“It was cocaine, not crack,” Hunter insisted, Cracky perched on his shoulder like a flaky parrot.

“I understand that, buddy,” Cracky said, eternally chipper and chipped. “Baggie is my cousin. I want you two to be friends.”

“But I prefer you, Cracky,” Hunter said, patting his best friend.

“I know that,” Cracky said, snuggling into the sticky neck of his friend.

“Dad?” Finnegan called. “Are you down here?”

“I sure am!” Cracky called out.

“Dad,” Finnegan said firmly. “I need to talk to you.”

Finnegan walked into Hunter’s bunker-office and turned to walk back out. “I need you to put on some pants or something.”

“You’ve seen it all before,” Hunter said but struggled into his jock-strap and a pair of harem pants.

“Are you decent?” Finnegan asked cautiously.

“Never!” Hunter said, “But I’ve put on pants.”

Finnegan peeked through the bunker door and sighed in relief. “First, I want you to understand that Naomi is OK, she wasn’t hurt whatsoever.”

“OK,” Hunter said. He took Cracky off his shoulder and set him on his scarred, carved and partially burned desk.

Finnegan came in, looking in vain for a clean place to set and chose an overturned milk crate being used as a cage for a filthy Garfield doll.

“Again, Naomi is just fine, but there was an incident with her Secret Service detail. Thay had to fire on men trying to steal their official vehicle outside of her house.”

“It was Jews, wasn’t it?” Hunter asked.

“Jews? What?” Finnegan asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Jews steal, like, 90% of the cars in DC. Everyone knows that.” Hunter tapped Cracky on the desk until a small piece of him fell off.

“I don’t think that’s correct, Dad.”

“I can’t believe they tried to take the life of my only daughter,” Hunter said, loading the stained glass of his Bidencare crack pipe. Cracky made a keening noise.

Finnegan coughed theatrically.

“I can’t believe they tried to take the life of my only oldest daughter,” Hunter said, leaning back in his burnt umber office chair and hitting the pipe with a culinary torch. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and smiled contentedly. “All I have in this world is you and your sister.”

“Maisy, Dad,” Finnegan said.

“Have you seen her? That is not my child. Changeling. The Jews replaced my child with some sort of deformed Jew-baby.”

“That’s not, what are you talking about? I don’t think Jews have anything to do with Maisy, Dad.”

“Then why were they rioting yesterday?” Hunter said with his eyes closed in ecstasy. “So violent, so much destruction. They shit on a statue.”

“That was the pro-Palestinian protesters,” Finnegan said tiredly.

“Why would Jews be pro-Palestinian?” Hunter asked. “That’s ridiculous.”

Finnegan glared at her father and stalked from the bunker.

“You know, I’m 1/7th Jewish on my maternal grandfather’s side,” Cracky said.

“You’re one of the good ones, Cracky,” Hunter said, rubbing his friend fondly.