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Chapter 11: Like Warm Rubber Massacre—Washington, Inc. — Nursing Gertrude — Laney vs. Emperatriz — Laney vs. The Gipper — Laney vs. The First Nancy
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138 ~ Year of the Rhinoceros Chapter 11 Like Warm Rubber Massacre—Washington, Inc. — Nursing Gertrude — Laney vs. Emperatriz — Laney vs. The Gipper — Laney vs. The First Nancy FOLLOWING THE CASE REVIEW CONFRONTATION with Hunsecker, Laney Dracos returned to her office to collect a few files. She had no idea the fate that awaited Becky, and if she’d known, she would have stayed at Becky’s side to comfort her. Nevertheless, during that time, and over the weekend, unusual things happened to Laney. Not least of these was a face-to-face meeting with President Ronald Reagan and The First Nancy. On Sunday morning she recalled the events, and using an Amstraad word processor, typed them into her personal journal (along with her latest poetry drafts and fragments): ________________________ (Note to self: when completed, submit below to Prairie Schooner, Paris Review, and Quarterly West) The Washingtonian The head of (it) self-esteems from every window in the ship-of-State Department—dumbing down from the ports of that penny-loafer alcazar breeding Olympian hubris with a Versailles-like disdain— M. B. Neff ~ 139 inflating and dreaming no new Camelot round, but only condos in Burke, townhomes in Glen Echo, perpetual esteem in equity. Between attacks of carpal tunnel and carpool palaver, the Washingtonian roves like a mammoth president surrounded at all times by a human flock deathly afraid of anonymity. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (need something here) With up so floating memo-pads down the Washingtonian dravels (dream plus travel) in frantic droves out to the Atlantic coast, to Bethany, Chincoteague, Nagshead, to hot sand, peeling feet and cracker-board houses vaguely reminiscent of a godscape in Cape Cod— the faces and breakers a pure Kennedy . . . ________________________ Oct. 25–27, 1984 Gertrude Stein finally died in me by 9:00 A.M. this Sunday morning, like a vampire steaming to atoms in sunlight—but it didn’t matter because she’d already done her job, I.E. clawed my brains into equal parts fear and loathing. Thank you, Hunter S.T. However, prior to matters [54.165.122.173] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 21:34 GMT) 140 ~ Year of the Rhinoceros of the 666 prez and his demon seed wife, I MUST exorcise the events of Friday afternoon: Hunsecker’s review meeting plopped like a turd, as usual, and of course I was late—some last minute admin at Ormsby’s office. Anyway, I lurked outside the conference room, preferring to pass on the customary deluge of excrement. Lots of guilt for leaving my dearest Becky to wallow alone, sure, though it failed to matter because my will-to-avoid collapsed shortly after I heard the Hunsecker spewing out with his morality moronics. So I had to buck up, ride down once more like that Fort-Apache-bubblebutt John Wayne—and, yes, I took the stand and scared the shit out of everyone. So am I FUCKING GIRLY? No! But do I LOVE getting attention? Yes! I’ll do anything for it. People I don’t even know have accused me of having an attention addiction, a problem every bit as serious as gambling , sex, or heroin . . . Anyway, the real question is, why do I let that prick-faced Hunsecker irritate me to the point of dreaming him buried alive? Because he’s a low life scuz? A white trash conservative with delusions of intelligence? An ass boy for the White House? All of the above? Whatever. I have to mull this out sooner or later. I don’t want the ‘me’ I will become to look back on all this one day and fail to remember the best in passion—and above all I must stay passionate, for God help me, I believe in Heaven and I fear I’m an ignorant bitch—certainly, a selfish one at least. ________________________ Depression The body flat ecoskeletal words, too few She was absorbed M. B. Neff ~ 141 in the erosion of others mesomphalos of herself ________________________ Have NOT yet heard a report from Becky on the subject of the ‘Garden of Eden’ fellow, the new Hunsecker hire from Pigsknuckle; but I know the case review meeting really shook him up—I saw the what-in-God’sname look on his face after Beast Boy shredded Keat Linderhart—and that’s a good sign, sure, only I have to test him myself. Also, I’m certain that Pigsknuckle is smitten with moi. Why? Because he can’t stop eyelicking all my best parts. Will I...