What has gone before: Zdog12 and the watchers, now doers have descended on planet Earth to finish the truth cleansing job they thought they had finished six years earlier and this time their primary target is Trump and his sycophant’s assembling for America 250 celebrations. Is this the end?
Episode 6
Truth in all its Gory
9.27am White House North Lawn
North Lawn resplendent in chairs, tables, gold embroidered tablecloths, cutlery and a sea of white gold gilt tassel edged umbrellas surrounding the fountain throughout the verdant green lawn topped off by an orange tableclothed long big table at the forefront of the elevated centre stage cantilevered out from the residence portico.
250 of the faithful via a lucky draw are settled in sipping on the Sponsor’s red bull dragonberry energiser drinks and munching on Filet-O-Fish mini burgers and chips. Fifty of the most trusted at the Big50 table are seated with several mountains of Big Macs and Filet-O-Fish burgers obscuring the view for those engaged in cross table conversations while free flow chocolate malts froth up many top lips.
Pete Hegseth and Kash Patel seated next to each other, both with choc malts in their hands leaning forward with heads close whispering and slightly giggling while down below table’s edge, hands obscured by the tablecloth as the choc malts receive a tonic dose from the Kash hip flask. “You feel that Kash, that ground rumble?”
Kash too intent on the tricky pour thought it to be someone knocking the table and remained focussed on the job at hand. Pete realised he couldn’t feel the rumble anymore. “maybe I am just on edge cos I keep on losing my hair gel, this damn Iran war and running out of bombs and friend is doing my head in. Have I got any Generals left? Thought bubbles Pete feels the slightest of pins and needles at the extremities, but the more he tries to focus the less the feeling is.
“All looking good for Prez to be on in 3?” SSPD 1 providing a brief nod to Suzy. “Yes Ma’am, all green.” Suzy nods back and casts a keen knowledgeable gaze across the field of 250 parked and ready for the show. “Always has to be a show for this one ……”. She paused at the discomfort of that “show” thought. “Anyway, doesn’t matter, the 250 want to be dazzled, let’s go.”
9.30am
Suzy gives the heads up to Trump and on stage he goes.
Sycophant Heaven erupts as the 250 roar and the Big50 rise adding decibels to the roar at their man who uplifted the 250 from complete obscurity to front of stage and enriched the power, egos and bank balances of the Big50. Back of stage, the twelve piece band swathed in the darkness of shadows warm up with an expedited version of YMCA. 600 hands start syncing with the master on stage while the roar continues, not yet connecting to the subliminal beats starting to pulse through the unstable sediments below that verdant green lawn.
“Oh God, Father what is happening to me?? I can’t stop shaking my butt and hips, I can’t control and cannot stop …”, Pete temporarily sidetracked as he notices Kash trying to raise his ‘tonic’ chocolate malt to his lips, both hands trying to settle the glass and only succeeding in making it shake even more to spill everywhere but in the most desired of places, his mouth as the entire body quivers to dog whistle heightened beats and vibrations from below.
A sonic onslaught into bodies of the Big50 as parts of the lawn sink rapidly below revealing a scything vortex of effervescent grey metallic slick geysers bursting above to be with the nearest human brain they can find, and fast.
Meanwhile across the ‘field of dreams’, 250 similarly stuck in rhythms not of their own making, many tugging at their ear lobes, hands wandering to eyeballs trying to remove an uncontrollable itch and having problems reconciling a greyish fluid oozing up from the lawn surrounding the umbrella poles.
As one they stop moving, transfixed by the gravity defying ooze, wrapping and twining with purpose up the poles to hit and explode into and out from the umbrella underside in glorious blue and white shimmering rosettes to shower down on all below. The shower is with purpose breaking up and streaming into mouths, ears and melting through eyeballs focussed on extracting many years of indoctrinated lies, hatred and conspiracies.
Colour red now complementing the blue and the white, as the patriotic canvas of the 250 stagger down to ground pulped to varying degrees. Sounds of the gut and caveman past pierce all in their howling agony while the truth bugs go to work. A coruscant of blue and white explodes skyward from the ears, mouths and eyes of the afflicted.
SSPD1 side of stage mouth agape, “I see, but not me, everyone, but not me.” Was awkwardly stated, but everything is awkward now as his glance is taken by what appeared to be word bits ‘n’ pieces melting into the blue and white gossamer.
“Bid.n cr..in.l, D..ocra.s com..ni..s, le.t are .ll hat..s, World lo.es Am..i.a, immig..nt. are .ll pedo..ph.le ra..st th.g., jai. F..ci, h.ng Hi..lar., vac..nes .re kil..ng u., sc..nc. is . sc.m, glo..l .arm..g is alar.i.t cr..” More fragments streamed out and up from the slickly red tinged lawns and prone to semi prone mangled humans.
His eyes glued ping pong fashion from the 250 to the Big50 back again and on repeat. The Big50 table and a gasp as he caught a flash of a bug smothered chrome dome violently sucked down into the vortex below. “Was that Stephen Mi…?”, the thought on hold as another and more went this way. “Mike Johnson? Karoline? Vought? Loomer? Navarro? That fella from CO2 Coalition – Wrightsone? Heritage foundation boss, ah …Roberts? wah all too quick!”
All the while he reluctantly glances towards the remaining as sinew hanging eye balls, ears, ripped tongues, lips, deep face and arms lacerations are being repaired in their rightful places by the shimmering bug wave.
Any evidence of vortexes and black below are seamlessly sealed over to the lush green lawn of before as slick grey wraps down the Umbrella poles to be below reverberating a faint ground rumble dissipating towards the Potomac twenty miles away.
Skyward, waves of sparkly blue and white tinged with red, rise towards the upper Troposphere merging with the Stratosphere embracing all of the “red, white ‘n’ blue” and on beyond to the moon and other places out there somewhere.
He managed a watch check, in light of pit events of the morning he was unsurprised but still alarmed to see it sitting at 9.34. He looked out and up again, “That is a blue-blue sky up there!! Beautiful!”
Head tilts towards the green below. The prone are no more as almost 250 are either standing or part way through, lawn is green but the furniture scattered as if a short sharp gale had ploughed through. The Big50? He counts 37 in various stages of standing, noting that Pete Hegseth is having particular difficulty brushing back a ghost mane of hair, now reduced to a rainbow striped No 1 buzzcut. “Where’s Kash? OMG, he is standing but must be 4ft tall!”
SSPD 1 vaguely recalls a field of carnage and bizarreness only seconds ago, “Oh man, seriously the brain now officially hurts, but what is my brain hurting about?” A sense of déjà vu creeping in as he realises the more he tries to focus on that thought, the less he remembers.
Distracted by something to his hard right towards centre stage, ears, eyes and then feet discover beats from below while above on stage, music and dancing are found with lyrics tugging at the memory, “What is that? “Mama told me (not to come)?” Is that Tom Jones belting it out? Is that Suzy bustin moves back there near the band?”
It certainly is Suzy Wilkies freestyling, not far from the 12 piece band still obscured in plush folds of shadows back of stage. He spots Trump front of stage near the mic seriously busting out more moves. SSPD 1 realises that his feet, knees and hips are starting to move to the groove as well, and it feels soooo good.
Eyes flick back on Suzy who mere moments before had glanced towards the Boss, stunned to witness serious freestyle dance moves in sync with the music. “Far out! he does have the moves, funky!”. She loses herself for a ghost moment to his rhythm, feeling his feel to the stage below, a soul deep rhythm filtering up from below to her hips, legs as she embraced the big stage.
SSPD 1 glued to Trump’s and Suzy’s moves cannot resist the good vibrations and beats from below and above propelling him to join in the funky on-stage groovin sweat as the band and Tom broke into “Play that Funky Music (White Boy!)”
“Goddam these beats are funky, damn that Suzy is going off, gotta move the groove with that girl”, And he doesjust that towards Suzy who spots him, a wide smile greeting him, “Hey Reg, can’t beat these beats can ya!” So saying she moonwalks towards the Pres and together they slide into a sweat laden boogie fest.
9.37am
In a blink of a beat, Blue-Blue sky bleeds to the black.
All silence descends upon the 247 ++ apart from Trump triumphant at the stage Microphone, upright, both arms up from the sides in high fists weighted on firmly splayed victory legs, Suzy puffing good ‘n’ hard next him taking a thank you bow.
A sight indeed as the now not so bewildered and astonished sort of shake themselves down, a bit unsteady checking out neighbours and partners and they all pause to the black and silence.
SSPD 1 (Reg) checking himself mid twist when silence fell and stops, looks, realising the semi-hard puffing and a ton of sweat saturating most of his bits, “Wooharr, damn that was seriously funky …mmmmmm….could do that again ……!”.
Thought silenced as the back of stage curtains weave their way out of the folded darkness propelling Reg (SSPD 1) towards Suzy and the Pres who only now are blinking and glancing towards the lawn masses.
Stage Curtin finishes nudging Reg to his standard No 1 spot. Curtin melts, melds and moulds into the shape of 12 large and vocally dangerous people dominating across stage, standing, eyes firmly outward.
Silence is broken.
“TRUTH”
“What was to be done is done”
“We are the TRUTH WATCHERS”
“Next TIME will be NO Next TIME”
“TIME IS FOR NOW”
ZZZEEEEDOG’sss are in the House !!!!!
“We are 12!! We are all!
!Get FUNKY!
On cue, a deep down soul giving backbeat permeated into being at 115bpm –“bm bm bm bm bmm bmm bmm bmmm bmmm bmmm bmmmm …. bam bam bam bam …. bam bam bam …..”
Out it went to all everywhere in that 4 on the floor beatboxin kickdrum of ZDog12. Bass, then high hat kicks in from somewhere within the 12 onstage. To Reg’s senses it had that sultry groove of Crowdkillers doing their thing. “Nice!” SSPD 1, as he maintains position near the Pres, with a teeny bit of hip and foot swivel, just as Trump and Suzy are doing.
On it builds, slowly as the 12 aren’t in any hurry, comfortably working their way into a twenty four hour session and more depending on encores. “Bmm Bmm Bmmm Bmmm …….”
Those on stage too knackered to move anything more than slow medium. “Suzy, what is that?” Trump yells above the funky beats and sounds, “Reg, you see what I see?”. Reg a bit startled that the Pres knew his name.
Reg in job mode didn’t dwell, instead focussing out to the far sky seeing what the President did. “Oh yes Sir, looks like the back of a really harsh thunderstorm, but the ground is bone dry here …” He tails off as distant rhythmic rumbling is heard, realising he was mouthing “TRUTH” in time to the 4 on the floor beats propelling the storm to all points of the compass.
Reg, the Pres and Suzy front and centre of the 12 spread across stage behind, beatboxing out the Universal groove in a lazy afternoon groove at 9.46am with the Sun out and stuff all breeze.
“Suzy! What the heck have you done for catering? Why are the tables and stuff in such a mess? Terrible!! This is a Party and mainly my Party oh and for all of you as well …..”. Trump stops as catering staff reappeared righting tables, napkins, and everything else that needed tidying up. Sponsors food and beverage started arriving as they exited the stage and down the stairs for Trump to park at the head of the Orange table.
Suzy standing back next to Reg, “Ok Reg, what did you feel, hear and see over the last few hours that might be considered out of the ordinary? Reg appeared quizzical and she prompted, “You know, seeing and being forced to believe that what I was seeing was true. All the Gore!! What of ZeeeDog12? Human? Don’t think so! Sheeit, the ground had serious groove laden rhythm! How do you explain that Reg??? That word “Truth”?????
“Ma’am, haven’t got much more to state than you. I agree something completely different happened, way more than out of the ordinary”. “One thing is certain we don’t discuss with Boss until after the Party, unless he brings it up first.” Suzy finishes and Reg nods as they both focus to the job of the Party, both internally reflecting on those questions, but the more they attempted to analyse what they had seen, the more their memories refused to cooperate and the Party went on.
Stay tuned for Episode 7 landing tomorrow(June 2nd) – Truth has its Way
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