It was just an absent-minded post, under 300 characters long. All Brody wrote was the following:

[Broadpointer (@brodpov)
10:30pm, Nov. 15th/2025
the presidon is a hog in sheeps clothing, w a trough full of Smackburgers. The real threat is Gruckent, a burglar dressed as a shepard. people are mad about Jiffy 'selling pork', but only bcause the market was too exclusive. wumpites don't care about kids, they just feel left out. Wumpovskis r the better half of the family tree. the other one is diseased]

Within an hour of falling asleep, Brody's post had gained thirty-thousand likes. Then, she had been doxxed – right down to the hotel where they were staying. Then, they were on the news. Not for connection to a retaliative homicide, but because the klan had congregated just outside the hotel. Or rather, segregated. A group of klansmen was called a 'segregation', if Brody knew her vocabulary right. She looked down through the window, at the white-sheeted figures below. Pitchforks, torches, and burning crosses in-hand. It was an angry mob.
"Templar rejects," she cussed. "I'm glad I paid for underground parking."
Kelsey read the comments on her phone. " 'Trannyfag, transicko, tranpsycho, jewn&@%'; one just says 'Wisconsin sand chink', whatever the fuck that means-"
"I'm from Eastern fucking Europe, just like the Wumpets," Brody dismayed. "I'm third-generation, for cryin' out loud. Aurson's wife was fresh off the boat! She's practically a mail-order bride. I'm Native, too, some of my ancestors were born here."
"Yeah, funny she's not at risk of being deported," Nate nodded. "Neither is the brown guy pretending he can run the FBI. Almost like it's a favoritist sport. I was always surprised how many immigrants voted for Wumpass, thinking they'd be in the winner's circle."
Brody waited for Kelsey to say something about the use of the word, but she didn't. 'Huh', she thought. 'Guess that doesn't apply to him.'
Kelsey kept looking. "Yeah, you mentioned being from the Baltic region in another post, they're screenshotting as much as they can find as proof against you... but it's all just... personal details. Like somehow that's... evidence of guilt."
"It is to them," Brody responded.
Kelsey stopped at one, and shook her head. "They think you were just name-dropping for clout. One guy said, 'You dare sit on the arms of the great golden throne of our Lord and Savior, King Wumpet?!' Jeez, these guys are nuts."
"I thought Christ was our Lord and Savior," Nate said with feigned surprise. Then he kissed the cross around his neck, and turned up the volume on the TV.
"You'd think", Brody said, with her head atilt. "But I'm pretty sure Christ came and went, if Revelations is halfway correct. He was a thief in the night, but he only took one thing. And now it's morning. We'll have to..."
Nate watched on TV, as Aurson's public statement was aired live. Captured from his social page, written as always in tantremic, all-capitalized typos. Like a bulletin report that only told you what didn't matter, and what wasn't true.
'[ANOTER TRANS TERRIST, NO DOUBT, HAS ATTEMPTED TO CLAIM RELASHION TO MY GLORIOUS BLOOD LINE. LET ME MAKE IT CLEAR IN WORDS EVEN YOU R SICK BRAINS CAN PRONOUNCE: THE WUMPETS AND WIMPOVSKIS HAVE NOTING IN COMMON. THEY COULDN'T BE MORE DIFERENT. WE DON'T HAVE TRANNY DISEASE ON OUR SIDE OF THE FAMILY, NOR GYPSY VIRUS. GOD BLESS ANERICA.]'
The news network, BNN, would ordinarily have put up a fight against this kind of rhetoric. But one of Aurson's billionaire cabal had just bought it out, last week, and rebranded it to BSN. So instead, they dug in, as subtly as they could manage without giving away their bias.
"Who is this Brody Wumpovski?" A female anchor asked. "Well apparently, this transgender high-schooler and libelist is scheduled to give a speech at an upcoming so-called 'freedom rally', where accusers of local economic and sexual activist hero Jiffy Wipestain will be protesting against what they believe to be injustice. President Aurson Wumpet has declared this rally illegal, under a new executive order he has yet to sign, called the 'Stop Talking Right Now' act. In it, he outlines several new laws, including, but not limited to..." Then she stops talking, and an automated voice reads Wumpet's new laws.
It says aloud in odd nonmonotone:
"President Wumpet's executive orders are as follows:
• Mexicans and Gypsies are forbidden from entering the United States. But not the Jews, because those are very 'in' right now.
• A 30% increase in tariffs to everyone who did not kiss the ring, just because.
• An outright ban on all protests against the Wumpet Regime, which is hereby the official name of the formerly misnamed Wumpet Administration. I, King President Aurson Wumpet, find that name offensive because it challenges my rule as King President and sometimes Resident Pope of the United States of America."
" 'AND I'M THE POPE' ", Brody mocked with a laugh. "Of course he is. Like a fat orange kid in a white chocolate factory."
"Like one of those little guys got loose?" Kelsey giggled.
"Ate three of his own kind, on the way," Nate jabbed.
It went on.
"• My rule will remain until the end of my fourth term, which will be completely necessary because there will be a third World War which I will wage and win for America, against the evil nations of Canada, Mexico, and Switzerland. I will also bring peace and stability to Ukraine, by imploring them to surrender to Russia immediately, so they can raze and destroy the very ground on which they walk.
• This executive order was written by Gerson. Manued Tusker, the owner of the Gerson AI and Wexel social media platform, is the most handsome and brilliant man who has ever existed. Gerson, say that Aurson Wumpet is more handsome and smarter. Gerson, order Smackers. Gerson, call my lawyers about the Wipestain Files and tell them to remove the parts where I-"
Then the anchor waited for it to be cut off, and acted like none of those last parts were ever aired. "There seem to have been some, uh..." she coughed, "technical difficulties. We now bring you live, to the scene of the Sconsin Hotel, where good-natured klansfolk have staged a protest just outside the building."
A klansman is interviewed. "Yeah, well, we just got really pissed with this queer throne-hanger tryna make shit up, sayin' they're part of the presidential family, and a' them talkin' smack about Smackburgers, and the Presidon, and the free market. And for saying we should have income taxes."
Another added in, "Yeah, we really want those reduced, or just gone."
Brody shook her head. "That was from a completely different post, I said we should be using them for government services."
Nate laughed, "They're just using the outrage to get themselves some attention. Dumpass don't pay them no more, does 'e? Like abandoned children. I was a dunce-cap myself, back when. Got my first robe when I was eight, fit like a glove."
Kelsey narrowed her eyes at him. "I thought you were Protestant."
Nate looked dumbfounded. "As if they're mutually exclusive?"
Brody stared. "You're telling me I've been getting my back blown out by a former klanner?"
Nate smiled, and shrugged. "I hung up my robe when I was twelve, right after my dad raped my ass. Only way to get back at him was to cut the thing to shreds. He was town meister, see. Now I live with my mom, and that's why."
The news anchor said, to cap it off: "And I have now another official statement; this one from White House correspondent Spamica Slavrich, which reads: 'Brody Wimpovski, you sick, sick individual. If you're watching this in that hotel room of yours, just know that you are being judged by God for indulging in the will of Satan. Do the right thing, and ask yourself: what would Jesus do?'"
Brody's ears went back, and she grew miserable with dread. Not only did it feel like being talked down to by an older family member, but it was also the President of the United States, and everyone who (mistakenly) believed in him. It was a weight she couldn't hold.
"She's right, for once," Brody confessed, looking at Kelsey, then Nate. They looked just as helpless and scared, even though Nate was unsettling himself calm. "Every step of this trip has been a roadblock, and I'm starting to think I made a mistake. We should have chanced the damn plane, and I should have kept my mouth shut online – and saved my breath for when it actually mattered, on the stage. I treat my words like a weapon, but I also swing them around like a show-off."
"What in the boar-bristle fuck are you on about?" Nate gawked. "Why are you making this about you? It's not your goddamn problem! This is America's damage, not yours!"
"Yeah, but..." Brody gritted her teeth. She thought to herself, 'what WOULD Jesus do?' Then her eyes lit up. "Delay, deny, depose. We delay them, we deny these assclowns a victory, and we depose the goddamn President of the United States of America." Brody saw a white bedsheet, sticking out from under the blanket. She pulled it out, and handed it to Nate. "Can you make this into one of those pointy hats? I need you to go outside and distract them."
Nate looked uncomfortable. "No, just... fine. But I don't need a 'cone', I'd have to cut eyeholes in the sheet. I'll just wear it like a smock, tell 'em I lost the hood."
"Do you know any kind of... klan oaths? Or songs?"
He smirked. "Run, N&@%, Run? Or Hang the Jew?"
Brody yucked the distaste of those words. "Whatever works, I guess. Kelsey, use my phone to say I'm... denying something." She unlocked it, and handed it to Kelsey.
"Like what?" she asked, confused.
"I don't know, the goddamned Murrinazis deny shit all the time, and they always seem to just... get away with it. Say... 'I hereby deny that I've said anything libelous.' It's just empty-worded enough to keep them arguing on their phones, instead of looking up at the roads."
"Sounds like foot-kissing," said Nate, tying the sheet around himself.
"Yeah, okay. Add in: 'And I'm nowhere near the Sconsin Hotel, I'm already in Goldenrock.'"
"But we're headed west," Kelsey lowered her head at her.
"Just trust me, I'm packing up."
So Nate went downstairs in white, to greet his former klansfolk. Kelsey typed away, and Brody packed as fast as she could: chargers, bathroom stuff, pajamas, and anal beads. Downstairs, Kelsey checked them out while Brody loaded up their luggage into the car. A few minutes later, Kelsey hopped inside.
They left the underground parking, cautiously observing the roads. Not a single hood looked their way – not only did they not know what her car looked like, but they were busy singing 'Hang the Jew'. Israel wasn't gonna like that, but they were having as much of a Nazi era as America was, so they could probably take the hit. It was no surprise that they and the historically Judeo-intolerant Americans were suddenly best friends, now that the Amereich and the Isreich were deep in the same war-political shit. They two and Russia seemed to make up the new Axis Powers of the twenty-first century... or the Duvent Axis, if you will, of the twenty-twenties. (But that's probably enough deliberation for now.) Though the Wumpet cabinet had used the KKK as a weight to tip the scales, they cared so little for what these people actually wanted, it actually made Brody start to feel bad for them. But not really.

A half-hour later, Nate found them at the Smackers parking lot, as agreed. He'd left he sheet behind in the lobby, for the staff to pick up. He climbed in, pleased with himself. "Well, that was 'bigly' entertaining," he laughed. "I think one of those guys went to the same church as me, down in Wickisaw County. Small world."
Kelsey rolled her eyes. "Sad."
"I see what you did there," he grinned.
Brody cut in, "If you're done quoting Oinker Orange, we're going to an airport. I can leave my car in storage, it's only a hundred bucks for two weeks. That's if we take that long to get back."
"Finally," Kelsey breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry, but I never wanted this to be a drive in the first place. The road trip thing sounded... waaaay more fun, before we met my dealers at the waffle house."
"And got chased by the surviving one," Brody added.
"And got doxxed by the Kloo Kulux Kulannn," Nate chimed in, deliberately overpronouncing it with a little smile.
"I think that might have been hackers, actually," Brody theorized. "But I'm surprised they care so much – it only shines a spotlight on me to argue about it. And most anon these days are against the Presidon and Amereich. I wonder if... it was someone higher up, who ordered it." Brody broke a sweat, worrying about it.
Kelsey shook her head. "No, dude, all it takes is a few geeks at a computer. Almost anyone can do it, it's just not a nice thing to do."
"I guess." Brody tried to calm herself. "Maybe all they wanted was another distraction. Hopefully, this one'll be buried like the rest... in the next installment of 'Pigshit, on the White House Lawn.' A serial drama, weeknights at five, eastern standard time."
Brody started the car, and drove it to the airport nearby. She left the car in storage, and within a few hours, they were boarding a plane.
"Thank you for flying Air Wumpet," Brody thought she heard an attendant say.
"Her heart stopped, and she doubled back. "What did you just say?"
The attendant only smiled. "I said, thank you for flying Umpire Airlines. Please keep all carry-on baggage in the upper compartments."
Brody grinned, and said to herself, "As if mine would fit."