Z-anon-sensei Speaks #63
“People just simply do not believe in the evidence in front of their faces.” Bevin Alexander
Meanwhile, back at the WhoreHouse, Pretendident Thump’s characterization of his opponent in the election as controlled by “dark shadows” was a major slip of the tongue. You see, Dark Shadows is Thump’s favorite TV show, and he has both consciously and unconsciously modeled his family in its image. The powers that be have so far found it flattering, really, amusing and deferential if a bit childish. But by bringing it out into public view, Thump has made the real vampires a little nervous.
Thump himself is growing more than nervous. He is literally going mad– unable to sleep, unable to get it up or even get interested no matter who they bring to him or what he takes, unable to put a complete sentence together if he doesn’t read it off a teleprompter, and even then only rarely. He is imitating the vampires tonight, awake and out of his coffin through the darkest hours and their attendant dark shadows, tweeting and tweeting and re-tweeting about the upcoming election, about violence and how cool it was when it was for him, and how bad it was when it was against him, and on and on about anything else that popped into his head.
Thump was becoming a real headache and worry to Blake Steele, too. Steele was awakened at 3 am by the notification beep on his phone. Thump had tagged him in one of these midnight tweets, setting off Steele’s alarm. Steele slid out of bed as silently as possible, trying not to wake Darlin Gyrl, who hadn’t really been feeling that well— a bit of a headache herself— and needed her beauty rest. Let her sleep. Steele took the phone out to his backyard courtyard patio, where the warm Maryland night was lit up by a huge moon and decorated by a few flashing fireflies up in the mimosa trees between his yard and the next. Nearly full, the Corn Moon, they were calling it on the news. Steele wondered when they had started bringing back all the old seasonal names for the full moons. He was out of sorts, and wanted to make up some different, less polite names for the damn bright thing. The Ant Moon. The Stinging Bee Moon, the Mosquito Moon. Steele was worried a little about Darlin Gyrl, and a little frustrated, too, since her headache had kept her normally pliant body stiff and resistant in bed tonight. Unusual for his Darlin, who was always receptive to him. But mostly he was nervous about Pretendident Thump. “Dark shadows” Thump had said in an interview yesterday, nearly giving away the whole game, again. And now the fact that he is up tweeting at 3 am (“Rigged election?” was all the tweet said.) shows he’s got some dark shadows taking over his mind, for sure. Wasn’t the madness of the king part supposed to come later, much farther down the road? It looked to Steele like Thump was breaking down in real time, right now. Too soon? Oh well, something’s coming, for sure, Steele thought, looking up at the burning corn-yellow disc in the sky. Reaching upward with one arm, he held his hand open until it came between his eyes and the moon, covering it completely. “Something’s coming. Catch the moon!” he said out loud, and closed his hand as if to trap the moon like a moth in his fist. “Rigged election it is, then. We can do that.”