Satirical American Road Trip: The Govna & Dannyboy’s Wild Misadventures Chapter 7 – Departure from DC

 

Chapter 7 – Departure from DC

The morning sun spilled over Washington DC like liquid gold, but inside the hotel suite, it was chaos.

The Govna was ironing his Union Jack socks with military precision. Susan scrolled through her phone, laughing at yet another tabloid headline: “Teapot Guy Spotted at Oasis — Britain’s Next Big Thing?”

Dannyboy and Ashfling shared a quiet breakfast by the window. For once, Dannyboy wasn’t carrying luggage — Ashfling had insisted on dragging her own. He still carried everyone else’s bags, though. Some things never changed.

Meanwhile, Sarah stood in front of the mirror, lipstick flawless, as Sgt. Salty barked orders like a general.
“Right, crew. Hollywood wants us. DC’s been fun, but the West Coast’s where legends are made. Jet leaves in two hours. Move!”

The Shadowy Reveal

As they packed up, there was a knock on the door. A man in a sleek black suit entered, camera bag slung over his shoulder.

“Mr. Salty,” he said smoothly, flashing a business card. “Name’s Cole. Hollywood liaison. The studios sent me to… confirm things.”

Salty narrowed his eyes. “And what exactly needs confirming?”
Cole smirked. “That your stars are real, your project is real, and this isn’t just a circus act.”

Susan whispered, “Well, he’s half right.”
The Govna whispered louder, “Circus act? Rubbish! This is high diplomacy!”

Cole studied Sarah and Susan like a jeweler inspecting diamonds. “You two certainly look the part. But Hollywood doesn’t deal in looks alone.”
Salty slid his shades on. “Then let me make it simple: the movie’s real because we say it’s real. The hype is real. The fans are real. You want the next big thing? You’re looking at it.”

Cole smirked again, clearly amused but not convinced. “We’ll see. LA will sort truth from fiction.” And with that, he disappeared down the hallway.

Boarding the Jet

Two hours later, the gang gathered on the tarmac. Sgt. Salty’s private jet gleamed in the sunlight, its gold lettering freshly polished:

“Sgt. Salty – Global Enterprises (Mostly Legal)”

The Govna saluted it. “Majestic. A proper bird of steel.”
Ashfling elbowed Dannyboy. “Does he salute everything?”
Dannyboy sighed. “Yes. You should’ve seen him with the Amtrak.”

They climbed aboard:

• Sarah and Salty slid into the plush leather seats, their fingers entwined.

• Susan rolled her eyes as The Govna insisted on storing his teapot in the “VIP locker.”

• Dannyboy and Ashfling settled near the window, their shoulders brushing as they watched DC shrink behind them.

As the engines roared, Salty raised a glass of champagne. “To Washington. You gave us chaos, headlines, and a taste of stardom. But Los Angeles — ah, that’s where the real show begins.”

The Govna raised his teapot in solidarity. “To LA!”
Everyone groaned but clinked glasses anyway.

High Above the Clouds

As the jet soared westward, Sarah rested her head on Salty’s shoulder. Susan leaned against The Govna, chuckling as he explained his plan to pitch “Teapot Man” as a Marvel spin-off.

Dannyboy whispered to Ashfling, “This feels unreal.”
She smiled. “That’s because it is. But maybe that’s the point.”

Outside, the clouds parted, the vast expanse of America stretched below. The gang, misfits turned accidental stars, were headed straight into the beating heart of Hollywood.

And somewhere in Los Angeles, phones were already ringing, contracts already printing, and one very smug Hollywood exec muttering:
“If they’re fake, they’re still the best fake I’ve ever seen.”

The stage was set.