“I’m running for President!” Joe said, triumph rattling like phlegm in his chest.

“We know, Grandpa,” Finnegan said, patting his arm.

“I’ll have to find someone to run with,” Joe said. “A good Vice President is a real asset to a campaign.”

“You have a Vice President, Grandpa,” Finnegan said.

“I do? That doesn’t sound right,” Joe said.

“I’m your Vice President,” Kamala said, stepping from behind the American flag in the Oval Office.

“Negro!” Joe said, pointing, imagining his finger a fire hose.

“You’re not getting rid of me, you White Devil!” Kamala screamed.

“I was a good Vice President. I helped Barry get elected twice,” Joe said. “We have to find someone like me for me.”

“You are not kicking me off this ticket!” Kamala hollered. “I’m the first Asian Vice President! And the first Black Vice President! And first Female Vice President! I’m the most accomplished woman alive!”

“Maybe a foxy Black chick?” Joe mused to Finnegan as Kamala stamped her feet.

“Daddy!” Hunter trilled as he came out of the Presidential Shitter and Health Center.

“My beautiful son!” Joe said back, holding out his arms.

“We’re not through here!” Kamala said to Finnegan. “I want him to remember that I’m his Vice President.”

“We all want a lot of things,” Finnegan said to her in a voice drier than Ben Shapiro’s wife.

“He said he was only running for a single term,” Kamala said. “2024 was for me. I was going to be the first Femblasian President.”

Finnegan shrugged and turned to watch in disgust as her father climbed into her grandfather’s lap.

“You’re gettin’ to be a big boy,” Joe gasped as Hunter settled on him.

“Do you just live here now?” Finnegan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Daddy invited me,” Hunter told his daughter smugly. “I’ve been having some legal trouble and he’s helping me out.”

“Hiding from some slut you knocked up?” Kamala asked archly.

“Stripper slut, thank you,” Hunter said. “Top shelf dancing skank. That baby isn’t mine anyway. I never fucked her. I had way too much coke that night to get it up.”

Finnegan slapped her hands over her ears and sat down on the floor. Her happy place was a city in the clouds she had built brick-by-brick over long years of practiced disassociation.

“My boy needs me,” Joe said, kissing his son on the mouth and beard scruff. “He needs me.”

“No process servers in The White House, Kammie,” Hunter said. “I told the Secret Service to shoot to kill.”

“I love you, Beau,” Joe said, running a hand over Hunter’s bare chest.

Kamala made several exaggerated retching noises and fled.