CSI: American Carnage (Wednesday, July 24, 2019)
WASHINGTON – It is very late. Darkness and fog have settled over Washington, obscuring the most obvious and distorting the perception of everything else. There is a light on upstairs in the White House. On a long corridor beyond the East Room, behind a nondescript door, indistinct mutterings and growls can be heard. Rigged! Rigged! Something crashes to the floor. Dammit! Mumble. Mumble. Hector! Clean up this shit! Hector! Where are the cells? I want em lined up here on the sidetable. Back-up! Where the hell is the back-up remote? Mumble. Goddammit! There is the sound of rummaging followed by crunching and guttural sounds of satisfaction and satiation. A faint whirr is heard. Across town, Louis paces back and forth in his jammies talking on the cell. He says, I’m telling you, we are going to get the Mueller terror baby into the hearing, no doubt about it. Now I want to know if you’ve got the pictures. As awful as they are, as disgusting and as hateful as they are, as demeaning and debasing as they are, yeah, I know there are revolting. We need them in the hearing. Mueller has some questions to answer. This kind of repugnant behavior. And the conspiracy? We are going to get answers, for certain. A few blocks away, Lindsey tosses and turns in bed. A voice plays in his ear. My beautiful Lindsey, my sweet Lindsey, come home, come home Lindsey. There are decent men, even now. Lindsey thrashes. No, he says. No John. They don’t have what it takes. No. They can’t impeach. Lindsey continues to thrash. He says, John, John, you are out of touch. The voice says, Death will do that, my beautiful Lindsey. Lindsey stammers. There’s been a coup. A coup John, against our beloved US of A. We need to get to the bottom, we need to go for the bottom. Lindsey, Lindsey, Lindsey. Blocks away, on the other side of Massachusetts Avenue, a light burns brightly on the second floor of residence number one at the Naval Observatory. Mike is sitting up in bed, writing in a small leather-bound book. Dear Diary, he writes and then pauses, tapping his pencil on the page. I am fine. He stops again and thoughtfully gazes out the window at the darkness surrounding the house. Mother and our pastor, blessed be their souls, did not communicate this evening, as they said they would. Diary, do you think anything could be wrong? There is no answer at the Sahra Spa. Should I be worried? His Highness says that MS13 units have been reported spreading out from the border but our great men and women in the great border patrol are ready. Oh Diary! Give me the strength to support His Highness, for without him we are lost and the future will grow as dark as the heart of darkness and there will be no light. Oh! Blessed be the most magnificent who absorbs all light and gives it back from deep within his golden heart. – Wednesday, July 24, 2019