“You look terrible, Dianne,” Joe said. “Realy, truly terrible.”

Feinstein blinked her eyes rapidly at her aide. “She says you look like a dried turd hidden under a saddle.”

“You always did have a way with other people’s words, my dear,” Joe said affectionately.

“Why did you call this meeting?” Dianne blinked. “And at this horrible hour?”

“5:30 is the new 9am,” Joe said. “I’m sharp as a tack.” He slammed his hand down on his desk and drove a tack into his palm. “See?” he said, holding up his hand. “I can even bleed this early in the morning.”

“Why am I here?” Dianne blinked. She strained to lift her hand and scratch up under her pendulous left breast. There was the sound of parting Velcro.

“You-you-you,” Joe stuttered.

“You have to step down, baby,” Karine said. She was sitting on the edge of the Resolute desk, one shoe off, eyes barely open, a small bucket of coffee cooling beside her.

“I’m as capable as I’ve ever been!” Dianne blinked furiously.

“That’s the issue!” Karine said, giggling. She slipped off the desk and landed with a meaty thump on the floor.

“You have to resign or start coming to work,” Finnegan said from under the desk.

“Never!” Dianne blinked. “This is sexiest and transphobia and antisemitic and I’ll never leave, I’ll never leave!”

Karine finally slumped to the floor. As the crone raved, she watched the bag taped to the slack white flesh of her ankle fill with brown piss.