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 ....

Saturday, November 10, 2012

I didn't know what I was getting into!

Bridezilla was hosting for the first time a meeting of Sense of Entitlement Anonymous (D.C. Chapter) in her Arlington apartment.  It had been a long week, and she needed some support.  She was serving hot toddies (her mother's recipe, not too strong), tea sandwiches from the caterer, orange slices covered in coconut flakes, and red velvet cake (her mother's recipe, not the fast food cupcakes).  Her apartment was dazzling--freshly scrubbed by a Salvadoran maid after Bridezilla had cleared out debris from all her failed relationships into three piles:  trash, Goodwill, keep.  (Actually, the maid had taken home the "trash" and the Goodwill piles, and secretly trashed some of the things Bridezilla thought she was keeping--but that's neither here nor there.)  Bridezilla was ready to move on, but she was struggling with the guilt of turning on Mitt Romney because her family pastor said he was not a Christian.

"It's like you're leaning on something, and suddenly it turns into a pile of sand," she said.

Calico Johnson (who thought her futon couch felt like a pile of sand--wet, hard sand) nodded in agreement.  "My neighbor has a boyfriend!" he pouted.  "I can't remember the last time somebody rejected me," added the millionaire real estate mogul.

"First of all," said Dick Cheney (who had already dribbled a bit of hot toddy on his tie), "you never asked her out!  Secondly, there was a GODDAM ELECTION THIS WEEK!  Nobody wants to hear about your love life!"

"Now, Dick," cooed Bridezilla (who was not only well aware of her duties as a Virginia hostess but alarmed at the idea that the group might somehow ban romance discussions), "we are all here to discuss whatever is bothering us.  And sometimes when we are struggling professionally or politically, we look to our relationships for support, and if that support is not there, we've lost doubly."

"Tell me about it!" exclaimed Congressman John Boehner.  "I'm Speaker of the House, I'm the last line in the sand, I'm now the most powerful Republican in Washington, and all I hear about it is how Ohio voted for Obama!  Where are all the complaints about Florida, huh?  Those people are a disgrace!  The Republicans there blocked early voting, then can't even manage to get the ballots counted for Romney!"

"It doesn't matter," said Federal Reserve Board economist Luciano Talaverdi.  "Florida was not--"

"THAT''S NOT THE POINT!" exclaimed Boehner.  "Florida is a disgrace!  I don't want to hear any more complaints about Ohio--at least my home state can count!"

"Yes, John, this is what is important!" agreed Talaverdi.  "The fiscal cliff is approaching!  Thank God you can count."

Bridezilla flushed and smiled, remembering her prior success in cajoling Republican contacts on the Hill into a budget compromise.  "I might be able to help with that," she said.  "I wrote a parody song about it."  She stood up, her posture posed as perfectly as the day she won the Junior Miss competition.

'Bama, you come knockin' on the Congress door, same old lie you used to use before.
I said, "yeah."  Well, what am I supposed to do?
I didn't know what I was getting into!
So you had a little trouble in town.
You're not keepin' the deficit down.
Stop draggin' my, stop draggin' my, stop draggin' my taxes around!

"That's lovely," said Talaverdi, who actually thought it was atrocious but she was lovely.  (Bridezilla sat down with a smile.)

"Tom Petty's from Florida," whined Boehner.

"You need to keep the earmarks out of the budget!" growled Cheney at Boehner.

"I think," said one of the delegates from N.UT.T.Y. (Nannies United To Take Y-chromosomes), "Obama should appoint Romney as Secretary of Commerce:  then Romney can prove he's a job-creator!"

"You mean Secretary of Labor," said the other N.U.T.T.Y. delegate.

"No, I don't!" replied the first N.U.T.T.Y. delegate.

"It's important for Congress and employers to take the lead from the FRB," said Talaverdi (who was scratching the rash under his cursed Rolex).

"Can we talk about David Petraeus now?" asked the second N.U.T.T.Y. delegate.

"Talk about a sense of entitlement!" exclaimed Cheney.

"Do you think he'll marry the other woman?" asked the first N.U.T.T.Y. delegate.  (This is what they lived for.)

"I don't think so," said Talaverdi (who perfectly understood the economic soundness of their viewpoint).

Over in McLean, the ghost of Henry Samuelson was putzing around CIA headquarters, feeling a little guilty about the recent fallout from the dissemination of his own viewpoint.  I just wanted to shake you up, David! he whined.  I don't know how it leaked to the FBI!  You know the last thing I would do is tell the FBI anything!  Ghost Henry stopped to read a computer screen over the shoulder of an agent.  Every time I try to whisper in somebody's ear, things never turn out right!  (The agent at the computer shivered and scratched his ear.)  Believe me, if I had known you would end up resigning, I would have engineered this before the election!  Ghost Henry shuffled on, his world turned upside down yet again. Still...kinda nice to see Obama get bad news straight out of the gate!

Out on the Potomac, Golden Fawn unzipped her jacket as they beached their kayak on Roosevelt Island.  She had told her husband, Marcos Vazquez, that the resignation of David Petraeus was undoubtedly the work of Henry Samuelson's ghost, and she was worried about the rest of the Osage prophecy channeled by John Doe at the Kite Festival.  "How can you even know whether the resignation of Petraeus is a good thing or a bad thing?" asked Vazquez.  "I mean, really?  Do we even know what he was responsible for, or what the new guy will be responsible for?"

Golden Fawn walked past their usual spot, deeper into the woods.  "There's something here," she said. Hurricane Sandy had uprooted a tree and caused a minor displacement next to it, and Golden Fawn began kicking dirt away.

"I see it," said Vazquez, kneeling down to pull.  Then he stopped.  "It's an axe," he said.

Golden Fawn pondered this for a few moments.  "Put it back," she said.  "I think it was buried here for a good reason."

The two re-buried the zombie-killing axe of Glenn Michael Beckmann (ripped from the clutches of Ardua of the Potomac by Angela de la Paz), and went back to their usual spot to light an incense fire against the evil that never rests in the city of hope and fear.


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