Huma lay across Hillary and sighed as her lover rippled and writhed with transformations under her.
“Kamala,” Hillary croaked, her lips ballooning in and out with every sluggish heartbeat.
“Yes, my love,” Huma said. “Dropped out with no warning.”
“She was chosen, shown the mysteries,” Hillary said thickly.
“Peace, my love,” Huma whispered. “Peace. Anger is dangerous now.”
“I want her dead!” the bulk howled. “Dead. Bring me her betrayer’s head!”
“She is retreating to California,” Huma said. “You never have to deal with her again.”
Hillary grunted and farted melodiously through multiple anuses. “Dead!” she screamed again.
“Peace, lover, peace,” Huma said. She ran her fingers through a cluster of clitorises that had sprouted in Hillary’s armpit overnight, and a roiling shudder nearly bucked her off to the floor.
“We must coronate a new heir,” Huma said, bending to nibble the hood of each one.
“Who? Who? Who?” Hillary hooted. “Chelsea is weak, a crippled branch that should be pruned.”
“Biden?” Huma asked, exhaling a slow hot breath on a labial wound opening over Hillary’s left floating rib.
“The Groper. The Sniffer. The Unsuccessful Bill. He sided with Obama against me. He carries The Blackamoor Taint,” Hillary said, a human quality returned to her voice. She groaned as Huma began to part the wound in her side with patient fingers and tongue.
“Warren and Sanders are already in an alliance,” Huma said. She hooked a fingernail under the mucus plug within the ribgina and teased it out. She caught the pus that ran out in her mouth.
“Ashes. They taste of ashes. They deserve one another. I reached out to Warren. I told her of the power…” Hillary reached with a shaking hand and made a feeble fist.
“I want them dead after the election,” Hillary, fixing a milky eye on Huma. “Dead. I want them all dead. Bernie can have that heart attack he has earned. Her… Something worse.”
“There’s a special place in hell for women that don’t support other women,” Huma said. She twisted her hand into the silent duck and plunged it into Hillary’s side.
“Cancer!” Hillary cried out. “Cunt cancer! Let her health plan pay for coring her out!”
Clenching and unclenching her fist around an organ roughly analogous to a liver, Huma said, “That doesn’t leave many people to back, my love.”
“Who is left?” Hillary moaned.
“The Jews,” Huma said, queefing her distaste. “And the young LGBTQQIP2SAA from Indiana.”
“Lugbetkewpissa?” Hillary rumbled.
“Gay,” Huma said. “The gay man.”
“I shall back no Feculent,” Hillary said flatly.
“And he’s white,” Huma told her.
“White?” Hillary hissed.
“At the end of the day, a white man is still a white man,” Huma said and then licked the line of suppurating nipples that ran down Hillary’s chest.
“And there are no women left?” Hillary asked. “None at all?”
“Not a one,” Huma lied. “Not a single one.”
“Then I know what I must do,” Hillary whispered.
“Yes, yes!” Huma cried, squeezing erotic bile from the quasi-liver.
“Yes, yes!” she screamed as Hillary’s flipper slapped against her Weiner-blighted crotch.
“Yes, oh, yes!” as Hillary took both of Huma’s baby-gnawed breasts into her mouth and chewed.
“I MUST RUN!” Hillary bellowed as Huma yelped and collapsed.