2) the Grand Vizer’s Garden Party {{{ WARNING: If you are a snowflake, this chapter contains descriptions traditional methods and current legal, government endorsed methods of animal farming. As a work of satire, this should not in any way be assumed as support for these practices. }}} The Red Dragon left Denver, driving her red Pagani Utopia Roadster with its manual transmission, heading into the mountains. She turned onto a side road that wound through a mountain pass, sliding sideways through the turns, thrilled to have personal control of the torque to the wheels that her 864-H.P. motor produced, as her car roared and screamed like a tiger up the mountain. It was a little bit light though, and she had to tone it down as she sped back down the mountain into the valley below, lest her tires loose traction leaving her sliding off a cliff while passing cars in two lane no-passing zones with oncoming traffic. She drove through a few small communities giggling as pedestrians caught off guard dodged her speeding car, dropping their possessions, giving her the finger. It just thrilled her even more to piss them off, as she laughed out loud. She turned again onto a small narrow paved road, and navigated her way through multiple turns on gravel roads in the widening valley to the old church property hidden away in the back, now posing as a luxury Christian children’s summer camp for tax-evasion, hosting week-long brainwashing sessions for kids of the ultra-rich, while serving as a private political gathering place for those who don’t want outside attention. This is where the nemesis of tomorrow builds their social connections, like all big-dollah country clubs — and also exclusive college fraternities. Daily mind-control sessions were blared out over the camp-wide loudspeaker, echoing into the mountains in the surrounding National Forest while the kids were there, and at night they had a giant spotlight that they focused on the mountainside, intentionally destroying the peace of the woods and the hiking trails therein with noise and light pollution. She blew past the paved parking lot, drove behind the campus buildings, and onto the paved road in the middle of the camp, into the central area, and stopped at the "no parking sign" in the grass on the round-a-bout center hub. She gracefully, fluidly slid out of her car and walked around to the back of the central clubhouse, to the garden filled with people where the party had already started. As yet unnoticed, she quietly approached from behind. “Hello, The Donald” she said so sweetly, almost enticing; he turned around, as she stood up strait pushing out her chest. She was wearing a halterless, sleeveless red sequined high-cut dress, and subtly waved her breasts at him, flirtatiously. Turning around, Stumpie started reaching out asking “Oh! Can I touch!?”, but Melania instantly slapped down his hand with an angry look on her face. “Oh, sorry dear” he responded. The Red Dragon simply smiled, waved her chest at him again, and turned away to walk into the garden party. Her first priority was to visit with Horemheb and Ay. They were tied and nailed upside down to upside down Ahnk crosses. She knelt down next to their heads and quietly asked “so where is your savior now, huh? Oh, he’s out SURFING. Too bad!” Horemheb looked her in the eye with defiance. “You will never get suffering out of us.” He closed his eyes and returned to meditating. She walked up to a table next to the pool. “Hello Cash” she said with pastry icing in her voice. He just looked up at her with those eyes, those eyes, not saying a word. Then he passed his crack pipe to Heet Pegdeath, who was leaning on the table, his head nodded over, with a bottle of wine in his hand. But Heet Pegdeath could barely lift an arm, and dropped the pipe. Cash Patel just looked at it on the ground with those eyes. Those eyes. Then he grabbed the bottle of wine from Pegdeath’s hand and took a swig, as the Red Dragon smiled at him, turning away. Still, the remaining crowd had failed to notice her arrival. They were all too caught up in their own lives and social intercourse amongst themselves. She walked up behind young Baron standing next to a table where his older brothers sat, reached up, and tapped him on the left shoulder. He screamed “don’t kill me‼” and immediately darted to his father Stumpie and tried to hide under his suit jacket behind him, bumping his head on the sewage pump doctors had installed to keep backups from leaking out of his mouth. Then Baron yelled out “OH GOD” and ran out of the Garden without ever looking behind him. She smiled, and one of Baron’s brothers said “Hey. Lady. Wanna buy some crypto?” She just smiled at them. “Wanna buy some death-drones? Heroin? We got the Argentinian white by the kilo, the Columbian red’s coming soon. Oh, I know, you want some red barbies. A hundred for $100. Wholesale? 100 milligrams each!…” The other brother replied “just look at that dress.” The first replied back “A dollar gets you a million if she ever wears it again…” She just walked away smiling, as they chopped up a rock of coke with a razor, lined it up, and ran it up their noses. She walked over to the blonde chiq. “Hello Natalie.” “Oh, hello my Queen.” She bowed her head, and curtsied, and dropped her printer. The plastic outer shell popped off and a small bag of meth fell out, that she quickly grabbed up and hid in her dress pocket. “You’re doing a wonderful job babysitting my little Alligator boy” the Red Dragon said, smiling. “Thank you my Queen.” She bowed her head again. “Keep up the good work!” the Red Dragon said, walking away. “Yes, my Queen.” She walked over to a group of guys and a woman holding up a naked-girly magazine centerfold, laughing and joking. “Jeffery! Lainey! How are you enjoying that new island I gave you?” “Oh, hello my Queen. It’s fine” Epstein replied. “Just the plane flights are a bit long, but I’ll adapt. I’ve been spending more time in the Philippines lately, anyway; they don’t recognize me there with the plastic surgery, and the young girls there love rich daddys. But the flights to Argentina are a bit longer than the old place. And the flights to New York and Vegas to play poker with the boys. Without the 727, … — … those little private jet things. You know. Just cramped. It feels like a prison cell or something.” “We’re about to take care of that for you. Ever heard of a GVT7800?” She was testing him. She could feel if he was lying. “No … … … What’s this, the latest jet from Honda?” “Nope. Now being made in Argentina. You’ll love it. And Gigi, that dress is just perfect on you. You know. For your age and all.” She smiled, and turned around and walked away. She saw Snylon Puscle in the kiddie pool, floating on an inflatable sitting cross-legged. He had stripped down to his socks and tighties and was holding an Amanita in his left hand, and a Jian shou qing in his right. Both eyes were moving in different directions trying to focus as she approached. “I have a brilliant new idea, better than that boring Boring Company” he said. She replied before he could say another word “we are now introducing tech that makes your boring companies obsolete. Don’t worry about your ideas, just focus on the tasks I give you.” His eyes spun around more, then he said “Yes, my Queen.” The Red Dragon walked over to the backside of the clubhouse, where JD Vance, Peter Thiel, Curtis Yarvin, Larry and David Ellison, David Sacks, Erik Prince, and Garrett Langley were standing, surrounded by a group of spectators in business suits sitting in chairs. They had set up a dozen 2D cardboard cutout standup children, all looking and/or dressed either Black/Brown, Hispanic/Latino, or Middle-Eastern/Asian, all holding balloons. They were playing darts, and Vance handed her a dart as she walked up. “Wanna play?” he asked. “One point for the head, five for an eye, but you loose ten points if you hit a balloon.” “No, you boys have your fun.” “Well, come back later, we will be using camera-guided A.I. controlled self-propelled darts. Just press the button. Much more fun to watch ’em just drop like flies in a mist of D.D.T. We’re working out a new company, Zimmerman’s L.L.C., to market the concept to home-owner’s associations so citizens can mark those cowardly hoodie-criminals trying to hide their faces, walking the streets in front of people’s houses, with non-washable paintballs, and then eventually to police departments around the U.S. to use in conjunction with A.I. and Flock cameras, and then globally.” “Maybe. But I just like watching you boys have fun doing it yourselves” the Red Dragon said. Then she walked on over to the next nearest group, where Clark Psukyerghturd and Sundar Pichai were surrounded by geeks in ill-fitting brown suits lacking neckties with white socks and Birkenstock sandals, while they were playing an epic battle of Donkey Kong on a 1980s arcade console. the Red Dragon said out loud “**I** got a Utopia Roadster”. Half the crowd suddenly cheered at the arcade game, as the other half moaned, and Psukyerghturd, not realizing who he was talking to, turned around and screamed out “NO WAY!”, upset he had been outclassed; but the Red Dragon just kept walking. A Stumpie brother across the patio loudly announced “A dollar gets you $100,000 if she ever drives it again.” The other brother replied “Two gets you $20,000 if she doesn’t wreck it busting through the security gate at the airport.” Seth Claytoes was nearby taking photos of his fully-paid-for wife posing in her bikini while lounging in a chair with her legs uncrossed, one up on the chair arm; he was so focused, he was unaware of others around him, isolating himself in a little bubble in his mind. The Red Dragon just smiled again as she walked by, proud of the little puppets she created to take the public and political heat and the blame for the "delightful" things her cohort Chimps were blindly doing for her worldwide. She walked over to Stephen Miller, Steve Whitkoff, Jeff Self, Matt Albence, David Venturella, Todd Lyons, George Zoley, Larry Fink, Robert Kapito, Patrick Swindle, Thomas W. Beasley, Robert Crants and T. Don Hutto, all just standing there not saying a word, watching Jeff Niklaus demonstrate his shock gloves on a freshly sheered young lamb. He grabbed a leg, and the lamb fell to the ground shaking violently and uncontrollably. “So here we see how to use this weapon when on camera” he was saying. “But behind closed doors or even out-of-site of a dashcam on a roadside security check, just put one hand here on the heart, and one right here behind the left ear, and! …” the lamb's legs all stiffened strait and stopped moving. “Whoops! The undesirable prisoner is dead. It was JUST an accident. Nothing we could do, the prisoner was struggling. No marks left, no bruises, no indication of how it happened. Oh well! These gloves keep everybody safer, even with accidents. That’s the schtick” he said, as he sliced the lamb’s neck, collected the blood in a pan, and drank it as it ran down his chin. Jeff Self looked at the Red Dragon and started saying “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!…” and the rest started to join him in the chant. “Stand down boys, and stand by. The time will come. For now just focus on mental torture; very soon you will be able to beat and torture and kill them outright. I promise you all a neck … or two … to sink your teeth into” she said to them, and they quieted down, lips still snarling. “Stephen, you’re doing great. Perfect job organizing this gathering. We should call you the Grand Vizier of Murika!” She walked around to Jared and Ivanka Kushner, lounging by the poolside, sipping Champagne. Ivanka was in her latest bikini-with-a-bow that her luxury fashion company was peddling at $14,000, while Jared was in his tux with the bow-tie. They had a live debeaked flamingo, its feet encased in concrete blocks, that they were plucking the feathers off of one by one, as it screamed in pain. Ivanka said “for the loggerhead turtle soup tonight, as an appetizer. Wanna watch as we drop the live turtle into the boiling pot and rip off its shell?” Jared added proudly “They’re endangered you know, or so they say, so it costs a FORTUNE!” “Oh, well, thanks, but I don’t have time. Jared, are you ready for the presentation?” “Yes, my Queen” he replied. “Good. We should call you Akhenaten and Nefertiti. You remind me of them. Maybe you were…” she smiled slyly. “I WILL be the Pharaoh. First Palestine and Albania, then Amerika, Canada, Mexico, Greenland, and Iceland. Then … THEN the empire of Egypt will control the whole world again!” His eyes grew wider and wider as he spoke. “Akhenaten and Nefertiti served ME. Don’t forget that, lest your heads explode with ambition and treason. Now, King of Palestine. What have we got for details on executing our global plan? Give us your presentation. If it works out, there is definitely a position for you as my Grand Vizier.” The Red Dragon walked away and headed inside to the powder room. Jared said to Ivanka “It’s like she believes every word she says. It won’t be long and we won’t need her anymore.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant instantly hustled over. “Prepare a path of flowers going inside to the presentation room.” He stood up and announced to the group in the pool garden “O.K. everybody, it’s time. Let’s all go inside and meet with the investor groups for instructions on our proceeding steps.” Ivanka stood up and adorned herself with a polyester and satin robe with little small bows. The servants arrived with bucketloads of orchids that they spread in front of Jared and Ivanka as they walked toward and into the central clubhouse on the old church property. Jared made sure to twist and crush and destroy the flowers with every step, as more servants instantly cleaned up the messy evidence left on the ground behind them as they walked. JD Vance, being the upstanding soldier in service to the Constitution, his country, and always thinking first about his fellow soldiers, picked up Heet Pegdeath and threw him over a shoulder to carry him inside. Heet Pegdeath half opened his eyes and said with a drunken slurry “I just have to check their scrotums personally. [mumble, mumble, mumble] national security [mumble, mumble] testosterone.” “Relax Kegbreath, I'm not a Democratic commie from the F.B.I. arresting you. It’s just me.” Vance said. But Heet Pegdeath was already passed out again. They assembled inside on the stage set up at one end of the central event/reception room. Pegdeath was attended to by 3 servants, who kept his body and head upright in his chair, with sunglasses to hide his eyes. Banners with the five-point-star adorned the stage and walls. The room was full of personal wealth and retirement fund investment managers from around the country, and even some from around the world, that had been bussed in from Denver, due to limited parking and a desire to keep traffic and attention to the old church property low. Nosey local newspaper reporters would love to know why stuffy businessmen were gathering at a closed for the season tax-exempt children’s church summer-camp on labor-day weekend. The nearby town was small and full of gossiping socialites. Jared Kushner stood behind the podium, as servants threw flower-petals in the air around him. He signaled them to stop, so he could achieve full attention of his audience. He began: “For 250 years now, we, the five-point-star partnership, have flourished and spread our influence worldwide. Using oil and the U.S. financial system, we achieved near complete dominance of economic markets everywhere, and the interconnected web they create. We all know this. We all know that scheme is fading. That was part of our plan for the Iranian war; to double the profits of oil investors, as they look for other investments. We will of course inform you when to divest in oil futures, before our planned economic shock ends and prices drop back down to a higher norm, carefully calculated from purchase data during the price-shock, before the unsustainable prices explode the whole economy and harm our other investments. Once the price settles back down to a new low again, we will inform you that it is safe to re-accumulate these stocks before they begin to regrow. The details are in the portfolios we have for you. “We all saw minerals for solar and other tech becoming more and more vital, as we strive to control those industries and inflate the price through global corporate ownership vs. competitive localized socialist governments serving the needs of their people. We are trying to drive them into insolvency and discourage investment thereof using micro-nuclear generators, but that is limited at this time while demand is growing. And on the near horizon, is fusion-power. That will nearly eliminate the oil dynamic overnight, and even stand above solar and wind. “So how to retain our socio-economic power and control? Through food, of course. And of course we have been on that for over 100 years past, with four families of our partnership controlling almost all the food in the U.S. We all know and profit off that greatly. But now is the time for worldwide control of food. We all know the war in Ukraine is about cropland and minerals, but we have the world focused on minerals. Only the regions that depend heavily on Ukraine’s food supply worry about the croplands and food. We need the whole world to depend on OUR food. “So, how to do that? We’ve been working with Dow Chemical to enhance both the effectiveness and longevity of Agent Orange, commonly known as RoundUp in the U.S. We have been testing it in the National Forest of California in the heartland of those prehistoric obsolete heathen savage socialist-communist Injuns, and as Dow chemists promised, its ability to cause cancer — ah, I mean its association with cancer — has statistically shown improved numbers, with more and more people needing hospitalization and other treatments, as we have the Supreme Court embracing our monkeyed-science. No more worrying about universities calling out our science as corporate-manufactured junk. So put your investments there, and with our pharmaceutical companies that are creating cancer symptom medications. We already have contracts with the U.S. now, I’m sure you heard, to poison large portions of the National Forest, with rainwater runoff poisoning the rivers and streams, and the croplands in California specifically, increasing the demand for our Roundup-Ready G.M.O. seeds. More details about that part of our plan will be revealed at a later date. “With your investments in Dow, we can ramp up production of Agent Orange to new highs. With that will begin phase one of our new plan: China’s food supply. As you see, we are pushing China with threats of economic isolation over Iranian oil. They are playing the long-game and sitting back, waiting to see. But they won’t see this coming. “Our C.I.A. controlled sleeper cells in Pakistan will become active. These are deep-undercover Hezbollah militants that the C.I.A. fooled into thinking the Hezbollah leaders were co-ordinating with. Same as the 9-11 attacks and the initial attack on Israel’s peace festival by our C.I.A.-hoodwinked sleeper cells, they will attack unexpectedly with modern rockets and supersonic drones and destroy half of Tel-Aviv, where the lower working-class traditional Mizrahi Jews live, not the Ashkenazi neighborhoods of course, overwhelming the Iron Dome which is already finding supplies draining away fast. Israel will respond by ramping up the war on Iran and Lebanon, and attack Pakistan. Our sleeper cells in India will then attack Pakistan also, and the fear in the population there will spark a real regional war, as long-time enemies from the Hindu-Muslim conflicts to the Suni-Shia conflicts to economic conflicts between competing local countries begin to fight for their interests and/or survival. Eventually China will have to decide to protect its current financial investments regionwide, as Pakistan and Israel and Iran and Saudi-Arabia target their interests. “Through the shell companies we have previously provided for you to invest in, we have been building and stockpiling drones for years now, using tech developed from the war in Ukraine and beyond. They are A.I. self-empowered, instructed, co-ordinated and guided by our latest supercomputers. The manufacturers dissolve every year before attracting attention and having to pay taxes, leaving no trace; then they reform elsewhere, before disappearing again. We have the Pentagon ready to purchase these drones, feeding you a massive investment dividend. “Meanwhile, our partners in Russia have their drone program ready. Over the course of one week, we shall deploy these drones. Russia will wipe out Kiev and end the war, and take control of the farmland there, returning it to the rightful hands of the five-point-star partnership — us. It is simply unthinkable that farmers or countries could own their own land. In the meantime, our drones will attack China’s heartland and southeastern food-growing regions with our new Super Agent Orange, decimating their crops and food supply. All their resources will be drained, and their worldwide focus reduced to themselves, as they try to defend themselves against our overwhelming drone army. “But the real kicker will be our actions in central Africa. We will spread Agent Orange over most of the rainforest there, expanding the Sahara desert by 50% to 75% overnight. That will destabilize the entire world’s environment, and throw global temps up 10 to 20 degrees Fahrenheit overnight, as the region creates most of the weather experienced by Europe, western Europe especially, as well as the Eastern U.S. and down to Venezuela and Brazil and South America in general. As it is now, dust storms in the Sahara create the basis for rain as humidity condenses on airborne particles. As Africa becomes a giant dustbowl across the equator, dust will be scattered even farther, as temps drive the humidity higher, creating super-storms that will devastate ports worldwide as they begin submerging under rising seas as the remaining glaciers and polar icecaps suddenly melt. “As global catastrophe takes control, WE will have the food in our breadbaskets — the central and western U.S., northern Mexico, Canada, and Ukraine, in partnership with our five-point-star allies in India — Bank of India, Disney Star, Five-Star Business Finance Limited, to name just a few — greatly enhancing their power there, and eventually our influence. And as global transportation collapses, WE will have the solution, soon to be revealed worldwide. “Key to this plan is automation. Our factories will produce the first generation of general purpose robotic assistance powered by emerging quantum-networked computer intelligence. Several research groups, secretly funded by the C.I.A. have been refining this tech far beyond what the public gets to hear about. Soon we will no longer need the peasants to grow our food, build our vehicles to the stars, or anything in between, and we will begin the final phase of eliminating them. They are all subhuman animals anyway.” Stumpie stood up and said “I was told I am an Alligator.” He was eating blueberry pie and tried to talk with his mouth full. Melania grabbed his hand and pulled him back down into his seat, as Natalie wiped the blueberry pie off his face that was clashing with his orange sun-tan-simulation lotion. “Sorry, but that’s what they told me; a very powerful Alligator. Nobody messes with an Alligator. Everybody listens to an Alligator. Everybody respects the Alligator, with its big jaws. Great jaws. You know, nobody has jaws like an Alligator.” “SHHHHH!” Melania scolded him, as Natalie tried to entice his attention with a bite of blueberry pie. He quieted down.