Fallen Angels, Complete Series

JANE knows too much.

There are people desperate to get to her before she’s subpoenaed by the House and the DOJ. Rudy is just the latest to get served.

Trump insiders want her to testify that the election was stolen. Proud Boys want her to swear her boss ordered them to riot. GOP lawmakers stay awake praying she perjures herself.

She and Dick have recently been receiving “friendly advice” about staying healthy.

“I don’t know who I’m afraid of most, “ Jane told Princesa Yolanda, ”Did you see the twisted faces on those guys at the Capitol?”

“Relajate, hija.” Yolanda cackled. “I cast big bubble-bubble-toil-and-trouble,” she cackled again, “I make whole clusterfuck go away.”

“A spell that lasts 7 years, okay?” Jane insisted.

JANE AND DICK met on their first morning at the White House, hired as communication staffers by the newly elected president

They were at an all-day workshop to gin up hysteria about stolen elections. It was basically a dry run for the Big Lie used four years later.

“Nothing’s too ridiculous for our base,” the thirty or so participants were told. That set off a competition in Conference Room B. Who could make the blatantly untrue sound true? Recognizing each other’s God-given gift for bullshit, Dick and Jane fell in love.

They skipped out after lunch that first day to conduct their own one-on-one breakaway session at the Happy Hour Motel out off of I-95.

It was a productive afternoon. The results were worth every taxpayer dollar spent.

THE NOOSE was Dick’s brainchild. And at every opportunity Jane reminded him of just how damaging the optics had been to their careers.

To be fair, Dick thought overturning a presidential election was a lot like the hilarious frat-house pranks that made him a legend.

He gleefully threw himself into the task of reaching out to groups and individuals with a history of mischevious antics at places like Charlottesville and Michigan’s Capitol.

For cash and triage, Dick was the go-to guy.

When the orders came down and he started using untraceable burner phones, he stepped over a line only a brain-dead ‘Delt’ would cross.

You‘d think a White House staffer would know that inciting rioters who uploaded videos of their crimes is a bad idea.

But Dick worked in the Trump White House.

It came as a shock when their boss wasn’t reelected. Suddenly Jane and Dick were without jobs.

Their combined salaries as lower-level staffers had allowed them to rent a sweet little place on the periphery of Georgetown.

The dear couple had worked in the White House promoting policies that would have made it impossible for hundreds of millions of people to visit our country. It was all very romantic.

Now they’re looking at apartments in the less expensive parts of town, neighborhoods where working-class immigrants live.

They’re confident their new neighbors will welcome them with open arms. What they’re not sure is if they should park their BMW 3 Series on the street. There’s more than a year left on its lease.

Dick and Jane hate welfare programs. They’ll tell you how welfare makes poor people even poorer, and lazier.

The young White House staffers met and fell in love while shaping messages in favor of slashing nutrition programs.

Since losing their jobs when a new president was inaugurated, Jane and Dick have maxed out their credit cards and over the years Jane has hit up her parents and grandparents one time too many.

Things being what they are, they’ve agreed that until they’re gainfully employed again, they’ll hold their noses and accept a bit of welfare themselves. Ayn Rand can go fuck herself.

They were disappointed to learn they’d have to pay for chardonnays and cabs out of their own pocket.