I am not an animal! I am a human being! I am… a Senator!

 

“Heel mee,” Dianne groaned through the working section of her twisted mouth.

“No, I don’t think so, Dianne,” Hillary said, barely looking up from her pubic topiary.

“All-wahs loyul,” Dianne said effortly. “I desherve…”

“You deserve nothing,” Hillary said. clip clip clip “We needed you in the Senate and you let us down.” clip clip clip

“Nannncy,” Dianne said, the word coming out in the creek of a tomb opening.

“She can’t help you either,” Hillary said. clip clip clip “In fact, she’s on her way out too. Some health scare to keep her from running again. Breast cancer, probably. That’s always a good one.”

“Roooth…”

“Ruth is as dead as dead gets. Her ancient pussy is full of worms.” clip clip clip

Dianne strained to stand up, her paralyzed hand and drooping face contorting with hideous will. She collapsed back into her wheelchair, tried to make herself cry, failed, and shook as another convulsion took her.

Hillary stood, lifted her gunt and showed Dianne the roaring lion face she had carved into the gray afro of her quim.

“I am not your Savior, Dianne. Or Nancy’s. Or Joe’s. Or Kamala’s. I am Hillary! Your feculent fecklessness has forced me to save myself too many times. I won in 2016 and you Congress-cunts let Trump steal it from me. And instead of supporting me in 2020, you let an elderly dementia patient that SHITS HIMSELF in front of dignitaries become president and stole the honor of defeating Trump from me. From me!”

Hillary walked over to the window and pressed up against the glass, displaying herself to Harlem.

“You all like fucking me over,” Hillary growled, bending backwards to press her mangled labia against the glass. Tires squealed on the streets below, the bangshatter of cars colliding, screams, gunfire.

“Do your fucking worst,” Hillary snarled at the people in chaos below. Her labia came away from the glass with a wet slurp, a smear of ancient yellow pus remaining, as she turned back to Dianne.

“Do you think this is the worst, Dianne?” Hillary asked as she crossed to the wheelchair-bound crone.

She caressed the palsied features of Dianne’s face: the deep runnels of age, the sagging lower lid of her purblind eye, the grimace of pain and fear frozen on her face.

“Do you think there is no more misery to mine from what is left of your life?”