A new conspiracy theory!
Militiaman and conspiracy blogger Glenn Michael Beckmann had been to almost every Trump protest held in Washington in the past two weeks. He would feign reluctance when his young roommate Brittani dragged him out of their Southwest Plaza apartment (which she was constantly doing, since the real estate demon was upsetting her a lot), and he would complain about his neglected Beckmann's Floral Cushions (AKA Beckmann's Bad Asses) clients, but secretly he was glad for the excuses to do a lot of reconnaissance, trying to understand what was going on. The last meeting held of the Hunter-Gatherer Society had almost caused the group to disintegrate, with members arguing about everything from the Trump boys' namby-pamby hunting techniques to whether a Jew could be a white supremacist. This afternoon he finally had some peace and quiet to think while Brittani was at her GED class prior to dragging him off to the Supreme Court this evening for another rally. He understood that the poor girl had been through quite an ordeal in her young and bizarre marriage, and suspected she was running around to all these protests more for the adrenaline rush than from highly developed political opinions, but he was an adroit political analyst with years of experience in the military [imagined] and private security [criminal], so it was high time for him to connect all the dots and explain to his blog readers what was really going on in Washington. He lit another joint and sat down to his computer.
Meanwhile, psychiatrist Ermann Esse had seen a fair amount of odd clients over the years, but his undercover CIA work as Melania Trump's fashion designer "Gunther Zimmer" had been an extremely strange experience. Every weekend he was in Florida with his pin cushion, needle, and thread for fashion emergencies--which usually consisted of his doing a quick hypnosis to calm Melania down while he fiddled with imaginary loose threads in the outfits the CIA was having made in NYC. For most of the weekend, he would be left to wander around the resort eavesdropping on millionaires and billionaires--secretly diagnosing their Hercules complexes, Oedipus complexes, Napoleonic complexes, and Eva Braun complexes. Then he would fly back to NYC, where he would work daily with Melania on her personal wardrobe, as well as her flagging fashion line, during the hours that Barron was in school. His CIA mission was to hypnotize her into influencing Trump, but he could see no evidence that she had any influence on Trump, let alone influence that could be manipulated by him. But with the CIA still blackmailing him, he had little choice but to stay on mission. Sometimes he felt guilty that they ended up having kinky sex when he attempted the hypnosis sessions, but the woman was in the worst and most embarrassing trophy-wife marriage he had ever seen, and she was desperate for the touch of a man who did not give her the willies. And, he told himself, it would be worse for her if she got caught having sex with Secret Service agents! Better for him to satisfy her! His CIA handlers, of course, would have loved nothing better than to receive tape of her having sex with Secret Service agents, but he did not want her to be the sacrificial lamb. And so he would lock the door, let her strip to her underwear prior to trying on a new outfit for fitting, say hypnotic words until she relaxed, start offering suggestions to her for influencing her husband, and then find her ripping off his clothes instead of putting on her own. It was a failed mission, but he was enjoying it.
Over at the White House, special science adviser Bibi Von Braun (real name Barbara Hellmeister), was in the White House bedroom where she now lived--though she still frequently visited her secret lair atop the 14th Street Bridge because she found it very energizing to be there (twenty feet above the demon Ardua). She was pleased that the Hitler DNA coursing through Trump's veins was, in fact, leading to the advancement of policies putting the white race back on top, but she was pessimistic about his stability and stamina. Her chemical experiments to strengthen his heart, clear his arteries, and melt his body fat were not making much progress, and she was quite certain that Melania was deliberately sabotaging him with fatty cheeses and cured meats. Trump's sons were too obsessed with money to devote the needed time to racial advancement, and his daughters too obsessed with fashion. And so Barbara knew it was up to her to bring the next great Hitler into the world. She had read every word her Nazi scientist grandfather had written on fertility, and was constantly giving Trump vigorous sexual therapy sessions to try to get pregnant, but her frequent examination of his sperm under the microscope showed they were tired and unwilling to swim. She realized she was going to have to do this in a petri dish and had set up all the lab equipment she needed in her (constantly locked) East Wing bedroom. Trump would be very eager after his return from Florida--pumped up about his adoring "masses" (ha! nothing like the Fuhrer's) but frustrated by his wife's near frigidity (Slavic peasant stock!). Bibi would bring him his nighttime smoothie and get to work.
Meanwhile, triple agent Charles Wu was delivering "C. Coe Phant" a nice wad of cash in exchange for spilling some State Department secrets over lunch at The Palm. Unfortunately, the secrets were messy, confusing, and not very promising for re-sell to Beijing or London. In fact, "Phant" could not actually verify what the new Secretary of State was going to do about anything because Tillerson did not have enough political appointees in place to develop more than a loose framework favoring petroleum-drilling and paying lip-service to the NATO alliance. Though Wu had convinced Beijing to grant Trump a valuable Chinese trademark in exchange for affirmation of the One-China policy, the spy was under considerable pressure to get the U.S. to pull back from even the slightest deference to Russia. This remained a seemingly impossible task, despite the best efforts of an army of Chinese and U.S. hackers to unearth counter-blackmail material. Sensing Wu's frustration, "Phant" cleared his throat. "I think, ultimately, there is actually not going to be much upheaval at State or in world diplomacy. Probably a movement back towards a George H.W. Bush style of--"
"Starting a new war in the Middle East?" Wu interrupted. "Iran? To drive up oil prices? Will he nuke Tehran? Does he realize that would cause nuclear fallout on Trump hotels and golf courses in Dubai and Saudi Arabia? Does he understand how any of this works?"
"I just work at State, Charles," replied "Phant", adding a suggestion that Wu search for a reliable source inside the White House.
Wu pulled back the cellphone case he had placed on the table, unzipped it, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, handed it to "Phant", and stuck the case with the remaining wad of cash back in his coat pocket. "Alright, see you around," Wu said, getting up to leave.
Back in Southwest Plaza, with the hot breath of both global warming and the local real estate demon causing the buzzed Glenn Michael Beckmann to sweat profusely, and after having perused all his favorite #alternativefacts news sites on the Web, he was finally confident about, and ready to blog on, his latest conspiracy theory: Donald Trump was a puppet king installed by aliens to weaken human civilization and make the imminent invasion of Earth easy....
****************************************************
COMING UP: The so-called judges,
so-called reporters, and so-called refugees!
Meanwhile, psychiatrist Ermann Esse had seen a fair amount of odd clients over the years, but his undercover CIA work as Melania Trump's fashion designer "Gunther Zimmer" had been an extremely strange experience. Every weekend he was in Florida with his pin cushion, needle, and thread for fashion emergencies--which usually consisted of his doing a quick hypnosis to calm Melania down while he fiddled with imaginary loose threads in the outfits the CIA was having made in NYC. For most of the weekend, he would be left to wander around the resort eavesdropping on millionaires and billionaires--secretly diagnosing their Hercules complexes, Oedipus complexes, Napoleonic complexes, and Eva Braun complexes. Then he would fly back to NYC, where he would work daily with Melania on her personal wardrobe, as well as her flagging fashion line, during the hours that Barron was in school. His CIA mission was to hypnotize her into influencing Trump, but he could see no evidence that she had any influence on Trump, let alone influence that could be manipulated by him. But with the CIA still blackmailing him, he had little choice but to stay on mission. Sometimes he felt guilty that they ended up having kinky sex when he attempted the hypnosis sessions, but the woman was in the worst and most embarrassing trophy-wife marriage he had ever seen, and she was desperate for the touch of a man who did not give her the willies. And, he told himself, it would be worse for her if she got caught having sex with Secret Service agents! Better for him to satisfy her! His CIA handlers, of course, would have loved nothing better than to receive tape of her having sex with Secret Service agents, but he did not want her to be the sacrificial lamb. And so he would lock the door, let her strip to her underwear prior to trying on a new outfit for fitting, say hypnotic words until she relaxed, start offering suggestions to her for influencing her husband, and then find her ripping off his clothes instead of putting on her own. It was a failed mission, but he was enjoying it.
Over at the White House, special science adviser Bibi Von Braun (real name Barbara Hellmeister), was in the White House bedroom where she now lived--though she still frequently visited her secret lair atop the 14th Street Bridge because she found it very energizing to be there (twenty feet above the demon Ardua). She was pleased that the Hitler DNA coursing through Trump's veins was, in fact, leading to the advancement of policies putting the white race back on top, but she was pessimistic about his stability and stamina. Her chemical experiments to strengthen his heart, clear his arteries, and melt his body fat were not making much progress, and she was quite certain that Melania was deliberately sabotaging him with fatty cheeses and cured meats. Trump's sons were too obsessed with money to devote the needed time to racial advancement, and his daughters too obsessed with fashion. And so Barbara knew it was up to her to bring the next great Hitler into the world. She had read every word her Nazi scientist grandfather had written on fertility, and was constantly giving Trump vigorous sexual therapy sessions to try to get pregnant, but her frequent examination of his sperm under the microscope showed they were tired and unwilling to swim. She realized she was going to have to do this in a petri dish and had set up all the lab equipment she needed in her (constantly locked) East Wing bedroom. Trump would be very eager after his return from Florida--pumped up about his adoring "masses" (ha! nothing like the Fuhrer's) but frustrated by his wife's near frigidity (Slavic peasant stock!). Bibi would bring him his nighttime smoothie and get to work.
Meanwhile, triple agent Charles Wu was delivering "C. Coe Phant" a nice wad of cash in exchange for spilling some State Department secrets over lunch at The Palm. Unfortunately, the secrets were messy, confusing, and not very promising for re-sell to Beijing or London. In fact, "Phant" could not actually verify what the new Secretary of State was going to do about anything because Tillerson did not have enough political appointees in place to develop more than a loose framework favoring petroleum-drilling and paying lip-service to the NATO alliance. Though Wu had convinced Beijing to grant Trump a valuable Chinese trademark in exchange for affirmation of the One-China policy, the spy was under considerable pressure to get the U.S. to pull back from even the slightest deference to Russia. This remained a seemingly impossible task, despite the best efforts of an army of Chinese and U.S. hackers to unearth counter-blackmail material. Sensing Wu's frustration, "Phant" cleared his throat. "I think, ultimately, there is actually not going to be much upheaval at State or in world diplomacy. Probably a movement back towards a George H.W. Bush style of--"
"Starting a new war in the Middle East?" Wu interrupted. "Iran? To drive up oil prices? Will he nuke Tehran? Does he realize that would cause nuclear fallout on Trump hotels and golf courses in Dubai and Saudi Arabia? Does he understand how any of this works?"
"I just work at State, Charles," replied "Phant", adding a suggestion that Wu search for a reliable source inside the White House.
Wu pulled back the cellphone case he had placed on the table, unzipped it, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, handed it to "Phant", and stuck the case with the remaining wad of cash back in his coat pocket. "Alright, see you around," Wu said, getting up to leave.
Back in Southwest Plaza, with the hot breath of both global warming and the local real estate demon causing the buzzed Glenn Michael Beckmann to sweat profusely, and after having perused all his favorite #alternativefacts news sites on the Web, he was finally confident about, and ready to blog on, his latest conspiracy theory: Donald Trump was a puppet king installed by aliens to weaken human civilization and make the imminent invasion of Earth easy....
****************************************************
COMING UP: The so-called judges,
so-called reporters, and so-called refugees!
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 2:57 PM
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