Less Than Human

Ricky Chesterfield, a car mechanic and KKK member from South Carolina, had been living with Nazi Barbara Hellmeister for weeks, since meeting her in Charlottesville.  She had explained to him all the scientific evidence for the white supremacy he had always believed in his heart.  She had assured him through DNA lab testing that, though not a pure Aryan, he had quite a respectable amount of Aryan DNA in his system.  And he totally believed in her supremacy and worshiped everything about her. They spent a lot of time holed up in her secret lair atop the 14th Street Bridge, fishing, talking, soaking in the [demon Ardua] river vibe, and having animalistic sex like nothing he had ever known before.  Sometimes he accompanied her to her rented lab space in Arlington, where Barbara had stashed all the equipment she had acquired while working in the now shuttered White House science office.  He loved "playing doctor" with her while she wore her white lab coat and talked German to him.  Then he would have some beers and fall asleep while she kept humming and running experiments.  Every now and then she would send him on a TaskRabbit run to fix a car or truck for cash.  She also gave him synthetic drugs to sell.

From Barbara Hellmeister's point of view, Ricky Chesterfield had barely enough Germanic DNA to be considered respectably Aryan, but he would suffice for now.  And his non-Aryan blood made him sufficiently stupid to believe her that the baby she was pregnant with--already showing--was his.  She now had a neo-Nazi lover, helpmate, provider, and protector for the Hitler-infused Trump DNA clone she had growing inside her.  And it was pretty easy to make him happy:  he liked her cooking, he adored the euphoria drug she was secretly giving him, and his favorite game was for her to hook up a catheter for him to watch his own pee collect, then take it out and do "occupational therapy" on his genitals.  She, herself, had been rather happy for weeks, but couldn't help now feeling the one-year anniversary of the death of her first baby (a genetic freak, mutated because of the influence of Ardua, and accidentally killed by Barbara's plastic surgeries).  They had wandered uncertainly the day before between the Trump Mother of All Rallies (MOAR), the Juggalo rally, and the Antifa rally (for, respectively, either reveling in camaraderie, showing contempt for freaks, or picking fights with commies), but none of them had really elevated her mood.  Then, this morning, that violent meme of Trump's driving a golf ball to knock down Hillary Clinton reminded Barbara of giving birth in the Trump National Golf Club bunker, and later burying her infant there.  Now, without telling her about the death anniversary, she told him she was in the mood for doing something crazy, and he readily agreed.

Meanwhile, over on Capitol hill, the Zombie Caucus was debating the newest bill to replace Obamacare.

"This is getting boring.  Why do we have to keep talking about this?"

"It's just an exercise to exhaust and distract Democrats so tax cuts can be passed."

"Wait, I think I'm a Democrat?"

"Are we in favor of tax cuts?"

"No, too many zombies are not paying taxes.  We need humans to pay taxes!"

"You are a Democrat!"

"What about the Obamacare bill?"

"We always vote to repeal:  unhealthy people are easier to attack!"

"I think we should revisit this issue:  healthier people have tastier brains!"

"Well, it's a trade-off."

Just then, Congressman Paul Ryan, the Speaker of the House, walked in.  "I really need you all to vote for the Obamacare repeal, okay?  We're already in Continuing Resolution territory, and we're losing our base!"

"That doesn't matter:  Kris Kobach and voter suppression will keep us all in power."

"How do you know?  Is he a zombie?"

A couple hours later, Barbara Hellmeister was back in Arlington, just finishing up a special batch of synthetic drugs.  "I want you to distribute this in Southeast," she told Ricky.

"You mean Capitol Hill?  Or over by Nationals Park?"

"No, I mean Anacostia."

"It's too dangerous!  It's full of--"

"We are the superior race!  You can dominate them!"

Ricky stared at the drug.  It was one thing to listen to her stories about the Final Solution and all that, because it was a long time ago, but it made him a little nauseous wondering what kind of drug he wanted her to sell in an African-American neighborhood today.

She saw his hesitation and kissed him hard.  "I need this!"  She then watched him leave, hoping he would slaughter hundreds of people she thought genetically deserved to die more than her own first child...and DNA freak.

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