“I gots the COVIDs,” Joe said, sweating under a pile of blankets, in his virus bunker.

“No, you don’t,” Finnegan said, spooning mush into his mouth. There was more on his chin and neck than in his stomach.

“I want more vaccine,” he said. “I don’t trust that woman. I don’t!”

“You’ve had all the vaccine you should take,” she said, wiping his face.

“More. Maybe Presidents need-need-need more,” Joe said, shivering. “She’s trying to William Henry Harrison me.”

“Who? Is he on Instagram?” his granddaughter asked, unbuttoning her smock.

“Tendie nums-nums,” Joe whispered.

“Breast milk is very nutritious,” she told him again. “It’s like Ensure heated up in the microwave.”

“I want to grow up big and strong,” Joe said, pulling out his dentures.

 


 

“We need to transition,” Kamala seethed. “I want my White House email address. I want my parking spot.”

“Grandpa is doing well after the vaccine,” Seresto said brightly.

“President-Elect Joe Biden,” Kamala said through clenched teeth.

“#GrandpaJoe is trending,” Kayleighburrow said. “Up in all the key demos: white women, biracial gays, bisexual racists, geriatric fetishists, pajama bois, and gropers 14-45.”

“Yummy,” Astra purred. “I love a good pajama boi. They are so flaccid and soft-skinned, like being with a woman but without all the Indigo Girls and menstrual cups.”

“We should make Grandpa a profile on Grandr, the number one app for gay seniors,” Kayleighburrow said.

“Joe isn’t gay!” Astra said. “He sniffs my hair, not some dude-bro’s hair. He said my hair smelled delicious.”

“He said all our hair smelled delicious,” Seresto shot back.

Kamala pulled a lock of her hair over and sniffed it. She had never been told it smelled delicious.

“Were you wearing your masks?” Kamala demanded.

“Of course,” Astra said.

“Mine is flannel!” Kayleighburrow said, waving a filthy scrap of lumberjack shirt.

“We set a timer, like you said,” Seresto said. “Only twenty minutes of sniff time and Joe had to go back into his stasis pod.”

 


 

“Nummy!” Joe said, his face wet with boob-sweat and breast-milk.

“Did you get enough?” Finnegan asked, her nipples sore from his gumming.

Joe coughed up a blob of phlegm that shot out onto the floor and fell fast asleep.

 


 

“I will be President,” Kamala said.

“Harris 2028!” Astra said, smiling, the smile failing when she saw Kamala’s glare.

Kayleighburrow’s phone beeped.

“Update me!” Kamala snapped before the young woman could even read the text.

“Finnegan–ohmuhgawd, I just love her name, it’s like an old comfy sweater!–says that he has had both types of the vaccine and he is all sweaty gross and is sleeping.”

“Good, good,” Kamala said, suppressing an evil giggle.

“Can women set up accounts in Grandr?” Astra asked Kayleighburrow quietly.

“I don’t see why not,” Kayleighburrow replied, firing off a confusing string of emojis, gifs, reaction gifs to those gifs, and a jpeg of gallon milk jugs being clinked like champagne glasses.

“I like old dick,” Astra said in a stage whisper.

“You’ll go far,” Kamala said, braying out a laugh.