When you hear the glass crashing, you instinctively know that a chair has not been thrown through a window, no…. Laura Loomer’s sprint across the parking lot has ended with her crushing head first through the window and onto the floor. She is nude, smeared with her own feces as her first layer of battle protection. Excrement and her long underarm hair twisted into a braid in the shape of a capital M, denoting which political clan is most connected to the angry screaming voices in her head.
Loomer’s sudden appearance is not unnoticed; Boebert skitters toward a corner and turns around, her back now protected. Marge slowly stamps one deformed human hoof after the other onto the ground, Sumo style. She balls her hands into fists and contracts every muscle in her body, her large throat pouch alternately expanding and contracting, an unmistakable display of dominance.
Marge ignores Boebert. She is not the threat. Loomer turns her head sideways and stops to meet Marge’s gaze, now squatting as things appear, pushed by contraction out of several bodily orifices. Weapons? Before Loomer fills both hands, Marge attacks. Her squat, muscled body hides unfathomable speed, she closes the distance to Loomer in seconds…