Both of the Steves — communications director Cheung and senior advisor Miller — had arrived in their offices that morning to find that they had been summoned to a conference with Border Czar Homan. Neither had realized that Homan had come to outrank them.
The czar didn’t rise to greet them as his secretary ushered the Steves into his office. Nor did he take his feet off his desk. “Take a load off,” he said, giving neither of his guests a chance to joke about their relative statuses having been juggled. Miller seated himself, but Cheung remained standing.
The czar admired at length the small damp thing he’d extricated from one of his nostrils, wiped his finger on his pant leg, and snarled, “The president wants me to thank you for your service on his behalf, and to wish you the best of luck the future.
“That’s a good one,” Miller giggled after a moment’s very awkward silence. “Pull the other one, Tom.”
Cheung didn’t pretend that he thought Homas was kidding. “I suppose you know,” he said, that in an informal poll of White House personnel a few weeks ago, I was voted Ugliest Male Employee.”
“And not without good reason,” Czar Homan chuckled, gazing out his window. “Strange time for you to be bringing that up at a moment like this, though.”
“Actually,” Cheung said, “not so strange at all. Guess who finished second, only a few votes behind me. You, big guy. With me gone, you’ll be the UME. How do you suppose you’re going to feel about that?
Czar Homan snorted in defiant amusement. “I’m going to feel just fine about it, Dim Sum. I was voted Least Hot Boy at West Carthage Senior High School all four years I went there, and believe me, there were some fugly dudes on the wrestling team with me. People think there’s a lot of inbreeding in Felts Mills, and Deer River, whose kids were bussed into WC, and inbreeding isn’t how you get Brad Pitt lookalikes.”
He restored his feet to the floor, and reached across his desk for the gleaming red button between the framed photographs of his wife, children, and President Trump. Not a second after he pressed it, two masked ICE kidnappers newly promoted into the elite Czarist Security Detail strode into the room, their sweat reeking of their recent testosterone injections. When Czar Homan nodded at Cheung, the masked men grabbed the corpulent propagandist’s arms and yanked him squealing from his chair.
“To be honest with you,” Miller said, his pate glistening with dread sweat as Cheung left with his new friends. He rose and headed for the door. “I’m not going to miss that guy. Call me old-fashioned, Tom, but I think the Chinese ought to stick to laundry and egg foo yung.” He managed a giggle.
Czar Homan smirked ominously. “I don’t disagree with that,” he finally said. “But by the same token, I don’t think those of your own persuasion ought to be senior advising either.”
Stephen’s giggle caught in his throat. Soggy with sweat now., he managed to clear his throat, and to grin the same grin that had precluded his rodential little face being caved in by a classmate of color all those years ago at high school in southern California. “By my persuasion,” he managed, “I guess you mean chrome-domed?”
Actually, Czar Homan said, “You might notice I myself ain’t exactly…who’s that fruity actor with the hair? Jared Lego? Something like that?
“Can’t help with that,” Miller managed to say though his vocal cords seemed intent on paralysis. “Working 18 hours a day for President Trump and America doesn’t leave much time for movies.”
“What I meant, and what I think you know I meant, was Jewish, wunderkind.” The blood in Stephen’s veins turned icy as Czar Homan reached once more for his magic button. Having pressed which, he grinned hideously at his younger colleague and said, “Ever heard the phrase Jews Will Not Replace Us?
“What am I supposed to do now?” Stephen whimpered. “If I’m seen on the street, the woke will tar and feather me. They hate me!”
“Not to worry, Brighteyes,” Czar Homan chuckled. “The car waiting for you outside is going to take you to a…well, let’s call it a facility where you’ll be surrounded by your own kind. Of course, if you want to enjoy a refreshing shower first, do!”
I Visit the Museum of White Supremacy
Last week, A Legend in His Own Minefield was privileged to get a sneak preview of the latest signal achievement of MAGA, the new $1.6 billion Museum of White Supremacy in Washington DC, and all I can is: wow!
I think the inner circle of MAGAtistas will eventually turn on even their most loyal propagandists.
Most amusing, hardy har! Does Cheung really look like that? Gasp! (Reaches for Google ...)