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, December 30, 2017


"Now we're talkin'!" exclaimed Glenn Michael Beckmann, an avid conspiracy theorist and militiaman based in Washington, D.C.

His very young roommate, Brittani, looked around with large eyes at what appeared to be acres of weapons on display at the Nation's Gun Show in Chantilly, Virginia.  "Can we leave now?"

"We just got here!" exclaimed Beckmann.  "Most women get a thrill seeing real men handle real guns!"

"Look, I understand huntin', but what are ya gonna do with something like that?" she asked, pointing to an AK47 painted red, white and blue.  "Only a psycho killer would buy that!"

"What?!  I got three of those at home!  You gotta be prepared for the coming invasion!  Could be Mexicans or Russians or worse!  We know Trump is a puppet king installed by aliens to weaken our society and prepare us for an invasion from space.  Even before that happens, some guys even think women will rise up and start mowing down their chauvinist pig bosses!  They might go crazy and try to kill all the men."

"I think you have enough guns.  I don't want you to buy more!"  She made her pouty face at him--which drove him nuts, since he was still waiting for the teenager to turn eighteen.

"Look, Brittani: I know you been through a lot with that annulled marriage and all, and I've been supportive of your trapeze school and women marches and your #MeToo banner unfurled in the Trump hotel bell tower, but ya gotta let me be a man every now and then!"

"I don't feel safe here!  Look at those guys staring at me!  Be a man and protect me!"

Beckmann looked over at the two men, flipped them the bird, then steered Brittani in a different direction.  "Alright, just let me stock up on some hand grenades, and then we can go.  You can't order those online."

The FBI agents continued to follow Beckmann at a distance.

Meanwhile, over in D.C., renowned lifestyle blogger Giuliana Sunstream was hosting the first of her trilogy of holiday events at her NoMa loft:  The Best of Washington 2017!  For $100/head, party goers were donning Trump-inspired hair wigs (the "Melania", "Donald" or "Ivanka"), feasting on roasted cauliflower gingerbread cookies, drinking hot chocolate vodka shots, throwing darts at photos of celebrity sexual predators, gambling on minute-to-minute swings in Bitcoin valuation, speed-knitting earphone cozies, watching a video of the total solar eclipse, and pogo-dancing to the retro vinyl music spun by the DJ installed in the corner.  In her guest bedroom, Giuliana had set up three CPAs and several computer stations for party goers to make last-minute charitable contributions or pre-pay property taxes before the entire financial system was overhauled in 2018.  And in Giuliana's own bedroom, Vegas (her toy Maltese) was wearing a "porg" costume, surrounded by a host of visiting pets dressed by their owners in other Star Wars costumes provided by Giuliana:  ewok, wookie, storm trooper, Jedi.

Near the window, always with an eye on the door, Solomon Kane spit his roasted cauliflower gingerbread cookie into a napkin, struggling hard not to vomit.

"Here," said Bridezilla, passing him her glass of peppermint schnapps.  "This will help."

He sipped gratefully, then handed the glass back with a smile.  "That's the only edible thing I've found at this party."

"I'm very into comfort foods right now," sighed Bridezilla, still reeling from the shocking death of her boyfriend, (Esperantu) Edward.  "I spent hours on Christmas Eve decorating a gingerbread house with my mom.  I hadn't done that in years."

Bridezilla was a lovely woman, but Solomon had to keep glancing at the door because he was expecting a 55-year-old Caucasian female with a bad hair dye job, reindeer sweater, and MAGA necklace to show up any minute:  the woman's son wanted Solomon to kidnap her and deliver her over to the Seekers for cult de-programming.  (Solomon would have waited outside, but it was too cold.)  "I spent Christmas with a couple of Jewish people and a Buddhist monk," replied Solomon.  (He didn't tell her they had been doing emergency cult de-programming while other members of the Seekers were performing ministerial duties for Christmas.)

"You don't celebrate Christmas?" asked Bridezilla.

"Not in a long time," he answered.  "But I believe stuff."


"Stuff," he repeated, vaguely.  The Seekers represented leaders from many different faith communities who were at least united in their belief that the Cult of Trump was both delusional and evil.  They had de-programmed hundreds of people from all over the country this year, but would it ever be enough?  Some of the leaders thought that serious demons were behind all of it:  the Russia collusion, the war on the poor, the racist attacks, the contempt for the sick and disabled.

"Yes, sometimes it's hard to have faith," sighed Bridezilla, who was fretting that the other pets would not be nice to her conjoined guinea pigs (Thelma and Louise), despite how adorable they looked poured into one Yoda costume.  She leaned her head against Solomon's chest, uninvited, and the onetime hitman gingerly put his arm around her just as he saw the target walk in through the front door.

Over in Georgetown, another Trump Cult de-programming was already underway in the Seekers' rented townhouse basement.

"The tax cuts primarily benefit the richest people in our country," said the Catholic priest.

"I don't think so!" answered Robby, the Kentucky man flown in by helicopter the night before and now strapped to a recliner for his own safety and comfort.

"The corporate tax cuts are permanent, but the individual tax cuts are not.  Why do you think that is?" asked the Methodist minister.

"Trump said it would hurt him the worse," answered Robby.

"You're not this stupid!" interjected his wife, sitting tearfully on a couch at the other end of the room.

"Please don't address him," said the Presbyterian minister, who then turned back to the Robby.  "We will have to borrow trillions more from the Chinese now.  Your children and grandchildren will be paying off those loans for decades to come."

"I don't think so!  Anyway, they'll be rich."

"They won't have any health insurance!" exclaimed the Jewish rabbi.  "And your Medicare will be reduced to a pittance!"

"I don't think so," replied Robby.  "Anyway, I'll die sooner from all these terrorists or Mexicans or the Deep State!  They don't even believe in the Ten Commandments!"

"What's the Fifth Commandment?" asked the rabbi.

"Um, is that the one about gay marriage?"

"No!" exclaimed the rabbi.

"Well, no offense, but don't you folk number it differently than our folk?"

"There are no Commandments about homosexuality," said the Lutheran minister.  "And Jesus never spoke about it.  What He did speak often about was--"

"That doesn't sound right."

"--helping the poor and sick and disabled, loving foreigners, forgiving enemies--"

"No!" retorted Robby.  "You're trying to trick me!  Are you ISIS?"

"It costs $200,000 to join Mar-a-Lago!" interjected Robby's wife.  "Trump signed that tax bill to help his billionaire friends!  You are never gonna get another coal job, and I wouldn't want you to, anyway!  Why won't you work for the windmill farm?!"

"Windmills won't make American great again!"

The Muslim imam was about to take his turn, but decided to go out and pick up lunch instead.

Back at the Nation's Gun Show, Brittani was getting ejected after repeatedly interrupting a National Rifle Association spokesman with "NRA equals National Republican Army!" and "NRA equals Nazi Retarded Army!"

"You gotta control your girl!" shouted a NRA member as Beckmann hustled her out.

"I rescued her from a cage!" replied Beckmann.  "She has PTSD!"

The FBI agents followed the two outside of the show, confiscated the hand grenades because of Beckmann's well-documented psychiatric illness, then let the two go.

"Damn it!" muttered Beckmann, starting the engine.  "Why do ya always have to draw so much attention to yourself?!"

"Me?!" retorted Brittani.  "You're wearing a baseball cap that says 'F--- the FBI!'"

"That's free speech!"

"So's what I did!"

"Damn, you're a feisty girl!" laughed Beckmann.  "Maybe I can just count on you to be the equivalent of a hand grenade wherever I go!"

As they drove across the river back into D.C., Ardua of the Potomac grinned in pleasure...then killed a few more ducks.

COMING UP:     The Federal Reserve Board 
                               has a new playuh in 2018!


Post a Comment

<< Home