This story is fiction. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is an unfortunate reminder that orange is the new green.
"Sir? We've rounded up a witch. And I think it's the big witch, sir."
The inspector sighed. "It's not another Wiccan, is it Harcourt? I keep telling you we're looking for scary, horror movie level practitioners of the Dark Arts. You keep bringing me peaceful, Earth-loving modern Pagans."
"They said they were witches, sir. They self-identified."
"It's not the same thing, Harcourt."
"I know, sir. I'm sorry."
"And you brought in that barmaid from the Renaissance Fair. Saucy wenches? Also not the same as a witch."
"Yes, sir. But she was so cute...!"
"Never mind that." The inspector sighed again. "We're after witchcrafty evildoers, Harcourt. This is a witch hunt, not a dating service. Focus, Harcourt, focus!"
"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Shall I bring the witch in for interrogation now, sir?"
"Are you sure this one's a witch?"
"Yes, sir! Air of scheming menace, sir?"
"Go on."
"Black peaked hat and magic broom, sir?"
"All right."
"Apprehended at the home improvement store shopping for building supplies made of gingerbread?"
"Send the witch in."
The witch cackled, sputtered, and fumed before the inspector. The witch was heavy set and orange-skinned, blustery, yet small and skittish, with the tiniest hands the inspector had ever seen. The inspector addressed the witch:
"Name?"
"Trumpelina!," the witch bellowed.
"Oh, so we're not even trying for subtlety in this story, then. Fine. Occupation?"
"Dealmaker! HUGELY successful negotiator!"
"Of course you are. Residence?"
"The Big White Gingerbread House. The biggest house ever! A little run-down if you ask me, but I'll class it up."
"I have serious doubts about that. Why were you trying to buy building materials made from cake and sweets?"
"To separate the children from their families. And to lure them to me!"
"For what purpose?"
"Children are the other white meat."
"You don't have any filter at all, do you?"
"And I like them best with shredded cheese."
"Shredded cheese?"
"I'm making America grate again."
"I may just shoot you now."
"No collusion!"
"Wait. Are you speaking with a Russian accent...?"
"Nyet. I mean...NO!"
"Ah. Treason and terror-mongering. Throw in your overwhelmingly malicious intent, and we've got you on a triumvirate of evil witchery."
"A troika of evil witchery, Comrade."
"You really aren't doing yourself any favors here."
"I love this country! And this country loves me! Watch me hug the flag!"
The inspector sat in stunned silence for a moment before saying, "Are you dry-humping the flagpole...?"
"FAKE NEWS!"
"Ew. I think we'll just skip the trial this time."
"What about a jury of my peers?"
"You don't have any peers...."
"Right!," the witch glowed. "I'm peerless! The best! Believe me!"
"You have no peers that aren't already doing time. I pronounce you guilty. That's guilty, guilty, guilty."
"This is a witch hunt!"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. And it looks like we've bagged another rotten witch. Harcourt? Come in here. I'm passing sentence now."
Harcourt returned. "Shall I bring in a stake and some matches, sir?"
"No, Harcourt. I think it's clear what we need to do with this particular witch."
"You mean...?"
"Yes. Lock him up."
And the sooner, the better.
I don't write about politics often, but when I do, it's snarky. Those seeking more of my left-wing bleeding-heart snark are directed to I WAS THERE! A First-Person Account Of The Bowling Green Masacre, SPACE FORCE!! A New Classic Sci-Fi Movie Serial, Top 10 Slogans For The New U.S. SPACE FORCE!!, and my Alex Jones diatribe The Art Of Malice. Back to comic books and/or pop music tomorrow.
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