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, October 02, 2011


It was cold and damp in Dupont Down Under as Fearless Leader passed out lunch scraps to his flock of freaks. "Thank you, Lord, for the relentless, cleansing rains which washed away the last of the Hunter-Gatherer Society remnants from our humble abode." (He didn't thank the Lord specifically for the increased number of rats, millipedes, worms, and mildew spores, but everybody understood that these were their defense against the likes of the Hunter-Gatherer Society and other invaders.) "And now our guest speaker."

"Ahem," said John Doe, a former corporate attorney with brain-damage-induced amnesia and epilepsy, who now believed (incorrectly) he was an autistic mystic shaman. "Ahem." The sewerage and sewage smells were overpowering, and he feared they would trigger an epileptic attack...though maybe that would work to his advantage. "Seven-hundred of our brethren have been arrested by The Pigs in New York City because they stood up to The Man." (Applause.) "We have seen Occupy Wall Street. We have seen Occupy San Francisco. We have seen Occupy Los Angeles. We have seen Occupy Boston" (He decided not to mention Occupy Albuquerque and the other silly little satellites.) "Now, we have begun Occupy DC!" ("We have?") "YES!" (Applause.) "The Lamestream Media may not be on top of it, but hundreds of brave souls braved the cold and the rain to bravely make a brave stand in McPherson Square against the K Street mafia pimps in bed with Wall Street drug dealers." (Applause.) "Are you ready to join us?" (Silence.) John Doe looked to Fearless Leader for assistance.

"The thing is, John, we have plenty of cold and damp down here. When we take a break, it's usually for something warm and dry...like a library or a Denny's." ("Denny's? When did we go to Denny's? Where's Denny's?")

"Don't you understand!" pleaded John Doe. "Class warfare has finally begun! Greek civilization is fighting back the German threat! Obama is seeking the Buffett rule! There are five Facebook pages devoted to assasination plots for the Supreme Court justices! Wall Street is scared! Politicians are scared! This is our moment to take back K Street for The People!" ("K Street has a Burger King.") "This is not about food!" (Silence.)

"Everything is about food, John," said Fearless Leader.

John Doe sighed. "OK, I'll buy lunch at Burger King for everybody who comes." ("Hooray!") He started making his way to the exit, no longer caring how many of these smelly subterranean leeches followed him out, when his temporal lobe cross-fired, short-circuited, and flipped out. He fell into a trance--tugging at his ears, rolling his eyes, and moaning about K Street and the leeches. Fearless Leader stared in awe at the mystic prophet and vowed to himself to rally the freaks behind him.

A hundred feet above them, Holly Gonightly waited patiently with her camera crew to see if John Doe would emerge like a Pied Piper from Dupont Down Under with a trail of people (or rats) following him in a march over to McPherson Square. She shivered in the damp cold, dreaming of the day she could lose enough weight to give up street reporting and become a news anchor, no longer TFFT (too fat for television). She looked at her Rolex and smiled a little because she had posted several stories about looking for its true owner but nobody had claimed it yet. She caressed it gently, oblivious to her cameraman's using the zoom lens to capture the moment--oblvious that he had a web-based reality series with thousands of followers secretly watching her obsession with the Rolex on a daily basis. "Oh, this crappy cold! What the hell is wrong with the weather?!" She looked at her cameraman, who had already turned the camera back to the Dupont Down Under entrance. She sipped more hot coffee from her thermos and dreamed of the spot on the dresser where she would put the Pulitzer prize, right next to the velvet-lined box she kept the Rolex in.

Already at McPherson Square was Henry Samuelson, taking a few more photos of the evil communist agitators before heading to his Heurich Society meeting. He was dreading the meeting because there was going to be a huge argument with Condoleezza Rice about whether or not to move Project Cinderella to Saudi Arabia to take advantage of the sudden decree that women could vote and run for office. (Personally, he didn't see how it made the slightest difference, since their brothers and fathers and husbands could still refuse to let them leave the house, but Angela de la Paz wanted badly to go, so the Heurich Society needed to figure out how to leverage the opportunity to advance the goals of Project Prometheus inside Saudi Arabia.) He put his camera away and trudged off, his combination umbrella and tranquilizer gun keeping him dry. Those Saudis won't know what hit them when "she whose gaze must be avoided" (because anybody who sees her unveiled dies) hits the petroleum kingdom of vipers.

On K Street, former Senator Evermore Breadman pulled his car over for a moment to take a look at the OccupyDC protesters in McPherson Square. He tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel, not because it looked like a big deal but because these groups were sprouting up all over the country and his clients were calling him in alarm from all over the country. Then there was satirist Stephen Colbert, who had audaciously set up a Delaware 501(c)(4) corporation called "Anonymous Shell Corporation" so he could imitate and lampoon the Karl Rove shell corporation set up to channel anonymous millionaire donations into the American Crossroads Super-PAC. Breadman's phone was ringing off the hook, with everybody from the Koch brothers to Rex W. Tillerson asking if the "damned comedian" was going to succeed in blowing the lid off of Delaware's dirty little secret. (“So I can get money for my (c)(4), use that for political purposes, and nobody knows anything about it until six months after the election?” Colbert asked on his TV program. “Yes,” Colbert's attorney said. “And even then they won’t know who your donors are.” “That’s my kind of campaign finance restrictions!” Colbert said, before asking his attorney how this was different from money laundering. “It’s hard to say,” replied the attorney.) Breadman had watched the clip a dozen times and still had no clue what to do about it, if anything, but his clients didn't seem very thrilled with his "it'll blow over" speech, and a few had hinted they might seek advice from rival law firm Lye, Cheit, and Steele. Breadman pulled away from the curb and headed to his office at Prince and Prowling to do what they paid him the big bucks to do.

The named partners from Goode Peepz law firm pulled over to the curb just vacated by former Senator Evermore Breadman to take a better look at OccupyDC. The partners were discussing whether this fledgling little band of wannabe revolutionaries might be just the ticket they were looking for to catapult their public interest law firm into the forefront of justice (and into the news). Advantages? Nobody else had claimed them yet, and their constituency was probably the constituency Goode Peepz wanted. Disadvantages? The group looked penniless, for starters. Also, it had not yet announced the decisions of its first general assembly, so God knew what they were going to stand for. After ten minutes, Goode and Peepz agreed that they could always drop them as clients if need be, and it was time to strike while the iron was hot.

Up in the trees of McPherson Square, rival flocks of sparrows and starlings were huddling for warmth, not yet having grown their winter feathers. A catbird tried to imitate the protesters' "this is what democracy looks like!" chant, but it came out as a sing-song garble. Cooing pigeon doves and hungry ducks waddled around the grass, scrounging up bits of bagel and pizza crusts. A sole raven watched from atop the mounted horse statue--it isn't enough. The White House ghosts got bored and flew back to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to wreak more havoc there.


Post a Comment

<< Home