Where is my freakshow??

This morning, I considered working from home, as I heard downtown was going to be such a mess because of the pro-abortion and anti-globalization people. I was expecting to see hairy-armpitted feminists and mangy college kids swirling around the streets of downtown D.C., but so far I’m disappointed.
After going to confession on K Street, I celebrated my infusion of grace by strolling around and smoking a Backwoods cigar. I wandered by the World Bank on 17th, and nobody was there. In Lafayette Square, across the street from of the White House, there were a handful of older white people standing on the curb with anti-war signs. They were vastly outnumbered by tourists gawking or arguing with them. (“You’re full of s—, sir,” said one tourist to a protestor as he walked away shaking his head.)
I want to see angry people marching. I want to smell a whiff of tear gas. I want to hear badly-rhymed slogans. I demand my freakshow!