With the troubling disappearance of SugarFree, we instead offer this classic episode.

1998 February 4

 

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” Bill told Hillary, his voice taking on that raspiness she knew so well.

“Sell it somewhat else, buster,” Hillary growled. The Oval Office smelled of cigars, semen, and intern pussy.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” Bill said, his voice even raspier. He started sounding like he was going to cry. Hillary looked at him with disgust–the veins on his nose and neck, the saggy skin and meat of his face.

“They have the dress, Bill,” Hillary said. “You dumped a huge load all over it. They are testing it for your DNA.”

“That doesn’t mean I had sex with her,” Bill whispered petulantly.

“You just jizzed on her dress by accident? She was just suddenly there when you ejaculated?”

Bill looked out the window of the Oval Office. A helicopter was landing, blowing patterns in the frozen grass of the lawn.

“Whores, Billy, why are they always such whores?”

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” Bill said.

“Why am I not enough for you?” Hillary said in mustered anguish.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” Bill said.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Hillary screamed.

The Oval Office door opened and a Secret Service agent looked in.

“Oh, now you investigate weird noises in here, now when it is too late,” Hillary fired at the agent. He pulled back out of the room and closed the door softly.

“Am I not enough woman for you?” Hillary demanded. She tore open her blouse, exposing her breasts; they swayed as she shook with anger.

“You haven’t touched me since the primaries!” she sobbed, dropping the pants of her pantsuit to the floor of the Oval Office.

“This is not appropriate,” Bill managed.

“APPROPRIATE?!?” Hillary screamed.

“I did not have sexual relations with that woman,” Bill said again, like an incantation to quell her rage.

Hillary squealed in anger and dropped her enormous control-top panties. Her black thicket of pubic hair was the size of a bicycle seat.

“Is there anything more womanly?” she asked. She hopped awkwardly onto the Resolute desk and pulled her knees toward her lumpy breasts.

“Pussy, right Billy. You want pussy? I have a pussy, goddammit!” Hillary steadied herself with the edge of the desk and pushed the button that locked the Oval Office door.

“You didn’t think I knew about that, did you?” she aske as the magnetic bolts thunked home.

“Matt Lauer installed it for me,” Bill said. “I didn’t even want it.”

“Fuck me. Fuck me now or the marriage is over. I don’t care if I don’t get to be President after Al’s two terms.”

“Here? In the Oval Office?” Bill asked.

“After all the others? Yes, here. Right here. Now.”

Bill dejectedly undid his belt and pants and let them fall through the floor.

“You aren’t even hard,” Hillary said. “Here I am, a sexually mature woman and you can’t even get an erection.”

“Sometimes it takes a minute,” Bill said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“C’mon, Big Bill,” she said, trying to writhe erotically. What little blood that was in Bill’s penis flowed back out rapidly. He was dizzy, his ears rang, there was a taste of metal in his mouth.

“I know you like to see inside,” she said. She pulled apart her inner lips, the thick mucus holding them shut made a ripping sound like Velcro parting.

Bill slapped his penis, hoping to wake it from its traumatized slumber.

“I know what else you like,” she said. Grunting, she drew air into her vaginal canal and let out a long sputtering queef. She sighed in satisfaction as a siren began to wail.

“What’s going on?” Bill asked, his slack penis bobbling as he looked around.

“Sir!” came a yell from the outer office. “Mr. President! We have to evacuate you!”

“What’s happening?” Bill asked in a cracking voice as he tried to pull up his pants.

“You need to unlock the door, sir!” a different Secret Service agent called.

“What’s wrong, goddammit?” Hillary screamed as she tried to get dressed.

“NBC sensor, Ma’am! The Oval Office is under some sort of chemical attack!”

“Fuck,” Hillary muttered. “You skip one boric acid douche and everyone has to freak out.”