'The 'New' Swamp Of D.C.'
In the wee hours, in between the setting and the rising of the sun, all was seemingly quiet and peaceful in the 'new' swamp of Washington, D.C., where even the newly relocated blood sucking swamp critters were wise enough to sleep with one eye open. Where even in fitful slumber they were reminded that they were the bottom feeders in the political food chain. All slept relatively peacefully, yet still furtively as was their nature.
And then, of a sudden, the relative stillness of the night air was broken by the sound that they all feared, the sound of all the nocturnal sounds that always sends chills down their spineless backs; it was the mournful wail of the ever feared, D.C. Swamp Master, the Nocturnal Tweeter! Tweeeeet, Tweeeeet, Tweet!, came it's plaintive call heard far and wide across the unforgiving landscape causing even the most hardened soulless swamp critter to shudder in its skivvies, knowing that the swamp boss was stirring fitfully, and sitting on his coveted gold encrusted 'throne'. Tweet! Tweet!, came the siren call of the swamp, and all who heard, and feared this blood curdling wail now stood in their hovels, facing their swamp masters den, and in unison took up the cry themselves, and stomped to the incessant beat of these nocturnal tweets. Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!, they all tweeted in unison, so that their master could hear, and know that they were all of one unwitting, senseless mind, and knowing that to do otherwise meant they would be consumed in a political blood fest by their fellow swamp critters.
And then, all was quiet again, the swamp was as still as swamps can be but for the chirping of lesser critters, and things that go Bump, in the night. The swamp critters scurried back into their burrows, rubbing their sweaty, trembling little hands, feeling that for the moment they were safe, but knowing that sunrise would bring the 'public wolves' that circle their swamp day in, and day out, looking for morsels of carelessly discarded 'tweet-bits', and constantly snapping at their heels trying to snare the weak, the lame, and the un-wary as they darted hither and yon, to and from their masters den, while doing his every bidding, no matter the sleepless nights, and the unremitting, and disgusting, political taste left in their mouths after their frenzied feeding sessions with their swamp master.
And such is life in the 'new' swamp of D.C.
;)
BuddyBlack 3/17
In the wee hours, in between the setting and the rising of the sun, all was seemingly quiet and peaceful in the 'new' swamp of Washington, D.C., where even the newly relocated blood sucking swamp critters were wise enough to sleep with one eye open. Where even in fitful slumber they were reminded that they were the bottom feeders in the political food chain. All slept relatively peacefully, yet still furtively as was their nature.
And then, of a sudden, the relative stillness of the night air was broken by the sound that they all feared, the sound of all the nocturnal sounds that always sends chills down their spineless backs; it was the mournful wail of the ever feared, D.C. Swamp Master, the Nocturnal Tweeter! Tweeeeet, Tweeeeet, Tweet!, came it's plaintive call heard far and wide across the unforgiving landscape causing even the most hardened soulless swamp critter to shudder in its skivvies, knowing that the swamp boss was stirring fitfully, and sitting on his coveted gold encrusted 'throne'. Tweet! Tweet!, came the siren call of the swamp, and all who heard, and feared this blood curdling wail now stood in their hovels, facing their swamp masters den, and in unison took up the cry themselves, and stomped to the incessant beat of these nocturnal tweets. Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!, they all tweeted in unison, so that their master could hear, and know that they were all of one unwitting, senseless mind, and knowing that to do otherwise meant they would be consumed in a political blood fest by their fellow swamp critters.
And then, all was quiet again, the swamp was as still as swamps can be but for the chirping of lesser critters, and things that go Bump, in the night. The swamp critters scurried back into their burrows, rubbing their sweaty, trembling little hands, feeling that for the moment they were safe, but knowing that sunrise would bring the 'public wolves' that circle their swamp day in, and day out, looking for morsels of carelessly discarded 'tweet-bits', and constantly snapping at their heels trying to snare the weak, the lame, and the un-wary as they darted hither and yon, to and from their masters den, while doing his every bidding, no matter the sleepless nights, and the unremitting, and disgusting, political taste left in their mouths after their frenzied feeding sessions with their swamp master.
And such is life in the 'new' swamp of D.C.
;) BuddyBlack 3/17
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