“I’m the most qualified person ever to be President,” Joe whispered into the mirror, his breath fogging the glass. He couldn’t see himself begin to touch himself. The mirror shook. The bathroom shook. The train began to move, slow and ponderous, like elephants mating. “Uber for trains,” he whispered. “Now that’s a Presidential-level idea.” The train began to sway as it reached a walking pace. He rested his underballs on the cool lip of the filthy train bathroom sink and groaned. “Mr. President,” he murmured, pulling at the ragged perimeters of his abused nipples. “I will be President.”

 

“So who do I have to sleep with to be President?” Kamala asked the swirling smoke in the mirror. “Old is OK. I’ve already done old. I actually like sagging ballsacks now.” The mirror tried to clear and then clouded again. “Dammit, mirror! Tell me!” The mirrored finally cleared and a face formed. The mirror made a gagging noise and Kamala fainted dead away.

 

[howling winds of chaos]

 

Nancy shook the plush toy in Alex’s face. “Donsha wantsh tu pay wish it?”

“No!’ the girl screamed. She pulled at the crotch of her tights and made a face.

“What’s the matter?” Chuck asked, looming avuncularly.

“My cookie itches!” Alex said. She smelled her fingers and made a gagging noise.

“Cookie?” Chuck asked Nancy.

“Her ‘no-no,’” Nancy replied, pointing suggestively.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Chuck muttered.

“I WANT MY 21 TRILLION!” Alex screamed, high and piercing. Everyone in the caucus meeting winced.

“Fucking Astoria,” Chuck said.

“GREEN NEW DEAL!” Alex screeched and kicked over the blocks they had given her to play with while they tried to talk.

“Depshit Bernie and now thish,” Nancy grumbled.

“WE LOST THE SENATE BECAUSE OF GERRYMANDERING!” the little girl yelled. “I KNOW BIG WORDS!”

“Fucking Bronx,” Chuck said. “I’d like to bomb that shithole to the ground.”

“THROGS NECK, MOTHAFUCKA!”

“I’m not sure this is a productive meeting…” Kristen said quietly.

“YOU COST US AL FRANKEN!” Al screamed in her face in the third person. He honked her boobs and stalked out of the room.

“Who’s that?” Alex demanded. “Who’s that? Who’s that? Who’s that? Who’s that lady? Who’s that?” She kept pointing at herself in the mirror as all the rest of them slowly filed out.

 

“I’m gonna be President. I’m gonna be the best President. I’m from Brooklyn. I’m tough. I’m capable. I’ll only be 79 when I get elected. I’m from Vermont. People from Vermont are very tough. The toughest. Second only to people from Brooklyn, so that makes me extra tough. Double tough. I can take on Donald. Young people love me. I’m like the kooky grandpa that farts a lot in all those movies that the kids love. Just fantastic. I can fart too, you know. Authentic Vermont farting. Smells like maple syrup and white people!”

 

Amy Jean Klobuchar continued to quietly matter not one bit.

 

“They want you to stay in the Senate, Elizabeth. They think you should know your place. You tell ’em: A Woman’s Place Is In The White House. That will be a great bumper sticker. I’ll take on Wall Street and Donald Trump and I’ll get rid of pay-day loans and make all the businesses have a government official on their Board of Directors. I’ll haul CEOs out into the street and feed them to the homeless. I’ll turn this entire nation into a paradise, like San Francisco! Blood! Blood will run in the streets! I LOVE BLOOD. Wait, hold on don’t think about that. Don’t think about blood. Dammit, Elizabeth, you thought about blood. Don’t. Don’t think about blood. bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood Deep breaths, Elizabeth. Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. OK, good. bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood”

Elizabeth rushed to her office bathroom and locked the door behind her. She struggled out of her Spanx, clamped a handtowel between her teeth and began to masturbate furiously: pulling, twisting, tugging, flicking, slapping, pinching, splaying and finally beating her dead clitoris to elicit a feeling, any feeling. It was as numb and cold as a gravestone

 

“BETO! BETO! BETO!” The chants of the crowds still rang in his ears. He lay by the small pond and gazed lovingly at his own reflection. “You will be the white Obama,” he told himself. Beside him, spooning comfortably, Cory told his reflection: “And you will be the black Obama.”