Fandango’s Friday Flashback 7-3-18

Putting My Feet in the Dirt 3 and Daily Addictions Prompt: Gigantic

They gathered at the fence surrounding the Capitol. It was the night of July 4, 2018, a day that “will live in infamy”, or so John Q. Public imagined it would be. Finally his followers, the vigilant vigilantes, would see justice done. Their voices would be heard, the uprising creating havoc and wonderment seen by all as they revealed themselves.

It was almost time. The crowd of resistance fighters started to anxiously move about, sweating in Washington DC humidity and heat of the day. Then their fearless leader, John Q., raised his arms and the crowd cheered. The members stripped naked in unison, revealing red white and blue painted stripes covering their bodies. Ladies swooned and children gasped at the sight.

The most surprising part of all was the release of a gigantic balloon as the accommodating breeze slowly carried the president’s effigy toward the building. As it floated closer to the Capitol building, leaflets spewed from the mouth of the effigy. Pamphlets written in red and white and blue ink saying, “free the people!” And of course other statements not privy to this reporter at the time.

And from somewhere in the hour before the fireworks blew, music of olden patriotic songs incited the crowd to put their hands on their hearts and sing. Their voices only slightly, for a second or two, were heard by “their” president as he lay in his bed chamber, furiously tweeting “the Democrats led by former President Obama are trashing my yard!”

FOWC: Ubiquitous

What else more qualifies for this word than this face? My apologies everyone.😖. Maybe he’s looking in the mirror?

Word of the Day: Imagination

Settled under softness

Just a wink or two promised

Pulled the warmth over my ears and drifted

Suddenly transported into a friendly room

Everything looked the same

The lock was known to me, also the stairs I saw before me

Furnishings had changed, people outside were strangers

Where was I really, and where is this place

At once both familiar and strange

Even my imagination has no answers.

Too Little Too Late

“No way, not that one!” The President was finally getting off his throne-styled bed, finishing his twenty-fifth hate tweet for the morning, and was dressing for the onslaught zone of reporters waiting in the press room. “I want to appear more accessible, get me a printed pink flowered one.”

The groom looked through the lot of assembled ties and could not find anything printed except one displaying elephants wearing MAGA hats. “I’m sorry sir, there doesn’t seem to be any in your closet”, cowering behind the door.

“Nonsense! Get that guy from “Queer Eye” in here on the double! I need to change my appearance if I’m going to win this election! I said, move!”

The servant backed out of the suite of rooms and shut the door carefully. “I don’t know what happened, but if he thinks this sudden change of behavior will work at this late date, he’s dreaming.” The underlings at the president’s beck and call were just grateful not to make another trip to the “Hubristic Haberdashery” again, whose logo was “We can make you look like you give a sht care, even if you don’t.”