“W-w-why are everyone mad at me, is mad at me about Easter? I love Easter! Hard-boiled eggs and chocolate bunnies, a-a-and, well, all the rest,” Joe said.

“Proclaiming the Trans Day of Visibility on Easter angered the incel alt-right meanie-pants KKK hate types,” Finnegan said.

Her father, Hunter, burped loudly and longfully from the filthy dog bed he was curled up in and staggered to his feet to do a Jeffy-wander to the bathroom, mumbling what might have been words.

“Trans what of what?” Joe asked.

“Trans Day of Visibility, Grandpa. You know, trans people, like Dr. Levine.”

“I don’t like him,” Joe said.

“Her. You don’t like her,” Finnegan said.

Joe locked up, freezing in place. Finnegan waited impatiently for him to reset.

The toilet flushed loudly and Hunter shuffled back into The Oval Office. He looked at Joe, waved his hand in front of his face a few times.

“What now?” Hunter asked Finnegan as he plopped back into his dog bed.

“Trans Day of Visibility,” Finnegan said with a theatrical sigh.

“I told ya’ll not to send that,” he said, lighting a cigarette and scratching himself.

“It was the Trans Day of Visibility whether we sent out a proclamation or not.”

“Easter. You knew it was Easter,” Hunter said tiredly. “Don’t fuck with people’s holidays.”

“We couldn’t stay silent. Silence is violence. If even a single day passes without mentioning trans people, it’s a genocide. A day-by-day genocide.”

“Fucking Gen Z,” Hunter said and then used his teeth to pry a rhomboidal hunk off Cracky.

“Like Gen X has been the best role model,” she said, watching him pack a glass stem and search for his crème brûlée torch.

“It was an own goal, baby girl,” he said.

“The intern that did it has been has been dealt with,” Finnegan said.

“But the damage is done.”

“Republicans pounce. That’s just what they do.”

“I like Easter,” Joe said, able to move and speak again. “I like ham. It’s just not Easter without ham.”

“Maybe that’s what you should have proclaimed instead,” Hunter said and then took a huge hit of his glass pipe.

“That would have gone over great on Ramadan,” Finnegan said.

Hunter blew out a fat cloud of white smoke in Joe’s direction. Powerful fans kicked on and sucked the smoke away, venting it out through the roof of the White House like a papal conclave.

“And the Jews,” Hunter said after a fit of coughing. “Jews hate ham.”

“They aren’t exactly fans of Easter either.”

“There’s ham?’ Joe asked, licking his lips with a gray tongue.

“You proclaimed it Tubesteak Day of Tubesteaking, Dad,” Hunter said, leaning back into a rush of pleasure lapping at his thighs and thews like a giant dog.

“Trans Day of Visibility,” Finnegan grated.

“I didn’t do that,” Joe said.