Washington Horror Blog

SEMI-FICTIONAL CHRONICLE of the EVIL THAT INFECTS WASHINGTON, D.C. To read Prologue and Character Guide, please see www.washingtonhorrorblog.com, updated 6/6//2017. Follow Washington Water Woman on Twitter @HorrorDC ....

Sunday, March 06, 2011

On the down side, gloom; on the up side, doom!

The handsome young man moved languidly from room to room, taking the party all in--colors shining, jewels glittering, perfumes wafting with scents of rose and lilac. A woman with cropped black hair, scarlet lipstick and a midnight blue sleeveless flapper dress tossed her peacock feather boa back over her shoulder and winked at him. Nervous, he looked down at her shoes, which were shiny black patent leather skimmers with black chiffon bows attached jauntily on the outer edges like wings about to give the shoes flight. The record on the Victrola changed to an upbeat jazz number, and people started to dance. The music was too loud, so he wandered off to find a quiet place. He saw a room labeled "Coco Chanel", and opened the door to find the floor covered in shoes and the room overflowing with clothing draped on hangers, racks, shelves, and every piece of furniture. Vanity and dresser drawers were half-open with long strings of pearls, rubies, and sapphires spilling out. He heard humming in the bathroom and walked in to see Coco Chanel wrapped in oily gauze like a mummy from her neck to her toes, fully immersed in a steaming hot bath. Her eyes were closed, and he quietly walked back into the bedroom, where he saw ephemeral phantoms trying on clothing. "This is nice," one of the female ghosts said to him, "but your own wife will prefer Yves Saint Laurent when her time comes." "When is that?" he asked. "After you fail in Cuba, but before you succeed in Chile," she said. "He hasn't been born yet," a male ghost whispered to the female ghost. "Yes, I have!" the handsome young man declared. "You're not even a twinkle in Ardua's eye yet." "I run this place!" the handsome young man insisted. "The Heurich Society has been at the Brewmaster's Castle since--"


Henry Samuelson jolted awake, and immediately saw the Chair of the Heurich Society staring at him. "Oh, God, what did I miss?" he thought.

"What did I miss?" asked Liv Cigemeier, who had finally come back from the office and needed to pretend she cared about the basketball game her husband was watching on TV, but he turned it off. The tables were turned, and now he knew how it felt to sit in their suddenly gloomy Silver Spring apartment surrounded by gray skies while his spouse was the one who went into the office.

"I'm glad you're back!" he smiled and got up to embrace her, but she didn't smile back. "What's wrong?"

"These new International Development Machine contracts for Afghanistan were signed without the contract deliverables for women's rights," she said. Her husband knew Liv was the one who had drafted the proposal that won the contract with the U.S. Agency for International Development. "They were part of the bid, and now they're gone! My boss says he was told informally that the State Department is working on women's rights with a more subtle approach now, but the whole point is to stand up for women in Afghanistan--loudly and strongly!" Her voice broke, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Honey," he said, "you know that's not REALLY why we're in Afghanistan."

"I know!" she said. "But you can still do the right thing for the wrong reason! I don't wanna do the wrong thing." She sank into his embrace, and he decided the only mutually beneficial thing to do with the rest of the rainy day was spend it trying to get her pregnant again.

"I don't wanna do the wrong thing," said President Obama, staring out the window at the rain which was preventing the arrival of the helicopter, and then at the surprising sight of the twin pre-schoolers running around the White House backyard in yellow rain ponchos and red polka-dot rubber boots. (It was one thing to let Bo out to play in the rain because Bo really cannot stand being cooped up in the White House for long stretches of time, but these little children?) "I wanna be President for the whole country, but it's like a goddam civil war! We've got governors' going to war against unions, John Boehner working so hard to please his Halliburton and Koch Industries campaign contributors that he's brought back plastic and styrofoam to un-green the House cafeteria, and these deranged Tea Party leaders who are already slamming Boehner for not doing enough to slash the budget! We're spending billions a week on overseas wars and Medicare fraud, and they're slashing the already puny budgets for public broadcasting and FEMA. FEMA, for God's sakes! The whole thing's totally screwed up. I can't win this thing by reasoning with the American people anymore. I've gotta figure out if intervening in Libya to protect refugees is going to win hearts and minds or backfire--like everything else we've ever done in the Arab world! And we've got Sarah Palin out there with nothing better to do than criticize my wife for trying to take unhealthy food out of our school lunch programs! I swear, I have never hated a woman the way I hate that woman! Half of Congress is made up of millionaires, and the other half are propped up by corporate contributions, the Supreme Court is useless, everything depends on me and I have more death threats than any U.S. President has ever had to face." Instead of building to a crescendo, his voice had slowly fallen until the last few words were barely audible as they escaped his lips.

"Only hate can conquer hate!"

"What?!" President Obama turned to his Chief of Staff, but he shrugged and said he hadn't said anything. Up in the corner, a White House ghost who had been burning for revenge against his slavemasters for two-hundred years grinned uncontrollably.

Several miles away, Glenn Michael Beckmann was also grinning uncontrollably. The Hunter-Gatherer Society is gaining influence around the country, and institutions of namby-pamby nanny-state "civilization" are feeling its wrath. God has even struck down the National Christmas Tree to prove that Obama did not deserve his house to be graced by its inspiring presence! Surely my militia comrades will soon be ready to take to the streets, armed and righteous?  If those God-damned Arab satanists are willing to die for their causes, so much more should Americans! (He was typing furiously on his computer now, watching the blog words fill up his computer screen.) I have seen the future, and it is OURS! (He paused to take a swig of Jack Daniels.) Silence tells me secretly... everything... EVERYthing! (Deep beneath Beckmann's Southwest Plaza apartment, the real estate demon living in the parking garage cooed with contentment--the man was like putty in its hands.)

Willing to die? On the other side of the Potomac, Dick Cheney read Beckmann's words, and chills ran down his spine. Why am I trying so hard to stay alive? he thought, contemplating his latest heart scare. The Heurich Society won't let me back in. Maybe I could make a difference in this Hunter-Gatherer Society! Sarah Palin may be its president, but if I did a suicide mission, I would be a martyr forever for the--

"Dick? Oh, there you are." Lynn Cheney walked into his study to give him his afternoon snack (sugar-free cherry jello, fat-free cottage cheese, a bunch of grapes, and whole wheat crackers. She kissed him on the cheek, and he smelled her Giorgio perfume briefly before she walked away, snapping her heels on her Prada house sandals.

A catbird sitting outside Cheney's window briefly trilled an imitation of the click-clack shoe sound, then flew off to report back to Ardua of the Potomac--though nothing seemed to cheer Ardua up anymore. The starlings said it was the best of times and worst of times for Ardua, but that type of analysis was above the catbird's paygrade.



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