"DROP THE FUCKING ACT, BRIDGE!"
"Okay.YOU can go JUMP OFF OF A FUCKING BRIDGE! MY NAME IS BRIDGETTE!"
"Oh, no it isn't. Bridgette is my daughter. And MY daughter is NOT some IV POPPING, PILL SPLITTING DRUG ADDLED SLUT!"
"Havin' a good time on your high horse, Pop? Having a good day trying to chew out the only family that you have left?! WHAT DOES IT MATTER THAT I TOOK THE MONEY!? You get paid BY THE GOVERNMENT! You get PAID whenever I get arrested!"
"Oh as if that matters. You'll stop this now, you'll clean the fuck up and get the fuck out of those boxes that you and your little friends call Stash. Oh yea, watch that grin just melt away. We know about the Stash. We've got eyes and ears even as low as your stoop!"
"Whatever, old man. It's not as if that's the only place I can go. It's not as if my sources are all tangible. I'm riding the slipstream of life, you old shit. I'm old enough to make my choices, and I choose to make some really shitty ones, so? BETTER THAN YOU MAKING THEM FOR ME!"
"Aren't you Little Miss Responsible. And what about your left arm? Did you choose to lose that to amputation for that bump last week? Looking a little pale now, aren't we? I can spot a cheap prosthetic from a mile away. Ontop of that, I'll have you know, it was my mole who cut you."
"... I'm joining The Smarmy tomorrow. I'll see you in the field."
"What?! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? COME BACK HERE!"
She left the rancher. She removed herself from the suburbs and beyond the border line, into the unknown. Her choice was made, she was joining the anti-government Smarmy. She had her father to thank for making this choice easier.
The cons: she would have to get clean from street drugs overnight and she would be fighting for a cause.
The pros: she would have the best nanite-filter drugs that the sub-government could manufacture, and for free. And she would finally show her father just what she thought of his cushy job.
Only from the trenches did political clarity reveal that the fish in the barrel were the ones who should be heard.
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Later that decade, the president had to watch his daughter overthrow his government. Ten years strong.
By the time her regime made it to the White House foyer, he was already eating the barrel of his Smith and Wesson.
He would not be proven wrong.
An announcement rang through the building:
"Authorized detonation. Please evacuate the 200 mile vicinity. T-Minus five minutes. Jet's loading now. Please evacuate."
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