Brody read a text from his friend, Jerbo.
'Stocks are back up a bit, but I'm trading it all from crypcoin to gypsycoin.'
'Gypsycoin? What, like, it's cursed?'
'No its just a name. Analsysts predit its gonna flop & surge. >B^D hellz ya'
Brody texted back, 'Wouldn't it just be surging face-down? Like, dragging its face on the ground? Shouldn't it get back up, first?'
Jerbo lol'd, 'Ya fr. X^D Anyway I can't wait to get gypped! Gypping out my whole portfolio! My stock advisor says I should always be aware of bad investmentz. But I relly think this time it's 4 real. He sez he has complete confidence, & he gave me a deal on advisement.'
'You mean advice?'
'No thats not what he calls it'
'Of course he doesn't', thought Brody, but decided not to text that back. Her family was at least partly Romani-Jewish on her father's side, and she knew not to argue with a fool over how he and his money were soon parted. Nor the obvious misuse of the word 'gypsy', which begged how any word can come to its own opposite meaning by hype alone. If they were truly so excited to get 'gypped', they should leave a dollar bill hanging out the back of their pants; or drop their wallets on the street, and walk away. Brody put away her phone, tapped her bus card on the scanner, and got off the bus. Downtown again, she was reminded of how abysmal the job market was, and how fruitless her previous search had been. Not a single call back, out of all those resumés. She walked past a vagrant on the corner, holding a sign which read:
'REVELATIONS IS HERE. TRIBULASHIONS R UPON US.'
It was odd how he could have spelled the first big word correctly, and the second one so wrong. The vagrant, however, was not wrong to declare what he had. The end times were indeed upon them, as far as anyone could tell. Videos online had been cropping up more and more – visions of Christ by children in their dreams, or while yet half-asleep; stoners and junkfoodies of average stance, thrown and crashed through heaven and hell in only their minds and spirits, and told gravely to repent; stories from seers and sayers of distant past, all of whom seemed to have been given the same forewarning: prepare for September, in 2025. The Feast of Trumpets is near. So where was Christ? Like a thief in the night, he came and went. He left behind the body of an insurance CEO, with the words: 'delay, deny, depose'. Because Christ had risen back up to Heaven, or perhaps found his tridiate cave, a lamb was taken in his place. Clothed in orange, the black sheep was paraded by storm troopers of the American Reich, and made an example of. Then, so too was a man who threw a sandwich at an officer. To Brody, the mixup was as obvious as the furry black caterpillars on Basilio Caravella's face. The assassin, dubbed 'Chadshot' for his stunning good looks, was a bruin. But the reich had a pike, and they needed a head. So the lamb waits, in his cage, awaiting the fate which befell of a red heffer in Israel. One said to herald the end with its blood, it was banned from slaughter, saved by the judition of priests in Jerusalem. Then, as if deception from a devil could be anything but expected, it was slaughtered behind their backs. What appeared to be a 'practice round' was accomplished enough to count as the real thing, and the ritual was complete. The paltry resistance to stop it almost reeked of permission. Brody wondered, then, what fate might befall Don Wumpet – the oversized lion-pig, whose slaughter was foretold in a ceremony in Paris. A festive man became feast, for an audience of millions, resting on a plate; ordered supposedly from a menu of comedy and drole. But it was merely the hollylit glimmer of a darker fire, which had burned within the cultry of a sanguine sect below. A man, it was said, had been devoured by his so-called 'brothers and sisters', who in that moment, were anything but his keeper. Yet, as one may recall, it was Abel who farmed the livestock. So perhaps, then, it was revenge against Cain... but not justly.
Brody shook her head. She was waxing religious again, in her fervent thoughts. Next, she'd be musing on alien invaders and random nuclear strikes.

She found herself in the community center, and was called upon from the crowd to read her essay. Hers had been selected from nearly a thousand, and today was an assessment of whether or not she could speak it aloud, for an audience. The judges were surprised, at first glance, to see a young girl, because her entry had stated she was legally male.
"Are you trans?" asked one, a bald middle-aged man. He was kind of face, but looked like inside him was something dying to leave, as if it could burst from within him at any moment. Something more wretched than he.
"Not exac- uh. Sort of," Brody stuttered. "Yes. Intersex, actually. Which is kind of trans, if you..." Brody let out a deep breath. "Not really."
"Just say 'trans'," said a female judge, rather cold-sweetly. Like the pie she was eating, out of a container she brought from home... without heating it up, first. She was a scrute old woman of thin eyes and elder face, yet make-up so young it looked like a painted mask.
Brody squinted, unsure of how to accept such a label-slap to the face. But she cleared her throat, and began to read. 'Short and sweet, here we go.'
"I do not believe that our lives are defined by superstition, nor the fears of the many. If that's the word of God, then it is only prophecy. If that's the Wumpet idolatry, then it is only hearsay. But facts are facts. The president of the United States gave the seat of power to a beast of wounded head, after she was fairly warned and fairly elected. She chose not to challenge his theft. She rewarded his impudence with ultimate say. If she-"
"Excuse me", said a rather effeminate male judge. He was cut well of his bones, and carried with him a dignified pride. He also, however, wore ghoulish eyeshadow and a bright, glittery pink hoodie, with sequins. His hair was whitish blond, and he'd had it dyed a muddy pink and blue, on each side. He was also highly repressed, and held tight to himself each limb when he sat, unaware of his own posture. To Brody, he looked like a mistaken attempt to turn a person into a flag, which then clung to its pole instead of flying in the wind. "I'm actually trans myself, but if you could leave out the parts where you criticize the liberals? Aside from that, we're in love with it."
"Shouldn't everyone be held equally accountable?" Brody debated.
He sighed. "Yes, but we have to take a side."
"What about the side of good?"
"Exactly!" said the female judge. "The liberals are good, the tories are bad. Read on."
"But..." Brody dared himself to keep trying. "The liberals gave Don Wumpet the presidency on a golden platter, to protect themselves from the Wipestain Files. They're letting him and his cronies demolish the United States, its infrastructure, and its constitution. All so they can swoop in later, and claim they've saved the day. I doubt they'll even roll back on half of his illegal executive orders-"
"AHEM!" the bald man grunted. "We understand it takes a certain spirit to write these things, but we prefer a more focused approach. The essay."
Brody sighed. "Right, take a side. Fly a flag. You got it." She found her place again.
"To me, Aurson Wumpet is a vaccuum-stomached beast-king of many faces. Manued Tusker is a greedy rat. Fyodor Slaskov is a dreary-eyed king of famin. Ezark Nuckerstein is a prince of snakes, of those who grasp serpentry and not humanity. Manued's hackers perceive no wrong, as they throw living bodies into the ovens of purgatory. And there are more, for their whole cabal is demons, monsters, and beasts in human form, but not of human heart. They laughed as Texan prisoners burned in the Lake of Fire, and clinked their glasses to the screams of their own. People whom they'd so callously deceived into lifting them up to their altars, so they could raze the ground from it. Who cheered for them with the light of faith, but were given none back in return. These tyrants promised wealth, then cut social security. They promised prosperity, then gave it to themselves. They promised unity, then cut deals for their conspirators in arms. Parasites of industry who were billions strong, and yet wanted more from the sick and needy who had not. Leaders who abuse the oval promise for scamfunding, creating false currency which saw no returns; only further transferrence from commoner to criminal. Who'd set out the dish of parish for mercy from the pews, knowing they deserved it not – that they were begging of beggars, who needed it more. They are the American Reich, the Nazis of today, and they care not for God, nor his kingdoms. They are the heads of the Beast of Revelations, which stomps on our bones until powder is all that remains. And then, with hunger as vaccuum, they inhale. This is more than a country divided, it is a spiritual war upon humanity itself. Thank you."
The judges were silent. Then, they stood and clapped, as did the other attendees. It was a lukewarm reception, but hoops were hollered, and the applause was genuine. Brody had won.
The bald judge slapped her back, as she left the podium. "Great job, kid! Love the religious angle. That'll really help net us the praypigs."
"...the what?" asked Brody, a bit shocked.
"Never mind him," said the old woman, with a shrewd smile and long, bleached yellow teeth. "I love that you're trans. It really works for you. I mean, us."
"...thanks?"
The third put an uninvited massage on Brody's shoulder, which dug too deep and lasted too long. "You'll be perfect. That's all they're trying to say."
Brody sighed, but was unable to relax. "Thank you. I'm looking forward to the rally. When do I get the plane tickets?"
The judges stopped.
"Tickets?" asked the bald man.
"You're supposed to meet us there," said the trans man.
"...oh."
"Budget cuts," said the old woman. "You know how it is. Speaking of, care to donate to the liberal cause? Even twenty dollars from you and your friends could REALLY help us put the screws to that mean ol' president."
Brody narrowed her eyes. "No, sorry... I have to save for a trip, now. I didn't realize it was on me to get myself there."
"Hey," said the woman. "At least you don't have to fly Air Wumpet. Talk about crash and burn, huh?" she cracked up, a bit too easily.
The bald man chuckled. "Tell me about it; we'll have to rent that private jet, again."
The trans man smiled. "Oh, better than first class. I adore the leather on those seats."

Brody went home, and gave Kelsey a kiss. She was hanging out with Stode, playing a board game instead of having sex. He'd found a girlfriend, and was 'flying straight', or as he next called it, 'carbon committing'. Which was, apparently, a 'nigga thing'. Brody was agitated by that, because she wanted his dick – and her jealousy over Kelsey getting it was her usual excuse. Stode and Brody, while friendly enough, did not get along well on their own without her. Brody went upstairs, and found Walde fucking Tina. She decided to join in, without asking. They took Tina from both sides. Brody finished in Tina, and Walde finished in Brody. Brody did not feel a lick of guilt, for she knew she had every right to love with them. And that her words today would be used as a mantlepiece for a two-faced cabal of blue-blooded traitors, who had lovers the same age... but in greater disparity, and in chains of contract and control. And they were not, as Brody was to hers, a family.
"Nice to have you," said Walde, tuckered out. "But we were kind of having a moment."
"Oh," said Brody. "I'm sorry."
"It's cool," said Tina. "Your dick is bigger, anyway."
Brody grew red, and saw Walde's face turn betrayed.
He bemoaned, "So I'm just your pet twink, and you can shove yourself between me and anyone I love, huh? Is that it?" He was angry, and in pain.
"Cry about it," Tina snarked.
Brody glared at her. "That was rude. He's right, I was being a jerk. And so were you, just now."
"It's fine!" said Walde. "You're leaving soon, anyway. Then it'll just be me, Kelsey, and Tina. And I'll get an eight-inch dildo, and they'll forget you were ever here. Because that's all you are, you heartless fuck."
Brody was shocked at his words, but had heard worse from her own mind. Brody crawled onto Walde, around Tina, and kissed his cheek. "I'll miss you. And Kelsey's coming with."