What Trump is spawning....
It was an absolutely gorgeous day out at Trump National Golf Course--perfect weather to bring out hordes of wheelers and dealers to play 18 rounds. This also meant that Barbara Hellmeister--a wanted fugitive--was stuck in the secret underground bunker to deliver her baby.
"PUSH!" hollered her mate and fellow Nazi, Ernest Ironman.
Barbara slapped him. "Don't yell at me!"
They had been arguing for months about whether Donald Trump's Hitler DNA made him a worthy political heir to Der Fuhrer, and this childbirth was not going to be easy.
"You need to push harder!" insisted Ernest, grandson of Adolf Eichmann. (He believed the family education he had received about Nazi politics made him best qualified to deem Trump a failed fascist because of his suspicious dealings with Russia.)
"I have done ALL the work for this baby, and all you do is yell!" retorted Barbara, whose Nazi grandfather's notebook had guided her scientific research and helped her both identify Trump's DNA strand from Hitler's family and predict the genetic superiority expected from their own baby. "Get me more cookies!"
"I'll get them!" interjected teenage bride Brittani, freaking out ever since her husband, Kevin ("Monkey") Mundy, had told her to help out with the birth while he examined the walls of the bunker for signs of gold veins. She bolted for the kitchen to get another plate full of butter, pecan, chocolate, and walnut cookies; she also grabbed another cold beer for Ernest.
"You shouldn't be eating while you're in labor!" protested Ernest, again, but this time he took a step back to avoid getting slapped.
"I've been in labor for eight hours, and I'm hungry!"
"Are you hungry?" asked realtor Calico Johnson, offering a plate of ladyfingers to Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts. It was another meeting of Sense of Entitlement Anonymous (DC Chapter) at Dick Cheney's house, a few miles away from Trump National Golf Club.
"Hungry?!" exclaimed Roberts. "I've been nauseous since I saw the haters erupt on Twitter during my speech at the grand opening of the Museum of African American History!" (Johnson shook his head in sympathy.) "They berated me for coming--said I had no right to speak about the Civil Rights movement because I had [air quotes] gutted the Voting Rights Act!"
Prince and Prowling junior partner Bridezilla tut-tutted. "They would have berated you if you had not gone!" she said. "It was a no-win situation."
"We don't need the VRA anymore!" exclaimed Roberts. "The museum alone proves that!"
"And Oprah!" piped in a member of N.U.T.T.Y (Nannies United to Take y-Chromosomes). [She was currently writing a young adult novel about a heroic nanny with secret superpowers who kills the she-beast masquerading as a mother, saves the children, and marries the father.]
"Indeed," said Judge Sowell Ame of the D.C. Superior Court (still uncertain how these N.U.T.T.Y. women were allowed into S.E.A.). "I tell these fools all the time, 'if you don't wanna lose the vote, stop becoming felons!' It's very easy to blame other people for your problems." (Judge Ame had sentenced three D.C. residents to prison just this past week for possession of marijuana, interpreting D.C.'s "legalization" of marijuana to apply only in the Northwest quadrant.)
"Let's talk about something more pleasant," said former Vice-President Dick Cheney, motioning to Johnson to get the champagne out of the ice bucket. "We need to toast Boehner's new job with Reynolds tobacco!"
"Hear, hear!" said Roberts.
"Who can forget how he once handed out tobacco industry campaign checks on the House floor?" commented Federal Reserve Board economist Luciano Talaverdi (with a note of sarcasm that went undetected because of his Italian accent).
"Ha, ha!" laughed the former Speaker of the House. "Remember when I repented publicly about that later?"
"But nobody gave back their checks!" said Roberts, to more boisterous laughter. "Hey, that's what Citizens United was all about, am I right?!" (He had a twinkle in his eye.)
"Could I be serious for a minute?" asked Taleverdi. "We really need to do something about Donald Trump."
"Why?" asked Cheney. "He's closing in on Hillary in the polls--he has a good shot at winning!"
"Wait, what?!" exclaimed Talaverdi. "No respectable Republicans are voting for Trump! They are all endorsing Hillary!"
"Who said Cheney is a respectable Republican?" laughed a former member of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) Court. (She had started drinking during the Uber drive over to Cheney's house.)
"What?!" exclaimed Cheney, getting red in the face.
"Please calm down, Dick!" said Bridezilla. "If you have another heart attack, Lynn won't let you attend these meetings anymore."
"We have to do something," said Talaverdi. "His election would usher in a fascist era none of you can possibly imagine the way I can, having grown up listening to family horror stories about Mussolini!"
"Aw, come on, Luciano!" retorted Cheney. "He would be a weak President--blocked by Congress, ignored by the intelligence community, and sidelined by the Pentagon."
"But might he possibly tarnish our country's image in the eyes of the world?" asked Bridezilla gently [never letting on she was actively working for a secret SuperPAC to defeat Trump].
"I'm with her," said Boehner, to a few gasps. "No, not with her! I mean, I'm with her!" (He pointed to Bridezilla.) "My company wants to increase tobacco exports, so we can't be starting trade wars!"
"And the House?" added Bridezilla, coyly.
"Yes, yes!" agreed Boehner. "And the House! Electing Trump might lead to Democrats' taking control of Congress!"
"Who the Hell cares about Congress?!" declared Cheney.
"You were once a Congressman--" began Bridezilla, before being interrupted.
"The CIA and NSA and Pentagon secret slush fund are all we need to control power!" exclaimed Cheney.
"Who's 'we?'" asked the member of N.U.T.T.Y., and the former member of the FISA court burst out laughing again.
Over in Washington, triple agent Charles Wu was not laughing about Donald Trump.
"It's not really my thing," said his special agent, Angela de la Paz, looking in wonder at the brocaded gown of a 17th century Italian noblewoman.
Charles Wu glanced over his shoulder at his young daughter, running up and down the marble stairs instead of taking in culture during her first visit to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. "I'm at my wit's ends," confided Charles, who was exceedingly unaccustomed to that feeling.
"You know I'm not happy about Donald Trump," replied Angela, "but my gifts are not in that field, and I have a lot of other things going on."
"But the reporter bought your story of mutant rats in the subway tunnels, didn't he?"
"I don't think so. Anyway, I've got other worries."
"The international order could unravel in a major way!" said Wu. "I'm talking Europe faltering, Russia ascending, China pushing up against India and Russia. Pakistan is convinced that Trump would drop a nuclear bomb on them!"
"You used to have it all figured out," said Angela, gently. "Handing secrets to England, or Beijing, or Hong Kong--"
"That was simple," he said.
"It wasn't simple," said Angela.
"But I understood what I was doing. There was a small set of variables. The variables started growing when I brought the State Department into the mix, and now they are growing exponentially."
They followed Buffy Cordelia and her English governess up the staircase to the 18th century paintings. "I have these gifts to fight evil," said Angela, smiling at little Delia's wide-eyed wonder at the enormous chandeliers.
"What if Trump were evil?' asked Charles. (Angela smiled, but shook her head.) "No, seriously," Charles said. Look, I understand there are ghosts and demons out there, but couldn't you just get close enough to him to find out?"
"I think he's just a reprehensible human being with a lot of money, appealing to haters who think--"
"What if he's not?" asked Wu.
Back at Trump National Golf Club, the moment had arrived! Barbara Hellmeister wailed loudly and pushed her baby into the waiting arms of Ernest Ironman. She waited for Ernest to carry over the baby and place it into her arms--the baby she knew would be an Aryan genetic masterpiece!--but he just kept staring down at it. Barbara could hear the baby's cries, so she knew it was alive. "Ernest?" She weakly sat up to get a look while Brittani, who had been holding Barbara's hand during the last stage of labor, fainted to the floor. Barbara strained to sit up higher until she saw her baby--which had a green face and a long, scaly tail.
Out in the golf course pond, the demon Ardua smiled with pleasure.
******************************************************************
COMING UP:
Dr. Ermann Esse's undercover adventures in Trump Nation!
"PUSH!" hollered her mate and fellow Nazi, Ernest Ironman.
Barbara slapped him. "Don't yell at me!"
They had been arguing for months about whether Donald Trump's Hitler DNA made him a worthy political heir to Der Fuhrer, and this childbirth was not going to be easy.
"You need to push harder!" insisted Ernest, grandson of Adolf Eichmann. (He believed the family education he had received about Nazi politics made him best qualified to deem Trump a failed fascist because of his suspicious dealings with Russia.)
"I have done ALL the work for this baby, and all you do is yell!" retorted Barbara, whose Nazi grandfather's notebook had guided her scientific research and helped her both identify Trump's DNA strand from Hitler's family and predict the genetic superiority expected from their own baby. "Get me more cookies!"
"I'll get them!" interjected teenage bride Brittani, freaking out ever since her husband, Kevin ("Monkey") Mundy, had told her to help out with the birth while he examined the walls of the bunker for signs of gold veins. She bolted for the kitchen to get another plate full of butter, pecan, chocolate, and walnut cookies; she also grabbed another cold beer for Ernest.
"You shouldn't be eating while you're in labor!" protested Ernest, again, but this time he took a step back to avoid getting slapped.
"I've been in labor for eight hours, and I'm hungry!"
"Are you hungry?" asked realtor Calico Johnson, offering a plate of ladyfingers to Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts. It was another meeting of Sense of Entitlement Anonymous (DC Chapter) at Dick Cheney's house, a few miles away from Trump National Golf Club.
"Hungry?!" exclaimed Roberts. "I've been nauseous since I saw the haters erupt on Twitter during my speech at the grand opening of the Museum of African American History!" (Johnson shook his head in sympathy.) "They berated me for coming--said I had no right to speak about the Civil Rights movement because I had [air quotes] gutted the Voting Rights Act!"
Prince and Prowling junior partner Bridezilla tut-tutted. "They would have berated you if you had not gone!" she said. "It was a no-win situation."
"We don't need the VRA anymore!" exclaimed Roberts. "The museum alone proves that!"
"And Oprah!" piped in a member of N.U.T.T.Y (Nannies United to Take y-Chromosomes). [She was currently writing a young adult novel about a heroic nanny with secret superpowers who kills the she-beast masquerading as a mother, saves the children, and marries the father.]
"Indeed," said Judge Sowell Ame of the D.C. Superior Court (still uncertain how these N.U.T.T.Y. women were allowed into S.E.A.). "I tell these fools all the time, 'if you don't wanna lose the vote, stop becoming felons!' It's very easy to blame other people for your problems." (Judge Ame had sentenced three D.C. residents to prison just this past week for possession of marijuana, interpreting D.C.'s "legalization" of marijuana to apply only in the Northwest quadrant.)
"Let's talk about something more pleasant," said former Vice-President Dick Cheney, motioning to Johnson to get the champagne out of the ice bucket. "We need to toast Boehner's new job with Reynolds tobacco!"
"Hear, hear!" said Roberts.
"Who can forget how he once handed out tobacco industry campaign checks on the House floor?" commented Federal Reserve Board economist Luciano Talaverdi (with a note of sarcasm that went undetected because of his Italian accent).
"Ha, ha!" laughed the former Speaker of the House. "Remember when I repented publicly about that later?"
"But nobody gave back their checks!" said Roberts, to more boisterous laughter. "Hey, that's what Citizens United was all about, am I right?!" (He had a twinkle in his eye.)
"Could I be serious for a minute?" asked Taleverdi. "We really need to do something about Donald Trump."
"Why?" asked Cheney. "He's closing in on Hillary in the polls--he has a good shot at winning!"
"Wait, what?!" exclaimed Talaverdi. "No respectable Republicans are voting for Trump! They are all endorsing Hillary!"
"Who said Cheney is a respectable Republican?" laughed a former member of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) Court. (She had started drinking during the Uber drive over to Cheney's house.)
"What?!" exclaimed Cheney, getting red in the face.
"Please calm down, Dick!" said Bridezilla. "If you have another heart attack, Lynn won't let you attend these meetings anymore."
"We have to do something," said Talaverdi. "His election would usher in a fascist era none of you can possibly imagine the way I can, having grown up listening to family horror stories about Mussolini!"
"Aw, come on, Luciano!" retorted Cheney. "He would be a weak President--blocked by Congress, ignored by the intelligence community, and sidelined by the Pentagon."
"But might he possibly tarnish our country's image in the eyes of the world?" asked Bridezilla gently [never letting on she was actively working for a secret SuperPAC to defeat Trump].
"I'm with her," said Boehner, to a few gasps. "No, not with her! I mean, I'm with her!" (He pointed to Bridezilla.) "My company wants to increase tobacco exports, so we can't be starting trade wars!"
"And the House?" added Bridezilla, coyly.
"Yes, yes!" agreed Boehner. "And the House! Electing Trump might lead to Democrats' taking control of Congress!"
"Who the Hell cares about Congress?!" declared Cheney.
"You were once a Congressman--" began Bridezilla, before being interrupted.
"The CIA and NSA and Pentagon secret slush fund are all we need to control power!" exclaimed Cheney.
"Who's 'we?'" asked the member of N.U.T.T.Y., and the former member of the FISA court burst out laughing again.
Over in Washington, triple agent Charles Wu was not laughing about Donald Trump.
"It's not really my thing," said his special agent, Angela de la Paz, looking in wonder at the brocaded gown of a 17th century Italian noblewoman.
Charles Wu glanced over his shoulder at his young daughter, running up and down the marble stairs instead of taking in culture during her first visit to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. "I'm at my wit's ends," confided Charles, who was exceedingly unaccustomed to that feeling.
"You know I'm not happy about Donald Trump," replied Angela, "but my gifts are not in that field, and I have a lot of other things going on."
"But the reporter bought your story of mutant rats in the subway tunnels, didn't he?"
"I don't think so. Anyway, I've got other worries."
"The international order could unravel in a major way!" said Wu. "I'm talking Europe faltering, Russia ascending, China pushing up against India and Russia. Pakistan is convinced that Trump would drop a nuclear bomb on them!"
"You used to have it all figured out," said Angela, gently. "Handing secrets to England, or Beijing, or Hong Kong--"
"That was simple," he said.
"It wasn't simple," said Angela.
"But I understood what I was doing. There was a small set of variables. The variables started growing when I brought the State Department into the mix, and now they are growing exponentially."
They followed Buffy Cordelia and her English governess up the staircase to the 18th century paintings. "I have these gifts to fight evil," said Angela, smiling at little Delia's wide-eyed wonder at the enormous chandeliers.
"What if Trump were evil?' asked Charles. (Angela smiled, but shook her head.) "No, seriously," Charles said. Look, I understand there are ghosts and demons out there, but couldn't you just get close enough to him to find out?"
"I think he's just a reprehensible human being with a lot of money, appealing to haters who think--"
"What if he's not?" asked Wu.
Back at Trump National Golf Club, the moment had arrived! Barbara Hellmeister wailed loudly and pushed her baby into the waiting arms of Ernest Ironman. She waited for Ernest to carry over the baby and place it into her arms--the baby she knew would be an Aryan genetic masterpiece!--but he just kept staring down at it. Barbara could hear the baby's cries, so she knew it was alive. "Ernest?" She weakly sat up to get a look while Brittani, who had been holding Barbara's hand during the last stage of labor, fainted to the floor. Barbara strained to sit up higher until she saw her baby--which had a green face and a long, scaly tail.
Out in the golf course pond, the demon Ardua smiled with pleasure.
******************************************************************
COMING UP:
Dr. Ermann Esse's undercover adventures in Trump Nation!
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 3:10 PM
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