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Tarot Blanco - Judgement - XX - Novella [1]

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Date: 2025-02-26

(This is a Novella stretching into the present. 18 of 22)

Careless hucking Underhandedly caress kookoo

Seamless chuckling hammer ungulate mess ere rogue.

Washington, DC

2:00 Eastern Standard Time (of course), Wednesday, 5 February 2025

-

Judgement day is coming,

Oh Lord, Oh Lord,

Judgment day is coming,

Oh Lord, Oh Lord,

And it rains down on the good and wicked alike.

Outside there is commotion, and signs of devotion to cause that is actually over before it begins, because the honored federal Constitution is no more because the crooks are in charge. Outside on the steps, there are people dressed in ordinary dressings waving cardboard signs that are like postage stamps found for the deepest regions of the abyss. At least they are infinite in their time limit.

Inside the Senate chamber, there is a different atmosphere entirely: it is sedate, serene, and underflowing with good cheer. And at least some of the elected senators know that the word is “coup” and all that that entails. The air is here to nominate the person who will oversee the looting that is going on and make it nice with charts and graphs for their edification.

At the rostrum stands in a hunched pinstripe suit, the man who has seen everything and some of that as leader either of the majority party or the minority party. He is called Chuck though he has a more formal name that no one uses. And he is here to party like it is 1999 of the Prince of his party. He is suited in the blue with a yellow tie. Inside the tie inside the brain is a man who did everything right and did it with style because he excelled at anything that was not incel. Take that 1600, and I don’t mean Pennsylvania Avenue. And he looked around at the reporters and the staff and security and measured how he was going to say that he had no power but he was going to demonstrate that.

They were the reporters waiting for the trumpet blast that came from his curly locks. and they were waiting to repeat the words, even if they were mercilessly going to edit them with the Golden touch of submission, but that is in the Clouds. And they still had whole hours to crush the word limit.

But long before this moment had arrived he was talking in a backroom slice of the Senate with Patty Murphy. She is dressed in that gray that says “in command” below a thin-looking whiter shade of pale. Though she was not as bright she was more gentle in her demeanor giving more time for the other person to speak as opposed to the spoken to. This had advantages from time to time. She was the backroom listener and confidant of the person who needed something that could not be said in that dramatic way. She was also part of the gang girls before there was such a term. Bork that.

Though DiFi held the reins.

Though he was standing, he sat. “At this point, we have to announce that the Democratic Party is going to consume every moment of the time allotted to us.”

She blinked. “Are you sure this will be enough to mollify our constituents? It seems to me that blue sky has a rumble of gray all our supporters.”

He put his hands in his pockets and slumped a bit more. “No, this is just a delaying tactic, but we need time to gather a consensus as to what is actually the point where we are going to stand.”

“Murphy is going to the doors.”

There was a sardonic pause. “He needs to show his loyalty to the Democratic party, and it isn’t clear that his path is through the legislative side.”

“But he is showing that there is more than just a rumble in the jungle.”

“For one person, I’m sure he’s doing what is best, but we have to hold the entire party together. And that means consensus for the next step.”

She nodded Because she knew that this was the next step: giving almost everyone a chance to vent what they had heard from their phones back in the districts. There was a bleeding edge to the Senators because they had heard volumes from their constituents and needed to release the energy into the microphone.

And that is why when he began there was no tension in his voice, because he saw a plan even if other people did not. And the plan took the form of the yellow tie: bold, and brave, and with a red cross trading plan.

Just like the New York Stock Exchange: it is the person with the most money when walking away not in the middle sections where things are hazy. He chuckled as was his want. The dead wood shambles gracefully up to bend the knee and not to Trumpoleuscue in the end. Because the dead were gray and did not no all that was to be known.

[END]
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