MATCHES

Mickey Bump is sitting in the NY office. he takes a pause from phone interviews to pick his nose and eat it.

Bump: gold is gold.

*ring ring*

Bump: hello?

Codrus: so we cool again?

Bump: yes, boss.

Hilary knocks and lets herself in the ajar door. Larry follows. Cardozo flies in last.

Hilary: congratulations, Mr. president! loved your first address to the nation by phone. yeah, you're right, it's gonna be okay. it was a hard-fought campaign. you got me with that rabbit punch

Bump: all's fair in war. politics is the animal kingdom.

Cardozo: sir you make me in charge of Sea World and my loyalty won't be swayed by that red hood no matter how good the ride. read my beak, no new taxes. that park will not be a burden in the wallet cos i plan on disbanding it and freeing the whales.

Bump scratches a match on his beard made scrabble by continued Stones use. he lights his cuban and puffs hard through his nose which is blocked by his two fingers hooking his nostrils.

Bump: for the best. all whales vote republican, right? it's a known oceanic bloc.

Larry: the House is still white, won't be completely gold until it gets razed and built back up with Stones. hey it'd be harder in copper. shall i call the Brits?

Hilary: i got this.

Bump slides open his desk to reveal a piping hot tray of plain red Starbucks cups of hot peppermint mocha.

Bump: don't worry, no more fucking soda cans. don't worry, it's actual fluid, i know you're not a strongman like me. can't take swallowing beans. remember, the zarf is not edible. let's strategize. i love this time of day, i can play Wolf, we only need one estate. everyone whose name starts with an L *puts up the L Loser sign on his big forehead* out of the situation room. okay, whatcha we got?

Hilary: the monk's forces are gathering steam, mostly when the days inexplicably go to 130 degrees. i know it's not global warming but it must be something. his army increased drastically in a couple of weeks.

Cardozo: that's what happens when the entire animal kingdom is your army. no need to bring back the draft.

Bump: hey Pantsuit Paula, did you slip into something more comfortable when you went to warn Santa?

Hilary: i'd prefer it if you call me veep. the North Pole is deceptively fortified, the big man hasn't done a lot of walls or anything cos he only works once a year so money is thin. he's relied on the whiteout effect of the constant blizzards to keep enemies at bay, but this enemy is different. the elves vowed to me they'd give their lives and bodies for the cause. candy canes can be whittled into shivs in an emergency. Rudolph says his red light is a laser that can be fired but only once and the user loses his life in the process so he'll make it count. Mrs. Claus will stay in the underground bunker like she usually does during peacetime, out of sight. soft targets like the gingerbread houses no one cares about, they'll get eaten either way.

Bump: i swear if they pull one hair on that beard to prove if he's real i'll bomb the shit outta them.

Larry peers though the ajar door.

Larry: this is fuck. i wish i never agreed to do this. i'm moving my head back and forth side to side up and down but don't see the cameras. where are they? hidden? found footage? i see a bit of dust coming from the background picture of the White House lawn. i.....can.....go through? and i'm on the White House lawn, the actual one, i stoop down and feel the grass, it's wet and glistening on my cramped fingers. the White House is on my back. the laughs should be intermittent, the silence of the audience should be apparent, where's the bump into commercial? i haven't seen Bump flub a line yet, that's not like him.

the camera pans in past Larry on the lawn close up to the White House window and peers into it. Bump is on top of the table gleefully waving the flag back and forth, it sways gracefully despite the weight of the gold pole. the red flag with the outline of the Christmas tree and the bright star on top colored in all yellow and IBTSOT on top. the camera pans back out past the lawn to the black iron gate adorned with  victory posters with Bump's runon face in the middle and IGBO below smelling of fresh ink. there is not a sound on the street.

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Binny: i can't pull it up! the little mini keyboard comes up but then it gets stuck!

Quinny: just don't panic. or do. nothing will help. remember, Shonda Rhimes runs her entire television empire from an ipad mini.

two large burly manhands grip the sisters' neckbacks and quietly relieve the tensive nerves flaring there. it's Yayray.

Binny: baby Ray. kiss. i'm happy to see you but not on the side where we can't do any good.

Quinny: Ray baby. kiss. we are so sorry for everything. can you help us tho?

Yayray: oh this is the side you can help the most. it's alright, i can still be rebellious over here. no need to apologize, except when you do, when you do need to it's vitally important to apologize sincerely, it's the only way to move forward. as i always used to say, auntie, hold out your palm for a present.

Quinny: you never used to say that. not to me.

Yayray: oh, yeah, just to my friends.

Yayray transforms into one tiny matchstick, hits the acute angle intersection of the life- and love-lines on Quinny's palm and into her pocket.

Yayray transforms into a life-size matchstick and falls out of the pocket. he looks directly into the camera.

Yayray: hold up, one more thing, been wanting to get this off my chest all post-death: FUCK YOU, REDDIT!!!

Yayray turns into a line of unstable gleaming fire.

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Imzhan and Cotard are side by side flying in the sky holding onto the silver bar of Imzhan's hang glider. the winds splash their faces and sweep their thick hairs and mustaches and beards of rolls. well Imzhan's hair anyway.

Cotard: woo! thanks for the save, man.

Imzhan: just happened to be in the air area. airea. hey things are starting to cascade, they're happening faster than we can plan for them. that's why we need a plan. we have to turn to the end of the book to look for clues. you have to be ready with the best weapon from now. forget the wood sword. not even the white sword which works on most everything in this world will work. go straight to the magical sword. what sort of weapon are you using? you have it backwards. this world is backwards so it needs a backwards solution. i'll show you when we get back to the base. take it from a hanglider. after my nap. you drive.

Imzhan lets go of one arm to give Cotard a salute from his forehead and almost slips off. Cotard isn't expecting any of this and frenzily struggles to right the air ship.

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Wolf is on instagram and liking with a quickness. he likes any pic that has any sort of reference, mention, or picture of the famous symbol that popped up in the wake of the tragedy.

Baleen (DM): what's up, fam? wanna play? i need a diversion.

Wolf: wow my face is all over the place! must have gotten 200 new followers, didn't know these people existed, but now that i peruse their accounts, i'm liking their feeds. hey dude, i think the internet is evil. none of this would have happened without the internet.

Baleen: oh you're back to that again. okay. but how about next week?

Wolf: video games, too. i can't in good conscience play playstation ever again, yamean? messages these days are sent too quickly, they spread before you have a chance to digest them.

Baleen: oh. playstation's my favorite you know. anyway, i'm still feeling depressed over the incident. my incident. but the incident, the one over there, does put things in perspective, it gets you out of your petty problems, the little things which are always burrowing into your skin. bye fam. maybe next week we can all get back to normal.

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Codrus has arrived in Rio spreading his terror with a quickness. his accuracy is intermittent and devillike. his attacks so swift there is no time for mercy. his cause is his cause alone. he uses poor Kenyatta to do his demented work. when he raises his arm, Kenyatta raises her tardigrade-controlled arm to shoot or bomb. this keeps his mind clean.

a faltering announcement from a robotic unhuman voice comes from the loudpeakers of the stadium: "stay in your seats. terrorists have infiltrated the stadium. or get up and fight. it's the only way to stop it." an air of somber scare douses the wet field. those who still have their senses clutch each other in heavy hugs through their mittens over their seats. those drugged get up glazily and walk out over flags on the ground with a slow steady slumber.

Codrus reaches the house. it was a trick. a trick he saw through. they're all there: Kenyatta's beloved Bridge and all the rest. sometimes you can be too clever. Codrus sends a weeping Kenyatta in to sweep the place. he puts his finger in his sucking mouth and it's as if he's pushing a button on his uvula. shooting. no countershooting. bomb. the ensuing smoke creates a platform for a reflective screen off which Codrus watches like a movie

THE DAYMARE HE'S HAVING, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

a horse gallops out of the burnt edifice. the horse from before in Brazil, remember? the one who became a human horse? Kenyatta emerges from the smoke mascara permanently stained with her damp dank tears. she can't control herself but she wills a stutteringly-sung IL PAGLIACCO out of her crooked mouth.

Codrus: *long big guttural sigh* i'm so fucking tired. belief is dangerous. truth wins out. the one truth. the only truth. the real truth. it will come out soon enough. i can't believe those that sacrifice for air. a couple more of these things and there won't be a need for these things anymore.

Codrus puts his finger in his mouth and closes his wet gaping maw onto it. he pushes the button of his uvula again. dial tone.

Codrus: for the ring ring.

Bump: hello?

Codrus: better get over here, your horse is running away.

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Bump: oh thank you, boss, you know me better than i know myself! that's all i've ever wanted! every little boy dreams of getting a pony. i'll be right over.

Codrus: nevermind. you are my middle man but i keep you on to entertain me in dark times. i don't cut you a check. it's already on the White House lawn, see it?

Bump: thanks, boss. lady, ready Hoof Force One.

Bump rides away on the horse now branded with a huge Bumphead on its side. the horse bristles in pain and snorts in Bump's fat head in rage. Hilary quickly convenes the real boardroom in Bump's absence.

Hilary: Madam Pope? get your pert ass over here. we need to wage the real war.

the Pope: okay, madam President, or should i say Dick. but i'd rather have peace than piecemeal.

Hilary: eat on the way, you only eat those silly crackers anyway.

the Pope arrives at the Gold House incognito and the two powerful women hug. with a heavy sigh the Pope takes out some yellow powder from her traveling censer and places a big ball of mud of it on her tongue. she swallows. she places more on her tongue.

Hilary: snowball it into my mouth.

the two women lie together on the couch next to the table and hit each other's uvulas with their respected tongues. power grows. the horse bucks Bump off and onto the hard dusty trail though Bump maintains his gleeful smile. before Bump has a chance to realize this isn't a natural occurrence in nature, the horse gets on its hind legs, walks deliberately like a human, takes one upright stance back and uncorks a corker of an uppercut under Bump's chin, leaving a permanent cloven mark there.

Hilary and the Pope highfive.