At the premiere of the newest talkie, All This and a Bag of Chips, everyone who was anyone in Hollywood showed up at Grubman’s Vietnamese Art Deco Movie Palace and Taqueria. Milling about in the crowd of artificially young and beautiful was the ravishing (according to her press release) Oscaretta Meyer, star of the recent hits Mildred Pierced and How Lonesome Was My Valley.
Fred, the Fashion Photographer: “You look stunning, Oscaretta! Can I get a picture?”
Oscaretta, the Supposed Actress: “Of course, Freddie dear. It’s only right that I share my treasures with the world. How can the little people be happy if I don’t give them joy?”
Hedda Flopper, the Movie Columnist: “Oscaretta, who did your hair? It’s divine.”
Oscaretta: “Thank you for asking, Hedda dear. I’m sure my millions of fans will want to know this. I hired a fabulous stylist from Paris, Henri de Kilowatt. I told him to make me look electric and I think he did an outstanding job!”
Just then, a bolt of lightning shot out of the otherwise clear sky and scored a direct hit on Oscaretta’s startling head apparatus. Within seconds she was reduced to nothing but ash and a few defiant sequins.
Hedda: “Well, I guess the interview is over.”
Suddenly, Oscaretta’s now-former publicist, Kellyanne ConJob, came rushing up from who knows where. (Well, we actually do know. She had been off flirting with a burly stagehand, because sometimes a woman has very specific needs. But this detail really does not contribute to our story, so we’ll officially leave her provenance murky.) Kellyanne addressed the gathered columnists and photographers. “I’d just like to state for the record that this tragic event had nothing to do with Oscaretta’s recent struggles with addiction and poor choices.”
The columnists and reporters just stared at her. Everyone in Hollywood had addictions and did stupid things. There was no story in that. Keep going.
Kellyanne did, improvising as she realized that if she did enough spin with this situation, she could win the affection of the next up-and-coming starlet with dark secrets, thus maintaining her own revenue stream. “And I should point out that if Oscaretta had not been here to sacrifice herself to the lightning bolt, then the orphanage across the street could have burned down. She did it for the children!”
Hedda, dubious: “That’s not an orphanage. That’s a gay bar.”
Kellyanne smiled arrogantly. “Well, you have your truth and I have my alternative facts. Let’s see which one of us gets the attention of the voters in rural America.”
Deep inside the darkness of the gay bar, which was still shuttered because the cool people in Hollywood don’t dance until well after midnight, Donald reached over and shut of the generator (made in China, just like his clothing line) that he had used to create the fake lightning bolt. The he whipped out his encrypted cell phone and hit speed dial #1. “Sergei? Mission accomplished.”
Sergei: “Who is this be talking? I know not the smell of your voice.”
Donald: “I did what Vladdy told me. He said I should create a distraction and undermine the election and then call you when it was done.”
Sergei: “But this distraction, it was stupid and of a child. People know how to count the voting and you empty of head thinking not. You still not know politics and now Vladimir not know you. You hang up and not call more.”
Donald: “But my Russian hotels. What will happen to them?”
Sergei: “They bye bye now. Like you.”
The line went dead.
Donald threw his burner phone on the floor and stomped on it, confirming that his maturity level had topped out at the age of three. (As if anyone in the world needed such confirmation.) Then he noticed Mitch McConnell and Lindsey Graham, standing at the bar of the gay bar, discreetly fondling one another in the love that dare not speak its name, meaning the love some Republicans have for dishonesty and diversion and the creation of fake lightning-bolts.
Donald: “What are you guys doing here? You know you’re not allowed to make moves unless I order you to do so.”
Mitch: “Well, we might need to talk about that.”
Lindsey: “Have you seen the breaking news tonight?”
Donald: “Of course not. I’m surrounded by minions who tell me what I want to hear. I don’t have time for reality.”
Mitch: “CNN just called Arizona for Biden. And while I’ll keep pretending that I support you, because I have no soul, things look a bit rough. The math is not there, old grasshopper.”
Lindsey: “You bye bye!”
Donald: “I’ll sue everybody!”
Mitch: “Oh, honey. That’s just tired and worn out by now. You might think your base loves you, but they’ll move on as soon as the next racist and shiny thing comes along. Trust me. I wouldn’t have survived 700 years in conservative politics if I didn’t know how to shift my morals to satisfy the whims of people who have the attention span of a gnat.”
Previously published, modified and extended for this post. And yes, I realize that Mitch and Lindsey may not resonate with much of the planet, but they should, as they are the very examples of the willful hypocrisy that decent people should avoid if they truly want a better world.
Categories: Past Imperfect