“I will fight inflation.”

“There is no inflation.”

“I will not fight inflation.”

“Well, there’s a little inflation.”

“I will fight inflation.”

“There’s not enough to be fought, yet. It’s no big deal.”

“Inflation is no big deal.”

“Inflation might make us lose the midterms.”

“Inflation is a yuge deal.”

“Don’t say huge like that.”

“I won’t say huge like that.”

“Say that inflation is worrying but expected.”

“Inflation is worrisome but expected.”

“Blame Trump. Whataboutism isn’t a thing any longer.”

“Whataboutism Trump? Huh? You ever think about that, Jack?”

“Who’s Jack?”

“Jack is the guy who is talking about Trump.”

“Should we just wipe and start over?”

“We don’t have time…”

“Good job, Mr. President!”

A 70s Playboy is dropped at Joe’s feet as they back out of the Oval Office.

My Struggle by Kamala Harris (2029), pg. 238

I see that on July 14 of our first year in office I see that I wrote my journal “Why won’t he die, I just want him to die, die old fuck old fuck old fuck, die.” Oh, those were fun times.

“I’m detransitioning,” Astrid said to Kaylieburrow and Seresto. “Nobody cares if I’m a boy or a girl. No one is paying attention to me.”

“Why don’t you want people to pay attention to you?” Kaylieburrow asked, contorting and stretching her body to get an angle for a selfie.

Seresto watched as Astrid struggled under her shirt to unwrap the bandage holding her breasts flat. “Let’s see them tiddies,” she said under her breath.

Astrid groaned as the bandage came loose and she threw it on the break room counter.

“And these stupid nonbinary thempons,” Astrid growled digging them out of her messenger bag and throwing them at the trashcan. “I’m a woman, I’m a woman, I want a tampon made for a woman’s body!”

“There are tampons all over the place,” Kayleburrow said. She stood and twirled to the break room cabinets and threw them open. The coffee cups were filled with tampons, and the Keurig cup carousel had them stuck in all over. She opened drawer after drawer to show tampons packed in rows like paper-wrapped soldiers ready to fight in the war for feminine hygiene. “And pads and liners and DIva Cups too!” she sang.

“Just ignore her when she gets like this,” Seresto said to Astrid.

As Kaylieburrow chased Astrid out of the breakroom with a rhyming couplet about the joys of free-bleeding, Seresto gathered up the bandage soaked in titty smell and stuffed it into her tiny backpack purse.