Snow-Flakes and Snow-Questers

Calico Johnson angrily tossed more hay into the corner of the basement where Mega Moo had been since angrily protesting the snowstorm at 3 a.m.  "The snow wasn't even affecting you!" the real estate mogul scolded the cow.  "You have a state-of-the-art heated barn, for God's sake!"  He then shoveled her manure into a pile.  "Ninja doesn't complain--and she's a thoroughbred!  You're lucky to share a barn with her!"  What Johnson didn't know was that Mega Moo's bovine narcolepsy had recurred, and the reason the cow screamed in the wee hours of the morning was that she had fallen asleep suddenly, toppled over, and gotten stepped on by the horse in the darkness.  "I'm talking to a cow," he said, retreating to the stairs.  His feelings for Mega Moo's previous owner (his former Potomac Manors neighbor) were fading proportionally with his growing annoyance.  "I need to bring that cow whisperer out here again."

Several miles to the west, the residents of the Arlington group home for the mentally challenged were also a little bleary eyed from a 3 a.m. awakening; in their case, the screaming culprit had been Cedric.  "He couldn't help it," said Theresa, dealing the cards for another hand of Oh, Hell!  "It's the nanotechnology hidden in the snowflakes." 

"There's no such thing!" retorted Buckner, looking around to see if he had been dealt as many cards as everybody else.  "And I'm getting tired of his phony James Bond accent, acting like he's some important international spy!"

"I think it was Aloysius that made him scream," said Melinda.  "That teddy bear is creepy:  its eyes follow you everywhere!"  (She sometimes gave Aloysius a good thrashing when Cedric was in the bathroom.)

"It's the snow angels," said Larry.  "They're really devils!"

"Don't say that!" wailed Theresa, laying down two cards in confusion.

"The snow
is the afterglow
of the world
after it was hurled
from ethos
to pathos," said Freddy Ritchings (AKA Brother Divine of the International Peace Movement). 

"When the world is white
we inherit the night,
and the dark hour's screams
become today's best dreams."

"That makes no sense," said Larry.

"And 'snow devils' does?" sneered Buckner, tossing down his cards.  "This is a sissy game!  I think we should wrestle, like Don Rumsfeld told us to!  Let's go wrestle in the snow!"

"His op-ed didn't say anything about wrestling in the snow," said Larry.

"You have to read op-eds between the lines," said Melinda.  "That's how the secret government communicates."

On the other side of the room, Cedric continued to stare out the window at the falling snow--Aloysius gripped tightly in his arms, Millie curled up at his feet.  Social worker Hue Nguyen was seated at the other end of the couch, sipping tea and sharing meaningful looks with the enormous brown dog (Millie) about how to proceed.  "So what you're saying is that Ghost Henry brought the snowstorm--"

"The snowquester," interrupted Cedric.

"--brought the snowquester in order to create a state of emergency, override the budget cuts, and trigger a martial law declaration from the CIA."

"That's what he said," nodded Cedric.

"That's what the ghost told you?"  (Nod.)  "But we haven't had a state of emergency, or a declaration of martial law--"

"It's just beginning!  The snow is still falling!  We're doomed!"

"Cedric, why did Ghost Henry tell you about his plan?"

"He told me I was either with him or against him," whispered Cedric.  Then he whispered something inaudible into the ear of Aloysius, and he held Aloysius up to his ear to listen to the teddy bear's reply.  "I want to go against him, but Aloysius says we have no choice!  Henry will kill us if we don't help him!"

"Help him with what?"

"Why, taking over the CIA, of course!  He has a ghost CIA, and he wants to take over the living CIA."

"OK."  Nguyen finished her tea.  "Well, I think we should set up a Skype chat between you and Dr. Schwartz--"

"No!  The NSA monitors all the Skype chats!  They'll call out a predator drone on us!"

"Nobody's gonna bomb our little house in Arlington."

"That's what Osama bin Laden thought!"

Back in Maryland, Liv Cigemeier was dutifully Tweeting about International Development Machine's "Girl Hurl" campaign.  "This really sucks," she said for the fifth time to her husband.  "I'm sure nobody else is working from home!"

"I am!" the Prince and Prowling partner replied (for only the third time).

"I know you are, honey!  I mean, from IDM.  And I don't get paid any extra."

Her husband stole a long look at her--face glowing, hair still unbrushed, faint smile on her lips.  The truth was that the "Girl Hurl" campaign was a runaway success:  the Facebook likes, the blog hits, the reTweets.  His wife had become a thought leader in her field....Not that he was worried about her become conceited or anything.

"Huffington just reTweeted me--ME!  Can you believe it?!"

He could certainly believe it, but what he wouldn't have believed had he been told was that Arianna Huffington would be reading Liv's Tweets all day today...and then recommending her for a job at IDM's chief rival, "International Poverty Nerds".

Several miles to the south, Glenn Michael Beckmann (along with a real estate demon) was holed up in his Southwest Plaza apartment, live-blogging about the snowquester.  "Global warming is a lie!"  He looked back a couple of paragraphs and realized he had already said that.  He stopped to look at the Washington Post online opinion pieces--it was important to read between the lines to see what the secret government was saying--and frowned.  He took another spoonful of oatmeal cooked in whiskey and was just about to resume typing when a raven slammed against his balcony door.  He jumped up to take a look and saw a smear of blood down the glass to where the raven lay twitching.  A flock of starlings suddenly alit and started eating the raven alive:  it was the most exciting thing Beckmann had seen since witnessing that car plunge into the icy Potomac River a week ago.  He scrambled to find his video camera and set up a live video feed on his blog.  "Nature in all its wild glory!" he narrated, then he realized he sounded like a freakin' tree hugger.  "Survival of the fittest!"  One of the starlings looked up at him, eyes glowing red against a swirl of snow, and Beckmann felt chills.  "Death comes to the archbishop!" exulted Beckmann, misremembering a story he had read a long time ago, as a boy.  He abruptly turned off the camera, signed off his blog, got dressed, and grabbed several weapons to go hunting.  The real estate demon watched the starlings for a few more minutes, then headed down to the laundry room to rattle some more bones.