Bull Sh**

Golden Fawn Vazquez and Marcos Vazquez were picnicking on Roosevelt Island. For once, Marcos had not offered to work a Labor Day shift for the Coast Guard and was letting the single people do it (as he used to). Marcos would have preferred spending some time working on condo repairs and then hiking in the National Arboretum, but Golden Fawn loved being near the water and relished the rare times they spent boating together. The problem was, Ardua of the Potomac was still out there, so, even though Golden Fawn was enjoying the weather and the water and the birds (brown pelicans?!), she also wanted to spend some time invoking spirits to fight the demon in the river. "Bull Shaman," she called out, trying a new one, "cleanse the waters of your land and rid us of this evil spirit!" Deep in the river, Ardua groaned at the stabbing pain and dug into the thick silt.

"Bull sharks!" screamed Dubious McGinty, shaking his fist at the Potomac River from his perch in the drawbridge watch tower. (He was referring to the pair of 8-foot killer sharks fished out of the Potomac last week. "I know you brought them here, just like you brought the damned snake heads! How many more are out there?" he screamed at Ardua. Then he felt her grimacing, and for a moment thought his screaming had actually upset her, but he quickly saw the puff of smoke from Roosevelt Island and realized Golden Fawn was out there again. "Ha! Bull sharks?! You're getting desperate, old girl!"

Several miles to the east, Sebastian L'Arche was eyeing an unusual looking dog at Eastern Market. "Bull shepherd?" he asked the bespectacled young man walking it.

"Yeah!" the man replied. "Most people can't figure that out! Her mother was a bulldog, and her father was a German shepherd. she usually barks at strangers, but she likes you!"

The dog whisperer nodded and knelt down to whisper in the bull shepherd's ear, and the dog responded with a whimper and a face lick. "She wants to run free every now and then--you really need to take her to a dog park where you can unleash her."

"Ummm, OK," the doubtful dog owner said, then pulled his dog away from the unsolicited adviser and walked over to where a crowd was forming around Mayor Adrian Fenty--who had just pulled up on his bicycle wearing black cycling shorts and a t-shirt that said "MAYOR". Fenty asked for people to vote for him in the primary, which quickly led to a shouting match between Fenty supporters and Fenty opponents. Results are non-negotiable! (Cronyism!) School tests are up! (Your attorney general is a joke!) Violent crime is down! (Who paid for your trip to Abu Dhabi?) New parks and swimming pools! (Given any contracts to your fraternity brothers lately?) D.C. is greener! (Fenty raided the Anacostia clean-up fund and the Sustainable Energy Utility!) L'Arche walked away, disappointed on many levels.

Several miles to the west, Chloe Cleavage was also disappointed on many levels. First of all, when her cousin Chloris Cleavage had announced she was coming to town, Chloe thought this would mean a lot of partying at trendy clubs with the movie star, but her last film ("Sorority Kickboxer") had not done as well as expected, and nobody seemed to recognize her the way they used to after her topless scene in "Midnight Mini-Golf". Plus, Chloris kept saying she needed to go to bed early to avoid getting dark circles under her eyes! Yesterday they had spent six hours doing a photo shoot at the Brewmaster's Castle [much to the consternation of the Heurich Society], and today Chloe was stuck watching Chloris do today's photo shoot at Hillwood Mansion. The photographers were all gay, the caterers were all gay, the agent and publicist were women, and Chloe was running out of people to email on her Blackberry. She had tried to get Calico Johnson to come hang out with them, but he had told her he was going out of town for Labor Day--without telling her where! (She just knew he was with some other woman.) "You are 26?" asked today's photographer (for "Hollywood's Hottest Hooters" magazine). "You do not look a day over 21!"

"Bull sheeeeeet!" cried out Chloris, in her exaggerated version of an East L.A. chicano accent--only one of several new habits that annoyed Chloe to no end. Then Chloris tossed her hair back and spun into the fan breeze dramatically. Chloe lay down on an elegantly upholstered fainting couch and stared at the exquisite ceiling design wondering what she had done to deserve this, while Chloris shook her head at Chloe, convinced that law school had turned her into a Blackberry-addicted zombie who was incapable of having fun anymore.

A few miles to the south, the ghost of Robert McNamara was suffering a psychological and spiritual relapse. "Bull shit!" cried out Didymus to his therapist, Ermann Esse. "End of combat in Iraq?! I don't think so! Iraq is going to Hell in a handbasket!"

"Well," replied Dr. Esse, "didn't they say that about Vietnam? And now Vietnam is a stable trading partner with the United States."

Didymus stared gape-mouthed at Dr. Esse. "Are you serious?! You cannot be serious!! What is Iraq gonna trade with us? All they've got is sand and improvised explosive devices!"

"Well," answered Dr. Esse, "didn't people think that Vietnam was just jungles and landmines? You need to have some faith in the resilience of human nature."

Didymus had faith in nothing, least of all the resilience of human nature. "Sometimes nations just fall apart, Doc--you know that, right? Roman Empire, Anasazi, Mayans, Easter Island. A quarter million dead or wounded in Iraq, and we've got nothing to show for it."

Now Dr. Esse wasn't sure if Didymus was suggesting that Iraq was falling apart or the United States. "How does that make you feel, Didymus?" (This was what Dr. Esse asked when stalling for time to collect his thoughts.) Didymus rolled off the couch and started banging his spectral forehead on the floor.

Over in the Potomac, Ardua smelled political winds of change wafting towards her and contemplated them thoughtfully.