After making what may be the greatest first impression that did not involve an act toe-curling sexual congress, Margot rode off back to her home on Candy Mountain to prepare for her invasion, brief though it would be, of Wuhan.
Before taking her leave, Margot told Kitty she would call her when she was ready for Miss Kaboodle to come out to her ranch, for a quick photo shoot that would make the Wuhan lab boys all woohoo. Margot assured Kitty that Daisy knew where she lives, because Daisy knows where all the pretty boys in the area live, her own son being one of them.
Having proven that not all puckheads have taken too many slapshots to the head, the brothers Staal jumped in the sauna long enough to sober up, and drive home to plot a game plan that would entice three of the biggest names in the history of combat sports into this growing conspiracy.
With nothing else to do, Daisy loitered in the lobby, hoping that Kitty would want some cooking lessons. Not wanting to make it obvious to her father that she was hoping to lure yet another of the guests into a room, and leave it looking like the Marquis de Sade, Xaviera Hollander, and several well endowed barnyard animals had been residing therein for a fortnight, the girl tried to make jibber jabber with our intrepid friends from south of the border.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but there’s a movement starting, here in Canada, that may seem a little impolite to you.”
“Is it even possible for Canadians to be impolite?” Madonna wanted to know.
“Oh, Hell yeah, it is. But mostly to each other. We’re getting pretty good at it, too. Or pretty bad, I guess I should say.”
“I hope you’re not getting that from us,” Stephen hoped. “Robin Williams, peace be upon him, would roll over in his grave and weep, if hews were to reach him that the nice, quiet apartment, where our sweet, pleasant, mild mannered cousins live above our ground floor crack shack, is getting outta whack owing to our incessant histrionics.”
“Well, almost everything from down there spills across the border, so that’s prolly what’s happening. Y’all sure do like to hate on each other, in a real bad way, down there in the Divided States of America.”
“I am sorry to hear about this great leap backwards by our good northern neighbours, who put the letter U in words for absolutely no reason. What’s this nascent movement all about?” Stephen asked.
“Well, since y’all now have the highest infection and death rates from the virus, people up here are saying we should build a wall… and make Trump pay for it.”
Laughter boomed in the lobby of the Valhalla Inn, at the news Daisy presented. Kitty was the first to break the cacophony of guffaws. “Daisy, if you’d be so kind, please tell your handsome Prime Minister that I would be happy to make a substantial contribution to that cause, if I might have the good fortune of being smiled upon by him, with a passport bearing my name in his hands.”
Sensing an opportunity, Daisy smiled suggestively, and replied, “I’m sure we can work something out, little Miss Kitty.”
As amused as he was, Stephen wanted to play this out a little more. “You know, don’t you, Daisy, that the statistics coming out of China are almost certainly grossly under exaggerated, and they likely have more bodies piled up, and waiting to be piled up, than any other jurisdiction in the world?”
Daisy pondered this for a few seconds, as the others watched and waited with baited breath for her response.
Daisy did not disappoint, “Yeah, I guess you’re rigt about that. Maybe we should build a wall along the border with China, too,” thus proving that the worst pandemic of all had crossed the border, and taken hold in the great white north.
“Great idea, Daisy,” Madonna chuckled. “Send Trump the bill for that one, too.”