“And I’m supposed to be Dark Brandon?” Joe asked, his eyes unshining red and hands shaking.

“Yes, it’s a meme,” Finnegan said, taking back her phone before he got it all sticky.

“A meme? Wha-wha-what’s that? Is it one of those, whatever, like, Pokemon that Hunter is always going on about?”

“It’s like a political cartoon for people who don’t know how to draw,” Finnegan said, using her shirt to rub at some spittle he had left on the screen.

Joe struggled visibly to parse her sentence.

“But my name isn’t Brandon,” Joe insisted.

“It’s a joke, Grandpa.”

“And I’m not Darkie.”

“It’s a joke, Grampa.”

“It’s not a very funny one,” he said, jerking as the medtech slid another needle into his arm, the serum a sickly blue.

“I’m sick of answering questions about Hur,” Karine said, walking into the Oval Office with Dr. Jill Biden.

“In my medical opinion, Joe is as mentally sharp as he’s ever been,” Doctor Biden said.

Finnegan fought down a barking laugh. It hurt. It physically hurt, like forcing a fart to gurgle back into your upper colon.

“He’s not feeble,” Jill said, brushing past her quivering granddaughter to wipe her husband’s face. “Just keep repeating ‘there are other innocent explanations for the documents we cannot refute.’”

“The Republicans will pounce, Ms. President,” Karine said. “Pounce like a sleek jungle cats, its muscles moving smoothly beneath her skin. Green eyes piercing the dark.”

“Have you still not found a girlfriend, Karine?” Hunter said from the open door of the Presidential Shitter. “You sound backed up.” The toilet flushed loudly, then again and again.

“Trump was right about those fucking low-flow toilets,” Hunter said, loudly not washing his hands, walking out. “I only shit like once a week and I want it to go down on the first try.”

“Fucking Hur. How dare he say Joe doesn’t know what he’s doing?” Dr. Biden said bitterly. She nudged Joe to wake him up. “Is the current formula not working any longer?”

“It does what it can,” Finnegan said, swallowing hard before attempting to speak.

“More, give him more,” The Doctor ordered. “I want him sharp for the press conference.”

“It’s at 1:15pm, why is it at 1:15pm?” Hunter asked. “It’s like you people just want him to fail.” He crossed to put his hand on Dr. Jill’s shoulder and she shuddered.

“Fucking Hur,” Karine said.

“All you have to do is call Hillary,” Hunter sang.