“I just want to see her,” Jennifer said, writhing in her chair, grinding her pendulous labia against the fabric of her pants.

“Hillary isn’t seeing anyone right now,” Huma said, her matte red lipstick immaculate, her face an immobile mask.

“Why not?” Jennifer said in a junkie whine.

“She is preparing,” Huma said. “There are rituals to be performed, sacrifices to be made.”

“She saw my tweets, right? She saw them? I wrote them for her. Just for her. I love her so much!” Jennifer hugged herself tightly and giggled, letting out just a little urine in her excitement.

“You’ll keep propping up Biden until after the midterms, ideally until Hillary announces for 2024, then pivot to Hillary.”

“Of course, of course,” Jennifer said, gnawing at the side of her thumb. “I want to get back to supporting, Hillary. She knows that, right? I don’t want her to think I am being disloyal.”

“No one thinks you are being disloyal, Jen,” Huma said.

“I-I-I want to be Press Secretary,” Jennifer said.

“Hillary is aware of that,” Huma said noncommittally. There were two more influencers to coddle after Jennifer and she just wanted her out.

“HILLARY!” Jennifer screamed suddenly, “I’M HERE! I’M WITH YOU!”

“She cannot hear you,” Huma said tiredly.

“Give me something of hers, anything, I need to smell her, I need to touch what she has touched,” Jennifer said and then just howled.

Huma looked disgusted but started to rummage through her purse.

“Here,” she said, “She used this Kleenex, I think.”

Jennifer snatched it from her hand and ate it before Huma could react.

—–

“You son of a bitch!” Joe yelled at the lamp he bumped into. “Inflation is an asset, damn you.”

“Grandpa,” Finnegan said and triggered the laugh track in the fake Oval Office studio.

“Don’t take it personally, lamp. Don’t be a huge pussy,” Joe muttered. He stumbled to his ersatz office chair and sat down carefully.

“Yeah, chair, you son of a bitch, you take my ass, my bony old ass,” Joe said.

“You have got to get this out of your system, Grandpa,” Finnegan said.

“I used to have a great ass for a white guy,” Joe said. “You could bounce a quarter on the damn thing.”

“We can’t do any press until you stop.”

“I feel good, you son of a bitch. Don’t take it personally like some damn woman,” Joe said. “Bring me a pot of coffee and the morning papers.”

“You can’t have coffee. It’s bad for your heart.”

“My heart is as strong as it as ever been. You wanna try and take me in a pull-up contest? Let’s go to a gym, you son of a bitch.”

“We are not going to a gym,” Finnegan said.

“Don’t take it personally, Fat Pop! That’s an apology.”

Finnegan closed her eyes, counted backward from 20, and then sighed so hard it turned into a yawn.

—–

“Such a good tweet,” Seresto cooed.

“Thank you so much,” Kaylieburrow said, and squeed. “The replies are so on point.”

“Uh, sorry, but that’s one of mine,” Astrid said, not looking up from her phone.

“Aw, I was hoping it was some real engagement,” Kaylieburrow said sadly.

“It’s the sentiment that counts,” Seresto said. “Someone out there probably believes it.”

“Here, sweetie,” Astrid said, “This is a good one.”

“Uh, yeah, that was me,” Seresto said. “Got to keep those tweets and engagements high.”

“Fifty a day is a lot,” Kaylieburrow said, flexing her swollen thumbs.

“What about all of these?” Astrid asked, showing them her phone. “These are so adorable.”

“Those are all me!” Kaylieburrow said, beginning to sob. “I can’t even keep stupid ads off my posts!”

“Oh, sorry, that was me,” Astrid admitted. Seresto and Kaylieburrow glared at her.

“What? I got a side hustle… What’s the big deal?”