Asleep on the Oval Office couch, Karine farted and startled herself awake.

Across the vast coffee table, Hunter said from the settee, “Ah, you’re awake.”

“Shit, what time is it, did I miss the press briefing?” she asked, rubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“You got about two hours,” Hunter said.

“How long have you been there?” she asked.

“About an hour.”

“So you have just been sitting there?”

“Yes.”

“Watching me sleep?”

“You are just so entertaining,” he said, moving suddenly from the settee to squat like a gargoyle on the coffee table. “You twitch like a cat having a dream, your little hands clenching like you’ve caught a baby bunny.”

“You are so creepy,” Karine said, struggling to sit up.

“My brother’s widow tasted like honey when I had her. Her sister was more… piquant? Like aged cheese, with maybe a little bit of red meat? Definitely an umami flavor profile.”

“Jesus.”

“I just want to know what you taste like, baby. I mean, does a tongue really have a gender?”

“What are you doing on the coffee table?” Finnegan asked as she swept into the room. “Do I have to go get the spray bottle?”

“I am not a cat!” Hunter said, squatting even lower to rest his testicles on the hideous antique table. “And if I were a cat, I’d be the really expensive kind!”

“OK, if that’s how you want to play this,” Finnegan said and turned to leave the room.

“Fine,” Hunter said and hopped back onto the settee. “You know I’ve been depressed since the plea deal was turned down. Squatting on stuff cheers me up.”

He leered at bleary-eyed Karine. “Being squatted on as well.” She snorted in disgust.

“And you know I’ve been fragile since I smoked the last of Cracky,” he pouted.

“Thank fuck that damn thing is finally gone,” Karine said.

“Cracky will live again!” Hunter declared. “I just have to sneak out one night, buy all the crack in DC, and crush it together in a big ball.”

Finnegan audibly rolled her eyes. “With what money?”

“I’ll sell another painting,” Hunter said sadly. “I don’t want to, it’s like losing a child when I do. I’m just devastated.”

“Like losing a child?” Finnegan asked. “Selling one of your shitty paintings made with ink and spit is just like if I died? Just when I think I’ve seen the bottom, you kick open a door to yet another basement.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Karine said, twisting around to look at her.

“Stay out of this, drunky,” Finnegan snapped. “This is Biden business.”

The Presidential Shitter flushed with a mighty roar. And flushed again.

“I think I need some help in here,” Joe said faintly. Finnegan took a couple of steps toward the bathroom and Karine scurried out.

“Christ, what now?” Finnegan asked.

“What has he done?” Hunter asked. “That thing could flush a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“There’s something in-in-in here,” Joe said. “I think it’s a leg. A-a-a human leg.”

“Oh. Don’t worry, it’s just a prosthetic,” Hunter told his daughter. “I had some people over last night.”