Welcome to our new semi-regular feature documenting the Harris-Biden administration. Since this story began as a part of the extended universe of The Hat and The Hair (Peace Be Upon Them), we have included a new tag to the previous episodes and numbered them for clarity’s sake.

 

Joemala: Episode 1

Joemala: Episode 2

Joemala: Episode 3

Joemala: Episode 4

Joemala: Episode 5

Joemala: Episode 6

Joemala: Episode 7

Joemala: Episode 8

Joemala: Episode 9

Joemala: Episode 10

 

And now, on with the show!


 

Episode 11

“Jack says they have finally banned or scrub everyone who used #Fweedom, Dr. Ma’am, Esquire,” Seresto said.

“This is a transition meeting, not a social media meeting,” Kamala said and glared.

Her social media interns had been trapped in Kamala’s office for three hours and they all had to pee.

“Yes, Dr. Ma’am,” Seresto said. She nudged Astra who had begun squirming at the word transition,” tugging at the binder that smashed they breasts flat.

“Oh, there’s no need to be so formal,” Kamala said. “Just call me Vice-President Harris.”

“Yes, Vice-President Harris,” they all said in the dull tones of sleepy schoolchildren.

“We are completely moved in, Madam Ma’am,” Kayleighburrow said as a furious storm of text alerts rattled her phone. “The fumigators have finally gotten the Pence smell out. The Office of the Vice President is ours.”

Fweedom,” Kamala growled. “How did they find out? Who reads Playboy for the articles?”

“I read Playboy for the boobies,” Astra said, pitching they voice so low them began to cough.

“Hostile sexual workplace environment!” Seresto screeched

“Just because you are a he/they now doesn’t mean you get to act like a guy! That’s gross!” Kayleighborrow sniffed.

“How is the new name coming?” Kamala asked.

“I thought about something space-related since Astra means stars in Latin,” Astra said. “Maybe just Star.”

Star is a stripper name,” Kamala said flatly.

“Yes, Dr. Vice-President,” Astra mumbled.

“Are you a stripper?” Kamala asked. “A transmasculine non-binary stripper?”

“No, Madam Dr.-Vice Harris,” Astra said, wishing her hair was still long enough to brush over her face. It was so short now that three different cancer-fetishists had contacted her on They/Themdr.

The phone rang and Kamala grimaced and waved them out of the office. As they raced to the bathroom, Astra groaned, “My front hole!”

—–

“She just showed up? No appointment or anything?” Kamala asked.

“No, Esquire-Dr.,” the receptionist whispered. “I’m not even sure how she got in the building.”

“The sewers,” Kamala said through gritted teeth. “Send her in.”

 

Kamala took the time to compose herself, smoothing her hair and straightening her power suit jacket, and stood up.

“Hillary!” she said, holding her hand out to the blobby crone that limped into her office. Hillary smiled wide, showing all her teeth.

“Ms. President,” Hillary rasped.

“Oh, haha,” came Kamala’s forced laugh and she motioned with her unshaken hand for Hillary to sit. She fell heavily into an office chair.

“Not yet,” Kamala said laughing, sitting. “I’m not President yet.”

“But you have plans, yes?” Hillary said. She began to root through the purse on her lap, a few used tissues falling to the office floor. She pulled out a dried duck foot and began to suck on it.

“Oh, course we have plans, in case something happens. It just wouldn’t be prudent not to,” Kamala said, her face a carefully immobile mask.

“Joe is old and feeble and you know he won’t last a full term,” Hillary said around her duck foot. “I know he has to make it to midterms for you to be able to run for a full two terms. Ten years as President. What a neat trick.”

“It’s not a trick,” Kamala said.

“I’m not criticizing,” Hillary said and smiled, her teeth black with duck foot. “In fact, I am here to admire. You are going to do what Trump cheated me out of with his voter suppression and racists and Putin and Wikileaking. He did such a good job destroying my power base, I couldn’t even get a mob together to invade the Capitol!”

Kamala nodded noncommittally, noticing the smell of ammonia and smoke filling the room.

Hillary dropped the dewebbed foot bones on the floor and leaned forward. “I want you to name me as your Vice President.”

Kamala stifled a shocked laugh. “And why would I do that?”

“I am owed!” Hillary hissed. “I am owed. It was my turn. I was supposed to be the first woman President!”

Kamala saw people outside the office turn and stare through the glass walls. She glared briefly until they went back to fundraising.

“You still could be…” Kamala began.

“Cut the shit, I’ve seen the internal emails. His mind is mush and he’s been surrounded by the Biden women to keep him going.”

“How did you see our emails?” Kamala demanded.

“Some people still understand the meaning of loyalty, Ka-ma-la,” Hillary gurgled; it was supposed to be a laugh.

“Is he still being breastfed amphetamines and nootropics by one of his grand-daughters?” Hillary asked maliciously. “Does he still think a John Kerrybot is his best friend?”

“I will tear this place apart,” Kamala said, dead-eyed.

“Fire them all, demolish the building. I’ll still have a line into your organization,” Hillary said, getting out of the chair slowly. “I am the Democratic Party, little desi. Have fun being the affirmative action hire.”

Hillary waddled out of the office as Kamala twisted paperclips into grotesque forms and fumed.