“What a shithole,” Kamala muttered as Air Force 2 descended over the mud-colored landscape of Guatemala.

“I’m sure you can help them, ma’am,” Seresto said, shapeless and sedate in her dark government blue pants suit.

“Solving the border crisis is a bag of frosted cat turds Joe’s people passed me,” Kamala said. “Something to keep me busy.”

“But what a coup if you did solve it!” Kaylieburrow said.

“300 million in humanitarian aid, 4 billion in investment?” Kamala said, sneering. “A drop in the bucket in these sort of places. El Presidente will pocket most of it.”

“We should get a picture, ma’am,” Seresto said.

Kamala pulled on her mask, leaned across the seat to get the window next to her, tried to smize, failed, glared with her beady little eyes out the window.

 

 

“And you,” she said, pointing at Asterix, dragooned as her body man for the trip, “You make sure I have plenty of sterilizing wipes and American food. I’m not interested in getting the Hershy squirts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” them said. They was freshly trimmed for the trip, them bald head glossy with sweat as the air conditioner in Air Force 2 chugged along, desperate to keep up with the horde of menopausal women Kamala had insisted on traveling with. The plane shook and them winced.

“What’s the matter with you?” Kamala demand. “Sick already? Stay away from me.” She pushed herself against the window and hissed like wet cat.

“It’s not food poisoning, ma’am,” Asterix said, holding her side. “I’m having my period.”

“Your ‘man period,’” Seresto said and giggled.

A look of disgust sprinted across Kamala’s face. “I don’t get cramps and I don’t think much of women who do,” she said, relaxing back into her seat. “Makes the rest of us look weak.”

“I think it’s a source of power!” Kaylieburrow said.

“Dripping ooze for a week is power?” Kamala said snorting.

“I’m having a very masculine period, ma’am,” Asterix said. Them was dressed in a dark blue man’s suit, wearing kitten heels, and a too short goombah tie that made they torso look sunken and gnarled.

The landed gear locked into place, jarring the plane.

“Ugh,” Asterix moaned.

“Wasn’t becoming a man supposed to stop all this nonsense?” Seresto asked Kaylieburrow.

“I need some genderqueer transmasc thempons,” Asterix said through the pain.

“Go check the bathroom,” Kamala said. “I can’t have you bleeding out of your cooze in Guatemala. These Pope-suckers will proclaim you a saint.”

“‘Man cooze,’ ma’am, you have to stay on-brand,” Kaylieburrow said. “Or ‘mooze.’”

Asterix stood up and walked down the aisle, holding on to seatbacks, them clenching they cootch muscles.

“Get cleaned up!” Kamala yelled after her. “You stink of clots!”

“Ma’am?” Seresto asked. “I’ve been going through your speech. Do we really want to tell immigrants not to come to the United States?”

“Trump is out of office,” Kamala said. “What more use would we have for a bunch of beaners too short to date? Or their ugly Indios kids?”

“But, ma’am…”

“No! They stay here, in their own shitty countries, and make them nice places to live, goddammit. Central and South America have been a shitshow since Cortez landed. It’s time for them to take responsibility for themselves.”

“And you have the Lester Holt interview,” Kaylieburrow said.

“That high yella pissant? He won’t make any trouble.”