The Troubled Holiday Parties of Washington
Chloe Cleavage, a derelict staff attorney at Prince and Prowling, had accidentally become a high-priced call girl months ago, but she knew she had really hit the big time when she was offered $25,000 to attend a holiday party being held at Trump International Hotel. Selling all her ovaries years back had been a much simpler way to get the money for a condo, but she had found that, with alcohol, she could cope with even the ugliest and kinkiest of all her clients, and salt away a lot of money for the around-the-world trip she was vaguely planning in her mind. But she did find herself a little unnerved by the large number of Russian "businessmen" in the rented suite, and the very young women who were trying to talk to her in some Slavic language.
"I just speak English," she said.
"Americanski?!" The women were amazed. (They had thought her blond hair meant she was Polish or Ukrainian.)
"Yes," said Chloe, starting to feel uncomfortable.
"He nice?" one asked.
"Who?" replied Chloe.
"You man?"
"What man?" asked Chloe, but then she noticed one of the girls (could she be more than 16?) turn towards the light, and it was obvious there was a large bruise on her face under the makeup. "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Chloe.
Then a burly fellow covered in facial hair approached the young women with a scowl on his face, and they quickly dispersed. He smiled at Chloe. "You the American girl, ya?"
"Sputnik," she said, shaking her head and backing away.
A few miles to the east, the Bicameral Anti-Zombie Caucus was enjoying a subdued holiday party. They had all survived reelection, and even knocked off their highest-profile zombie target of all--Paul Ryan's zombie chief of staff. Nonetheless, there was a lot of anxiety about what was in store with a Trump Administration.
"If he won't even listen to intelligence briefings on global and cyber security threats, he's certainly not going to notice a zombie threat!" said their leader, Congressman Herrmark.
"I think we might have to put our work against the Zombie Caucus on hold until we eliminate the Russian threat," said Senator Rand Paul.
"Oh, no!" said one of Congressman Jacques Javert's staffers. "It could take a long time to eliminate the Russian threat! We cannot let the Zombie Caucus grow!"
"Well, I agree with that," said a woman from the Holier Than Thou Caucus. "And we have to give President Trump the benefit of the doubt, since he's a Christian."
"A Christian?!" several caucus members exclaimed in unison before bursting into the first real laughter of the party.
"Hating Muslims does not make you a Christian," said Herrmark's Chief of Staff, Ann Bishis (who secretly prayed to Hera and Glaucos, and had only introduced her boss to the Holier Than Thou Caucus in a desperate bid to expand his anti-fracking coalition).
"Are there any zombies in the Electoral College?" a Midwestern Congresswoman suddenly asked, which sent the party back into a funk of anxiety.
Meanwhile, Clio, the White House butler, was putting finishing touches on the holiday decorations for the upcoming staff holiday party. The gardener, Bridge, had promised her that Donald Trump would never set foot in here, and she had been trying to read up on the news about the revolt in the Electoral College, but she had no real hope. Half a dozen staff had already quit because they were so afraid of an epidemic of groping and racial discrimination coming. Sometimes she thought about quitting too--finally saying goodbye to this place where she still saw the ghosts of her dead twins, Reggie and Fergie. The truth was that she didn't know where to go: she had been living here and doing this a long, long time now. She sat down for a moment to rest. The HIV medication kept things somewhat under control, but covering for the understaffing had made her extra tired. Life seemed like an endless struggle to hold the darkness at bay.
Bridge stopped by to check on her. "That wind is pickin' up now. It was nice to be outside for awhile there." She nodded, and he silently picked up where he could see she had left off. "Don't push yourself so hard."
"I want it to be a nice party," she said. "Next year most of us might not even be here."
"Or we'll be offered a straight-up Christmas party, take it or leave it, no room for Jews or Muslims or anybody else."
"We could try to get a job at Camp David," Clio said.
"No staff openings there," said Bridge.
"Maybe we have seniority?"
"We have seniority here," he said. "We need to stay and keep this House for the American people."
"I know," she said, but she was so tired.
The ghosts of her twin preschoolers hovered out of her sight because Bridge had told them that Clio go too upset when she saw Regina and Ferguson.
"But maybe we should tell her what we have planned for Trump?" asked Fergie, with a naughty wink.
"No!" said Reggie, smiling. "It will be a surprise!"
A couples miles to the west, triple agent Charles Wu was hosting his own holiday party in a conference room of the Mandarin Oriental--where he was assuring many guests that China was not as thin-skinned as Trump, and valued trade relations with the United States very much. What he was not telling them was that China had more and better hackers than Russia could ever dream of, and if Trump didn't understand the consequences of his actions, he would eventually be paying in spades. "Trump simply needs to be better educated about China," was what Wu kept repeating, and he had said as much to his State Department contacts repeatedly. Nonetheless, the political volatility of the United States had shaken the self-confidence and astronomical chi which had granted Wu so much success in the past. And his best agent, Angela de la Paz, remained out of commission.
In the corner, sitting in a chair with her eyes closed, Angela was back in the Dreamtime again. Her boyfriend (who had attended the most depressing holiday office party of his life at the FBI only a couple days earlier) nodded to Wu, who was looking over at them again. Dulles Samuelson thought Angela kept returning to the Dreamtime to hide from the real world, but visiting the spirits of the ones she loved was slowly rebuilding her spiritual strength.
"This too shall pass," said her mother again.
"True patriots always win in the end," said the father of her child.
"Only love can conquer hate," said abuela.
Then she found her son--the only one she could visit in both the physical world and the Dreamtime. "I love you!" Lucas said. And Angela knew hope remained.
***********************************************
HAPPY HOLIDAYS from Washington Water Woman!
Faith, hope and love: the greatest of these is love.
"I just speak English," she said.
"Americanski?!" The women were amazed. (They had thought her blond hair meant she was Polish or Ukrainian.)
"Yes," said Chloe, starting to feel uncomfortable.
"He nice?" one asked.
"Who?" replied Chloe.
"You man?"
"What man?" asked Chloe, but then she noticed one of the girls (could she be more than 16?) turn towards the light, and it was obvious there was a large bruise on her face under the makeup. "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Chloe.
Then a burly fellow covered in facial hair approached the young women with a scowl on his face, and they quickly dispersed. He smiled at Chloe. "You the American girl, ya?"
"Sputnik," she said, shaking her head and backing away.
A few miles to the east, the Bicameral Anti-Zombie Caucus was enjoying a subdued holiday party. They had all survived reelection, and even knocked off their highest-profile zombie target of all--Paul Ryan's zombie chief of staff. Nonetheless, there was a lot of anxiety about what was in store with a Trump Administration.
"If he won't even listen to intelligence briefings on global and cyber security threats, he's certainly not going to notice a zombie threat!" said their leader, Congressman Herrmark.
"I think we might have to put our work against the Zombie Caucus on hold until we eliminate the Russian threat," said Senator Rand Paul.
"Oh, no!" said one of Congressman Jacques Javert's staffers. "It could take a long time to eliminate the Russian threat! We cannot let the Zombie Caucus grow!"
"Well, I agree with that," said a woman from the Holier Than Thou Caucus. "And we have to give President Trump the benefit of the doubt, since he's a Christian."
"A Christian?!" several caucus members exclaimed in unison before bursting into the first real laughter of the party.
"Hating Muslims does not make you a Christian," said Herrmark's Chief of Staff, Ann Bishis (who secretly prayed to Hera and Glaucos, and had only introduced her boss to the Holier Than Thou Caucus in a desperate bid to expand his anti-fracking coalition).
"Are there any zombies in the Electoral College?" a Midwestern Congresswoman suddenly asked, which sent the party back into a funk of anxiety.
Meanwhile, Clio, the White House butler, was putting finishing touches on the holiday decorations for the upcoming staff holiday party. The gardener, Bridge, had promised her that Donald Trump would never set foot in here, and she had been trying to read up on the news about the revolt in the Electoral College, but she had no real hope. Half a dozen staff had already quit because they were so afraid of an epidemic of groping and racial discrimination coming. Sometimes she thought about quitting too--finally saying goodbye to this place where she still saw the ghosts of her dead twins, Reggie and Fergie. The truth was that she didn't know where to go: she had been living here and doing this a long, long time now. She sat down for a moment to rest. The HIV medication kept things somewhat under control, but covering for the understaffing had made her extra tired. Life seemed like an endless struggle to hold the darkness at bay.
Bridge stopped by to check on her. "That wind is pickin' up now. It was nice to be outside for awhile there." She nodded, and he silently picked up where he could see she had left off. "Don't push yourself so hard."
"I want it to be a nice party," she said. "Next year most of us might not even be here."
"Or we'll be offered a straight-up Christmas party, take it or leave it, no room for Jews or Muslims or anybody else."
"We could try to get a job at Camp David," Clio said.
"No staff openings there," said Bridge.
"Maybe we have seniority?"
"We have seniority here," he said. "We need to stay and keep this House for the American people."
"I know," she said, but she was so tired.
The ghosts of her twin preschoolers hovered out of her sight because Bridge had told them that Clio go too upset when she saw Regina and Ferguson.
"But maybe we should tell her what we have planned for Trump?" asked Fergie, with a naughty wink.
"No!" said Reggie, smiling. "It will be a surprise!"
A couples miles to the west, triple agent Charles Wu was hosting his own holiday party in a conference room of the Mandarin Oriental--where he was assuring many guests that China was not as thin-skinned as Trump, and valued trade relations with the United States very much. What he was not telling them was that China had more and better hackers than Russia could ever dream of, and if Trump didn't understand the consequences of his actions, he would eventually be paying in spades. "Trump simply needs to be better educated about China," was what Wu kept repeating, and he had said as much to his State Department contacts repeatedly. Nonetheless, the political volatility of the United States had shaken the self-confidence and astronomical chi which had granted Wu so much success in the past. And his best agent, Angela de la Paz, remained out of commission.
In the corner, sitting in a chair with her eyes closed, Angela was back in the Dreamtime again. Her boyfriend (who had attended the most depressing holiday office party of his life at the FBI only a couple days earlier) nodded to Wu, who was looking over at them again. Dulles Samuelson thought Angela kept returning to the Dreamtime to hide from the real world, but visiting the spirits of the ones she loved was slowly rebuilding her spiritual strength.
"This too shall pass," said her mother again.
"True patriots always win in the end," said the father of her child.
"Only love can conquer hate," said abuela.
Then she found her son--the only one she could visit in both the physical world and the Dreamtime. "I love you!" Lucas said. And Angela knew hope remained.
***********************************************
HAPPY HOLIDAYS from Washington Water Woman!
Faith, hope and love: the greatest of these is love.
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 4:00 PM
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