So I’m on the rug, right, and I dig out this cassette from back when I was good. League night. Full alley. You can hear the pins, a guy yelling, like two hundred people applauding a spare as if it cured something. I’ve got a White Russian going, with half and half that’s maybe a week past a decision, and I’m flat on my back. Beautiful. The tape is a full house.
Then Walter lets himself in, because Walter has never knocked on anything in his life.
Side A
“Dude. Turn that down. Did you see South Carolina?”
“I saw a rug.”
“He’s back in Palmetto country, Dude, rallying for Darline. Lindsey’s sister. The man’s been dead three months and Trump’s out there calling the whole thing a ‘fabulous tribute.’ It’s the same rally with the same songs, the room’s getting smaller, and he’s glitching on the fucking bridge, losing the thread mid-sentence like a Zenith in a thunderstorm. It’s a tribute act, Dude, with the dead guy’s sister as the opening act. Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong, Walter, I’m just on my back.”
Maude is already on the couch, because Maude is always already on the couch. “Darline Graham was appointed in July and is on the ballot November third against Annie Andrews. Trump carried the state by nearly eighteen points two years ago. Polls have it tighter than expected. In a debate, she said national security is ‘not my thing.’”
“Her brother was a card-carrying hawk, Dude.”
Donny pops open something. “Isn’t the Senate, like, mostly national security?”
“Donny, you’re out of your fucking element!”
“He’s not wrong though, Walter,” I say.
Walter stares into the middle distance. “I’m not saying he’s wrong.”
Donny shows up with a bag of something. “Is that the Ohio thing? With the mom?”
Maude is already on the couch, because Maude is always already on the couch. “The Ramaswamy campaign ran an ad featuring Amy Acton’s estranged mother. Several Republicans said it crossed a line. Vance said it was great.”
“It’s hardball, Dude,” Walter says. “Oppo is oppo. Fuck the crybabies.”
“It’s her mom, Walter.”
A pause. “That’s a different thing and I’m not saying it isn’t.”
“Whoa, so are the Republicans fighting?” Donny asks.
“One side is going ‘we shouldn’t do this’ and the other is pumping its fists and going ‘hell yeah,’” I say. “That’s not a split, Donny. That’s two guys at the same bar pretending they came in separate cars.”
“And Iran,” Walter says, standing up, because he doesn’t need to. “The Times says they’ve got a three-day plan. Three days! Shock and awe, bye-bye mullahs. You know what else was supposed to be quick? ‘Nam. I’m not saying it’s ‘Nam. I’m saying it’s the first three days of ‘Nam.”
Maude, flat: “The Times reports Trump said no strikes before November 3. After the election.”
“Wait,” Donny says. “So they can still vote?”
“Donny, you’re out of your fucking element!”
“No, Walter, he’s right,” I say. “If three days wins it, why wait for the midterms? Maybe because it’s not a plan so much as a way to avoid saying we already lost the last one.”
Walter opens his mouth, closes it, and goes to get his own drink. Probably 3 fingers of Old Buncomb. That’s the closest thing to a concession you’ll get from him.
Side B
I flip the tape. Still a full house. I’m starting to feel something about it.
“Okay, Ukraine,” Walter says, from the kitchen now, which is somehow worse. “The Starlink shit.”
“Starshield,” Maude says. “Restrictions started October 14. It’s the system Ukraine uses to guide the interceptor drones against the jet-powered Russian ones. Ukraine says the pressure came from Washington. Nobody’s confirmed why.”
“You do not pull the radio from the guy in the foxhole, Dude. That’s the one thing.”
“Who owns the radio, Walter?”
“...A guy who tweets.”
“And Trump’s out there announcing an ‘energy ceasefire’ and Putin’s going ‘wow, what a guy.’ The whole thing is a shakedown with the roles reversed. I’m not saying he’s working for the Russians, I’m saying if he were, what would be different?”
“I was raised to hate the Russians, Dude. I’m pissed.”
“At who?”
“...I’m working on that.”
“Witkoff and Kushner are two guys who’ve never turned down a deal in their lives,” I say, “and somebody’s holding a deal up in front of them, a big one, billions, and the Ukrainians aren’t on the invoice. Of course they’re gonna play ball. It’s not a crime, it’s a personality.”
“Speaking of invoices,” Maude says, and the room gets quiet, because when Maude says “invoices” it’s about to be a worse week for somebody. “Habba’s husband, Mr. Mildon, wired seventeen point six million dollars to a firm in Texas. Reportedly about five point six million was meant for the Kennedy Center. Kennedy Center records show a pledge of two hundred seventy thousand. Habba says Grenell never deposited it. Grenell denies it and calls it a lie.”
“Where’d the money go?” Donny asks.
“Nobody’s said.”
“Great,” Walter says. “So it’s her word against his.”
“Hers, and her husband’s, and a Kennedy Center finance office that says it never saw it,” Maude says. “Separately, the Times reports a Venezuelan billionaire’s daughter formed a company in October 2025. Within days it hired Habba as general counsel at ten million dollars a year for four years. Over fifty million with bonuses. She was also working at the Justice Department. Weeks later, the billionaire got a full pardon. Habba and the White House deny any connection.”
“That could be a coincidence,” Walter says.
“Possibly,” Maude says. “It’s a very well-compensated coincidence.”
I lie there. On the tape somebody gets a strike and the whole alley loses its mind. Two hundred people, one pin deck, and everyone’s happy. And I think about the rooms getting smaller this week and the checks getting bigger. I’d like to say that means something about the country or the government or me, but I’m hungry and the tape’s about to run out.
You know what the weirdest part is? Nobody asked about the rug. The rug tied the room together, man. The whole week, everybody’s been fighting over who pissed on which rug, and nobody noticed the room’s already a different shape.
“Dude,” Walter says, “are you listening to any of this?”
“All of it, Walter.”
“Then say something!”
“The tape’s still going.”
The Dude abides.
(Someone should really check on the half and half.)