It’s the 3rd day of Government Shutdown.
The animals at Central Park have been released for lack of food and water and health insurance. They quickly turn the suburbs into a jungle where few dare tread.
Office workers, forgotten and chained to their desks, scream in desperation as they begin chewing their own arms off to free themselves.
Tens of thousands of Women “Marching for Rights They Already Have” in pink hats walk down the empty streets while bits of unsigned legislation blow by like tumbleweeds. They fall silent as no one listens or cares. Feminism dies a silent and long overdue death as their homemade signs fall by the wayside.
Politicians stand in line at the Capitol, empty Starbucks mugs trembling in thin, shaking hands as they beg for spare change, while awaiting their meager ration of watery gruel.
Makeshift Farmer Markets spring up in intersections. Lowly administrative aids quickly create massive lines to trade staplers and sticky notes for food. It quickly dissolves into chaos as the few pitiful sprigs of bean sprouts are consumed by the vegans.
Blood sucking Accountants and Lawyers face off against each other for control of the high rises. They begin hunting each other with makeshift weapons. Skinned bodies are soon found dangling from street lamps with empty wallets hanging from their necks and business cards crammed between clenched teeth.
Two bums begin fighting over a half-eaten Big Mac. The fight ends violently when Donald Trump strangles Chuck Schumer to death with his own tie. Bloodied but victorious, Trump holds the burger aloft, screaming in joy, only to be overcome by the screeching bureaucrats who pour out from the nearby sewer drains and smother him with red tape.
The Postal Service begins looting local police departments. They mount weapons, spikes, armor, and the heads of Barbie Doll on their vehicles and drive down sidewalks. As fuel runs out, they soon turn on each other.
World War Two vets, refusing to allow the sacred ground that holds their memorials to be blocked off with barricades and orange cones of the Obama Administration, set up fighting positions and a steady stream of aimed fire from M1 Garands and Thompson machine guns surrounds them with a no man’s land 500 yards deep.
More Vets, bearded and grizzled, ride their iron steeds of Harley-Davidson through the yellow tape surrounding the Vietnam Memorial and begin covering their faces and arms with camo paint. Hundreds of rolls of barb wire is deployed to funnel the denizens of Washington into kill zones. Dozens of men in Biker Vests slip into the concrete jungle to begin taking ears.
The city turns in upon itself.
Bits of ash from burned regulations rain from the sky. The steady stream of screams grow faint as the mounds of unburied dead grow. Only the mournful wails of the living and the screams of freed zoo predators can be heard at night.
A torn and tattered American Flag waves silently in the breeze above the Capital Building as it burns.
The Lincoln Memorial weeps a single manly tear.
Gunpowder and Ink! 
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