" countered Bubba, opening his fly to piss into a peace plant pot.

A naked woman then ran past them, laughing heartily, as Steve Bannon drunk-drove a motorized wheelchair crookedly in pursuit, wearing nothing but a MAGA baseball cap and a feather boa.  Beckmann knocked over the wheelchair and raced off to catch the woman himself.

"Alt-Right One Down!" yelled Bubba, zipping his fly back up, then shooting the rebel wheelchair, causing Bannon to erupt in peals of hyena laughter as he crawled away from the American carnage.

Over at the State Department, the Assistant Deputy Administrator for American Carnage (the ADAfAC) was stress-eating an entire bag of potato chips while his pint of ice cream softened up.  "I wrote the speech!" he muttered, his mouth full.  "It was full of nuance!  Saudis, Iran--this isn't stuff for MAGA speeches!"  He paused to stab a spoon at the ice cream again, then swore at its recalcitrant hardness.  "I told you not to bring me ice cream unless it's softened!" he screamed out the door at "C. Coe Phant", who had become his personal slave in an effort to avoid losing his job to State Department cuts.  Phant ran in with a different pint he had been sitting on and silently replaced the hard one on the ADAfAC's desk, not even raising his eyes to acknowledge the presence of triple agent Charles Wu.  "What does Tillerson do?  Make an asinine, nonsensical comment about free speech.  FREE SPEECH!  They don't DO it in Saudi Arabia!  Do they do it here?  NOT FOR LONG!  Do they do it in Iran?  YES!  Up is down, down is up, Obama can't bow, Trump can bow, Michelle should have worn a head scarf.  No, she did!  Photo shop it!  Criticize her for wearing it!  Criticize her for not wearing it!  The Deplorables will re-Tweet whatever you say.  It's a propaganda state now!  That's what he says!" concluded the ADAfAC, gesturing out the doorway where C. Coe Phant was presumably still standing at attention.  "Do you want some?"

Wu declined graciously, and the ADAfAC went back to shoveling it into his mouth.  "It's contraband," he said, his mouth full.  "Ben and Jerry's Americone Dream--the Stephen Colbert flavor.  Can't eat it while Tillerson's in the house!  The cat's away, the mice will play, HA HA HA HA!  When he gets back, we have to eat that silly Texas brand."

"Hm," nodded Wu, sympathetically.  Every day, Beijing asked him what the toddler in the White House would do next.  ("Whatever Jared tells him," was not the most helpful information he could pass along, but it was the most truthful.  And Tillerson was just a mouthpiece.)  "I do have some Russian information you might find useful," said Wu, who was now getting a floodgate of leaks from the Russians staying at Trump International Hotel, courtesy of reluctant spy Chloe Cleavage.

"Really?!" laughed the ADAfAC.  "Something the Russians won't leak themselves to the New York Times?  Something Paul Ryan's enemies didn't tape-record and release at an inopportune time?  Something which the 95% of FBI employees still loyal to James Comey won't leak to the Washington Post?  Something McMaster won't leak to CNN as a warning to Pence's incoming Administration that nobody's saying the Special Counsel would disappear just because Trump gets impeached?"

"Something else," nodded Wu.  "Something you will want to know before Trump visits NATO."

"Visits NATO?!" howled the ADAfAC.  "If by 'visit' you mean read a prepared statement while Melania flashes her spray-tan smile and cleavage around to distract the generals, then start ad-libbing nuggets of Presidential wisdom about things like 'where's the dividing line between the North Atlantic and the South Atlantic?  Treaty Organization is such an old-fashioned term!  Let's sign a deal, the most beautiful deal in the history of American deals!  Why shouldn't Russia be a member of NATO?  Wouldn't that help them smooth things out with Ukraine?  Speaking of Ukraine, can somebody explain to me about Georgia?  Is there a Georgia in Russia?  That doesn't seem right.  I love Slavs!  Slavs are very misunderstood.  Usually I prefer blonds, but Melania's hot, right?'"

"Sir," said C. Coe Phant, re-entering the room, "it's time for your afternoon prescription."  He handed the ADAfAC a Ritalin pill and a tablet with a porn video pulled up on it.

"Ah," sighed the ADAfAC.  "Charles, you can tell him your Russian stuff.  I need to be alone for half an hour."

Back at the White House, butler Clio was hunkered down with gardener Bridge in her East Wing office.  They knew it would get bad after the Head Usher was fired, but never in a million years could they have anticipated that the acts of debauchery would snowball into an actual booze-filled orgy involving a dozen staffers and a cast of questionable characters brought in to party with them.  "To think, I once had my children living here with me!" Clio said, shaking her head as she thought about the years after twins Regina and Ferguson had been born during a White House lockdown.

Oh, they still are, thought Bridge, who knew that Ghost Dennis was fulfilling his father-figure role with a vengeance right now, herding the ghost pre-schoolers away from the excesses.  Bridge used to think Reggie and Fergie were the naughtiest things in the White House, but they seemed more angelic every day.

Back at the animal sanctuary, Megamoo gave out one final bellow as she forced the unwelcome resident out of her womb and onto the straw.  Everyone stared at the hideous creature, which appeared to be a mixture of cow, lizard, rat, mushroom, and vulture.  The nervous veterinarian cut the umbilical cord, then looked around to see what the consensus of the group would be.  The Gopper Ghost and Anatoly prepared to maul the evil creature to death, but first Megamoo jumped to her feet and started trampling it herself.  Everybody backed away from the dangerous flying hooves, but the creature started snarling, unfurled its wings, and quickly flew out of the barn.

"Pull over now," said Angela de la Paz to her boyfriend, a half-mile from that barn.  "It's already loose."  She jumped out of the car, spotted it in the sky, held up her hand to it, then watched it crash to the ground.  She got back in, and FBI agent Dulles Samuelson smiled at her silently, then put the car back in gear.  They still had to dissolve it with the gallon of holy water they had siphoned at the Shrine.

COMING UP:        
Jefferson Beauregard Sessions schemes to incarcerate 
10 million more minorities before November 2018!

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Raucous Caucus!

Congressman Paul Ryan's replacement chief of staff had successfully been turned into a zombie one month back, but the maggots in his brain were not born leaders, and so the Zombie Caucus was floundering indecisively.  For one thing, the zombies could not reach a consensus on how to repeal and replace Obamacare!  While many of them felt taking people off health insurance made them physically weaker and easier targets to be eaten, other zombies felt there were already enough soft (weak, obese, smoking, drinking, high) targets out there and that it was better to focus on economic goals--such as gutting financial and housing regulations in order to drive more people into homelessness.  There was also disagreement on the wisdom of driving through such legislation with only Republican votes at a time when the President was severely weakening the GOP brand, and yet there was still no agreement on centrist Senate efforts to draft a Plan B.

The Zombie Caucus was also divided on national security issues, with some feeling that North Korea rhetoric should be quieted since intercontinental ballistic missiles aimed at D.C. could certainly annihilate the Zombie Caucus, while others zombies felt that it was time to do a first strike even if it did mean that North Korea would retaliate by bombing South Korea and Japan.  "Who cares?" was the chorus resounding among many at this afternoon's meeting, since they could not eat brains that far away, and the Speaker's chief of staff was too feeble-maggot-brained to understand the full ramifications.  And yet other zombies pointed out how many Tomahawk missiles had already been wasted on an impotent strike at a Syrian airfield, and how difficult it would be to keep constituents happy if budget cuts now had to be made to food stamps and veterans' programs.  After all, they did need enough people to stay alive in order to vote in 2018!

But mostly the Zombie Caucus was falling apart over how to deal with Trump's outrageous week of actions and statements concerning the FBI.  The more hawkish members of Congress were squawking about James Clapper's direct assertions that firing Comey was a win for Vladimir Putin.  The lawyer zombies, for their part, could not deny that Trump had admitted on national television he had fired Comey out of a desire to force the end of the Russian-interference FBI investigation of his Presidential campaign; on top of that, Trump had used Twitter to intimidate Comey as a witness!  Even maggot-replaced zombie brains who had once practiced law could see this was the textbook definition of obstruction of justice!

And yet Paul Ryan's zombie chief of staff insisted nothing could be done about it.

"Even Chaffetz is manning up now!" cried one member of Congress.  "Subpoenas are flying!  Treasury has to turn over financial information about Trump.  It's hard to grab a Senate intern for a quick snack when there are reporters crawling all over Capitol Hill day and night trying to get a scoop!"

"Exactly!" exclaimed a Congressional staffer from Florida.  "I had cornered a tourist to eat in a restroom on Thursday, and suddenly a reporter followed Congressman Smith in there, hounding her for comments on the McCabe testimony!"

"It's time to turn the Speaker of the House into a zombie!" cried a Congressman from Oklahoma.  "Things can't continue as they are!"

"I already turned him weeks ago!" sobbed Paul Ryan's chief of staff, shocking the entire Zombie Caucus.  "The Speaker of the House has been seduced by the Russia Caucus!  I can't even persuade him to come to our meeting!"

"There's a Russia Caucus?" asked several zombies at once.

"Oh, wake up and smell the vodka already!" he replied.

"Vodka is odorless," somebody commented, and then the discussion digressed significantly, until somebody called for zombifying the entire Russia Caucus.

"If we can catch them," he replied.  "They're a wily bunch of weasels."

Meanwhile, Congressman Herrmark had finished his Anti-Zombie Caucus morning meeting (only two confirmed kills this week) and was having afternoon tea with the Holier Than Thou Caucus--which had grown considerably since Trump's election.

"I just feel so bad for that poor Mrs. DeVos," said a Congresswoman from Georgia.  "Booed by those colored people at that disgraceful college!"

"Colored people?" said Congressman Herrmark.  "When did we start saying that again?"

"When they started tearing down our War of Northern Aggression hero statues!" cried a Virginia Congressman, who had rallied the previous evening at the torch-lit rally organized by white supremacist Richard Spencer in Charlottesville.  "White Christians need to defend ourselves!"

"What do those statues have to do with being a Christian?" asked the northern-born Herrmark, who felt the bar constantly rising for successfully networking in this increasingly fanatical and paranoid caucus.

"Son," replied the Virginian, "you've got a lot to learn."

"Aren't you more worried about Virginians' losing health care or Meal on Wheels?" asked Congressman Herrmark.  "Jesus liked healing people and feeding them."

"Those are things for charity, not government," replied the Georgia woman, with a huff.  "Now that the President is giving back free speech to churches, things will start returning to the way the Founding Fathers intended."

"They intended only male landowners to run the government," said Congressman Herrmark with a big smile on his face, but she did not find the comment funny.

Meanwhile, the Russia Caucus was, in fact, holding a nicely catered Mother's Day event for its members and their families, who had been bused out to Trump National Golf Club for the affair.  Though there was no guarantee that the currently golfing President (who seemed to be blowing off Melania!) would stop by their rented room, spirits were high after the Tuesday firing of James Comey and the Russian victory dance in the Oval Office itself on Wednesday.  Diamond necklaces and endless mimosas for the mothers present, puppies and cherry/chocolate blintzes for the children, and discreet envelopes of cash and Rosneft certficate shares for the men had everybody in a fine mood.  Ambassador Kislyak was laughing in the corner with Texas Congressman Zeke "Slick" Hicks about how Trump just needed a new, younger, Slavic mistress to keep him away from the 3 a.m. Tweets, and how this would be easier now that they had fired some White House domestic staffers.  "But you know, Ambassador, we're still not out of the woods yet," Slick said in a more serious tone.

"Are you kidding?" smiled Kislyak.  "He is getting away with everything!  And now we have Paul Ryan!"

Out in her hidden nest on the 14th Street Bridge, Barbara Hellmeister celebrated Mother's Day alone with the Donald Trump (Hitler-DNA-infused) clone growing in her embryo, basking in the unseen energy of Ardua of the Potomac.

COMING UP:        A Beast is Born!

Sunday, May 07, 2017

Law Firm of the Soulless

The ethics counsel from the D.C. Bar settled into the dimly lit Palm booth in the back, and after the drinks and dinner order went in, the Prince and Prowling managing partner wasted no time in baring his soul.

"I really just don't know what we should be doing," he said in a very squeaky voice.  "DOJ already had us over the barrel with SOTA-BUNK."

"What bunk?" asked the ethics counsel.

"Our review center!  And the tax deductions."  The managing partner was pulling some hand-written notes out of his breast pocket.  "This was a way to get out of judicial monitoring!"

"Okay," said the ethics counsel.  "Monitoring for what?"

"That doesn't matter now!" said the managing partner.  "We're up to our eyeballs!"

"In what?" she asked.

The managing partner gratefully accepted the high ball from the returning waitress and took a big gulp.  "If Senator Breadman knew I was here, he'd kill me!"

"Former Senator Evermore Breadman?" she asked.

"He's already billed $20 million to this for his practice group!" he exclaimed.  "And it might double every month at this rate!"

"I don't understand the issue," the ethics counsel said.

"DOJ!  They hired us as outside counsel because they're drowning in Trump-related litigation.  But we're also billing the Trump companies for all the patent work in Beijing, and new property investments in Philippines and Turkey.  Don't you see?  The Prince and Prowling firewall is made of paper!"

"Perhaps," said the ethics counsel, finally writing down some notes.

"It's only a matter of time!  Donald Trump says he's got nothing to do with Russia, and we're writing a real estate contract for Junior in Qatar with underwriting from a Russian bank, and that bank has two officials living in Trump Tower, and Eric Trump is bragging about how they don't need U.S. banks because of all the Russian financing, and how are we supposed to help DOJ defend Donald Trump when he's just lying all the time?"


"You heard what Comey said in that hearing!  It's only a matter of time.  Indictments are coming, but whose?"

"It would help if I could see some details about your legal representations," said the ethics counsel.

"They're all over the news!" he replied.  "That poor woman Desiree Fairooz who just got convicted for laughing at the Jeff Sessions confirmation hearing:  how can Sessions have her prosecuted for laughing at his own confirmation hearing?  It's obviously a conflict of interest!"

"And a waste of taxpayer money," she grumbled.

"That taxpayer money is going to us!" cried the managing partner.  "Wilbur Ross made a joke that the Tomahawk missile strikes were Mar-a-Lago after-dinner entertainment for Trump, and DOJ wants us to defend a lawsuit that's just been filed claiming intentional infliction of emotional distress and punitive damages!"

"I thought nobody was killed when that Syrian air force base was bombed?" the ethics counsel asked.

"The lawsuit is from a Syrian-born waiter present when Ross made the joke!" he replied.  "We've brought on five lateral associates with tort defense experience and acquired a boutique criminal defense firm to keep up with all this.  Now we're doing Kushner contracts with Chinese investors while defending an ethics lawsuit against the White House!"

"Have you raised these concerns with senior partners at Prince and Prowling?"

The managing partner burst out laughing.  "'Conventional wisdom is dead!'", I keep hearing.  We've got insurance companies and the A.M.A. asking us to lobby against Trumpcare, while DOJ wants us to prepare for lawsuits from state attorney generals and the AARP.  We've got prosperity-Gospel churches wanting to set up Super PACs after that Trump executive order, and even Breadman is hesitant to do that--I thought that guy would set up a Super PAC for anybody!"

"What's a prosperity-Gospel church?" the ethics counsel asked.

"You don't really need to ask, do you?" replied the managing counsel.  "But are we supposed to start setting up Super PACs for churches while simultaneously preparing DOJ to defend another ACLU lawsuit?  I'm reading damned law review articles trying to find even a hypothetical blueprint for this, while most of the partners are out there buying red convertibles and investment properties--some of them are condos in Trump and Kushner properties!"

"Well, that's a problem," said the ethics counsel.  "Are there any partners at Prince and Prowling who share your concerns?"

"Sure, but they're afraid to say anything!  The only one that said something was pushed out of partnership already, and not by me!  If Hillary were in the White House, and her daughter and son-in-law got jobs there, the GOP would be eating her alive!  People are whispering that this is how things are now, and there's nothing we can do about it, and we might as well make money off it by representing the ruling party."

"The 'ruling party?'" asked the ethics counsel.

"Doesn't seem much point in calling them Republicans anymore."

Meanwhile, back at Prince and Prowling, Bridezilla was hosting a reception for prospective new clients in her Breadman-assigned Russia practice.  The junior partner had made little traction against her D.C. competition, and was trying a new approach tonight--a conference room full of glossy law firm brochures laid in-between trays of vodka, caviar, and irises.  Tchaikovsky music played softly in the background.  Bridezilla, wearing an empress style silk gown with long black gloves, mingled smilingly with her guest--many of whom had been recruited by her boyfriend (once and future spy "Esperantu Edward").

"So this morning the Donald Tweeted that it was Democrats who colluded with Putin, da?" she heard someone saying, followed by laughter.  "Even a dummy cannot believe this, da?"

"He only needs a few to believe lies--just enough to stay in power," said another.

Then somebody else brought up the pending Congressional testimony of fired Acting Attorney General Sally Yates, and soon half the people in the room were heatedly speaking in Russian.

"What are they saying?" whispered Bridezilla to Edward.

"Well," replied Edward, stalling for time with a gentle touch of the Faberge egg pendant she was wearing against her breast, "this looks so lovely on you."  She nodded, acknowledging the gift, but continued to look at him quizzically.  "I believe, my dear, you have unintentionally created a new hub of Russian resistance."

A half-mile away, Ardua of the Potomac seethed in the river while her starlings spied on Barack Obama receiving a Profile in Courage award at the Kennedy Center.

COMING UP:       
Trumpcare divides the Zombie Caucus!

Sunday, April 30, 2017

Melania mania hits DC!

Dr. Ermann Esse, under the CIA alias of fashion designer "Gunther Zimmer", was in the East Wing planning out Melania Trump's outfits for the week.

"Zat outfit for Argentina President was ridiculed, Gunther!" she cried, wagging his finger at him with a smile and locking the bedroom door behind her.  "They said it was junta chic!"

"I know, my darling, please forgive me?  Look what I brought you!"

He kissed her passionately (he was getting better and better at this part of his undercover mission), then pulled out several dresses his CIA seamstress team had put together.  She turned around to let him kiss her neck while he took off her clothing.

"He insisted on going to zee white trash rally AGAIN yesterday!" she bemoaned, while moaning.  "Pennsylvania!"

"I know, Melania.  You belong in Manhattan!  Or at least in Georgetown."

"And why did Ivanka get to call the astronaut?"

"I don't know.  It's wrong!"

"And why did Merkel invite Ivanka to German entrepreneur conference?  I can speak German, and I am the REAL entrepreneur, right?"

"Exactly!" said the psychiatrist, who was supposed to be hypnotizing her into influencing her husband but was getting nowhere.  "You and I worked our way up from humble roots!  And here we are today, in the White House!  Ivanka was BORN rich!  She is no entrepreneur."

"AND she had plastic surgery!" said Melania, admiring her own buttocks in the mirror.

"YOU are the TRUE beauty, Melania!" said Dr. Esse.  "Nobody can believe you are 47!"

Melania frowned at this reminder.  Though she had celebrated a fabulous and stylish birthday in Washington last week, she was demonstrably too old now to land a different rich old husband now.  And hers had become too insecure to dump her and seek a fourth wife.  Everyone knew he got fatter and uglier every year!  "Do you think he's right about the Canadian wood?" she asked, changing the subject.

"He only knows about golf club wood!" Dr. Esse replied, and this got a good laugh from Melania.  "And THIS kind of wood!" he added, pulling her close to him.

"Ah, you are too fast, just like him!" she laughed, pushing him away.  "I need to finish trying on zee outfits first!"

The shrink lay down on the bed to watch her striptease her way through the remaining outfits (all of which fit perfectly, and looked fabulous on her).  "But, seriously," the psychiatrist said, "it would be good for you to calm him down about NAFTA.  Ripping it up could destabilize the continent."

"What continent?" she asked.

It was then that Dr. Esse realized she was actually too clueless to even be used by the CIA to influence Donald Trump.  "What are you thinking of for President Duterte?" he asked.  "I am thinking black, with some lace and ruffles.  That gives off a bit of a Catholic vibe, and you cannot be too frivolous in color since he has a lot of human rights complaints."

"Maybe," she sighed.  The Filipino thug of a dictator had no money or style, and she didn't have the slightest interest in ever visiting a Trump hotel in Manila.  "Do you think zee climate change protesters are right?" she asked suddenly.  "Will Mar-a-Lago be underwater?"

"Rich people can build sea walls," said Dr. Esse.  "The poor will be underwater."

Out in the hallway, Randy "Bubba" Blaylock was pacing the hallway furiously.  The security guard hired by Steve Bannon had developed an intense fixation on Melania as soon as she had moved in, and he was certain there was hanky-panky going on with this fashion designer.  "What does she see in HIM?" he muttered out loud.  "Everybody knows those guys are all fruit loops!  I'm the handsomest hunk out here!"  He stopped to look at himself in the mirror, then pulled up abruptly when he realized a Secret Service agent at the other end of the hallway was smirking at him.  They think they're better than me! he thought.  Just because I'm from a small town in Virginia and didn't rise up the ranks!  But POTUS LOVES me!  He knows I'm one of his kind.  He scratched the skin under his cursed ROLEX.  Next time this fag Gunther shows up, I'll tell him he's no longer allowed in there!  Then she'll have to ask ME to help her into and out of those dresses!  I'll show her what a real man is!  He heard a sudden squeal of laughter and clenched his fist.

Over in NoMa, lifestyle blogger Giuliana Sunstream was holding her first-ever Ljubljana Luau to try to attract the attention of Melania Trump.  The Slovenian caterer had brought zlikrofi, golaz, and turnip soup, which had all tasted so dreadful to Giuliana on the sampling day that she was complementing them this afternoon with Hawaiian pizza, mahi mahi, and a sculpture of Ljubljana Castle made entirely of poi poi.  The whole party made absolutely no sense, but she was on a desperate quest to find the Trump zeitgeist, and the Hawaiian punch was spiked with so much Russian vodka that the $200/ticket revelers were having an excellent time.  Half the women there, Giuliana included, were wearing their hair long and parted in the middle like Melania, though some were achieving this effect with wigs.  They had shoes from Ivanka's collection, and dresses and jewelry from Melania's collection.  The other half of the women had thought this party idea was an ironic theme, and were dressed in tacky combinations of Hawaiian mu-mus and stiletto heels.  The men, likewise, were evenly divided between (1) dark suits with red ties and (2) khaki golf pants with Hawaiian shirts.  Giuliana's toy Maltese, Vegas, was draped in fake diamonds.

"Who's ready for the Ljubljana Limbo contest?" asked Giuliana, to enthusiastic cheers.

She didn't realize that a drunken Democrat had already written over the marked measurements with phrases like "attacked federal judge", "attacked free press", "questioned practicality of Constitutional government", and, on the very lowest notch, "nuked North Korea to distract from Russia probe".  "How LOW will we GO?!" he shouted, before getting the whole crowd to chant with him:  "How LOW will we GO?!  How LOW will we GO?!"

Over at Lafayette Park, Washington Post "Metro" reporter Perry Winkle was meeting with one of his secret White House sources on a park bench.  What had begun as an attempt by Winkle to break into political journalism had, instead, brought him back to struggling with questions about the supernatural.

"She thinks nobody there understands Slovenian, but I do!" exclaimed the housekeeper.  "I worked at the Slovenian embassy for years.  The First Lady doesn't want to live here because of ghosts!"

"Are you sure?  There seem to be plenty of other good reasons not to," replied Winkle.

"She has been on the phone with her sister talking about it.  She's not frightened of them, but she finds them very annoying.  She keeps throwing salt and pepper everywhere, and lighting peppermint candles."

"Peppermint candles?  I've never heard of such a thing."

"It smells like you're brushing your teeth and smoking at the same time."

"Does the President hear ghosts?" asked Winkle.

"Why do you think he's got bags under his eyes all the time?" she sniffed.  "It's not because he's up late reading in the Oval Office!"

"Have you heard any ghosts?"

"Of course not!  Those people are crazy.  I'm just telling you so you can print the story."

"I wish I could," said Perry, who was still on anti-hallucinatory medication since his editor had sent him on sabbatical after his last attempt to write a supernatural story (about zombies).  "But let me know if you hear of anything Trump decides to do based on what he heard from a ghost."

"I WISH he would decide things based on a ghost," she said, shaking her head.  "There are much scarier things happening in there."

Back inside the East Wing, the ghostly presence of twin pre-schoolers Regina and Ferguson jumping up and down on the bed was making it impossible for Melania to have sex with Gunther.  "You can't take you clothes off!" she insisted.  "They're right here!"

"I don't see anything, sweetie pie," replied Dr. Esse.

"You really can't see zem?  Do you think it's stress?"

"Let me give you another treatment," said the CIA agent, beginning to hypnotize her.  Then Reggie and Fergie got bored and went off to mess with Steve Bannon again.

COMING UP:      
Prince and Prowling racking up the billable
Trump hours--in Washington and Beijing!

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!