“So I’m not going to be President?” Kamala asked, her unused ducts straining to produce tears.

“Joe says he’s running,” Jen said. The giggle was somewhere down in her stomach, rising; she bit the inside of her cheek to keep it down.

“But I wanted to be President,” Kamala moaned.

“I understand that, Madam Vice President. You’ll be in an excellent position for a 2028 run. You’ll have six more years of a strong Biden economy to make your case to the American people.”

Kamala was turning a purplish color as Jen talked, her right hand stiffening into a hideous claw.

“This entire Administration is behind you 100%,” Jen said. She smiled and peeled off her teeth whitening strip and dropped it into a coffee mug.

“Maybe all this would sound better if you weren’t still wearing that creepy fucking outfit.”

Jen settled the Easter Bunny head back on her shoulders and said, “It’s the only thing that scares him. We have a grade school tour group coming by in a couple of hours. I have to run interference.”



“I don’t remember posting this to Twitter,” Joe grumped from his grandpa grumping chair, a brown corduroy recliner with fresh dog hair flown in daily.

“I wrote that, Grandpa,” Finnegan said, kneeling, scrubbing piss out of the Oval Office carpet.

“Why is there newspaper all over the floor?” Joe asked.

“Why do you keep not using it?” Finnegan shot back.

“I can’t read that! It’s on the floor!” Joe said.

“I’m sick of you in that grumping chair, all you do is grump when you’re in it!” Finnegan yelled.

“I want a divorce!” Joe yelled back.

“I’m your granddaughter!”

“What’s Twitter?”

“I AM GOING TO SHIT EGGS IN YOUR MOUTH!” Kamala screamed and burst into the Oval Office in Jen’s Easter Bunny suit.

Joe clutched at his chest with one hand and rubbed his crotch raw with the other.