“I felsh powaful!” Nancy proclaimed through her lisp and frozen facial muscles and useless mask.

“Like the homeland of all humanity is behind me,” Chuck said. He smoothed the kente cloth scarf over his lapels, lingering over his breasts for a long moment.

“Asifran-Amerikans can sheep safe knowing thtsh we are wearing this scarfs,” Nancy said, preening before a floor-length mirror in her office.

“Black,” Chuck said. “You’re supposed to call them ‘Black,” now. With a capital ‘B.’” He reached into his shirt and pinched his right nipple until it expressed a drop of yellow milk shot through with veins of blood. He licked his finger and moaned.

“Fhulking again?” Nancy asked. She took off the spit-soaked mask she was wearing, shook out the tooth fragments onto the carpet, and threw it away.

“I don’t care what they want to be called as long as they vote for me,” Chuck said. He walked up behind her and began to roughly knead the tumorous meat of her breasts.

“Donts, Huck,” she slurred. “We has too mulch to douche.” She settled a new mask onto her lower face.

“Just a quickie, baby,” he said, his hot garbage breath flowing into her deafest ear.

“Huck,” she said thickly.

“I think about the bandits in your dusty arroyo all day,” he said, rubbing her scabby labia through three layers of Spanx.

“Nos, Huck. We hash to be all bizniss todey!” she said, twisted away from him with a cry of thwarted passion.

“Nancy,” he whined.

“No,” she said, puffing out her mask, enunciating carefully. “Black votes matter!”

“Fine,” Chuck said pouting. “Are you ready? Do you know your lines?”

Nancy tried to glare at him, but those muscles had been stretched back behind her ears during her third to the last facelift and estrogen dunk tank.

Chuck opened the door, let Nancy go out first into the photoshoot. Nancy struck the Superman and Chuck went with I’ll show you my gun, my Uzi weighs a ton because I’m Public Enemy number one Chuck D, but it was really just a Salt n’ Pepa.

“Senator, Senator,” the press wailed. “Speaker, Speaker.” Chuck and Nancy both peed a little from the attention until Chuck held up his arms for silence. An expectant hush fell over the tame news creatures.

“I hear the drums echoing tonight,” Chuck intoned. “But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation.”

“Shesh coming in, twelf-dirty fight,” Nancy took up. “The moonliteh wings reflect the shars that guide me tow-ard salvashun.”

“Senator, Ms. Speaker, would you like to address to police reform bill?” a desperate reporter asked.

“I stopped an old man along the way,” Chuck sang-said gravely. “Hoping to find some old forgotten words or ancient melodies. He turned to me as if to say, ‘Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you.’”

The Congression Old Caucus spread out and dropped to one knee and all sang together:

It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you
There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do
I bless the rains down in Africa

“I BLESS THE RAINS!” Kamala squawked in her carefully practiced AAVE.

Gonna take some time to do the things we never had

They all raised their hands, shaking with palsy and drink, panting, sweating, artificial knees crying out.

“Ooh, ooh,” they sang. “Ooh, ooh.”

As the off-key singing finished echoing off the marble, a NPR reporter felt to his knees, stretched out on the floor in supplication, and screamed, “I BLESS THE RAINS!” His cameraman kicked him right in the butthole and wandered away.