"I want you to rub your mutton flaps on me, Mr. President. I'm from Brooklyn. I can handle it. And I want to pay Negros like you 15 dollars an hour to rub your mutton flaps all over America," Bernie said. Aides all over the room gasped.
"I hear you, Bernie. And I understand," Barry said. "Clear the room."
Aides began to shuffle out. A dildo dropped out of one and bounced limply to the floor.
Barry pointed at the Secret Service guards on the door of the conference room. "You two as well."
"But Mr. President," one began.
"No. Out. I need to speak to the Senator alone." Barry watched as they left as well, securing the doors behind them."
"Tell me more about these mutton flaps, Bernie."
"Mr. President? Have you ever rubbed 29 different brands of deodorant on your balls at once? I am from Brooklyn. I'm tough. I'm a street fighter. And I'm telling you, it's not easy. 10 brands. Anyone can do that. 10 is nothing. Nothing. 15? Now you're talkin'. 15 is a man's number. That's why it should be the minimum wage. Even for Negroes. I love Negroes, Mr. President. That's why I am worried about their balls. Their nutsacks. Cojones. Testicles, Mr. President. I'm talking about testicles."
"The Affordable Care Act mentions testicle care on thousands of pages," Barry said. He could feel the ruin of his penis filling with blood.
"That's not good enough. We need single payer Negro testicle care and deodorizing. Every other civilized country in the world takes care of Negro testicles better than we do. Every one of them, Mr. President." Bernie's hair was swirling on his head like fierce white flames. "And for less money too! Often less than 15 dollars per Negro testicle."
"What about white people testicles?" Barry asked. He began to rub his crotch on the corner of the conference table.
"Reparations! White testicle privilege! Not all be-penised and testiculated Americans deserve to be cared for in the same manner. Whites have gotten enough! I am from Brooklyn. I'm a scrapper. I care about black and brown balls!"
"The points you are making are perfectly reasonable, Bernie. I understand them completely." Barry continued molesting the table corner, digging it harder and harder into his odoriferous scrotum.
"I can smell your balls, Mr. President. I'm tough. I’m from Brooklyn."
"I hear you, Bernie. And I understand," Barry said. "Clear the room."
Aides began to shuffle out. A dildo dropped out of one and bounced limply to the floor.
Barry pointed at the Secret Service guards on the door of the conference room. "You two as well."
"But Mr. President," one began.
"No. Out. I need to speak to the Senator alone." Barry watched as they left as well, securing the doors behind them."
"Tell me more about these mutton flaps, Bernie."
"Mr. President? Have you ever rubbed 29 different brands of deodorant on your balls at once? I am from Brooklyn. I'm tough. I'm a street fighter. And I'm telling you, it's not easy. 10 brands. Anyone can do that. 10 is nothing. Nothing. 15? Now you're talkin'. 15 is a man's number. That's why it should be the minimum wage. Even for Negroes. I love Negroes, Mr. President. That's why I am worried about their balls. Their nutsacks. Cojones. Testicles, Mr. President. I'm talking about testicles.""The Affordable Care Act mentions testicle care on thousands of pages," Barry said. He could feel the ruin of his penis filling with blood.
"That's not good enough. We need single payer Negro testicle care and deodorizing. Every other civilized country in the world takes care of Negro testicles better than we do. Every one of them, Mr. President." Bernie's hair was swirling on his head like fierce white flames. "And for less money too! Often less than 15 dollars per Negro testicle."
"What about white people testicles?" Barry asked. He began to rub his crotch on the corner of the conference table.
"Reparations! White testicle privilege! Not all be-penised and testiculated Americans deserve to be cared for in the same manner. Whites have gotten enough! I am from Brooklyn. I'm a scrapper. I care about black and brown balls!"
"The points you are making are perfectly reasonable, Bernie. I understand them completely." Barry continued molesting the table corner, digging it harder and harder into his odoriferous scrotum.
"I can smell your balls, Mr. President. I'm tough. I’m from Brooklyn."
You are inspired, Mr Free. Thanks for a good laugh.
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