What’s So ‘Off-Putting’ About Elizabeth Warren?


“From each according to his abilities,” Bernie mumbled, “To each according to her needs.” He leaned over Liz and spat a half-sucked Geritol her mouth.

“I promise to work my heart out on you, Bernie,” Liz said, talking around the huge pill in her mouth then swallowing it. She gathered his dangling ballsack in her hand and bobbled it vigorously, making dandruff rain down on the floor of their secret love nest.

“I stand up for the little guy, the oppressed, the disenfranchised, those preyed on by Big Pharma,” Bernie said. He ate another Viagra gummy and made a fist with his face, willing blood into his crooked penis.

“We are going to be fantastic in the next debates,” Liz said, eating a gummy herself.

“Joe is senile, Kamala is a fraud,” Bernie said. “We are what the next generation is looking for. We appeal to the young voter. I’ve never been popular with young voters! It feels great, like when I was popular with young voters in 2016!”

Liz hauled her left breast out of her armpit and offered it to Bernie. He braced himself on the headboard and bent to suckle at her chapped nipple.

“Yes, Bernie, yes, honor me as your comrade equal,” she moaned. His drool ran down the runnels in her breasts and pooled on the bed.

Bernie reached for her grey crotch and used a hoof-nailed forefinger to rub her mummified clitoris. It made a sound like crumpling the cellophane from a cigarette pack.

“We will beat this corrupt, rigged, capitalist nightmare system that keeps me bone-dry and you soft as an old tube sock,” Liz said, shaking his penis now like she was trying to wake it.

“We will do it together,” Bernie said, trying to push a finger into her desiccated vagina, “My beloved comrade female.”

“I know, we know, what’s broken in my vagina, I know how to fix it, and we will fight to make it happen,” Liz said, fumbling for lube. She pushed away expired hormone patches and Bernie’s vape juice bottles in the drawer of the small bedside table while still working his quarter-hard penis like she was milking a cow.

“I want to make love to your belly button,” Bernie said as she blindly groped in the drawer. “It is the most socialist of orifices.”

“Bernie?” Liz asked. “Can you see the lube?”

“We don’t need lube, we just need our commitment to proletariat values,” Bernie replied, trying to steer his penis toward the sweet asshole of her mouth.

“I need lube,” Liz said. “You’re going to be hard at some point probably and I need lube. I need lube, dammit!”

“Saliva is very socialist,” he said, giving a leer that looked like he was having another stroke. “The most collective of lubricants.”