Home Sweet Home!

Barbara Hellmeister (currently known as "Dr. Bibi Von Braun", Special Science Advisor), was in the White House residence making her first attempt at a test-tube baby.  Though just the thought of genuine Hitler ancestral DNA in Donald Trump's sperm was enough to make her enjoy having sex with him, the natural attempts at pregnancy had not worked.  She peered through the microscope at the lazy Trump sperm refusing to penetrate the ovum she had painfully extracted herself using a robotic arm and local anaesthetic.  Old man sperm, she thought, sighing deeply.  Her Nazi grandfather's science journals had served her well over the years, but she was now going to have to study up on the modern science of cloning.

Not far away, in the encampment pitched in the shadow of the Washington Monument, Joey Bent Oak came out of a tipi with a big smile on his face.  "Can we put one up in the backyard?" he asked his adoptive parents.

"Of course!" said Marcos Vazquez, smiling at Golden Fawn.  "Come on--let's get out of the cold."  He had become extremely protective of his pregnant wife, recovering from her third bout with breast cancer.  He had not even wanted her to get involved with the stress of Native Nations Rising at all, but she had marched with her grandmother to the White House on Friday and was very energized by the experience.  "The Foundation should have sponsored this," he added.  

"Too political," she sighed, disappointed again with her Board work on the Washington Redskins Original Americans Foundation.

"Defending treaty rights?  Defending their legal treaty rights?"  He shook his head as he steered them towards the street to hail a taxi.  "Even the museum didn't do enough," he added.

"These are dangerous times," she said.  They were heading now to the National Museum of the American Indian for lunch and a tour of the newest exhibit she had recently curated.  "I think individual employees did quite a lot in a quiet way."

"Are things going to get better?" asked Joey, who knew a lot about evil in Washington, but sometimes they had to remind themselves he was only eight.

"Yes!" said Marcos, with the insistent hope for the future only an expectant father can have.

Across the Potomac, Bridezilla had told her boyfriend it was too cold to go outside.  He had proposed jetting off to the Caribbean for a few days, but she had told him she was not going to deal with all the "crazy ICE jackboots" terrorizing U.S. citizens and non-citizens alike at the nation's airports.  He came in with supplies from the drugstore and some hot Chinese carryout, and found her still using wet swabs to clean the miniature furniture in her Tudor dollhouse.  The human dolls on the top floor looked on with little expression, but Thelma and Louise (the conjoined guinea pigs living on the bottom floor) were purring enthusiastically.

"Are you hungry?" asked the former spy (known by many as "Esperantu Edward"). He had taken a lengthy break from his career when the beautiful junior partner from Prince and Prowling first captured his heart with her exquisite taste in miniaturist decor, and they had spent many happy hours furnishing the details of this home, as well as the Disney dream castle he had given her (surprisingly installed at her law firm office). However, her dollhouse passion was becoming even a little too much for his own eccentric enthusiasm.

He kissed her and asked again if she was hungry, but she made a non-committal sound. That's when he noticed that the $7,000 Fabergé jeweled miniature egg pendant he had purchased to comfort her after her Russia practice had lost yet another client to Morgan Lewis was now hanging around Thelma and Louise's conjoined neck. "Uh, honey, that's awfully expensive to let the girls play with. And they might accidentally swallow it!"

She turned to scowl at his smiling face. "They're not stupid!"

"I was hoping to see it around your neck, my lovely!"

"My law school friends won't even Facebook me since stupid Prince and Prowling made me set up this stupid Russia practice!" she replied. "I can't be seen with Russian jewelry anywhere! I have to deal with creepy Russian [air quotes] 'businessmen' asking me to set up shell corporations in the Cayman Islands every week, and I keep turning them down because I'm not going to be called a useful idiot for Vladimir Putin when the cows come home! I'm making no money for the law firm, but at least nobody's ever going to call me a Russian agent! I still have my personal integrity!" She saw him look down at the Ivanka Trump necklace she was wearing and quickly took it off. "Fine!" She took the Fabergé necklace off the pigs, replaced it with the Ivanka necklace, and put the Fabergé around her own neck. "But no photos, and I only wear it at home!"

"I'm going to find you some good Russian clients," Edward said impulsively, and even he was unsure if this was because he wanted to make her happy or he was ready to get back in the spy game. "They won't have ties to Flynn or Manafort or Erdogan or the Russian ambassador. They won't be in those cities, owning those properties, going to those meetings. None of it--I promise!"

Back in Washington, Barack Obama was seated at his home computer in Kalorama, ready to take a first stab at his memoirs. They would probably only be here a couple years while Sasha finished high school, but he liked the house and the neighborhood. Still, sometimes something felt...off. He shook it off, looked at his notes again, then looked at the blank page on the computer monitor. He hadn't been planning on writing the Obamacare chapter first, but, seriously? Trumpcare? Literally taking poor Americans off health insurance and making insurance companies richer. The parade of people getting interviewed over and over again on television: "yes, I'm on Obamacare, but I voted for Trump!"  Buyer's remorse, seriously?! Or maybe he would start with the Paris climate plan, now that Pruitt had gone on the record as a full-tilt climate denier bullshitter for the fossil fuel industry. And took "science" off the EPA website!  Sometimes Obama wondered if reality was slipping away from him. He looked out the window at the Secret Service agent pacing the sidewalk. Does he buy this bullshit I wiretapped Trump? Does anybody really buy that bullshit, or are they repeating the lies on purpose?

"On purpose," whispered a woman's voice. He turned around quickly, but there was nobody there.

Down at Southwest Plaza, Dubious McGinty was walking out into the brisk sunshine. The wind was brutally cold, and his old bones were achy, but he had to get out for a bit. It didn't seem that long ago he used to fight with Ardua of the Potomac, but he knew he was no match for the demon living in the parking garage of his apartment building. He smiled at the sight of a lovely young pregnant woman opening a townhouse door to the moving truck which had just parked at her curb. It was Yasmin, whose husband, Dr. Khalid Mohammad, shooed her back into the house--not because he thought Muslim women belonged hidden but because he increasingly thought she could only be safe in this country if she were.

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COMING UP:   Another week of 
de-programming Trump's cult followers!