“I did it!” Joe hollered from the bathroom. “I got that bastard!”

Karine and Finnegan had been waiting for him to get finished with his third morning toilet break, the grunts and squeaks coming through the reinforced door all too clearly.

Joe came out of the bathroom in undershirt and boxers, barefoot, his pale feet covered in sores. “I did it,” he repeated to the women.

Finnegan sighed heavily and walked into the bathroom to flush the toilet.

“What did you do, Mr. President?” Karine asked gently.

“I killed Osama bin Laden!” Joe crowed. He flashed his toilet phone at her. Past the glare of giant green buttons, she saw Ayman al-Zawahiri on the screen.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “He’s dead alright.” Karine remembered watching Joe snoring in the Situation Room during the mission. “We got him with a R9X Hellfire missile.”

“Missile? Too impersonal. I got him with a knife! Silent-but-deadly style!” Joe slashed the air with the phone and ki-yahed and hi-yahed like in the movies.

“Knife karate!” Joe yelled.

“No knife karate in The Oval Office!” Finnegan said sternly from the bathroom door.

“Watch him,” she told Karine as she left the room, “I have to go find an accordion plunger.”

“Knife karate!” Joe whispered fiercely and made slashing motions at her back.

“Mr. President,” Karine called.

“Mr. President!” Joe said, standing up as straight as he could, shaking with the effort.

Karine tried again. “Joe, why don’t you help me put this jigsaw puzzle together?”

“I love jigsaw puzzles.” he mumbled.

“I know. Come help me with this one.”

“OK,” he said, dropping his phone and shambling over.

“I am very good with puzzles,” he said, sitting beside her on the couch. “I do them really fast.” She knew he had been working on this particular puzzle for a month.

“500 pieces is a really big puzzle,” she said, handing him a piece of the unicorn’s lower body.

Joe took the piece but continued to hold on to her hand for a long moment.

“You’ve gotten a really nice tan this summer, Jill,” he said. “I told you Hawaiian Tropic was good for other things as well.”

She snatched her hand from his and moved away on the couch.

“A nice St. Tropez sort of tan,” Joe said, moving closer, producing a “pfft” of loose farts with every shift of his artificial hips.

Joe fell sideways on Karine and tried to fit his hand into her blouse. She froze as he burrowed his face into her neck.

“You smell like cocoa butter,” he said. “The kids are out for the night.”

Joe reached down and began to squeeze his scrotum roughly. “This thing takes a minute to inflate,” he said seductively. Karine watched in lesbian horror as the front of his boxers began to tent.

“M-M-M-Mr. President…” she began.

“See? I told them it was just a stutter,” Joe said, the tumescent head of his penis beginning to appear through his fly as he pumped away.

“It’s been so long, Jill…” he murmured. “Let me stab your terrorist.”