Fallen Angels, Season 1 & Season 2

Jane and Dick have gone through the denial stage of grief.

They’ve accepted they can no longer afford fancy prepared meals with Cucumber Avocado Rolls, Paleo Friendly Salmon and Ultra Green Spanakopita.

Not even for the health of their future children can they justify organic produce.

Their unemployment benefits are not as generous as their old boss claims. The young marrieds have wisely agreed not to waste money on junk food like poor people do.

“We’ll bend but we won’t break. If we can’t eat organic cassava, we’ll eat regular cassava.” Dick chirped.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, you pathetic, unemployed little man.” Jane shouted. “My mother was right about you all along.”

Jane has moved into the second stage of grief, the anger stage, without realizing it.

Last night Dick and Jane drove to Bethesda for an unofficial wake to mourn what they and other young White House staffers have lost.

Their resumes share the same problem. They had promoted the Big Lie (that the election was stolen) which led to the deadly Capitol riot.

Condemnation was swift and universal. The former staffers have been struggling to find paths forward ever since.

Several revealed they’ve been receiving anonymous offers, from the dark recesses of the web, asking them to generate bat-shit crazy rumors that could be fed to Fox and News Max.

It’s not the kind of work Dick and Jane would normally consider, but then these are not normal times.

PR firms, ad agencies and even right-leaning think tanks refuse to see them.

Jane didn’t want to jinx things by rushing off to CVS to pickup a test kit.

She and Dick had been careful, and anxiety and exhaustion had fooled her before.

She’d wait a few days to see if their lives were going to be turned upside down. No reason to worry her husband at this point.

The two of them have been struggling since the defeat of the president.

Unemployed and close to being broke, they’re having trouble getting interviews because they’re closely associated with the Big Lie (that the election was stolen) and with the riot it incited.

This is absolutely no time to be searching for promo codes on Similac.

It turns out that Jane was right, stress had fooled her once again.

She wouldn’t be tempted to call the phone number that had been circulated around the White House.

It’s the private line of an OB/GYN in Arlington whose limited, cash-only practice makes it nearly impossible to dig up the names of her patients.

“It’s not like we’ll be turning tricks on Twelfth and Mass.” Jane reassured her husband.

“We need a higher class of johns.” Dick replied. “We’ve sold ourselves cheap for the last four years.”

Dick and Jane made their bones spinning lies and hustling Fake News at the White House. Seeing their stuff repeated on Fox was as good as West Wing cocaine.

It was inevitable they’d attract offers from white-nationalists pumping out rumors about pedophiles in pizzerias.

“We have to protect our brand.” Dick insisted. “We can‘t afford to be associated with ridiculous fairy tales.”

“They’re talking serious money; and they’ll pay us upfront,” Jane said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Dicky Dearest, June’s rent is due on Tuesday.”

“Maybe you could buy us a free month by offering our landlord a blowjob.” Dick said, laughing.

“I think Solly’s more interested in you, cowboy.”

Solley was standing in front of Jane and Dick’s apartment, waiting for them to return from a run.

“Y’all folks noticed there be help-wanted signs up and down the block?” he asked.

Solley enjoys using street talk with certain of his renters.

“Only reason I bring it up is your rent be due two days ago.”

The man is a highly successful landlord in a neighborhood where collecting rent can be a struggle.

His major marketing advantage is that he doesn’t bother with credit scores, a fact that helped Dick and Jane get their lease.

“I’m one of them Rand Paul, Tom Cotton libertarians.” he said. “I don’t get cops and courts involved. If my renters don’t pay on time, I can get ‘em relocated in a matter of days. It’s a special courtesy I offer.”

“Give us a week, Solly.” Dick asked. “We’re closing in on a project that’ll straighten out our financial problems.”

“If that falls through,” Solly replied, pointing toward 18th NW, “my car wash is offering signing bonuses.”